Infamous (10 page)

“I did,” Alison said, “but I’m going to need—”

Paula steamrolled over her. “Praise God, but where
are
you?”

“In the parking lot by the trail,” Alison said. “Will you bring me a—”

“Fabulous. I’ll meet you halfway,” Paula said and hung up her phone.

“—replacement? Shit!” Alison said as she jammed her phone back into her bag and started to pull those stupid boots on. But wait a minute. Weren’t you supposed to check boots for scorpions in the southwest? She used the flashlight Hugh had given her to peer into each boot, turning it upside down and shaking it before she cautiously reached a hand in. They were empty. They were also big enough so that she didn’t have to take off her sandals before she pulled them on.

They came up to her knees which, with the overshirt that hung down past her shorts, was quite the fashion statement.

She shouldered her bag and aimed her flashlight up the trail.

She could see the bright glow of lights far, far up ahead and shuffled toward it, vowing to step on any snake that she encountered.

She’d had no idea she’d be starting the day with a hike in oversized wading boots.

And then there Paula was—the light from her flashlight bobbing down the trail. “Dr. Carter?”

“It’s me,” Alison said as she took off the overshirt and held it out to the younger woman. “You wouldn’t happen to have a shirt you could trade for this, would you? I kind of spilled my coffee in the car—”

“I don’t,” Paula said. “But don’t worry about a coffee stain. It’s par for the course.”

“It’s not the stain I’m worried about,” Alison said, but of course Paula couldn’t see her in the darkness.

She was already hurrying away, running back up the trail, faster than Alison could manage in her boots. “I’ll certainly make sure you have something to cover you by the time the sun comes up.”

“I could use it a little earlier, please,” Alison called after her. “Like, right away …?”

“I’ll put it on my to-do list,” Paula called back. “FYI, there’s sunscreen on the table near the coffee.”

“I don’t need sunscreen, I need a shirt that’s not transparent,” Alison called back, but she was gone.

So okay. She tried to wring herself out a little bit more, but it was hopeless. The bra she was wearing had seemed sturdy enough—before it got doused. She was going to have to stand with her arms folded across her chest, and although she could manage to cover her nipples, the position, by its nature, pushed her breasts together and made her into the queen of cleavage.

Her best hope lay in staying in the shadows and trying to remain invisible until her shirt dried.

Which it would do rather quickly in this heat. But it just wasn’t happening fast enough.

Alison finally made it up to the entrance of the mine where they were filming this morning. There were dozens of played-out silver mines in this area, dotting the hillsides, most of them bearing signs that warned,
DANGER! STRUCTURALLY UNSOUND! DO NOT ENTER!
The warnings about a possible cave-in had been removed from this one, though, and the clearing in front of it was brightly lit with spotlights
and huge reflectors. Dozens of crew members were busy at work wherever she looked, and no one was paying any attention to her.

Maybe she could pull this invisibility thing off.

Henry Logan sat up in a huge crane with the cinematographer, rehearsing the shot. According to Alison’s notes, the camera would start out focused on a woman and two small children, who were huddled in the dirt outside of a tiny cabin that the set construction crew had built near the mine entrance. The camera would slowly lift, courtesy of the crane’s enormous arm, and zoom out to reveal the beautiful desolation of the surrounding countryside and the very first rays of light from the sunrise peeking over the hills to the east.

“How’s it look, Carter?” Henry shouted down at her as he gestured toward the set.

So much for being invisible.

“It seems okay from here,” Alison called back, gritting her teeth and moving into the lit area to get a closer look as she kept her arms crossed in front of her. Her shirt
was
going to dry—and soon. She held on to that thought like a mantra. But until it did, she’d just have to hope that it didn’t turn into a thing.

The mine entrance had been shored up so that it looked like a working mine rather than the deathtrap that it was. And a tiny cabin had been constructed on the exact spot where the original mine owner’s cabin had stood. She stepped even closer, making sure there were no telltale signs of the twenty-first century in the shot.

