A Snow Country Christmas (The Carsons of Mustang Creek #4)(18)
Luce laughed. “Relax, you’re not being rocketed into instant stardom, honey. In that footage no one can really tell it’s us, and besides, they’ll all be looking at the wild stallion in the background. I’m sorry, but I think Smoke is the one who will steal the show.”
“He’s welcome to it,” her husband responded darkly.
Maybe it was the Hollywood in him, but Mick had always thought each of the Carson brothers would make a fascinating leading man in his own way. All three were intense, but he’d describe Slater as artistic, Drake as the quiet cowboy, and Mace the wildcard.
What was he?
Focused, maybe. Not artistic, that was for sure. Though he appreciated art in all forms, he couldn’t draw so much as a square. “The gloves were just for show, Showbiz,” he told Slater. “Your real gift is going to be the next couple of hours. I don’t know how you’re going to outdo this one, but you should have the opportunity if this doc goes over like I think it will. The backers loved it enough that the commercial was a sell.”
“They loved it?”
“Of course. I held a showing. This is business, Carson. Don’t look so surprised that they enjoyed it.”
Raine was the one who elbowed him. “I’m with Slater. This is like having someone tell you if your child is ugly or pretty, Branson. It’s nerve-wracking stuff.”
He did get that. He really did, at least on an intellectual level. Defensively, he murmured, “He doesn’t make movies just to make them. He wants people to watch them. Slater knows what he’s doing.”
“Yes, but no,” she corrected. “He really does make movies just because he loves them. Having people watch and enjoy them is a bonus. But without someone like you, he could never do it on this scale.”
Raine was an intellectual challenge at times. Maybe that was why he liked her so much. No agenda. “What’s the point of doing it if no one sees it?”
“Because of the sheer joy of creation. I have artwork I’ve done I wouldn’t sell even if offered a fortune for it.”
“A private showing of those pieces would interest me a great deal.” He made his tone deliberately suggestive.
Raine looked amused. “Please tell me you’re usually more subtle when you flirt, Branson.”
“You’re harder to flirt with than most women, Ms. McCall.”
“I’d like to think I’m not most women.”
“You’ve got that right.”
Her beautiful eyes softened. “That’s improvement right there. I’m going to help clear the table. I think we all have a movie to watch.”
*
The film was brilliant, but Raine had expected that. Though she and Slater hadn’t ended up on the same page in life, they certainly connected on different levels, and one of them was their mutual understanding of the emotional significance of vision.
The documentary was a love letter to Mustang Creek, taking viewers on a journey through its rich history. There were pictures of the old hotel that was there before the new resort, and video of a snowboarder in mid-air doing an Olympic-style flip, and then photos of cowboys digging a path for their horses out of the snow. Ranch hands around a table wearing chaps and drinking coffee from tin cups, and the same table a hundred years later, same cups, different men. The main street of Mustang Creek back in the day, and the similarity to the modernized version, including the wine store, before and after. Elk grazing next to cattle, the wild horses at full gallop, fluttering fall leaves and an eagle soaring above, a mountain lion perched above a walking trail...
And her grandfather’s cabin, so unchanged from when it was built except for the slow process of aging. She drew in a breath at the picture of him when he was a boy happily playing on the steps, and later a picture she’d provided of an old man sitting on the front porch smoking a pipe—that child grown and weathered by time but still content. In the latter photograph there was a book on a simple table next to him; one of his, of course.
Her mother had taken the picture and Raine wasn’t immune to a nostalgic moment. It was telling that even the kids didn’t get restless, but watched intently. When it was over, there was a resounding silence.
Then Blythe began to clap, Daisy jumped up to run and kiss her dad, and everyone was talking at once.
The beginning of the film had been fantastic, with an unintentional shot of Drake leaning in to Luce for a passionate kiss, accidentally captured by remote cameras but, fortunately for the couple, entirely in silhouette. Luce had been right—the setting took over.
But the ending was astounding.
The wild horses were being herded off and Slater had taken gorgeous footage of the warrior stallion stopping to nudge a gangly colt, gently urging the youngster into the herd because he wasn’t quite able yet to keep up.
It was so well done, emphasizing the continuing cycle of life.
“Let’s hope the ratings reflect the quality of the work.” Mick sounded optimistic, his long legs extended, Delilah yet again camped out on his foot.
“They will.” Raine was able to say it with utter conviction.
Mick didn’t hesitate. “I loved the idea, loved the execution, and Slater’s style and his sense of timing are distinctive. I could tune in and know right away who ran the production. That isn’t easy to come by.”
“He’s a bright man,” Grace interjected, snuggling into her husband as he grinned and ran a hand over Daisy’s hair.