Chapter 5

The weathermen were right. By the end of the week, the temperatures soared into the high 50s, the snow was melting, and it brought on a new set of challenges. With the thawing of the ground came soggy soil...and mud. The construction workers were gone, but their activities left a sloppy mess that used to be a lawn surrounding the cabin. What the snow didn't do, the mud completed in the destruction of his sneakers, which required a trip into town to get a pair of warm boots. With them, he could survive the shoot.

Rehearsals for the first scene were done that morning, and shooting went off without a hitch in the afternoon. Everyone was on the top of their game, getting their marks and lines in one or two takes. David sighed in contentment and smiled at the sun shining in the sky. A few puffy clouds covered it now and then, but it didn't matter. It was a great day.

"Okay, David, what do you think?" The director distracted him from his musings and pointed to the small video screen where they watched the previous take.

"Oh, yeah. Run it by me again." This time, he paid attention. "Yeah, it looks good, I say we go with it."

It was a good thing he said so. At that moment, Jacqueline, while walking through the mud field in front of the cabin, slipped and fell backwards butt first into the mess with a surprised shriek. Rick quickly reached down and helped her up, but her entire backside was covered in the gooey mess. The outfit was probably ruined. Rick did what he could, whisking the mud from her behind, but everyone could see it was a lost cause.

"Hey, are you okay?"

"Yes, I'm fine, thanks. But that mud is cold!" She shivered a little and slipped again.

Rick and David both grabbed her, but it was too late. She took both of them down into the mire.

"Aw, Jackie!" Rick exclaimed in disgust.

She laughed, scooped up a handful of mud, and flung it at him. It hit him in the eyes.

"Good thing I blinked," he sputtered. A glob of muck flew from his hand and hit David squarely on the side of the face.

"Hey, watch it, Magnuson!"

In seconds, the mud was flying everywhere and the crew got involved. Little did anyone know that Ian watched from the sidelines shaking his head at the lunacy. He muttered to the first cameraman, "Shoot it, Chris It'll be great footage for the gag reel."

Chris chuckled. "You got it, man." Within seconds, the man with the steadycam was down near the edge of the quagmire, catching every dirty moment and dodging the occasional glob thrown his way.

A heavy sigh escaped David as he laid down his phone. Now he had something else to pick at his brain. It was a good thing they had their little mud slinging fest that afternoon, or he would have been wound so tight after that phone call, he would have needed some more of Ian's mojitos. A cup of lavender tea sufficed.

"Thanks, Lees," he said as Leesa handed him a mug and sat in a chair kitty corner to him. "Where's Ian?"

"He's out chopping some wood. We let the woodpile get low in the spring, but this year, we've needed it longer." She curled her slippered feet under herself and wrapped her hands around her cup. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, just fine. Except for the fact that Stella's husband Dick called. She's got bronchitis really bad, and that's why she hasn't made it to town."

"Good thing her scenes haven't come up yet. How long will she be out of commission?"

David shrugged. "Two weeks, three. At the minimum two." He shook his head and muttered, "If she didn't smoke like a chimney, she'd probably get over it sooner. Jeez, the one time I wish she wasn't a chain smoker!"

"Yeah. Well, can you write the plot around her?"

"We'll have to." He laid his head back on the couch and looked up at the rough hewn wood beams and plaster ceiling. "We've got no choice."

One of the French doors opened and a cool breeze rushed through the living room. "Ian, close that door! It's cold out there!"

"Sorry, babe, I only have two hands." He used his foot to close the door and cut off the chilly air. She grimaced at him, but he ignored it. He knew she hated when he put his boot print on the wooden door, but it was either that or she froze until his hands were free. As he moved past his wife's chair, he noticed the look on David's face. "Uhoh, what happened?"

"Stella's out for the next couple weeks or so. Bronchitis."

"Nice," Ian muttered sarcastically as he knelt and arranged the split wood in the hopper. "I guess it's back to the old drawing board, huh, Dave?"

"Yeah. I better call the writers, see what we can do about this. Fortunately, Stella isn't in the episode we're shooting right now, so we've got a little time to come up with something." David stood, stretched, and checked the power level on his phone. "'Night all."

"'Night, David. Don't stay up too late," Leesa admonished softly. "Don't want you getting sick, too."