Cowboy For Hire (35 page)

“I, ah, think you’d better go now, Charlie. I
don’t want anyone to gossip about us.”

“Amy, please, let’s talk about this. It’ll be
all right. I swear to God, Amy, I’m well set up in the world.
You’ll never want for anything or suffer anything. Honest. Please,
sweetheart, just talk to me for a minute, and you’ll
understand.”

“Um, I don’t think I’m up to chatting any
longer tonight, Charlie.”

He could tell she was trembling when she got
out of bed. She went to her overnight bag and withdrew a big
flannel nightgown. Her beautiful body looked white and forlorn and
very small in the dark room. He leaped out of bed and ran over to
her. “Here, let me help you.”

“Thank you.”

“Lord, Amy, I’m sorry. I swear to you, I
didn’t mean to give you any wrong ideas.”

“No, I’m sure of it, Charlie. You’re too
honest to do that.” He could almost hear the
on purpose
that
she didn’t say. She slipped the nightgown over her head and looked
up at him as if she expected him to be dressed already.

“Amy….”

She shook her head. “Let’s talk about it
later, Charlie. I’m afraid there’s been a misunderstanding.”

A misunderstanding. Good God, he couldn’t
believe this. “Amy, I—”

“Please, Charlie. Just go to your room, if
you will. I … need to rest.”

“But—”

“No. Please.”

Charlie gave up. He’d never felt so guilty
and unhappy; his feet felt like lead and so did his heart when he
closed the door of Amy’s room and went next door to his own room.
The vision of her standing there in her voluminous nightgown,
looking lonely and forsaken, stayed with him all night long. He
didn’t sleep a wink.

Seventeen

Amy didn’t cry, a circumstance that later
astonished her. Her eyes burned and felt as hot as a scorching
poker, but the rest of her was colder than she could recall ever
being—except when she’d been abandoned in Alaska. She sat on the
edge of her bed and contemplated the disaster of her life,
wondering how she could have been so totally mistaken about
Charlie. And about herself.

Wishful thinking. That’s what had led to her
downfall.

“It can’t be true,” she whispered into the
blackness that seemed to have spread from the outside in until it
enveloped her, body, heart, and soul.

Even as she spoke the words, she knew she was
wrong. It
could
be true—and it was. She would never dream of
accusing Charlie of deliberately misleading her, but she’d been
misled nonetheless; perhaps because she wanted so very much to
believe what she’d believed. Wishful thinking.

Perhaps she was being silly. Perhaps it
didn’t matter so much that Charlie didn’t really have a ranch of
his own, and that he and she would have to start an operation
together. Out of nothing. She tested the possibility in her mind,
and such an internal earthquake rattled her that she was soon
shaking from head to foot and had to cling to the bed or fall to
the floor.

No. She was unquestionably reacting strongly
to the truth of Charlie’s situation because of her own personal
background, but there was nothing silly about it.

For whatever reason, Amy couldn’t abide the
notion of going out into the world and creating something out of
nothing. Not after what had happened to her parents. Not after
watching them sicken an die from attempting to achieve an
impossibility. Not for her the establishment of a mission from
scratch.

A ranch. She meant a ranch. It was a ranch,
not a mission, that Charlie wanted her to start with him. Ranches
weren’t as impossible to succeed at as missions, were they?

Mission. Ranch. Mission. Ranch. Both words
and the images they brought forth whirled around in her brain like
dervishes. It didn’t matter what she called what Charlie wanted
them to do together. The end result was the same: blind panic.

Amy Wilkes was unfit to
begin
anything, and that was that. She needed security like other people
needed food and water. There was no use pretending otherwise. She’d
been damaged early in life, and some scars were permanent.

“Oh, dear Lord, what have I done?” She stared
into nothingness and contemplated the catastrophe of her night.

It had started out so well, too. Dinner had
been fun, dancing had been thrilling, and making love with Charlie
had been the most exciting, fulfilling experience of her life.

And then, after she’d built up in her mind
the wonders of a life together on his thriving and prosperous
ranch—obviously she’d been foolish to do so—he’d told her he didn’t
have a ranch at all. Not one of his own, where he could bring a
wife and raise a family.

