Cowboy For Hire (38 page)

She woke up in Charlie’s arms, hearing his
voice in her ear. “It’s all right, Amy. You’ll be all right. Jesus
Christ, you’d better be all right.”

His panic-stricken tone of voice puzzled her.
She couldn’t imagine Charlie Fox, the brave and noble cowboy who’d
handled stampeding cattle and blue lightning balls, being
panic-stricken. She wondered what was wrong. It must be something
really bad to make Charlie sound like this.

Although it hurt to do so, she lifted her arm
and brushed a strand of hair from his dear forehead. He stopped
walking so suddenly that her body swayed in his arms and hurt all
over. She couldn’t suppress a moan of pain.

“Amy!” he cried, hurting he ears, which made
it unanimous: Every inch of her hurt now.

Although her chest and lips and throat hurt,
she whispered, “You needn’t speak so loudly.”

“Amy!” he cried again.

She’d never known him to be a blabbermouth,
but she’d always believed he had more than one word in his
vocabulary. Her eyebrows lowered a little bit—not too much, because
they, too, hurt. “What happened?”

“Good God, he almost killed you.”

She huffed impatiently. “Of course he did.
But I fooled him this time. I stabbed him and made him fall from
his horse too.” She couldn’t understand why Charlie seemed so
worried. Unless…. “Oh, did I get hurt?” Stupid question, since she
felt the answer even as she asked it. Because she didn’t want to be
considered unintelligent by Charlie Fox, of all people, she amended
the query. “I mean, did I break anything?”

“We don’t know yet. Be still. I’m trying to
get you to your tent.”

“Oh.” That made sense. Curious, she asked,
“What happened to Mr. Huxtable?”

She was pleased to see a tiny grin lift his
beautiful lips. “Before or after I beat the tar out of him?”

Had he really done that? Amy was so pleased
she could hardly stand it. “Oh, I’m so glad. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. He fell right on top of you,
and the doc’s going to see if he broke any of your bones.”

“Ew.” Amy didn’t like the thought of Horace
Huxtable on top of her. It made her feel queasy.

Charlie continued. “I think he busted an arm
falling off the horse.”

“Good.” Satisfied with this initial
report—she’d hear the full story from Karen later—Amy decided to
close her eyes again. They didn’t want to be open. From what seemed
like far away, she heard somebody running up to them.

“How is she?” It was Martin. Wasn’t that
nice? Martin was worried about her, too.

Amy drifted off to sleep in Charlie’s
arms.

* * *

Without turning, Charlie responded to
Martin’s worried question. “I think she passed out again.” He tried
to hurry and be careful with her at the same time, incompatible
actions that were frustrating him a lot. Add that mixture to the
anxiety gnawing at his innards, and he was in a state.

“Oh, dear, oh, dear. I was afraid something
like this would happen. I should have had her strapped into her
saddle or something.”

“That would have been worse. She could have
broken her back.”

“My God.” Color drained from Martin’s face.
He murmured, “It’s all my fault. Lord above, Charlie, this is all
my fault. I should have fought Mr. Lovejoy. I never wanted to work
with Huxtable again. I think the man’s gone completely mad.”

“You couldn’t have predicted this. I only
hope Huxtable’s pretty face will never recover, and he’ll never
have another chance to hurt another woman.”

“I’m afraid that’s all taken care of.” Martin
didn’t sound awfully happy about it, considering what Huxtable did
to Amy. “His nose will never be the same. And Amy managed to mangle
him pretty badly all on her own, even before you showed up.”

“Yeah. She did a good job on him. I’m glad I
was there to see it.”

“Oh, dear, oh, dear. I hope we don’t have to
reshoot my scenes that he’s in.”

“Yeah. Me, too.”

“He’ll never look the same again.”

“I sure hope not.”

Obviously, Martin didn’t share Charlie’s
happiness about the injuries Huxtable had sustained. Charlie didn’t
wonder at that, although he thought Martin should be more pleased
than not. Huxtable was certainly no asset to any picture Peerless
might make.

“I’ve sent Eddie to get the doctor. He’ll be
here soon,” Martin said distractedly. “Maybe I’d better go help
him.” He veered off in the direction of the doctor’s tent.

Charlie had almost reached Amy’s tent by the
time Martin left him alone with Amy. Karen had run on ahead and
lifted the tent flap so that Charlie could carry Amy in and
tenderly set her on the bed without fumbling with the flap.

“How is she?” Karen asked, clearly
worried.

