Christmas Baby for the Cowboy (Sweethearts of the Rodeo #4)

Chapter Ten

Taylor

T he pre-dawn chill nipped at Taylor’s skin as he climbed out of his beat-up pickup truck, stifling a yawn that threatened to crack his jaw. The movie set sprawled before him, a maze of trailers, lights, and equipment that seemed to stretch for miles. He rubbed his bleary eyes, feeling the grit of too little sleep and too many early mornings.

As he trudged toward the main area, the weight of exhaustion dragged at his limbs. Two weeks straight of dawn-to-dusk ranch work, followed by nights of helping Loretta soothe Georgie back to sleep, had left him running on fumes. But a thousand bucks was a thousand bucks, and would bring them that much closer to getting the apartment of Loretta’s dreams.

“You must be Taylor,” a chipper voice called out. A woman with a clipboard and a headset strode toward him, looking far too awake for this ungodly hour. “I’m Jen, Riley’s assistant. She’s waiting for you by the arena set.”

Taylor nodded, not trusting his voice just yet. He followed Jen through a labyrinth of cables and equipment, dodging busy crew members who scurried about like ants preparing for winter. The fabricated rodeo arena came into view, and Taylor had to admit, they’d done a decent job. The chutes looked authentic and the general layout matched what he’d seen at countless rodeos.

Riley was barking orders into a walkie-talkie. She turned as Taylor approached, her face softening into a smile.

“Thanks for coming out on your day off,” she said, extending her hand.

Her handshake was firm, businesslike. “Happy to help, ma’am.”

Riley’s eyes crinkled with amusement. “No need for ‘ma’am’ here. Now, we’re about to start filming some riding scenes. I’d love your input.”

Taylor nodded, following her to a set of monitors. As the cameras rolled, he watched the lead actor mount a mechanical bull, trying to mimic the movements of a real ride. Taylor’s shook his head. The actor’s form was all wrong—legs too loose, arm not high enough, his whole body stiff where it should be fluid.

“Cut!” Riley called. She turned to Taylor. “What do you think?”

He cleared his throat. “Well, it’s not bad for a beginner, but there’s room for improvement. His form’s off, which means he’d be bucked in seconds on a real bull. And the way you’ve got the mechanical bull moving? It’s too predictable. Real bulls are chaos incarnate.”

Riley’s eyes lit up. “This is exactly why we need you. Can you show him how it’s done?”

Taylor nodded, striding toward the actor. Up close, the guy looked like he’d never seen a cow outside of a petting zoo, let alone ridden a bull. “All right, cowboy,” Taylor said, “let’s see what you’ve got.”

He watched the actor mount again, this time calling out corrections. “Higher on the rope. No, higher. Your arm should be almost straight up. Squeeze with your thighs, not your calves. Keep your chin tucked.”

After a few tries, the actor’s form improved, but it still lacked the fluid grace of a seasoned rider. Taylor sighed. “Mind if I demonstrate?”

The actor eagerly vacated the mechanical bull. Taylor settled onto it, muscle memory taking over despite his exhaustion. He nodded to the operator, and the bull began to buck and spin.

Taylor moved with it, his body in perfect sync with the mechanical beast. His arm stayed high, his legs gripped tight, and his free hand balanced him perfectly. When he dismounted, he was met with applause from the gathered crew.

The actor looked at him with a mix of awe and dismay. “How did you make it look so easy?”

“Practice. Lots and lots of practice. And a few broken bones along the way.”

As they reset for another take, Taylor’s phone buzzed in his pocket. Loretta’s name flashed on the screen, and his heart gave a little jump.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he answered, moving away from the noise of the set. “Everything okay?”

Loretta’s voice came through, tinged with exhaustion that matched his own. “Yeah, we’re fine. Georgie’s just been fussy all morning. I think he’s coming down with something.”

Taylor’s chest tightened. He should be there, helping with their son, not playing cowboy on a movie set. “You need me to come home?”

“No, no,” Loretta said quickly. “We’re managing. How’s the movie stuff going?”

He filled her in briefly, guilt gnawing at him with every word. Here he was, essentially playing while she dealt with a sick baby.

“That’s great,” Loretta said, and he could hear the genuine happiness in her voice despite her fatigue. “It sounds really glamorous and exciting.”

