Cowboy For Hire (37 page)

“Anyway, Martin was wondering if you’d be
willing to watch out for Amy during the filming of this last scene.
It’ll be Huxtable’s last chance to do something awful to her, and I
suppose he’ll try. Unless he’s finally come to his senses.”

“Naw, he ain’t done nothin’ so sensible as
that.” Charlie spoke with conviction. “I’ll watch out for her.”

“Thanks, Charlie.”

He liked and appreciated Karen Crenshaw more
than he ever expected to when she gave him one last searching look,
nodded, and turned and walked away without trying to pump him. God
bless her.

Eighteen

The last time Amy had been so glad to see the
end of something was when she’d bidden good-bye to Alaska and gone
to live with her aunt and uncle in California. She could hardly
wait to get back home to Pasadena, to hug Aunt Julia and Uncle
Frank, to go upstairs to her own room with the chintz curtains and
bookcase full of novels, and hid away from the world.

She’d have to deal with Vernon, of course,
but not immediately. She had some healing to do first. And before
she could begin to heal, she had to get through with this odious
picture. She wished she’d never seen Martin Tafft, as much as she
liked him. Even more than that, she wished she’d had the strength
of character to resist his offer when he’d made it.

She hadn’t, and here she was. At the very
last scene in the picture. Thank God.

Horace Huxtable was going to do something
beastly to her; she knew it. And she was prepared. She’d even armed
herself. If he so much as looked at her cross-eyed, she aimed to
throw something at him. If he tried to hurt her, she was going to
stab him with her letter knife. It wouldn’t hurt him much, but it
would stop him; Amy’d bet on that.

Oh, good grief, there was Charlie. Amy saw
him leaning against the fence on the far side of the corral, and
wished he hadn’t come to watch the last scene being filmed. Was he
worried about her still? He’d seemed very cold and distant during
these last few days. She certainly didn’t blame him for that. She
deserved to be shunned by him.

Her heart gave a hard spasm, and she scolded
herself for thinking about Charlie. She was a miserable coward, and
she’d spoiled any chance of happiness for the both of them. So be
it. She had a job to do now, and she’d better concentrate on that
and not the mess she’d made of everything.

Concentrate on finishing the picture, Amy
Wilkes
, she lectured herself sternly.
Pine away for Charlie
Fox later
.

She’d do that for certain—probably for the
rest of her life.

“You have quite a faraway expression on your
face, Miss Wilkes,” an oily, snakish voice said in her ear. “Are
you daydreaming about riding off into the sunset with me?”

She turned and looked Horace Huxtable
straight in the eye. “I’m thinking about how happy I’ll be never to
have to see you again, actually.”

She saw the ornery expression she’d become
accustomed to during the past few weeks cross his face before it
smoothed out and the actor took over. He smiled beatifically. “My,
my, you’re quite a bitch, aren’t you? I had no idea you’d turn out
like that. When I was in that dreadful prison run by your uncle, I
believed you to be a kindhearted young woman. It didn’t take me
long to discover my mistake.”

“Good.” Amy, who could think of few worse
fates than being liked by Horace Huxtable, continued, “See that you
keep it in mind. If you do
anything
, anything at all, to
hurt me today, you’ll regret it.”

“Is that a threat, my dear?” He drew himself
up so that he loomed over her. His smile didn’t waver.

Amy didn’t care. By this time, he had no
power to do anything more than disgust her—except when he got her
alone, and she’d prepared herself for that. “Yes, it is. Try
anything, and I’ll do my best to see that you pay for it for a
long, long time.”

“Get on your horses now, Amy and Horace!”
came Martin’s call from the sidelines. He appeared worried, and Amy
hoped for his sake that Huxtable wouldn’t do anything too awful
today.

Without another word to the man whom she’d
begun to think of as her mortal enemy, Amy turned and walked to her
horse. If things had been different between herself and Charlie,
she’d have asked him to check the saddle cinch, bridge, reins, and
other equipment that could have been tampered with. Since Charlie
was unavailable to her—if she expected to keep what was left of her
pride—she and Karen had performed that task. All of the riding
accouterments had looked all right to them, although they were far
from being experts.

