Cowboy For Hire (16 page)

“We’ll rehearse
the sawmill scene tomorrow, Amy,” Charlie heard Martin say, and he
turned to listen. Far better to listen to Martin than to daydream
about kissing Amy Wilkes or punching Vernon Catesby. More
profitable, too, since he’d assuredly need to follow Martin’s
instructions long before he ever got around to Amy’s lips, if such
a delightful prospect ever did come to him.

“Where will
that take place?” Amy asked, her eyes bright with interest. She
seemed to have put the letter out of her mind, a circumstance of
which Charlie approved wholeheartedly. Doggone, she had pretty
eyes.

“We’ve managed
to find a tumbledown building further out on the desert. I suspect
it was used by prospectors in the old days. It’s a mess, but it
will serve our purpose beautifully.”

Amy
fiddled with her milk glass. “Er—will there be a real
saw?”

With a laugh,
Martin said, “No. We won’t risk our star’s skin on a real saw.”

She laughed,
too. “I must say I’m very glad to hear it.”

Charlie
suppressed his agreement. He didn’t like to think of Amy in peril,
even fake peril for a motion picture.

“It’ll probably
be uncomfortable, though,” Martin went on. “The weather’s
insufferable, and inside the building it will be even hotter, even
though we’ve removed one wall because we have to set up lights and
so forth. I fear it’s going to be awfully hot and stuffy, but we’ll
try not to take too long in rehearsal. Then we can shoot the scene
and get it over with, and we won’t have to work indoors any longer.
Karen can take your costume out to the set with us in the morning
and you can change there.”

“I see.”

Amy nodded,
although Charlie perceived she still wasn’t sure what the morrow
would bring. Neither was he, for that matter. All this moviemaking
stuff was alien to his experience of life. Hers too, he realized,
and he felt suddenly closer to her.

Which was
stupid, and he’d better not dwell on it, since their lives were, in
reality, worlds apart, with precious little chance of them ever
coming together.

“This will be
the first scene we’ll shoot.” Martin shared a glance with Amy and
Charlie. “I’m sure you’ll both find the experience
interesting.”

“I’m sure,” Amy
said uncertainly.

“I’m looking
forward to it.” Charlie, on the other hand, meant it. He enjoyed
new experiences, even if they weren’t awfully comfortable while
they were happening. He liked learning stuff. And it would be lots
of fun to tell stories later, to his brothers and pals on the
ranch.

Amy, he
deduced, would rather be back home in Pasadena and forget all about
picture making. She didn’t seem keen on new experiences. Which was
another huge difference between them. The notion didn’t cheer him.
Neither did the notion of her and the banker settling down
together. It sounded like a mortally dull life to him. He’d rather
take his chances with the ranching business.

The afternoon’s
rehearsal went more smoothly than the morning’s had. Charlie
thought the relative ease of the afternoon was due in large part to
Horace Huxtable’s state of health. He appeared to feel rotten, and
he was obviously very weary. Behaving badly evidently took a good
deal of energy, and Charlie was glad he’d never decided to play the
part of a bad boy.

* * *

Martin cut the
rehearsal short when an unexpected caravan entered the encampment,
stirring up dust and excitement. He could scarcely believe his eyes
when Phineas Lovejoy, his best friend and the monetary brain behind
the Peerless Studio, chugged into the tent city in his Pierce Arrow
Special shortly after two in the afternoon. Hot as it was, Martin
raced toward the automobile.

“
Phin!”
He didn’t have to feign his joy. This picture had been rough so
far, and it was less than a week old. He really wanted to talk to
Phineas about it.

“Martin, old
chum!”

The two men
embraced. Martin saw his second leading man eyeing them oddly, and
deduced therefrom that men did not hug each other in Arizona
Territory.

“
I’ve
brought Ricardo with me, Marty,” Phineas said, sweeping his arm out
to indicate a swarthy gent with bowed legs. “He finished the stunts
for
Arabian
Nights
, and we need him
for
Marching
Along
next week. Thought
I’d drive him up today. That way he can teach Miss Wilkes how to
ride a horse, and we can talk. I guess things haven’t gone too well
so far.” He glanced slantways at Horace Huxtable.