“It is and it isn’t.”

He saw Riley gesturing at him impatiently.

“I’ve got to go. Give Georgie a kiss for me.”

“Will do. Go show those movie folks how it’s really done.”

The morning wore on, and Taylor found himself constantly correcting small details—the way the riders held themselves, the behavior of the bulls, even the reactions of the rodeo clowns. It was late morning when Riley approached him again.

“Taylor, we’re about to film some bullfighting scenes. Would you mind demonstrating some moves for our stunt team?”

He nodded, following her to where a group of fit, athletic men in workout clothes waited. Taylor pushed aside his fatigue. This was his element.

“All right, boys,” he said, loud enough for everyone to hear. “Bullfighting isn’t just about distraction. It’s about protection. Your job is to keep the rider safe, even if it means putting yourself in harm’s way.”

He demonstrated a series of moves—quick sidesteps, dramatic flourishes designed to catch a bull’s attention, and evasive maneuvers that could mean the difference between life and death in the arena.

“The key,” he explained, executing a particularly graceful spin, “is to always know where the bull is, where the rider is, and where your exit is. You’re dancing with a ton of angry muscle that wants nothing more than to trample you into the dirt.”

The stunt team watched in rapt attention, their respect evident in their eyes. Even Riley looked impressed.

As they practiced, mimicking his moves, a commotion erupted from the main set. Taylor’s head snapped around, years of arena experience kicking in. He saw it before anyone else—a piece of the set, a faux metal gate, coming loose above where the actor was preparing to mount the mechanical bull.

Taylor moved without thinking. He sprinted across the arena, shoulder-checking the actor out of the way just as the gate came crashing down. It missed them both by inches, landing with a resounding clang that echoed through the suddenly silent set.

For a moment, no one moved. Then, chaos erupted. Crew members rushed forward, Riley’s voice rose above the din barking orders, and the actor Taylor had saved looked up at him with wide, shocked eyes.

“You okay?” Taylor asked, helping the man to his feet.

The actor nodded mutely, still staring at the fallen gate.

Riley appeared at their side, her face pale. “Is everyone okay? Taylor, that was… Thank you. That could have been disastrous.”

Taylor shrugged, uncomfortable with the attention. “Just did what needed doing, ma’am. Might want to have your crew double-check all the set pieces, though. In a real rodeo, a mistake like that could end a career. Or worse.”

Riley nodded gravely, already turning to confer with her safety team. As the commotion died down and filming was halted for safety checks, Taylor was surrounded by curious crew members and actors.

“Have you ever had any close calls like that in real rodeos?” someone asked.

“More than I can count.”

As they broke for an early lunch, Taylor recounted some of his more harrowing experiences for the interested crew: the time a bull’s horn had caught his shirt, lifting him clear off the ground; the rider he’d saved from being gored, nearly getting trampled in the process; the countless bruises, sprains, and close calls that came with the job.

“Why do you do it?” a wide-eyed production assistant asked. “If it’s so dangerous?”

Taylor paused, considering. “It’s hard to explain if you haven’t felt it. There’s nothing like the rush of stepping into that arena, knowing you’re all that stands between a rider and serious injury. It’s about trust, skill, and a hell of a lot of adrenaline.”

As he spoke, Taylor noticed Riley listening intently, a thoughtful expression on her face. When the stories wound down, she pulled him aside.

“Taylor, I was wondering if you’d be willing to take a look at our script? I have a feeling we may have romanticized some aspects of ranch and rodeo life.”

“Happy to,” Taylor said, following her to a quiet corner of the set where she handed him a thick stack of papers.

As he read, Taylor’s frown deepened. The script painted a picture of rodeo life that was all glory and no grit. The main character never struggled financially, his family was always perfectly supportive, and the dangers of the sport were glossed over.

“Well?” Riley asked after he’d skimmed several pages.

Taylor sighed. “It’s a good story, but it’s not real rodeo life.”

“Can you elaborate?”

“It’s not just about the eight seconds on the bull. It’s about the hours of training, the diet, the mental preparation. Maybe show your main character doing dawn workouts, studying videos of bulls, or consulting with sports psychologists. That’s a big part of the pro circuit now.”

