Cowboy For Hire (17 page)

“Right.
Otherwise you’d be riding backwards.”

“Oh. Of
course.” She felt like an idiot. “Sorry.”

It took
Archuleta a moment or two to settle the horse. Amy could have sworn
the animal was now sneering at her. Its expression reminded her of
Horace Huxtable’s when he was being naughty.

“Try again.”
Archuleta’s expression was grim. Amy believed that a truly superior
teacher wouldn’t allow doubt in his student’s ability to show.

She
attempted to ignore her instructor’s expression as she again placed
her hand on the saddle horn and lifted her foot—the correct foot
this time—to the stirrup. The horse moved sideways. She lost her
balance and fell against it.

A horse
smelled very—horsy—when one’s nose was pressed against its belly.
She withdrew her nose from the horse’s hide and attempted to
straighten up. Since her heel seemed to be caught in the stirrup,
this entailed quite a bit of jumping up and down on her other foot.
She heard someone—she assumed it was Mr. Archuleta—sigh heavily,
and tried not to hate him for it.

Thank God he
stopped sighing and restrained the horse from prancing about. She
was out of breath and panting when she finally regained her
balance. She cleared her throat. “Um, the horse moved before I
could leap up.”

There he
went again, into that eye-rolling routine. Amy frowned at him.
Disregarding her frown, he growled, “You don’t
leap
up. You lift your body into the saddle. You don’t
have to leap.”

She
wished he wouldn’t talk about bodies in that casual way. Amy wasn’t
used to such loose language. She also didn’t understand how she was
supposed to
lift
her body
into the saddle without leaping. Nonetheless, she’d agreed to do
this picture, and she aimed to see it through, no matter how
horrible the experience was. “I’m trying, Mr. Archuleta. I truly
am.”

“Si.” He nodded
gloomily. “You’re trying, all right.”

She squinted at
him, wondering if he’d meant that the way she suspected he did. She
decided not to press the issue. “Shall we try again?”

Archuleta
shrugged, as if it didn’t matter to him what she did. “I get paid.
Sure.”

Although his
attitude echoed her own, it somehow seemed to contain an element of
exasperation which Amy didn’t appreciate. Before she could brace up
her courage and tackle the reins and saddle and animal again, she
and Archuleta were interrupted.

“Howdy,
folks.”

Amy’s
heart gave a gigantic leap when she heard Charlie Fox’s voice
behind her. She glanced up quickly, saw that he was smiling kindly
upon her, and wished he’d take over her horsemanship lessons. She
had a feeling he was more kindly disposed toward her than Mr.
Archuleta, who was impatient with her naiveté regarding horses as
well as with her awkwardness around them. And, since neither of
those attributes were her fault, she thought he was being
needlessly unpleasant.

Archuleta said,
“I don’t need no cowboy telling her things I don’t want her to
know.” His tone was flat, as if he expected Charlie to comply with
his edict at once and go away.

Charlie
scratched his head and grinned down at the much smaller man. Amy
was impressed, both by Charlie’s size and by his congeniality. Mr.
Archuleta hadn’t spoken nicely at all. As for her, she seized the
moment of reprieve to back away from the monstrous horse—thank God,
thank God—fold her hands at her waist, and watch.

“Well, now, Mr.
Archuleta, Martin’s told me that you’re one of the finest riding
instructors in California, and I sure don’t want to interfere.”

Archuleta
nodded sharply. “Good.”

“But, you see,
Miss Wilkes here has never been close to a horse before, and she’s
a little nervous.”

“Yes, exactly,”
Amy said at once, gratified that Charlie understood, even if her
teacher didn’t.

Archuleta
shrugged. “Horses are easy.” He gave Amy a crabby look. “Like most
women.”

Amy felt her
eyes go wide, but opted not to voice her protest, believing silence
in this instance to be the better part of prudence. She didn’t like
him very well, though. In fact, she didn’t like him at all. Why
were motion picture people so difficult?

“It appears to
me,” Charlie continued in his easy, friendly drawl, “that Miss
Wilkes might be better off getting to know the horse first, and
then maybe how it feels to sit in the saddle, before you teach her
how to climb up onto one.”

