Cowboy For Hire (26 page)

It was
interesting, though, that Karen had noticed a certain warmth in
Charlie’s dealings with Amy. It confirmed Amy’s own observations.
Which made her rather proud, actually, since it was pleasant to be
considered desirable, although it also played hob with her
plans.

Stop being a
nitwit, Amy Wilkes. Charlie Fox has nothing whatever to do with
your plans. It’s not as if he’s asked you to marry him or
anything.

Good Lord, what
if he did? What would she do What would she say?

She’d say she
was engaged to marry another, was what she’d say, she thought
grumpily. At the moment, she wished all thoughts of Charlie Fox to
Perdition.

“Mercy sakes,
what are they doing?”

Karen’s
startled question plucked Amy’s thoughts from the muddle they were
in, and she was glad of it. She glanced over to where Karen’s
attention seemed to be fixed, and even found a grin somewhere
inside herself. “They’re fighting for the movie.”

“Oh. I was
hoping they were fighting for real. I’m sure Charlie would
win.”

“No doubt.”

Karen
eyed her for a moment. Amy pretended not to notice. She
would
not
, she swore
to herself, indicate by so much as a flicker of any eyelash that
she found Charlie Fox the most wildly attractive man she’d ever met
in her life. That road led straight to disaster.

If—and it
was a great big huge fat if—he began paying her special attention,
and
if
he proved to
her that he was fully able and willing to support a wife and
family—Amy would never, if she could help it, be in the position
she’d been in as a little girl—she might reconsider her resolution
to marry Vernon Catesby. She and Vernon weren’t officially engaged,
no matter how much Vernon seemed to think theirs was a fixed
engagement. Amy was no jilt. She hadn’t given Vernon a definite yes
yet because she wasn’t entirely sure of her own mind.

Unfortunately,
the longer she worked on this ridiculous moving picture, the less
sure she became. Bother. She hated it when circumstances disturbed
her firm ideas about things.

“Cut! Great
job, gentlemen!”

Amy and Karen
both looked at the scene of the pretend fight.

The two men on
the set, who had been struggling quite realistically, turned away
from each other so abruptly that a laugh was startled out of Karen.
Even Amy, who was in no mood to laugh, grinned. Huxtable brushed
himself off. The ground, thank heavens, was no longer muddy but had
turned duty once more. It hadn’t taken long for excess water to be
sucked up under the relentless sun.

Today the sky
was as blue as her aunt Julia’s Spode china teapot, and sported
clouds like cotton fluff. They reminded Amy of lambs cavorting in a
blue meadow, and she wondered if the sky in Arizona Territory was
as pretty as this.

Fiddlesticks. She really had to stop thinking in such a
romantic way about Arizona Territory. It was probably hot and dirty
and full of desperadoes and illiterates. And bugs and snakes. And
prickly cacti. It wasn’t even a
state
, for the love of heaven!

She walked over
to where Martin stood, discussing something with one of his
minions. She didn’t interrupt. Nor did she react when she saw, out
of the corner of her eye, Charlie Fox spot her, change the course
of his travels, and begin to stride over to her. She wished his
attention didn’t thrill her so, but it did.

She was a
fallen woman, and she ought to be ashamed of herself.
Unfortunately, she was ever so much more pleased than
ashamed.

Bother.

“Howdy, Miss
Wilkes.” Charlie removed his hat politely and smiled one of his
wonderful, heart-stopping smiles at her.

She smiled
back, mainly because she couldn’t help herself. “Hello, Mr. Fox. I
watched most of the fight. It looked very realistic.”

“It ought to
have.” He didn’t sound as if he appreciated it, either.

Surprised, Amy
said, “Oh, dear, what happened? Did Mr. Huxtable do something awful
again?”

Evidently he
found her instant supposition that Huxtable had been at fault
amusing, because he chuckled. “No. He was all right. But it was hot
and uncomfortable, and ... well, I don’t like him, and he doesn’t
like me, and it’s not fun being all wrapped up with someone you
don’t like.”

“I should say
not!” Amy laughed, too, until she understood the meaning behind
Charlie’s words. It shouldn’t have taken her as long as it did,
really, since he was gazing at her with the most abject longing
she’d ever seen on a person’s face. Oh, dear. He shouldn’t do that;
he was embarrassing her. She looked away, and he sighed.