“I’m not sure. I think she’s only woozy.”
Charlie prayed he was right. “Martin’s gone to get the doctor.”

“Good. Oh, Charlie, I hope she’s going to be
all right.”

Charlie could scarcely believe it when he saw
Karen wipe her eyes. He patted her on the shoulder. “I’m sure she
will be.” And if she wasn’t, he was going to kill Huxtable for her,
no matter how hard Martin tried to dissuade him. If he got locked
up for it, so be it. He wasn’t too keen on living without Amy for
the rest of his life anyway. He didn’t suppose it mattered where he
did it.

He was appalled when he realized where his
thoughts had drifted and gave himself a mental kick in the butt.
“Ain’t no woman worth getting’ het up for,” Uncle Bill used to say.
Quite often. And, while Charlie didn’t really believe it, he knew
good and well that any woman who wasn’t willing to follow her man
into hell wasn’t the woman for him. And Amy wouldn’t even follow
him into a new ranch. She surely wasn’t worth sacrificing himself
for. No matter how much the notion of killing Horace Huxtable
appealed to him.

As he peered down into Amy’s face, which was
at the moment as white as a snowdrop, he knew Uncle Bill was dead
wrong. He also knew Amy was wrong to reject him for such a
frivolous reason as the one she’d given him. If she really loved
him, she’d marry him, even if he wasn’t rich.

Because his heart was in a turmoil and
because he didn’t want to be around when Amy awoke—he feared her
weakened state would weaken him, and he’d end up acting like a sick
puppy and following her back to Pasadena—he waited only long enough
for the doctor to arrive and shoo them all outside. There he paced
up and down with Karen and Martin until the doctor pushed out
through the tent flap. The three of them stopped pacing and stared
at the man. Charlie bit his tongue so he wouldn’t holler for
information before the doc had a chance to get his thoughts
together.

“She’s going to be just fine. She sustained a
minor concussion—”

“Concussion!” That didn’t sound minor to
Charlie, and he took a step toward the doctor, intending to shake
the truth out of him. Martin grabbed him by one arm, and Karen
grabbed him by the other, so he couldn’t fulfill his
intentions.

The doctor took a step back, and his eyes
opened wide with surprise and apprehension. “She’d going to be
fine,” he repeated. “The concussion isn’t serious. Just be sure
she’s awakened every hour or so and given liquids. Don’t let her
get up and walk around, and you might want to check her vision
occasionally to be sure there’s nothing more amiss than I think
there is.”

After giving Charlie an assessing glance, the
doctor continued, “I’ll go check on Mr. Huxtable now—”

“Check on
Huxtable
?” Charlie roared.
“You’re not checking on Huxtable until you tell us more about
Amy!”

“Charlie,” Martin muttered. “Please try to
calm down.”

Tugging at his black coat, the doctor frowned
and said, “Really, Mr. Fox, there’s nothing more to be done for
Miss Wilkes. With rest, she’ll be just fine. Huxtable, on the other
hand, is in pretty bad shape.”

“Good. I hope the bastard dies.”

“Charlie!” Karen hissed. “Stop talking like
that.”

“It’s the truth.”

“I don’t care if it’s the truth or not. For
that matter, I’m of a like mind, but we don’t want anybody else to
know it.”

“Oh, dear, oh, dear.” Martin started tugging
at his hair.

“I must say, Mr. Fox, that it’s not your
fault Mr. Huxtable remains breathing. You did a good deal of damage
to his nose and jaw.”

The doctor’s words cheered him. “Good.”

Karen whacked him on the arm, and Charlie,
realizing he was being unreasonable, shook himself and muttered,
“Sorry, Karen. I’m all right now.”

“I should hope so.” She poked him in the
chest with her rigid forefinger. “Now, I’m going into that tent,
and I’m going to tend to Amy. If you want to help, stay out of
trouble and don’t hurt anyone else.” And with that, Karen vanished
inside the tent.

Charlie gazed after her, dismayed by her
words. Had he caused trouble? He’d thought he was avenging Amy.
Maybe in a strange and mysterious world of motion pictures, that
was considered trouble. He shook his head to clear it of the
cobwebs that seemed to have taken possession of it.

“I’d appreciate it if you’d stay away from
Huxtable, Charlie,” Martin said. “The picture’s wrapped up, and all
I have to do now is the editing. The musical score’s been written
and the titles are done, and now I’ve got to put it all together.
I’m hoping against hope that we won’t have to do any reshoots. I’d
as soon not have to worry about one of my stars killing another
one, it it’s all the same to you.”