Archuleta’s eyes squinched up as he thought about it. Amy,
too, thought about it and decided Charlie was brilliant. “My
goodness, yes!” she cried. “What a famous idea. That way I’ll know
what I’m aiming for.” She noticed Archuleta’s expression of sour
bewilderment and smiled at him. “So to speak.”

“Just for a
minute or two,” urged Charlie gently. “Until she’s comfortable on
the horse.”

“This is
stupid,” Archuleta declared, and turned to search the encampment,
Amy presumed, for Martin Tafft. Karen caught her eye, grinned at
her, and gave her a thumbs-up signal, and she appreciated her new
friend a lot.

“Why don’t you
go find Martin,” Charlie suggested. “We can see what he thinks
about the idea.”

“Yeah, I
better,” Archuleta growled, and turned to slouch away.

Charlie winked
at Amy, then turned to watch the riding instructor as he made his
extremely bowlegged way to the tent village.

Amy put her
hand on Charlie’s arm. “Thanks so much, Mr. Fox. That man was
making me wildly nervous.” She glanced at the horse, who had taken
to snuffling the ground in search, she presumed, of comestibles. It
didn’t look to her as if it was going to have much luck in the
endeavour. “And,” she confessed after a second, “I’m nervous about
the horse, too.”

He nodded
kindly. “I understand.”

She gazed up
into his lovely brown eyes. “Do you really? Mr. Archuleta
didn’t.”

“You’re not
used to horses.”

“no,” she said
on a relieved sigh. “I’m not.”

“You’ve never
been on one before?”

It was a
legitimate question, and Amy shook her head. “No. I’ve never even
been this close to one before.”

“Well, why
don’t we try to get you used to this one while Archuleta is
complaining to Martin?”

“Oh, dear, do
you think he’s going to complain?”

His lazy grin
warmed her already warm heart. “I ‘spect so. He don’t seem to like
cowboys much.”

“
He
don’t—doesn’t like me much, either,” Amy said.

With a
start, she realized that she’d stuffed Mr. Archuleta and Vernon
Catesby into the same compartment in her mind—the one labelled
“fusspots.” How odd.

“So how’s about
I lift you up onto this thing’s back, and you can see how it feels
to sit a horse?”

Charlie’s
sensible suggestion drew Amy’s thoughts back to the problem at
hand. She eyed the horse again. “All right.” She wasn’t looking
forward to viewing the world from on top of that brute. She didn’t
care for heights.

“Turn around,
please.”

She turned
around and a second later felt Charlie’s big, competent hands go
around her waist. Unprepared for the thrill that shot through her
at his touch, she shut her eyes and held her breath until he’d
settled her in the saddle. It wasn’t ladylike to ride astride, she
guessed, but Karen had told her that modern women often did.
Otherwise, nobody would have invented split skirts. Besides,
horseback riding was safer and more comfortable that way.

On that
sensible and practical thought, she dared to open her eyes—and
gasped.

Charlie was
right there beside her, holding the horse’s reins with one hand.
He’d settled his other hand on the horse’s neck. Amy’s hands were
clutching the saddle horn as if it were her only link to life.

“You all right,
ma’am?”

She tried to
swallow, but all of her spit had dried up, so she nodded instead.
Then she shook her head, closed her eyes, tried to slow her
breathing, and opened them again. “Um ... I’m not sure.”

“It’s a long
way up there, isn’t it?”

His easy smile,
silky drawl, and twinkly eyes were all that currently kept Amy from
breaking into shrieks of terror, so she stared into his face,
petrified. “Yes.” It was a mere whisper of air, and she almost
didn’t hear it herself.

“Just take it
easy,” he suggested. “Horses are pretty dumb animals. This old boy
wants his pasture, I reckon, and isn’t happy to be in school this
afternoon.”

“Neither am
I.”

Charlie
chuckled softly. “We’ll try to make your experience not too rough.
Okay?”

She nodded
again, unable to make herself say “Okay” in response, but unwilling
to say anything less casual. Her heart was beating a crazy tattoo
against her ribs, her tongue was trying to cleave to the roof of
her mouth, and she feared she was in imminent danger of fainting
from sheer fright. Her head felt swimmy from the altitude.

“Here,” Charlie
said, never altering the tone of his voice. “Why don’t you hold on
to these for a second of two? Just to get used to them.” He held
the reins out to her.