Amy couldn’t bear the notion of starting from
nothing. She’d been avoiding anything even remotely insecure since
the middle of her seventh year, and building a marriage from
nothing sounded like the knell of doom to her.

She felt guilty about Charlie. Surely he was
going through agonies of doubt and misery that she’d misunderstood
him, and he probably thought the whole thing was his fault. But it
wasn’t. Her own personal inadequacy had created this ghastly
mistake; her deficiency; her shortcoming.

Unable to bear the thought of his pain heaped
upon her own, Amy buried her head in her hands. She still didn’t
cry. Her insides felt as if they’d been sucked dry and wadded up
into a tight knot. They throbbed and ached, but there were no tears
in her. She was empty; devoid of spiritual nourishment. There was
nothing in her that might assist her in facing or, better yet,
overcoming this crisis.

“There’s something wrong with me,” she told
herself. And she was right. There was something very wrong with
her, and her moral defect was now spoiling what might well be her
one chance at happiness with Charlie Fox. He was, as nonsensical as
it might sound, the man of her dreams.

Of course, there was always Vernon Catesby.
Amy groaned. She’d given herself to Charlie tonight, under the
misapprehension that they were soon to be wed. If she now married
Vernon, she’d be giving him damaged goods.

“I’m sure he’s slept with other women,” she
said, feeling savage and scrambling for a way to make herself not
wrong.

But his sleeping with other women, as she
well knew, didn’t matter. There were two standards prevailing in
the world: one for men, and one for women. Amy had violated the
standard for women tonight. That meant she’d either have to lie to
Vernon or tell him the truth. If she told him the truth, he’d have
nothing more to do with her. If she kept quiet, she’d be lying
every bit as much as if she protested her innocence aloud.

So what did that leave her? The Orange Rest
Health Spa, she supposed. Uncle Frank and Aunt Julia would be happy
to have her stay with them forever and continue working with the
inmates. And they’d never need to know what she’d done. They’d
wonder what happened to Vernon, but they’d never find out. Heaven
knew, she’d never tell them.

Which meant she’d never tell Vernon, either,
and he’d more than wonder. He’d press her to reveal her reason for
backing away from him after she’d received his attentions, if not
with eagerness, at least without distaste, for months.

What a mess she’d made of everything. What a
calamitous, horrible, unhappy mess.

Amy slept eventually, but she tossed and
turned, and awoke in the morning with a headache and with heavy,
puffy eyelids. As luck would have it, she met Karen in the hallway
outside her room. She’d been praying that she’d not meet anyone,
but Karen was the least worrisome of the many people she might have
run into, so she tried her best to smile.

“Good Lord, Amy, you look terrible this
morning. Are you feeling unwell?”

How sweet of Karen to offer her an excuse. “I
think I’m coming down with something. I don’t feel at all well,
actually. Sick. I feel quite sick.”

“My goodness.” Karen’s brown eyes lit up.
“Say, you and Charlie didn’t go out drinking last night after the
dancing was over, did you?”

“Drinking? Good heavens, no.” Although, come
to think of it, if she had been drinking instead of doing what
she’d been doing, she’d probably feel better this morning. At least
a night of drinking wouldn’t have such detestably permanent
consequences.

“Oh.”

Feeling low and irritable, Amy snapped, “You
sound disappointed. Do you want me to turn into a drunkard?” That
wasn’t nice, and she wished she’d bitten her tongue instead of
saying it.

“Of course no. Golly, you really
do
feel bad, don’t you? You’re never snappish except to Huxtable. Can
I get you anything, Amy? Some water? Some juice? Anything?”

All at once, at Karen’s solicitude in the
face of her own irritability, the tears Amy hadn’t been able to
shed the night before gushed forth. She ran back to her room, with
Karen following her and looking worried. Amy flung herself across
the bed, which she’d made up herself, and cried like a baby.

Karen sat next to her and put a hand on her
back. “Lord, Amy, maybe you ought to see a doctor.” She pressed a
palm to Amy’s forehead. “You feel warm. Maybe you’re getting a
fever.”

She’d had a fever last night. Charlie had
cured it. Now she was suffering the consequences. She didn’t tell
Karen any of that.

