“It’s not exactly what happened…” River hesitated.

“They said you frightened a guest.”

“No, the black bear we were filming frightened the guest. We accidentally scared it, which in turn almost got the guest trampled. It was kind of a domino effect.”

The silence on the other end of the phone wasn’t encouraging.

“Everyone was okay,” River added, trying to downplay the incident. “And we’re getting some fabulous shots off the highway as we speak. Legal shots too. They can’t keep us from filming on the road.”

The other woman sighed. “Moose Springs folk were never ones to let a camera crew in town. The resort doesn’t even want you on the property anymore, and they were always the most laid-back about this kind of thing. Listen, I’m sorry, River. If this isn’t working, we need to cut our losses and move on.”

A fake expression of contented determination stayed on River’s face because that was what the camera above her on the hill required. She was a professional. She would not rip her mic out and start screaming from sheer frustration.

“No, Mischa. Please don’t do this. We’ve only gotten started. I have permits,” River insisted. “I just don’t have them. I’m working on it.”

Another car went past, the driver and her passenger cracking up. That was the third vehicle in a row with visibly amused occupants. Focused on her phone call, River ignored them.

Through the crackle of bad reception, Mischa sounded dubious. “If you get the film made, then the board will be happy to compensate you for the project. But honestly, River, I’m not holding my breath. We’ve all enjoyed working with you, and we’re excited to have a woman of your acting credentials supporting the state. Maybe we can work out something involving a commercial endorsement at a later time?”

It took everything she had not to tell Mischa where to tuck that suggestion. River finally had a project worth doing, something that was hers and hers alone, and they were ripping it away. She wouldn’t let this happen.

Another car came by, this one barely slowing. For some reason, the lack of interest gave her hope.

“River?”

“Yes, I’m here. Sorry, there was traffic. Don’t give the contract to anyone else. Let me and my people get the job done. I’ll front the rest of the bill, and if we don’t deliver, I’ll eat the costs of filming and rework the project into something else. An indie film or something. Deal?”

Mischa agreed—albeit with audible reluctance—and ended the call, leaving River to stare at the background on her phone. It was a picture of her father and herself taken from a Christmas years ago. A man who had hated seeing her leave but had never once stopped supporting and encouraging her.

River refused to call him and tell him another career was over. She would make this documentary, no matter what.

The headset beeped, Jessie’s voice coming over. “Hey, turn around and do a second loop. This time without the suitcase. You can leave it where you’re at, tucked behind that boulder just off the road. It’s out of the shot.”

“Thank goodness. My arm is killing me.”

“Think of it as weight training,” he teased. “I didn’t realize we were doing a reaction shot.”

River grimaced. “Did I fall out of character?”

“Only for a moment. I’d hate to be whoever was on the other end of that call. Please tell me it was Sweeny. Watching you eat him alive has been the highlight of my career.”

Sweeny had been the director on one of River’s films, the one she’d met Jessie on. Brilliant, but a total pain to work for. Unlike her counterparts, River had gone head-to-head with him more than once. Somehow that turned into a brief, ill-advised, and excessively frustrating relationship that River was more than happy to be done with. Sweeny and Jessie had butted heads almost as much as River had, and he was a big part of why Jessie had lost his most recent project.

“I wish,” she said. “I stopped taking his calls. Sweeny’s still trying to ‘fix’ me.”

Jessie snorted. “How’s that working out for him?”

“About as well as it worked for him on set.” Shrugging, River added, “I am who I am.”

“And that’s why we love you. So, who was the call?”

“Mischa. It’s not good news. Let’s get this last pass, and then I’ll tell you both.”

Without the constant interruption of stopping cars and the suitcase slowing her steps, River made quick work of the last pass along the highway. Plopping down on the rock she had tucked the suitcase behind, she waited for Bree and Jessie to pack up and meet her.

Rubbing the pressure points in her scalp to relieve tension, she glanced down the curving, mountainside highway. Somewhere down the road, a very attractive, very bearded man didn’t know they were done. River would have called Easton, but she hadn’t thought to get his number.

“Sorry, Easton,” she murmured. “You’ll have to wait until I get a ride.”

Now that the filming was done, River could finally take a moment and enjoy being there. The Turnagain Arm flowed past on the other side of the road, the rough waters breaking and crashing. They’d picked this stretch of highway for a reason. The next turn was more picturesque but had so much wind, it had been difficult to walk without leaning over. Here everything but the waters were calmer. She spied three mountain goats on the cliff above her head, and at least one fish gave up the ghost when a hungry eagle dove into the water.

Poor sucker never saw it coming.

Moose Springs, Alaska, was the farthest from home she’d ever been. The jet-setting lifestyle River had dreamed of as a child never quite panned out. She hadn’t seen the world. She’d seen the inside of a studio, then another, then more. She filmed on location, but most of those locations were in Los Angeles or Vancouver, and only once had her film career taken her to the East Coast. When people met her, they always assumed she had the world at her fingertips.

But River wasn’t a classic. She was a cliché.

Thinking about Easton was much more pleasant than worrying about the current state of her career. When the crew’s Subaru SUV pulled off the road across from her, River was deep in daydreams about scuffed boots and calloused hands. She joined her people, trying to decide the best way to break this to them.

“What’s the news?” Bree asked, leaning a hip against the car.

“The tourism board got wind of our incident with the bear yesterday. They’re dissolving the contract. Technically, they’re still willing to buy the documentary, but they don’t think we can pull it off.”