Amy
stared at them, petrified. Merciful God, he was going to leave her
to her own devices on top of this enormous beast. He was
relinquishing the reins to her. Did he
want
her to die? Too unnerved to speak, she managed to
unstick one of her hands from the saddle horn long enough to grab
the reins. Immediately, her hand went back to the saddle horn,
reins and all. She heard Charlie sigh, even as another voice came
to them from several yards off.

“Oh, yes, I
see.”

She dared to
turn her head slightly at the sound and saw Martin, whose voice it
was. He was approaching with Mr. Archuleta limping at his side. Why
was he limping? Was it because a horse had injured him? If so, why
hadn’t anyone told Amy about it? After all, if horses were so
dangerous that they created limps in competent riders, somebody
ought to have warned her.

“Howdy,
Martin,” Charlie said in his usual amiable drawl. “We’re getting
Miss Wilkes accustomed to this here animal.”

After trying
thrice, Amy managed to swallow and say, “Yes.” Her voice was
high-pitched and somewhat squeaky. She tried to clear her throat,
but couldn’t summon enough spit.

Martin, who
didn’t seem at all put out, a circumstance for which Amy was
extremely thankful, smiled and nodded. “So I see. How’s it going,
Amy?”

“All right,”
she squeezed out. She realized that both of her hands were still
clamped like talons to the saddle horn, and she made an effort to
unclamp them. They didn’t want to be unclamped. Failing in the
endeavour, she attempted a smile for Martin. That didn’t work,
either. Fiddle.

“I think she
needs to get used to the horse for a few minutes before she tries
to mount,” Charlie told Martin. “I lifted her up so she could see
how it feels to sit in the saddle.”

Archuleta
huffed, but Martin said, “Sounds reasonable.” He eyed Amy
critically.

Amy, who was
now experiencing a mortifying impulse to burst into tears, gave a
jerky nod and hoped she didn’t look as pitiful as she felt.

“In fact,”
Martin said, and there was a trace of concern in his expression,
“maybe it would be better if Charlie took over for a little while
here. Would that be all right with you, Amy?”

She managed
another short nod, but couldn’t form words. Martin smiled at her
encouragingly.

“
I don’t
want no cowboy interfering with my lessons,” Archuleta said
stubbornly.

With a
placating gesture and a gentle smile, Martin said, “I’m sure
Charlie doesn’t want to interfere. But Miss Wilkes and he know each
other already, and maybe he can get her accustomed to the horse
before you begin teaching her the finer points of riding.”

“Finer points?”
Archuleta’s voice rose. “What finer points? She doesn’t even know
how to mount!”

“She’ll be able
to learn better when she’s comfortable with the animal.”

That was
Charlie, and though he spoke reasonably, Amy thought she detected a
note of steel in his voice. She hoped so, because if she were left
to the tender mercies of Mr. Archuleta, she feared she’d collapse
from fright. She was about to pass out now, if it came to that. She
couldn’t recall another single time in her life when she’d been
more afraid—not even when her parents had left her. She’d been too
young to understand then, but she wasn’t any longer.

“I don’t like
it,” Archuleta declared. “It don’t make no sense. I’m supposed to
be the teacher.”

“You’re still
the teacher,” Charlie assured him.

To Amy’s
horror, he withdrew his hand from the horse’s neck and took a step
closer to Martin and Mr. Archuleta. She would have cried out but
couldn’t get her mouth, lips and tongue coordinated. She wanted to
shriek at him not to leave her. The horse moved, and everything in
her froze into a solid lump of panic.

“I don’t want
to be nobody’s teacher if I got to have a cowboy interfering.”

Charlie
moved another step away from Amy and the monster. She tried to
protest, but the horse moved under her, and her protest was drowned
in a haze of terror. Good God in heaven, the thing was beginning to
walk! Unable to think—her thought processes had congealed along
with everything else within her—she held on to the saddle horn for
dear life.

As
Charlie, Martin and Mr. Archuleta conversed—Charlie and Martin
amiably, Mr. Archuleta with much hand-waving and angry shouting—Amy
and her mount ambled along. Only it didn’t feel like an amble to
Amy. It felt like a death march. A funeral dirge. An elegy to Amy
Wilkes, whose life on this green earth had been short, but sweet
for the most part.