She sighed as she took the reins, put her
foot in the stirrup, and gave what she hoped was a game smile to
the young man who was holding the bridle for her. She was so
unutterably bad at this horseback-riding stuff. What an idiot she’d
been to think she could actually have made a suitable wife for
Charlie Fox, when she couldn’t even ride a horse.

It took her three tries, but eventually she
managed to get herself in to the saddle. Although she hadn’t
intended to, she sought Charlie on the sidelines, hoping he hadn’t
noticed how awkward she’d been in mounting the beast. Her luck
seemed to running uniformly bad these days, because he was there
and watching her. She sighed again, resigned to having one last
miserable day on the Peerless set.

With another smile for the boy holding the
bridle, she said, “I think I’m set now. Thank you very much.”

His eyes held a vaguely worshipful expression
hen he gulped and said, “Sure thing, Miss Wilkes.” Which just went
to show how much attention people paid to things. If this lad had
been paying any mind at all to the way Amy Wilkes went about her
job, he’d know she was a failure at it.

Oh, for heaven’s sake, buck up
, she
told herself sternly. After all, while she might be a poor
horsewoman and a novice actress, she’d comported herself well
through the whole ordeal of making this picture. She didn’t think
she’d ever be able to watch it, though. It would surely play in
Pasadena, and her friends would naturally want to go see it with
her. Amy guessed she’d just have to catch something during those
times, so that she could plead illness.

Coward
, her innards fussed at her.

“Ready, Martin,” she called, trying to ignore
both her innards and her outers, which were uncomfortably sitting
on a stupid saddle, and get this over with.

“Good. All right, Horace and Amy. Take your
places on the set. “

With trepidation, strained nerves, and
severely flexed muscles—Amy was certain she’d never be able to
relax on a horse, no matter if she were to ride every day for the
rest of her life—she guided the animal to the mark chalked in the
dust of the yard. Huxtable, who rode with ease and grace, was
waiting for her with his customary sneer in place when she pulled
her mount to a halt.

“Christ,” he muttered. “Some people are
absolutely incompetent.”

He was talking about her. Amy knew it, and
although she resented his words, she also knew he was only trying
to rile her, so she didn’t react but instead looked at Martin so
that she wouldn’t miss her cue.

Karen stood next to Martin, her arms crossed
over her chest, watching Amy with concern. Amy knew Karen cared
about her state of mind, but she hadn’t been able to talk to her
friend about Charlie yet because the wound was too raw.

Besides, Karen had made no bones about her
feelings regarding Vernon Catesby and Amy’s fear of trying new
things. Amy was sure Karen wouldn’t understand why she’d rejected
Charlie’s proposal. In reality, even Amy didn’t understand. All she
knew was that when she contemplated starting out in married
life—even with Charlie Fox, the man she adored—with nothing
standing between herself and death but one man, no matter how
wonderful he was, her insides knotted up, her heart twisted, and
her brain went into total rebellion.

She simply couldn’t do it, and she knew it.
What a worthless piece of female flesh she was. Charlie should be
happy he was getting rid of her so easily. Before things got too
serious.

Sleeping with him had been a very serious
event to Amy, but she knew men were different. All at once the
knowledge that she might be pregnant slammed into her brain, and
she nearly fell off her horse.

“Good heavens,” she murmured, aghast.

“What is it this time, my little sweetie
pie?” Huxtable asked in his malicious smear of a voice. “Does your
tender little bottom hurt?”

She turned the most vicious glare in her
repertoire upon him. “I’m
so
glad the filming ends today,
Mr. Huxtable. And I hope I’ll never have the misfortune of ever
seeing you again.”

“No more do I,” he said suavely. “Bitch.”

“All right, Amy and Horace, quit talking to
each other. We’re going to get this in one take!”

“One take?” muttered Huxtable. “With this
female who’s pretending to be an actress? Absurd.”

“I never pretended to be an actress,” Amy
said, forgetting she knew better than to answer his jibes.

HE smiled a sugary smile. “It’s a good
thing.”

“Quiet on the set!” Martin hollered. “Get
set!”

