“You’re the only woman I’ve ever loved, Mavish,” he cried, and she pushed him away. “Please don’t take my boy!” he begged in anguish.
He couldn’t stop her, no matter how much he begged, how much he loved her. She was taking his son and going back to Chicago on the train that was about to leave Sagebrush.
“I love you and yer mum, son and I’ll come, and find you one day,” the cowboy told his child.
“Don’t tell the boy lies,” she hissed and pulled away. “I did love you, Wood Hall,” swallowing hard as a tear left her eye. “But my love is in the cold ground with my baby.” The lie was like a knife in his heart. Wood picked up his child and hugged him tight.
“Let go,” she said sharply, and Wood set the child down as she pulled him up the stairs of the train. The tired cowboy met his boy there at the train's window, kissed his face, and handed him his pocketknife. It was the knife his dear wife, Mavish gave him on their honeymoon, with his initials engraved on it, the carved wood edged in silver.
The train’s whistle blew, then it lurched forward. The broken-hearted father followed his son, holding his hand until he reached the end of the platform. Sheriff Wood Hall mounted up on his horse and rode alongside the train. His son was looking out the window at him as Wood’s horse was running, struggling to keep up with the train. As the horse tired after a mile or so at the gallop, Wood pulled the big gray up, letting his wife and son go. He waved one last, weak time.
“Come back to me,” he whispered as he watched his family disappear and the train whistle blew in the distance.
“Cut!” the second director yelled, and a radio signal was given to the train conductor. The train slowed to a stop, the steam pumping from the smokestacks. “How was it?” the second director asked the director on his iPad.
“It was great. I’m sorry I’m not there for the end of it. Wrap it,” the director and producer of Sagebrush said.
Pierce, the second director looked up at the cast and crew standing around and announced, “Gerard Frey says that is a wrap for the epic western, Sagebrush!” An assistant repeated the words through a bullhorn. There was applause from the assembled crowd in the hot Texas sun. Gerry applauded as well. He was sitting in Brentwood, California while his entire cast and crew were in Lubbock finishing his film. He had his full-leg walking boot propped up in a recliner, cooling his heels in California. He was glad to have escaped the paparazzi at his home in Texas, if only temporarily. But not this final scene, not his film.
The little boy playing Woodward Jr. jumped off the back of the train and ran to Bran Barclay’s horse. The actors high-fived each other before Bran dismounted. A wrangler came and took Rocky, the dappled gray horse, away.
Leesa Payne stepped off a golf cart that had brought her back to the platform as well.
“Don’t ye love me, Lass, my sweet Mavish?” Bran asked his co-star, with begging hands, and a deep Scottish accent. While the accent was real, he was quite the ham when the camera wasn’t running. Otherwise, he was a surprisingly great actor for an aging action hero.
“I do love you, but I prefer girls. And you know it,” Leesa said, smiling as she gave him a light peck on the lips. Then she looked him up and down. “You are most definitely not a girl,” she said in a sexy voice. She might have had a little crush on this handsome, married man. They had a few smoldering scenes with his body up against her, and she had given the possibilities some thought. But it was just lust because he was married and she was as well.
Bran Barclay was a nice man, and nice men in Hollywood who weren’t trying to get into her pants were rare. She was thankful she had a real friend like him. Bran smiled at her as she climbed the stairs to the platform, holding her hand as she maneuvered in her long skirts and petticoats.
“It’s so freaking hot in this state!” Leesa exclaimed, stomping her foot on the wood platform. Her staff ran to her side, ready to appease her every desire.
“Take off yer clothes, Lass. You’re wearing satin petticoats,” Bran pointed out, as Leesa’s costumer unpinned the hat from her wig.
“I just need a cold beer,” she answered, untying her high collar as her assistant handed her a bottle of water while holding a large umbrella over her head.
“I’ll buy you one on the plane, Luv,” Bran said.
“I’ll hold you to it, Bran,” she said. “Wait. Aren’t we headed in different directions? I mean, you live in Texas, right? I’m going home to L.A. So I guess I’ll see you at the premier next year. Come say goodbye before you leave?” Bran tipped his cowboy hat to her, and at that, Leesa turned and headed for her trailer, her skirts and petticoats swishing.
Copyright Mare Loch 2022 © All rights reserved. Original Cover art painting painting by Mare Loch.
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