Page 34 of Highlands Summer Wedding

“Reset. Back to one.”

They rolled again. Another sheep appeared.

“CUT! Going again real quick.”

For the next few takes, sheep entered the frame with increasingly impeccable timing—just out of focus, then directly behind the actors, then brazenly center stage. The locations crew transformed into reluctant shepherds, lunging and retreating as the second assistant camera gleefully captured every fumbling second for behind-the-scenes footage.

On the final attempt, Max pushed the cameras in tight, trusting he could crop the rest in post. Sheep still grazed in the background—more than before—but he gave a nod, close enough.

That’s when a local crofter came charging across the field, shouting at his flock.

“CUT!”

Max started toward him, but I caught his arm. “They’re his sheep. We left the gate open. We can’t exactly eject him from your ‘closed set’ if this is our fault.”

He sighed and lowered the megaphone. “Alright, everyone—take five.”

Maybe thirty.

The flustered farmer led a ragtag parade of locations crew and extras across the field, all of them waving arms and shouting as they herded sheep back toward the gate. Behind them, the behind-the-scenes camera operator circled like a nature documentarian, zooming in on their desperate expressions. Max watched him, grimly amused.

The chaos might have been manageable if Cameron Sinclair hadn’t chosen that moment to storm off set.

The lead actor’s string of obscenities carried across the field as he slammed the door of his makeshift trailer.

Ava, the producer, hurried after him. From where we stood, we saw her foot sink into a mud patch with a sickeningsquelch. She yelped as she stumbled, her ankle twisting at an unnatural angle.

“My ankle,” she gasped as Max rushed to her side.

I reached them in time to hear Max murmur, “Nearest hospital’s an hour from here according to the call sheet.”

“I just need to walk it off,” Ava insisted, though her grimace said otherwise.

Max unclipped his walkie and spoke into it. “Need someone local who knows the roads. Evan, bring your car around for Ava—hospital run.”

“On my way,” crackled Evan’s voice. In the background, Cameron Sinclair said, “Bloody hell, are you serious?”

Max’s eyes widened. “Damn it.”

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

Max rubbed his temples. “Cameron’s going to lose it. Evan’s his personal assistant. We borrowed him as a PA until we found local crew. Now Cameron’s heard we’re sending his guy away.”

I looked at Ava, cradling her ankle as a PA applied an ice pack. “But this is a medical emergency.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Max said, “He’s barricaded himself in that trailer.”

“Wait, I thought there weren’t any trailers here.”

“There aren’t supposed to be. He insisted.” He huffed out a breath. “And Ava’s the only one who knows how to handle him when he gets like this.”

“He’s contractually obligated?—”

“I direct,” Max said quietly. “Ava handles talent tantrums and investor relations.”

Just then, Evan pulled up. Max was helping Ava into the car when his phone rang.

Max steadied himself before answering. “Go for Max.”