A Sears brand hammer left behind or a neon green measuring tape.

She’d found both of those things last week, on the boardwalk back in town.

But here, everything was perfect—even the costumes on the woman and children. The kids had given their iPhones and Gameboys to their mothers, who were patiently standing back behind the camera.

“Carter!” Henry yelled. “Get out of my shot!”

Alison jumped and quickly moved off to the side. But
damnit, she’d uncrossed her arms. It was just for a mere fraction of a second, but that was all it took.

“Thanks,” the director called, his face hidden behind the camera. “By the way, congratulations on winning the wet T-shirt contest.”

And so now, it would be a thing.

All over the set, eyes turned toward her in amusement.

Inwardly, she cringed. Still, she managed to smile, arms again in front of her. “I’d like to thank the judges,” she said, loudly enough for them all to hear her, “and let them know that I will work diligently in support of world peace and gay marriage.”

A smattering of good-natured applause and whistling broke out as she ducked back into the shadows.

“The boots really make it work,” Logan said. “Very misguided dominatrix.”

Alison had to laugh at that. “Very,” she agreed.

But then, just like that, it was over, as he raised his voice and called, “Hugh! What’s our time?”

“Sunrise in fourteen minutes,” Hugh shouted back.

“Places, people!” someone yelled. “Let’s rehearse this shot.”

“Extras!” called Jane from continuity, running across the set with a digital camera in her hand. “Mark where you’re standing!”

Extras? There were extras in this shot? Alison hadn’t checked the costumes of anyone besides the principals. She took off after Jane.

But then she saw him and stopped short.

A.J. Gallagher.

He was across the set with two other extras, near the scrub brush line, blending into the darkness.

And looking directly at her from beneath the brim of his cowboy hat.

Even his hat, which had been a bright off-white in the sunlight, seemed muted in the darkness. Like the men beside him, he was dressed in authentic 1890s cowboy wear—faded and dusty dark-colored pants, a shirt that was no longer pure white, and a ragged brown vest.

He’d rolled his sleeves up as far as he possibly could because of the heat, and his arms were muscular and powerful looking. Where on earth had she gotten the impression that he was slender, almost skinny? He was lean, yes, but not skinny. Not at all.

He wore a gun belt around his hips, complete with a very deadly-looking prop gun.

No doubt about it, he looked incredibly authentic and absolutely at home in the costume he was wearing. In fact, he looked as if he’d stepped out of a time machine, with that familiar face and those Gallagher blue eyes.

And great. The last time she’d spoken to him—through the window of his truck yesterday afternoon—she’d actually teased him about having to go commando. And yes. She’d admit it. She’d been flirting. Which was stupid, but his smile was just so sweet. And now here she was, looking as if she were two margaritas away from a
Girls Gone Wild
video. Wasn’t
this
just perfect?

Arms crossed, she strode toward A.J. and the other extras as purposefully and as businesslike as she could manage in her boots and cleavage. She’d do her job, be cool and impersonal, keep her distance.

No flirting, no wrong messages sent.

As she drew closer, A.J. glanced down at the ground, at the worn-out toes of his boots. The brim of his hat hid his face, as if up close he was suddenly shy, or maybe embarrassed by what his eyes might reveal. It was a gesture both respectfully sweet and utterly charming.

From a man who claimed to be a descendant of the notorious outlaw and murderer Kid Gallagher.

“Okay, everyone,” Alison said briskly to all three extras. “Wedding rings and watches—are they all off? Let’s see wrists and left hands.”

One of the men, Marty, had a pale stripe where his wedding band had been. “Make up!” Alison shouted, telling him, “Get that covered up. Come on, Marty, you should know better.”

“I didn’t think it would show,” Marty said as he turned to meet the makeup boy.

Alison looked at A.J., who had big hands with strong yet graceful fingers.