“Ah, Amy.
You’re here. Good. We can get started on the next scene,” said
Martin. Amy blessed him for his perfect timing.

The next scene
featured Amy running away from Charlie and being rescued by
Huxtable, who was supposed to throw her onto a horse’s back.

That was how
her shirt had become torn in rehearsal, because his throw had been
too energetic. He said he hadn’t meant it, but Amy didn’t believe
him. Nor did she trust him and she was a little worried about the
scene, although she was almost sure that Huxtable wouldn’t do
anything too dreadful. Not with Martin Tafft watching. Not to
mention Charlie Fox, who could break Huxtable in two without half
trying.

If he did do
something rotten, at least his actions would be captured by the
camera. When he was arrested and tried for her murder, he wouldn’t
be able to wriggle out of it, the fiend.

She scolded
herself for even thinking such a thing.

“Places,
everyone!” Martin called. “We don’t have much daylight left, so
let’s make the most of it. I’m sure we can get this next scene
filmed.” He rubbed his hands together and smiled an
all-together-boys-let’s-do-this-right smile. “Try to make it in one
take, all right?”

When
they’d first begun to film the picture, Amy hadn’t known what a
“take” was. Now she knew. And she also knew that Martin was keen on
doing everything only once—in one take, as he said constantly. Amy
understood. After all, it must take must less film if each scene
only had to be shot once. Which would also help keep expenses
down.

So she always
did her best to assist Martin in achieving perfect scenes in one
take. This one would be no different. She told herself so even as
she experienced a mad desire to rush toward Charlie rather than
away from him. She had a sinking feeling that if Vernon Catesby
were playing Charlie’s role, she wouldn’t have any trouble at all
making herself run away from him. She told herself to stop thinking
such thoughts at once.

“Everyone
ready?” Martin hollered through his megaphone. “Charlie, try to
look meaner.”

Charlie,
who had been gazing at Amy not meanly at all, scowled and turned
into a ferocious animal. Amy was impressed!

“Amy, you have
to look terrified. Remember, this man wants to kill you and steal
your ranch.”

“
Right,”
Amy said, and saluted. It was remarkable how much easier this whole
picture making endeavor was these days. Which only made sense. She
looked at Charlie and plastered an expression of horror and fright
on her face.

“Good! Perfect!
And ... action!”

At the
cry from martin, Charlie began moving toward Amy as if he were a
panther stalking a defenceless bird. Amy backed up, as Martin had
told her to do, with her hands up as if she were pushing Charlie
away. If she’d truly been in danger, she would have bolted away
from her pursuer without pausing to back up as her character was
doing. But that wasn’t art; it was sensible. This was art.
Therefore, she did her best to appear panic-stricken and aghast—and
extremely slow-moving.

“Perfect!”

Martin’s
approbation pleased her.

“All right,”
Martin went on. “It’s almost time to turn and run. One, two, three,
turn!”

Amy turned and,
as she’d rehearsed that morning, ran like a frightened animal away
from Charlie, who let out a roar of what sounded awfully like rage,
and ran after he.

“
Perfect!” Martin jumped up from his director’s chair,
excited. “Keep going! Perfect! And ...
cut!
” He rushed over to Amy and Charlie. “Great job!
You two are really taking to this picture making stuff. By gad, I
wouldn’t be surprised if Mr. Lovejoy wanted you in lots more
pictures!”

“Hmmm,” said
Charlie.

Amy wrinkled
her nose. “Thanks, but I don’t think so.”

Martin laughed.
“I guess we can discuss that option later. One thing at a time.” He
turned an scanned the group of people standing on the sidelines.
“Huxtable!”

“Here,” said
the star, who was looking pouty.

From his
expression, Amy deduced he didn’t appreciate other people getting
praise for their work. The miserable egoist. She looked him
straight in the eye. “Please be careful when you lift me onto the
horse, Mr. Huxtable.”

“Yeah,
Huxtable,” Charlie said, and there was some threat in his tone. “Be
careful. If you hurt her, you’ll pay for it.”

Martin tugged
on his hair. Amy was sorry to see the gesture, because she liked
Martin a lot and didn’t want to fuss him. In an effort to ease the
situation, she said, “I’m sure everything will go smoothly.” Eyeing
Huxtable with narrowed eyes, she added, “Won’t it, Mr.
Huxtable?”