“I—I’ll be all right. I’m just feeling under
the weather this morning.”

The only thing Amy could hear for at least a
minute was her own sobbing. She felt foolish and miserable and was
torn between wishing Karen would go away and wishing she’d stay and
offer the comfort of her friendship.

All at once, Karen said, “Did you and Charlie
have an argument?”

Shocked, Amy sat bolt upright on the bed. Her
face streaming with tears, she blurted out, “Why do you ask that?”
Good heavens, Karen couldn’t
tell
what they’d done on this
bed last night, could she? Amy had scrutinized herself in the
mirror this morning, squinting from all angles, trying to determine
if her damaged status from proper virgin to debauched hussy was in
any way visible. She’d come to the conclusion that, as long as no
one could read her heart, she was safe from discovery.

Karen shrugged. “Well, you were happy as a
lark last night and then you and Charlie went off together—”

“What do you mean, we went off together?” she
brushed tears from her cheeks and stared at Karen, aghast.

“Well, I mean, you went for a walk outside. I
figured you wanted to cool off. I know I did after the band quit.
Benjamin and I had quite a nice little walk together.”

Amy could scarcely believe her eyes when
Karen—outgoing, bold, daring Karen—blushed. “You did?”

With a sniff of defiance, Karen said, “Yes,
we did. So what?”

“Nothing.” Amy shook her head so hard the
French knot she’d made in her hair lost a pin. She stabbed it back
in clumsily, not caring if the whole thing fell apart. The rest of
her was falling apart; why not her hair?

“Benjamin is a very nice man. We … like each
other.”

“I’m sure of it.” Blast it, why did her eyes
keep leaking? Why couldn’t she have cried last night and gotten it
over with? Amy scrubbed her face with her fists again. “I’m sorry.
I didn’t mean anything.”

“Well, did you?”

“Did I what?

“Have a quarrel with Charlie.”

What a good excuse. Even if it wasn’t the
truth. What was one more lie in her life? She might as well begin
weaving the fabric of lies now, so she’d be in practice when she
went home to Pasadena and had to face her aunt and uncle. And
Vernon.

“Yes,” she said. “We had a quarrel.”

“Oh, Amy, I’m sorry.” Karen hugged her, and
Amy gave up any pretense of strength and sobbed on her friend’s
shoulder. She’d never had a friend to cry with before, and she
appreciated Karen this morning more than words could say.

Karen, in an excess of sympathy, perhaps
brought about by her own newly tenderized heart, cried with her.
Amy had never felt worse in her adult life.

Eventually, the two women dried their eyes,
blew their noses, straightened their clothes—Karen twisted Amy’s
French knot up tighter—and tidied up. Karen persuaded Amy to wear a
little powder to hid the swollen blue patches under her eyes. Amy
figured she might as well wear makeup since she was already fallen
beyond redemption.

Finally they were able to go downstairs and
face the rest of the
One and Only
cast and crew. They were
going back to the set today, and filming was expected to be
finished shortly.

Amy saw Charlie first thing, and the shock
was so great she turned away before she could stop herself. She’d
meant to treat him with cool friendship and try to demonstrate no
change in their relationship to the rest of the crew, but she’d
expected to be able to warm up to it. She hadn’t expected to see
him standing there looking around as if searching for her.

Moving picture people lived in perilously
close proximity to one another when they were filming in remote
areas like this one. The fact had no especially bothered Amy until
today. Today she wished she wouldn’t have to deal with anyone at
all connected with the picture until she was under better
control.

But there was Charlie, and he’d seen her. He
came over to her, his long strides eating up the ground, his
expression one of grave concern. His expression irked her. She
didn’t want rumors and speculation to race through the cast and
crew, as they were bound to do if people suspected anything amiss
between them.

“Amy,” Charlie said when he reached her side.
“We’ve got to talk.”

“For heaven’s sake, Charlie,” she said
crossly. “Stop looking so obvious.”

He drew himself up short, as if her words and
the tone of her voice had slapped him. “But … but we really need to
talk.”

“Fine. But not here and not now. Please,
Charlie, have some discretion.”