“I’m really
glad you’re here, Phin.” Martin smiled at Ricardo Archuleta, whom
he’d known for several years. Ricardo was a superlative horseman, a
pretty good teacher, and an old grump. Martin liked him. “Hello,
Rick. How are you?”

Archuleta
nodded without smiling, which was typical. “Fine, fine. I’m
supposed to teach the lady in this picture how to ride a horse.” He
squinted at the set. “Which one is she?”

“Miss Wilkes is
the one with the reddish hair, standing next to the tall
cowboy.”

Archuleta
grunted as if he wasn’t impressed.

“
Right.”
Martin pondered for a moment. Horace Huxtable was seated in a camp
chair under a scrubby tree, looking sulky. Amy Wilkes and Charlie
Fox were both watching the goings-on with interest. Martin realized
that the two seemed to gravitate toward each other when nothing
else was going on, and was pleased. Maybe they were beginning to
get along better than they had at first. “I suppose you want to
work fast.”

Archuleta
nodded.

Phineas said,
“Yes, I’m afraid we won’t be able to stay long. I’m hoping Miss
Wilkes will be a quick study.” He gave Martin an inquiring look,
which Martin chose to ignore. They could talk later.

Archuleta
huffed, as if to say he didn’t believe Amy Wilkes could learn to
ride a horse if she tried for the rest of her life.

Martin came to
a decision. “Why don’t we begin lessons now? I’m sure Miss Wilkes
would appreciate taking a break in the rehearsal.” He gestured fro
Amy to join them. After shooting an apprehensive glance at Charlie,
she walked over.

“Yes, Mr.
Tafft?”

Martin hoped
that before the picture was wrapped up and in the can, she’d unbend
enough to call him Martin, although he wasn’t going to hold his
breath. He gave her a warm smile. Given the state of the weather,
it was the only kind he could drum up. “Amy, please allow me to
introduce you to Mr. Ricardo Archuleta, the finest riding
instructor in Southern California. Mr. Archuleta’s going to teach
you how to ride a horse for the picture.”

“Oh.” She gazed
at him blankly, then transferred her vacant gaze to Archuleta.
Recovering her composure slightly, she held out her hand to him.
“How do you do?”

Archuleta
frowned at her and gave her h and a grudging shake. “Fine, fine.”
He eyed her up and down, scowling critically the whole time.

Amy noticed his
critical stare, clearly disliked it, and frowned back.

Rats.
Martin, who had known Ricardo Archuleta for a long time, feared the
man had already assessed Amy’s ability to ride a horse as being
less than spectacular—and he hadn’t even begun giving her lessons.
Unfortunately, Archuleta was almost uncannily correct in his
evaluations of people and their skill with horses. When the
wrinkled old Mexican heaved a lusty, dispirited sigh, Martin’s
fears were confirmed.

“This,” said
Archuleta in a gloomy accent, “will take some time. I hope there’s
enough.”

Amy smiled
brightly. Martin exchanged an anxious glance with Phineas Lovejoy.
Horace Huxtable snorted loudly from his chair under the tree.
Charlie Fox moseyed over and grinned at Archuleta, who didn’t grin
back.

Just this
once, Martin thought, he’d really like for things regarding
One and Only
to go right.

“
I won’t
have no cowboy interfering with my instructions,” Archuleta
announced to nobody in particular.

In that
instant, Martin knew, if he hadn’t before, that Amy’s riding
lessons weren’t going to be that once.

Eight

While it was
true that Amy’d never had much to do with horses, it was also true
that she wasn’t afraid of them. At least she hadn’t been before
now.

She hadn’t
realized as she’d watched them plod sedately along, pulling wagons
and surreys and so forth on the pleasantly short streets of
Pasadena, that horses were such large animals. They’d always looked
rather sweet and graceful to Amy as she’d observed them from a
sidewalk or a porch.

But when
one got right up next to a horse, one realized that horses were
large. Very large. Really, Amy didn’t think a horse needed to be
quite so big.

This one
didn’t seem like a particularly pleasant example of the equine
race, either. At the moment it was giving her a steady, beady
stare—more or a scowl, actually—and Amy sensed that it didn’t like
her. She also feared that the expression of antipathy on the
horse’s face boded ill for her success as a horsewoman.

