Cowboy For Hire (30 page)

“I’ll run
inside the hotel, check us all in, and bring back the keys,” Martin
said as he parked the motorcar. Charlie got out and held the door
for Amy.

Charmed, Amy
smiled up at him as she descended from the car and said, “Thank
you. I believe you’re exaggerating. After all, I’m a simple working
girl from Pasadena. The closest thing to elegance I’ve ever been to
is the Green Hotel.” She sighed, recalling the night she and Vernon
had gone to a dance there. “Now, that was something special.”

“Is the Green
Hotel in Pasadena?”

Amy noticed
that Charlie’s smile had faded, and she hoped she hadn’t given him
the impression that she was accustomed to the elegancies of life.
She might become accustomed to them in the future, if she married
Vernon. Marrying Vernon, however, was becoming ever more remote a
goal for her. She wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a very,
very bad one.

“
Yes,”
she said. “It’s where all the Eastern swells—you know, from New
York and Boston and so forth—come to stay for the winter.”
Recalling that Mr. and Mrs. Catesby, Sr., of New York City, she
added, “If, of course, they don’t already on their own winter home
in Pasadena.”

“Be right
back,” said Martin, and sped off into the dark.

“I’ll go with
you and help hold the keys,” Karen said, taking off after him. Amy
barely noticed they were gone.

“I don’t expect
there’s anything as fancy as that anywhere in Arizona
Territory.”

Charlie sounded
glum, and Amy took his arm as they began walking over the uneven
ground to the front door of the building. “I shouldn’t imagine the
lack of elegant hotels would be much of a hardship for a
rancher.”

She peeked up
at him, hoping her facial expression conveyed the look of a woman
whose greatest aim in life was to set up with a rancher in Arizona
Territory and raise a brook of children. And cows, of course. She
was pleased that Charlie didn’t seem enamored of ostriches, because
she wouldn’t know what to do with an ostrich even more than she
didn’t know what to do with a cow.

She was
disappointed when Charlie seemed to twist her words into something
disparaging. “No, I reckon we’re not awfully fancy in the
territory.”

His voice
sounded cool, and she sighed. When one shoved all the romantic
nonsense about a union between herself and Charlie aside, the fact
remained that she and he were from two different worlds. Sometimes
those two worlds appeared not so very far apart. But sometimes,
like right this minute, for instance, she and Charlie seemed to
belong on two entirely unrelated continents separated by oceans of
un-navigable water.

“I don’t much
care about elegant living myself,” she said as he held the door for
her to enter the restaurant. The mouth-watering aroma of spicy,
well-cooked food greeted them as they entered. “It’s fun to dress
up sometimes. Like tonight.” She shrugged, trying to give her words
the light edge she wanted him to hear.

“Is that
so?”

She didn’t get
to answer because Martin and Karen walked up to them, Karen smiling
and holding out a fistful of keys. “Here we are,” she said. “Number
four for Charlie, number six for Amy, and number eight for me.
Martin already has his.”

“Thanks,” Amy
said, putting the key in her small beaded bag. She saw Charlie drop
his key into his trousers pocket.

Martin sniffed the air appreciatively, rubbed
his hands together, and said, “We have reservations in the
restaurant’s main dining room. The rest of the cast and crew will
be seated in a banquet room in back. Huxtable wasn’t happy about
that, but I don’t care.”

“You got Horace Huxtable to sit in a banquet
room with
other people
?” Karen looked as if she might burst
out laughing, restaurant or no restaurant.

“Yes. I told him in no uncertain terms that
if he wanted to come, he had to sit at a separate table in the
banquet room with Gus and Sam, both whom have been sworn to
absolute sobriety the whole night long, and Eddie, who doesn’t
drink anyway. But I thought the four of us should sit together in
the restaurant. There will be dancing in the nightclub afterwards.
It’s right over there. “ He indicated a door on the other side of
the dining room.

Amy didn’t hear any music yet. She was eager
to try the new ragtime steps Karen had taught her, and she hoped
she’d been able to test her skill with Charlie. Unless he was one
of those clumsy men who didn’t dance.

As if he’d read her mind, Charlie asked, “Do
you like to dance, Amy?”