Taylor’s hands moved animatedly as he spoke. “And the injuries—they’re not just plot devices. They’re a constant reality. We could show the hero dealing with chronic pain, maybe popping ibuprofen before a ride or icing his knees in the hotel room. It’s not glamorous, but it’s real.”

He shifted in his seat, wincing as his lower back twinged—a souvenir from a particularly nasty spill last week.

“The financial aspect is huge too. Most riders aren’t rolling in dough. They’re chasing points to qualify for the big events, pinching pennies between rodeos. Maybe our guy is counting cash at a gas station, trying to figure out if he can afford both fuel and dinner. Most nights, we’re counting pennies and praying there’s enough gas in the truck to get to the next event. Last month, Loretta and I had to get creative with meals. Turns out you can make a lot of different dishes with beans and rice.”

Taylor’s calloused fingers traced the edge of the script pages, his mind drifting to the stack of unpaid bills sitting on the rickety table in their RV. He cleared his throat, pushing back the memory of Loretta’s worried frown as she’d stretched their last twenty bucks to cover diapers and formula.

“It’s not your typical nine-to-five life,” he said. “Our home has wheels, and our backyard changes every week. But we’re together, and that’s what matters.”

Except they wouldn’t be together next season, and he was worried about missing the milestones in Georgie’s life.

“Don’t get me wrong, I love what I do,” Taylor said. “The adrenaline rush when you’re in the arena, the sense of community with the other riders and bullfighters is incredible. But it’s also demanding. Some mornings I wake up feeling like I’ve run a marathon in my sleep.”

As he spoke, Taylor noticed Riley scribbling notes furiously. When he finished, she looked up at him with new understanding in her eyes.

“Thank you, Taylor. This changes a lot. Would you be willing to work with our writers to bring some of this reality into the script?”

Before Taylor could respond, a commotion from the set drew their attention. The lead actor was attempting a dismount from the mechanical bull, but his timing was off. Taylor watched in horror as the man’s foot caught in the rigging, leaving him dangling precariously as the machine continued to buck.

Without hesitation, Taylor vaulted over the barrier. He reached the bull in seconds, his hands moving with practiced precision to shut down the machine and untangle the actor. As he helped the shaken man to his feet, Taylor launched into an impromptu lesson on safe dismounts and the importance of proper equipment checks.

The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur of demonstrations, corrections, and discussions about safety protocols. Taylor found himself drawn into conversations about everything from the proper way to wear chaps to the superstitions that permeated rodeo culture.

“Never wear yellow in the arena,” he told a group of enthralled costume designers. “And for the love of all that’s holy, keep peanuts out of the place. Bad luck.”

As the day wore on, Taylor’s exhaustion began to catch up with him. During a long lighting setup, he dozed off in a folding chair, his chin drooping to his chest. He was startled awake by a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, blinking up at Riley. “Guess I’m more tired than I thought.”

Her eyes softened with understanding. “You’ve been going nonstop. Why don’t you get some coffee with me?”

“Sounds good.” Taylor nodded gratefully, walking with her to the craft services table.

“So when do you need me again?”

“As soon as you can.”

“I won’t have another day off until next week.”

Riley frowned. “Can you come in after work?”

He’d rather not, but money was money. “Sure.”

“Let me talk with the writers and I’ll get back to you on dates and time.”

Taylor glanced at his watch. “I should probably head out soon. Loretta and Georgie will be waiting.”

“Of course. But before you go, I wanted to discuss payment details.”

Taylor perked up. “Right, I meant to ask about that. Will it be weekly or bi-weekly payments?”

Riley’s expression shifted, hesitation crossing her face. “Actually, for budgeting reasons, we typically pay consultants in a lump sum when production wraps.”

Taylor’s spirit plummeted. “When will that be?”

“We’re scheduled to finish sometime in January.”

January. His mind raced, calculating bills, groceries, and of course, Christmas.

“January, huh?” he repeated.

Riley must have sensed his unease. “Is that going to be a problem? I know it’s not ideal, but it’s studio policy for short-term consultants.”

Taylor forced a smile, years of maintaining composure in the arena coming in handy. “No, no problem. Just planning ahead, you know?”

As he walked to his truck, Taylor’s mind whirled with possible solutions on how to make Christmas special without money. He climbed into the driver’s seat, his hand hovering over the ignition. There was always the pawn shop.