His voice was gentle, but Martin’s voice was
always gentle except when he had to raise it to be heard over the
grinding of the cameras. Charlie was suddenly ashamed of himself.
“Right,” he said. “I reckon I’ll get going, then, since you don’t
need me anymore.”

Martin’s surprise was evident. “Get going?
You mean leave the lot?”

“Yeah, I reckon.”

“But don’t you want to wait and make sure
Amy’s all right?”

“I trust the doctor.” He wouldn’t trust that
doctor any farther than he could throw him, but he didn’t suppose
it mattered. He wasn’t needed here, and he wasn’t wanted here, and
he experienced a tremendous need to be gone.

“But—but, Charlie, how can I get in touch
with you.”

Charlie shrugged. “Darned if I know. Why
don’t I call you or something. I can probably find a telephone
somewhere.”

“Do you know where you’ll go? Are you heading
back to your brother’s ranch?”

“No.” By God, he was never going to punch
ostriches again. It was long past time he set up for himself. Hell,
if he’d had the gumption to get himself organized before now, he
wouldn’t have lost the girl he loved.

Dammit, he wished he’d stop thinking things
like that. Obviously, Amy didn’t care enough about him to take him
as he was; ergo, he shouldn’t mourn losing her. He mourned anyway.
“I’ll be in touch,” he muttered, and began walking slowly in the
direction of his tent.

“Please do, Charlie,” Martin called after
him. “Don’t forget, I’m taking everybody in the picture to Chicago
for the grand premiere. And you’ve agreed to do one more Peerless
picture. Don’t go too far away, and call within the month.”

“Right.” Charlie lifted his arm but didn’t
both to turn around. “I’ll be in touch.”

He heard Martin chuff with frustration, and
regretted having caused it. He liked Martin. But he couldn’t abide
another hour in this place. And if he saw Amy again, he’d probably
start beseeching her to marry him, and his pride couldn’t stand
that.

Gus, one of the men who’d been assigned to
guard Horace Huxtable, agreed to drive Charlie to the small train
station near El Monte. So Charlie packed his brother’s old
carpetbag, slung it over his shoulder, got into the car, and rode
away from the Peerless lot in a cloud of dust. He looked back,
although he’d told himself he wasn’t going to, until the tent city
disappeared from his sight. Then he sighed.

“You okay, Charlie?” Gus asked.

“Yeah,” Charlie said. “Fine.”

“I’m glad you punched Huxtable. He deserved
it a dozen times over.”

“Yeah.”

“I hope Peerless never hires him again.”

“Yeah.”

Sensing the futility of trying to begin a
conversation with Charlie, Gus subsided into quiet. All the way to
the train station, the only noises Charlie heard were those of the
car’s engine and its tires throwing pebbles up to patter against
the underside of the carriage. The pebbles seemed to ping out a
rhythm, and he heard Amy’s voice speaking along with them in his
head. The voice was saying, “No, no, no,” over and over again.

When they got to the train station, Charlie
bought a ticket on the first train out without determining where it
was headed. He shrugged when he read the stub and saw the train’s
ultimate destination was Los Angeles.

Los Angeles was fine with him. He’d never
been there. In his present state, one place was as good as another.
As long as wherever he went didn’t contain Amy Wilkes, he was
satisfied.

He wondered if he’d every be happy again, and
decided it was too soon to think about that. At the moment, his
only goal was escape.

The prospect of going to Chicago, and of
seeing Amy at the premier of
One and Only
crept into his
head, and he thrust it aside. Later, he told himself. He’d think
about everything later, when he didn’t hurt so much.

He had a feeling that later was going to be a
very long time in the future.

Nineteen

Amy awoke and recovered in a world that no
longer contained Charlie Fox, at least in her vicinity. It was,
therefore, a gray world, a lusterless world, a world in which she
could find nothing to interest her. The weather outdoors was sunny
and bright and full of life. The weather inside Amy was wintry and
bleak and totally barren.

The day after her fall from the horse, she
lay in bed, plucking at the covers, as the Peerless set for
One
and Only
was being dismantled around her. She heard the crew
doing the work and thought about going outside so she could witness
the activity. She’d surely never have another chance to see how a
motion picture set was put up and taken down. In order to do that,
however, she’d have to expend some energy to rise from bed, put on
some clothes, and walk to the flap of the tent. She didn’t want to
see the activity
that
much. She
didn`t want to see anything at all.