“Oh, yes. And Karen taught me some ragtime
steps.”

He smiled. “Great.” Amy was happy to hear the
enthusiasm creep back into Charlie’s voice. “My sisters use me to
practice on all the time, so I know los of ragtime. And waltzes and
polkas and stuff.”

“I love to waltz.” Amy sighed happily, and a
feeling that the evening was destined to be a memorable one crept
over her. She continued to hold on to his arm as they followed a
waiter to a table. For such an out-of-the-way place, the Royal El
Montean didn’t have such a shabby appearance. Amy had expected
something more along the lines of a tumbledown chophouse.
But the tables in the restaurant were covered with white cloths
that were not too badly stained, there were barely wilted flowers
residing in vases at each table, and the waiter looked as if he’d
had a bath recently. Amy considered these circumstances indicative
of an enterprise that was at least trying to achieve something in
the way of style.

“Here, let me take your wrap,” Charlie said
as they drew up at the table to which the waiter had directed
them.

“Thank you.” She hated to give up the
gorgeous gray silk shawl because it went so beautifully with Wilma
Patecky’s gorgeous gray chiffon dress. Since it was all pretend and
dress-up and , in effect, the coach would turn into a pumpkin at
midnight, she grinned to herself and relinquished the shawl. Then,
after Charlie hung it on a nearby rack and came back to hold her
chair for her, she noticed Charlie eyeing her as if she were some
rare and succulent delicacy, and felt herself flush. She sat down
in something of a flurry.

The waiter handed nicely printed menus to
each member of their party, and Amy was glad she had something to
concentrate on besides her acute awareness of Charlie Fox. Now,
what, she wondered, should she order? She’d need to take the
tightness of her corset into consideration, blast it.

“Oh, look!” Karen said, grinning. “They serve
Mexican food. What a treat.”

Amy noticed Charlie blink at Karen’s
enthusiasm and look uncertain. She eyed him over her menu. “Don’t
you care for Mexican food, Charlie?”

He turned her way. “What? Oh, no. I like it
fine. It’s just that we eat Mexican food all the time on the
ranch.”

“You do?” Karen’s hazel eyes grew as round as
pie plates. “Oh, my goodness, are there any jobs for dressmakers in
Arizona Territory?”

Everyone laughed, and Amy’s sense that this
was a practically perfect gathering of friends grew ever larger.
She hadn’t experienced much of just plain fun in her life, but she
expected this would be it. She was determined to enjoy herself.

“I wonder if they serve wine,” Martin said,
looking around for the waiter.

“I sort of doubt it,” Karen said. “Although
you never know about these places. I think there are some vineyards
around here somewhere.”

“Really? I thought they were all up north,”
Amy said in surprise.

“Ha! That’s what the people up north want you
to think. I’m originally from San Francisco, you know, and I know
all about these things. They’re real snobs up there when it comes
to their part of the state.”

Amy gazed across the table at Karen and felt
something akin to awe for her new friend. “You are? From San
Francisco, I mean?” It sounded romantic to her.

Karen nodded. “Yes, indeed. But when the
movies began to move into Southern California, and I decided I
wanted to be part of them—it seemed like the most enjoyable and
profitable way to use my skills—I moved down here.”

“Goodness, that was … well, awfully daring of
you.” Amy felt small all of a sudden, as if she didn’t deserve to
be seated among all of these interesting people who had done so
much more than she with their lives. Her primary objective since
early childhood was to achieve some kind of security for herself.
That ambition seemed paltry in the face of this table full of
adventurers.

“Daring?” Karen appeared truly startled.
“Good heavens, no. I have family down here, and I had already
secured a position with Madame Dunbar before I moved.”

“Oh, I see.” That didn’t take much of the
gloss off Karen’s story for Amy, who greatly admired her friend for
her adventurous spirit. Before she knew what she was doing, she
blurted out the only interesting piece of her own personal history
that she could think of. “Actually, I’m originally from the gold
country. In Alaska, I mean.”

She saw three pairs of eyes open wide, and
wondered if they disbelieved her. But the story was true, although
it was also true that her early years had been anything but
thrilling or inspiring. They’d been uncomfortable and hungry, for
the most part. And then her parents had succumbed, and she’d almost
died, and … well, she’d never spoken of it to anyone before. She
couldn’t understand what had prompted her to speak of it now.