Whatever would
Charlie Fox think of her if she fell off of this excessively tall
animal? Dismal thought. She thrust it aside, much as she’d thrust
aside Vernon’s letter earlier in the day. Drat Vernon Catesby to
goodness. He had no business writing her such upsetting letters.
Thrusting him aside yet again, Amy regarded the horse.

She
swallowed. “I’ve—er—never been this close to a horse before.” She
offered Mr. Archuleta a shaky smile. He glowered back. Oh, dear.
“I, ah, had no idea horses were so large.”

“This is a
pony,” he said. “A baby. A tiny thing.”

She gaped at
him for a moment. “It looks quite large to me.”

He shrugged,
said, “No. Small horse,” and turned to do something to the animal’s
saddle.

Amy thought she
detected contempt in his tone, and she resented it. It wasn’t her
fault she was born into a civilized community and had always had
more to do with streetcars and trolleys than with horses.

She glanced
around, trying to find Charlie Fox. She didn’t see him and wasn’t
sure if she was glad or not. Overall, she supposed she’d as soon he
not witness her humiliation. On the other hand, she thought she’d
detected some rather flattering interest in her person on his part,
and she was disappointed that he hadn’t cared enough to watch this
farce.

This lesson.
She meant this lesson.

She squared her
shoulders. Amy Wilkes was as capable as the next person. Surely she
could learn to ride a horse. The horse continued to eye her
unblinkingly, and her confidence, not awfully strong to begin with,
sank further.

Thank heaven
Karen had come over to watch. Simply knowing that Karen was her
friend, and that she was there for her, gave Amy courage.

Karen had
helped Amy change into the split skirt she now wore. Amy liked the
skirt; it was really rather dashing, and she looked good in it. She
only hoped it would preserve her modesty if she ever managed to
mount this beast.

“Don’t be
afraid of the animal,” Archuleta, who’d finished with the saddle,
commanded. As if she had a choice in the matter. “You’re his
master, he’s not your master.”

Technically, she was supposed to be the horse’s
mistress
, but
Amy decided not to correct the little Spanish fellow’s English. She
sensed he wouldn’t appreciate it, and she already had a strong
suspicion that he didn’t approve of her. It was an odd sensation to
Amy, who’d always been thoroughly respectable and had never
experienced this sort of blatant disapproval before.

Well, except
for Vernon, who disapproved of her current endeavour. He’d made
that perfectly clear in his letter, if she’d had any doubt.

At any rate,
she didn’t like the feeling of being disapproved of one teensy
bit.

Where was
Charlie Fox, blast it? She shook her head, ridding it of irrelevant
side issues. She had a horse to conquer at the moment, and Vernon
wasn’t here. Neither was Charlie Fox. Blast it.

“Right. Don’t
be afraid.” She licked her lips and lifted her chin. She could do
this.

Archuleta gave
her a short illustrated lesson in mounting, then said, “Put your
hand on the saddle horn like I showed you.”

He squinted at
her with small dark eyes that reminded Amy of ripe olives. His skin
was dark, too, and he had about a zillion crows’ feet radiating
from around his eyes. Obviously, he’d spent lots of time in the
sun, presumably bending horses’ will to his own.

Which was not
important at the moment. What was important was to learn to ride
this wretched giant. The realization that Mr. Archuleta was no
taller than she comforted her, and she braced herself. If a short
gentleman could ride a horse, surely a short lady could. Sucking in
another big breath and praying silently that she wouldn’t kill
herself, she put her hand, protected by a worn leather glove Karen
had found in the costume tent, on the saddle horn.

Archuleta
handed her the reins, and she took them the way he’d demonstrated.
He nodded. Amy assumed for encouragement’s sake, then said, “Put
your foot in the stirrup.”

She lifted her
foot.

“No!”

The
instructor’s
harsh cry startled her, which startled the horse, which made them
both shuffle awkwardly. Archuleta rolled his eyes. “Your other
foot.”

“
Oh.”
Good heavens, he was speaking to her through gritted teeth. Was
she
that
incompetent? Swallowing again, she vowed to try harder.
“The other foot. Right.”