He was beginning to sound a little frazzled,
and Amy was sorry she’d had a part in making him so. She turned as
much as she dared in her saddle and smiled at him to let him know
she’d do her part, and she was ready. More or less.

Huxtable snorted.

Amy wondered why people like Horace Huxtable
seemed to go on forever and good people like her parents died
young. It wasn’t fair. She’d have to have a chat with God about it
when this was all over.

“All right,” Martin shouted, a little more
cheerful. “And—action!”

The cameras began to crank noisily, the
sprockets began shooting out, and Amy’s and Huxtable’s horses began
moving slowly away from the others. Amy took heart from the
knowledge that his was the final scene in this horrid picture, and
that she’d never have to work with Horace Huxtable again as long as
she lived.

Facing the man she detested more than any
other man on earth, Amy put on her loveliest, most adoring
expression; an expression that, when viewed by the picture-going
public, would appear to be one of abject love. “You have made my
life miserable during the past few weeks, Mr. Huxtable. I’m sure
you know that and are proud of yourself, although you did fail to
kill me, which I’m sure you wish you had.”

“Nonsense. You had a few unfortunate
accidents on the set, and they were brought about by your
inexperience and stupidity. I had nothing to do with any of
them.”

“That’s a lie, and you know it.” If this had
been any other man, Amy wouldn’t have said such a directly hateful
thing Huxtable deserved it, however, and she’d cast aside her
natural courtesy and let him have it.

“Balls,” he replied, not at all contrite.
“You don’t know what you’re saying, any more than you know what
you’re doing.”

“I know what I’m saying this minute,” Amy
responded instantly. “I dislike you very much, Mr. Huxtable. You
were awful at my uncle’s health spa, and you’re even more awful on
the set of this picture.”

“Bah. You’re raving.”

“Fiddlesticks. You know very well I’m not
raving. I think you’re probably less than human. I do believe
you’re a throwback to a lower life form. I never believed in Mr.
Darwin’s theories until I met you.” To make her performance for the
cameras even more believable, she held out her hand to him, as she
was supposed to do, and batted her eyelashes.

“And you, my dear,” Huxtable countered,
“Belong in that deadly place, Pasadena, serving up that deadly
liquid, orange juice. You’re unfit for a more sophisticated
life.”

“I’m sure you’re right. And I’m sure that if
you personify the sophisticated life, nobody with two principles to
rub together would want anything to do with it.”

“Good! Good!” Martin cried behind them.
“You’re looking good. If you can go a tiny bit more slowly, do it.
This will be the public’s last sight of you—”

“Thank God,” whispered Amy.

“—and we want to make it good!”

“My sentiments exactly, my dear.”

“You’re squeezing my hand too tightly, Mr.
Huxtable. Please loosen your grip.” She hadn’t meant to say
anything to him about how much he was hurting her hand, but was
finally driven by pain to protest. “I’m going to shout in a minute
and draw everyone’s attention to your childish antic.”

“Nonsense. The scene’s almost over. I’m only
making sure you don’t fall off your horse. You’re no horsewoman,
you know.”

“Of course I know it,” Amy ground out through
her teeth. “Release me instantly.”

“Make me,” he said, sounding even more
childish than before.

“All right, I shall.”

“And ruin poor Martin’s one perfect take?
Tut, tut, wench. You’re certainly no professional.”

“No, I’m not a professional. Nor am I a
martyr.”

“Perfect!” Martin shouted. “Just a little
more now, and we’ll be all through.”

“We’re through now,” Amy declared savagely.
And with that, and with more athletic skill than she knew she
possessed, she withdrew her dullish letter knife from the pocket of
her shirt and stabbed Horace Huxtable on the back of the h and.

“Ow!” Huxtable bellowed. “You damned bitch!”
He yanked her hand, pulling her right out of the saddle.

But Amy fooled him this time. She’d been
expecting him to pull some stunt like this, and she didn’t let go
of his hand when she fell. Not only did she not let go, but she
reached wildly for his leg as she went down. She managed to snag
his calf and held on for dear life. If she was going to fall, so
was he.

“No!” he screamed, and Amy had the
satisfaction of seeing him lose his balance and begin sliding in
his saddle before she hit the ground and somebody turned out the
lights on the set.