It was late morning. After breakfast, my sisters and I had separated, as they had errands to finish in town. When Mama and I arrived at the movie location, she’d vanished into the hair and make-up trailer. She was probably regaling the stylists right now with her beauty tips.

Now, Jeb leaned into the small herd from the saddle of his bay gelding. He and the horse seemed as one. The animal pivoted and side-stepped, pushing against the cows and easing off as needed. It was like a dance, where all the partners knew their steps. In one fluid motion, Jeb turned and flicked his cow whip over the rump of one recalcitrant steer.

My heart thrummed, keeping time with the hoof beats. Damn if that man wasn’t a beautiful sight in the saddle.

Finally, the dog barked and snapped at the heels of the straggler. The cow trotted to catch up with the rest of the herd. The ranch hand swung shut the gate as the last animal entered the enclosure, the dog still in pursuit.

Jeb spun and galloped toward me, stopping his horse inches from the fence where I sat. He grinned, and saluted me with an index finger to the brim of his cowboy hat. His white teeth gleamed in his sun-browned face. A smear of dirt, or maybe dried manure, crossed his angled cheekbone.

“I see you’re still riding that sorry nag,’’ I said. “How old is poor Cheyenne now, about a hundred and ten?’’

He lifted the whip and pointed it at me, a smile belying the menacing gesture. “You should know better than to poke fun at a cowman’s horse. He’s twenty, and he can run circles around horses half his age.’’

He turned the horse in a couple of tight circles to demonstrate. I jumped off the rail to give the hardworking horse a pat on the neck.

“So Cheyenne’s just like you, huh? Twice as good as cowpokes half your age?’’

Jeb laughed. “Yep, I'm just like that Toby Keith song.” He started the verse. I chimed in, singing about how he might not be the man he once was, but he’s still as good once as he ever was.

We grinned at each other. Were we remembering the past? Or were we anticipating the future? Maybe it was neither. Maybe we both just liked that barroom song.

Suddenly, I noticed Jeb’s eyes had strayed from mine. He stared over my shoulder, his grin now a frown. I turned to see where he was looking. There was a man in the distance, crouched down low by the gate of the cattle pen.

“Hey, what the hell are you doing?’’ Jeb’s shout was sharp, angry.

The man rose. It was Greg Tilton, seemingly noticing us for the first time. The glare of the setting sun made it difficult to see his expression.

“That’s a bad place to be, buddy.’’ Jeb’s voice was still raised to carry, but I could tell he was aiming for friendly. “Cattle can be unpredictable.’’

Tilton gave us a cheerful wave. Then he looped his thumbs in his waistband and ambled away, whistling.

“Weird Hollywood people.’’ Shaking his head, Jeb turned his attention back to me. “Now, where were we?’’

“I believe you two were doing a Dogpatch version of a duet.’’ The voice came from behind us. It held a slight accent, and a blizzard’s worth of ice.

I felt the color drain from my face. Jeb must have noticed my stricken look.

Ignoring Carlos, he tipped his hat to me. “Looks like you and Miamuh here have some business to discuss.’’ Then he turned the reins on Cheyenne, and nudged the horse with his heels.

As Jeb galloped off, silence stretched out between Carlos and me. Then, both of us started to say something at the same time.

“Jeb and I are just friends …’’

“… I can’t believe the way you …’’

I quickly motioned him to speak. “You go.’’

“I can’t believe the way you act when that cowboy is around. Yesterday, you were cuddled up to him at lunch; now he’s back, and the two of you are flirting out here. It looks to me like you never really got over him.’’ He leaned against the fence, avoiding my eyes.

“You know that’s not true.’’

“I don’t know anything. Are we together? Or would you rather be with him? Say the word, and I’m gone. I’m not desperate. I don’t want to force myself on someone who doesn’t want to be with me.’’

The ground was solid, but I felt unsteady. I grabbed his arm. “You can’t seriously believe I don’t want to be with you.’’

He pulled away, arms folded tightly over his chest. “That’s the way it looks. Or, maybe you want to be with me; but you want to be with him, too.’’

“You’re overreacting. I’ve known Jeb forever. I won’t deny there’s history. But it’s ancient. I’ve told you that, Carlos. Why won’t you believe me?’’

He reached out to me, brushed some hair from my eyes. A shiver of desire ran up my backbone. That’s love, isn’t it?

“I want to believe you, Mace. But I’m not blind. I see the way you look at each other.’’

I wasn’t sure what to say to that. Hadn’t I just been watching Jeb, thinking he looked purely gorgeous? But admiring the way he sat his horse and worked his cattle wasn’t the same as wanting him, was it? It wasn’t the same thing as being in love.

Thinking, I dug at a rock in the dirt with the toe of my boot. Carlos stroked my hair. My whole body went hot at his touch, and my heart melted with tender feelings for him. That was love. Now, I was sure.

And I was just about to tell Carlos so, when Jeb whistled, and yelled for his dog.

“Here, Nip. C’mon boy.’’

I glanced over, watching Nip squeeze under the bottom rail of the cow pen and lope toward his master. The dog’s tongue lolled from his mouth like he was smiling with the pure pleasure of his work. The sight of Nip looking so happy brought a grin to my face, too.

Carlos let the strand of hair he’d been caressing slip from his fingers. “I think that smile on your face is my answer.’’

Jamming his hands into his pockets, he turned to go.

“I was looking at the dog, Carlos,’’ I called after him. “Nip was grinning, so I was, too.’’

He didn’t look back.

“The dog’s name is right out of the book A Land Remembered. Every cowman in middle Florida names his dog Nip or Tuck.’’ I raised my voice. “Don’t you think that’s funny?’’

Head down, Carlos didn’t laugh, and he didn’t answer. He just kept walking.

_____

Hurricane-force winds roared. Sabal palms thrashed. Jesse, rain-soaked and desperate, struggled to make her way across a pasture in the raging storm.

Mopping water from her eyes, she stared at the whipping branches of a downed oak. The frilly hem of a child’s white dress peeked out, barely visible under the massive tree. With each step forward, the wind buffeted Jesse a half-step back.

Closer now, she stumbled to the ground and crawled the final distance. Her hand went out to touch the white hem. Lightning flashed, revealing the emotions contorting Jesse’s face: fear, grief, and an ice-cold rage. Lifting her face to the sky, she let out an anguished scream.

“And … Cut!’’ Paul Watkins said. “Nice, nice work, Jesse.’’

Unconsciously, I’d been holding my breath. I exhaled, slowly. Mama, standing beside me, heaved a deep sigh.

“My stars and garters! Jesse absolutely nailed that scene.’’

“Whew!’’ I said to Mama.

I knew it was make-believe. A fire hose sprayed “rain’’ from a 5,000-gallon tanker truck. Generator-powered wind fans with six-foot blades whipped up the tempest of the “hurricane.’’ A control box triggered movie lamps to produce dramatic “lightning’’ strikes.

And the small child, crushed by the storm-felled tree? That was a stunt dummy, outfitted in a white dress.

Yet, Jesse’s emotions seemed so real, I was caught up in the story. The scene had her searching for her character’s little sister, lost in a hurricane. My mind went back to the day my little sister, Marty, narrowly escaped the venomous bite of a rattlesnake. Watching Jesse, I felt the same clutch of fear in my stomach that I’d felt that day: What if I couldn’t save my sister?