Since she could see they were all fascinated,
she hurried on before she could become too frightened to do so.
“Actually, my parents didn’t go up there for gold. My father was a
missionary. He and my mother were sent by the church to establish a
mission for the Indians. The Athabaskans. Then other people, from
the United States and Europe and … well, everywhere, I suppose,
began moving up there, looking for gold.”

“When was this? I didn’t think the Alaska
gold rush started until around 1900. I know you’re not very old,
but….” Martin smiled a question at her and said, “You’re a little
older than that.”

Amy laughed nervously. “Yes, of course I am.
And you’re right about the big rush, but there were rumors before
that, you know. It wasn’t like California, where that man found a
nugget in a stream and the entire East Coast flooded west. Alaska
moved more slowly.” She shivered suddenly.

“Are you cold?” Charlie asked with
concern.

She wasn’t cold. She was remembering. “No.
Thank you. I was just … well, it wasn’t a successful venture. That
of my parents, I mean. I don’t recall too much about it. I was a
baby when we moved to Dawson, and only seven when my parents died.
I’m not sure how anyone discovered the whereabouts of my aunt and
uncle down here in Southern California. I—I supposed my mother had
been writing to them regularly. I expect the Indian women who found
me with their bodies took some of the letters she found to town
along with me. I … ah … don’t remember much about it.”

“Good Lord, do you mean there was no one else
around when your parents died?” Karen looked horrified.

Which was nothing compared to the way Amy
felt inside when she recalled that awful, miserable time in her
life when she’d been so frightened, so alone, so bereft. She wished
she’d never brought this up.

Pride. Foolish, foolish pride. She’d wanted
her new friends to think she wasn’t a simple stick-in-the-mud
Pasadena girl. Although that was precisely what she wanted to be.
People—herself included—could be very odd creatures without half
trying, she concluded with bitter irony.

“I was pretty sick, too. As I said, I don’t
remember very much. I … well, I remember being consumed and sad.”
Because she didn’t want anyone to think she was fishing for
sympathy, she laughed brightly and added, “But my aunt and uncle
have been absolute saints. They took me in and have treated me as
their own child ever since. They’re wonderful. They’re every bit as
wonderful as my own parents would have been, I’m sure.” What was
more, they wouldn’t ever haul a tiny child into an uncivilized
wilderness where there was no hope of survival; Amy was sure of
it.

The look of shock on Charlie’s face might
have been comical if Amy didn’t feel so guilty for having caused
it. Pickles. She wished she’d kept her mouth shut about her
lamentable childhood. These people—Karen, Martin and Charlie—could
relate tales of interesting journeys and bold chances taken. Their
stories weren’t merely sordid and unhappy like hers.

“My gosh, Amy. I didn’t know any of that,”
said Karen.

“Neither did I,” said Martin.

Oh, good. Now they were
all
looking at
her as if she were a pitiable specimen of endangered animal life.
Where was Theodore Roosevelt when you needed him? Maybe he could
create a national park in her honor or something.

She said rather tartly, “It’s over and done
with, and I’m very happy now. Pasadena is a beautiful city, and I
love living there. My aunt and uncle have a thriving business, and
I enjoy working there, too. Well,” she amended, her honesty getting
the better of her determination to erase the bleak atmosphere she’d
created, “except for people like MR. Huxtable who occasionally come
to stay at the Orange Rest.”

Karen laughed. “Indeed.”

Martin smiled.

Only Charlie seemed to linger in the dismals
that Amy had so foolishly allowed to get loose. Drat it, she ought
to have known better. Her early life was too ugly to bring up at a
dinner table—even in El Monte—and she knew it.

Fortunately for the state of her nerves, the
waiter arrived with his pad in his hand. Amy hadn’t studied the
menu very hard, having allowed herself to become mired somewhere in
Alaska for the past several minutes. She said, “You go first,
Karen. I need to think a little longer.”

She heard Karen order a chicken enchilada and
frijoles and arroz con pollo, whatever that was, and decided she
might as well be brave and daring and order it, too. She smiled at
the waiter and said, “I’ll have the same, please.”