“No ring,” he told her. “Not married. Do you have any time to talk, maybe later?”

“Early this afternoon,” she said, as she stepped slightly back and scanned each of the three men, looking for anything out of place that continuity might’ve missed. “Catch me after the shot, I’ll check my schedule and find you some time.”

“Thanks,” A.J. said, wisely leaving it at that, which she appreciated, because—

“Hey, wait a minute,” she asked the third man, “are you actually
smoking?”

“Henry said it was okay to have a cigarette during this scene,” the raggedy-looking extra said a touch defensively.

“They didn’t have filter tips back in 1898. You would have rolled your own from a pouch of tobacco,” she told him. “Come on, put that thing out.”

“We’re only in the background,” the man protested. “No one’s gonna see me, let alone my cigarette’s filter.”

“And what if,” Alison said, “Henry Logan, in a burst of creativity, decides that instead of pulling the camera back, he’s going to zoom in for a close-up of your face? And what if it’s brilliant? What if it’s the shot that’s going to win him the Oscar? Do
you
want to be the one to tell him he can’t use that shot because you’re smoking a twenty-first-century cigarette with a filter?”

Sullenly, with an exasperated exhale and an eyeroll, the man stubbed out his cigarette.

“Thank you,” Alison said. She turned to find A.J. watching her, a smile softening the lines of his face. God, he was a good-looking man—and doubly so when he smiled.

He bent down and picked up the now cold cigarette butt.

“Better not leave that lying here,” he said with that slight twang of his western drawl. “What if Henry Logan decides to zoom in on my boots?”

Alison laughed. “Are you making fun of me?” she demanded.

His smile deepened, revealing a dimple in his cheek. “Yes, ma’am,” he said. “Because you know as well as I do that Logan is no more likely to zoom in to a close-up of Mr. Flynn here, than he is to zoom in to a close-up of my boots—as attractive as they are.” He admired his boots for a moment, then looked back at her. “Logan’s pulling back to get a wide-angle shot of the sunrise. From that camera angle, we’re going to be nothing more than shadows that move across the clearing to help the lady and kids back toward town. Matter of fact, I’m a double for an actor who’s got lines in the altercation scene—between Gallagher and the widow—that they’re going to be shooting tonight.”

“Huh,” she said. “I thought this was your first time on a movie set.”

“It is,” A.J. said. “But I’ve seen a lot of movies, plus I learn pretty fast.”

“Places in five minutes!” someone shouted.

“Better move behind the camera,” A.J. told Alison. “I’m no expert, but even I know they didn’t have outfits like the one you’re wearing back in 1898.”

The devil in her made her say, “Yeah, women definitely didn’t wear boots like these back then,” as she backed away.

He laughed, but there was a flash of heat in his eyes. He tipped his hat down across his face again, as if to hide it from her. But he couldn’t resist another look as she walked away, peeking out at her from under the wide brim.

She knew, because she hadn’t been able to resist looking back at him, too. What
was
it about this guy?

He was smart, he was funny, he was handsome, and he didn’t hide the fact that he found her attractive.

“Hey, if you want to borrow it,” he called after her, “I’ve got a spare shirt in my bag. It’s the blue gym bag with my name on it, in the extras tent. Help yourself.”

Plus, he was generous and kind.

“Bless you,” Alison said. “Thank you.”

He smiled. “My pleasure.” And he ducked his head again as if afraid to let her see how happy it was making him—his being able to help her this way.

It was, quite frankly, unbelievably sexy, and as he looked at her again, she turned and ran.

After the endless hours of setup and preparation, the sequence took maybe forty-five seconds.

Henry Logan filmed the same shot three different times, although it was only during the first take that the camera caught the exact instant of the sunrise.

The actors playing the miner’s widow and children had gone back into town, but the crew was busy all over again, setting up another scene that took place here at the mine entrance—a daytime scene in which Silas Quinn came looking for Kid Gallagher.