Huxtable huffed
irritably. “Of course it will. I’m a professional, for heaven’s
sake. I know what I’m doing.”

“Yes, I’m sure
you do,” Amy said with some asperity. “And as long as you don’t try
to get back at me for not liking you, I’m sure the scene will go
well.”

“Don’t be an
utter fool!” Huxtable stalked away to take his place on the
set.

Martin sighed
lustily. “Places, everyone.” He didn’t sound as happy as he had the
last few times he’d given the same order.

Amy
exchanged a glance with Charlie, who appeared unappeased. She hoped
he wouldn’t do anything—unless, of course, Huxtable tried to hurt
her. Then, she hoped Charlie would pound the ham bone’s head to
pulp.

Goodness, she
hadn’t realized that one could become hateful with so little
effort. Small wonder people waged wars all the time.

Charlie
wasn’t in this scene, but his presence was felt all the same. Amy
was glad to see him standing with his arms crossed and his legs
splayed—looking rather pirate-like, actually—watching like a hawk
from the sidelines and ready to exact retribution if required to do
so by any underhanded stunt Huxtable might pull. It comforted Amy
to know he was there and overseeing her welfare.

The first part
of the scene was the most difficult for her, because she had to
appear overjoyed when she ran out of the door and into Huxtable’s
arms. She was supposed to be still fleeing from Charlie. In other
words, the script had it exactly backwards.

Nevertheless, Amy did her job. Still pretending terror, she
dashed through the door—attached to the false front of what was
supposed to be a ranch house—and saw Huxtable. His character was
supposed to have just dismounted from his horse and begun running
toward the ranch house in order to rescue Amy’s character. The two
met outside the door in a huge embrace. Thank God the embrace
didn’t last long, since Charlie’s character was still supposed to
be in hot pursuit.

“Be gentle when
you put me on that horse, Mr. Huxtable,” Amy said sternly, although
her expression of rapture didn’t alter. Why any woman would be
rapturous if she’d just run into Horace Huxtable, Amy couldn’t
imagine, but she was doing her best.

“Oh, for
Christ’s sake, shut up,” Huxtable barked. “You’re supposed to be
acting!”

“
I may be
acting—Ooof! Be careful!”

“Shut up.”

“
I may be
acting, but I don’t care to be hurt!” Amy finally got out, although
she couldn’t talk very well since she was at present being carried
to a horse by a very bouncy Horace Huxtable.

“Watch it,
Huxtable,” Charlie growled from the sidelines.

Amy thought she
heard Martin groan, but she couldn’t be sure. She was bracing
herself for the upcoming ordeal. Even when she mounted that blasted
horse on her own, she didn’t enjoy the experience. Being tossed
into a saddle by a man who wished she were dead was not exactly her
cup of tea. Not to mention the fact that she didn’t trust Huxtable.
At all.

“All right.
Upsy-daisy!” Huxtable sounded devilishly gleeful when he heaved
Amy.

She
shrieked when she felt how hard he was shoving her, but she manage
to grasp the saddle horn in spite of Huxtable’s best efforts to
throw her clean over the horse’s back. “You rat! Are you trying to
kill me?” She said it with a smile because she could hear that the
camera was still cranking away.

“Don’t be such
a baby!” Huxtable mounted his own horse with an ease Amy
resented.

“That was it!”
Charlie bellowed. “I’m gonna kill him.”

“No!” hollered
Martin. “Wait until I call cut!”

Somebody
grabbed Charlie’s arm to hold him back from rushing over to the
horses and hauling Huxtable out of his saddle.

“You rotten
louse!” Amy yelled furiously as she pulled on her horse’s reins.
They snapped, and she was left holding two strips of leather, in
real horror this time.

The horse,
upset by all the jostling and screaming, starred off at a gallop,
and Amy could do no more than cling like a barnacle to the saddle
horn. Later, she couldn’t recall another time in her life when
she’d been so scared. Even when her parents had died and she’d been
left alone in the world, she hadn’t feared or her immediate life.
It would, after all, have taken several days to die of starvation.
Dying by falling off a horse and breaking her neck seemed
perilously imminent.