Cowboy For Hire

by Duncan, Alice

  She wished he wouldn’t talk about bodies in that casual way. Amy wasn’t used to such loose language. She also didn’t understand how she was supposed to lift her body into the saddle without leaping. Nonetheless, she’d agreed to do this picture, and she aimed to see it through, no matter how horrible the experience was. “I’m trying, Mr. Archuleta. I truly am.”

  “Si.” He nodded gloomily. “You’re trying, all right.”

  She squinted at him, wondering if he’d meant that the way she suspected he did. She decided not to press the issue. “Shall we try again?”

  Archuleta shrugged, as if it didn’t matter to him what she did. “I get paid. Sure.”

  Although his attitude echoed her own, it somehow seemed to contain an element of exasperation which Amy didn’t appreciate. Before she could brace up her courage and tackle the reins and saddle and animal again, she and Archuleta were interrupted.

  “Howdy, folks.”

  Amy’s heart gave a gigantic leap when she heard Charlie Fox’s voice behind her. She glanced up quickly, saw that he was smiling kindly upon her, and wished he’d take over her horsemanship lessons. She had a feeling he was more kindly disposed toward her than Mr. Archuleta, who was impatient with her naiveté regarding horses as well as with her awkwardness around them. And, since neither of those attributes were her fault, she thought he was being needlessly unpleasant.

  Archuleta said, “I don’t need no cowboy telling her things I don’t want her to know.” His tone was flat, as if he expected Charlie to comply with his edict at once and go away.

  Charlie scratched his head and grinned down at the much smaller man. Amy was impressed, both by Charlie’s size and by his congeniality. Mr. Archuleta hadn’t spoken nicely at all. As for her, she seized the moment of reprieve to back away from the monstrous horse—thank God, thank God—fold her hands at her waist, and watch.

  “Well, now, Mr. Archuleta, Martin’s told me that you’re one of the finest riding instructors in California, and I sure don’t want to interfere.”

  Archuleta nodded sharply. “Good.”

  “But, you see, Miss Wilkes here has never been close to a horse before, and she’s a little nervous.”

  “Yes, exactly,” Amy said at once, gratified that Charlie understood, even if her teacher didn’t.

  Archuleta shrugged. “Horses are easy.” He gave Amy a crabby look. “Like most women.”

  Amy felt her eyes go wide, but opted not to voice her protest, believing silence in this instance to be the better part of prudence. She didn’t like him very well, though. In fact, she didn’t like him at all. Why were motion picture people so difficult?

  “It appears to me,” Charlie continued in his easy, friendly drawl, “that Miss Wilkes might be better off getting to know the horse first, and then maybe how it feels to sit in the saddle, before you teach her how to climb up onto one.”

  Archuleta’s eyes squinched up as he thought about it. Amy, too, thought about it and decided Charlie was brilliant. “My goodness, yes!” she cried. “What a famous idea. That way I’ll know what I’m aiming for.” She noticed Archuleta’s expression of sour bewilderment and smiled at him. “So to speak.”

  “Just for a minute or two,” urged Charlie gently. “Until she’s comfortable on the horse.”

  “This is stupid,” Archuleta declared, and turned to search the encampment, Amy presumed, for Martin Tafft. Karen caught her eye, grinned at her, and gave her a thumbs-up signal, and she appreciated her new friend a lot.

  “Why don’t you go find Martin,” Charlie suggested. “We can see what he thinks about the idea.”

  “Yeah, I better,” Archuleta growled, and turned to slouch away.

  Charlie winked at Amy, then turned to watch the riding instructor as he made his extremely bowlegged way to the tent village.

  Amy put her hand on Charlie’s arm. “Thanks so much, Mr. Fox. That man was making me wildly nervous.” She glanced at the horse, who had taken to snuffling the ground in search, she presumed, of comestibles. It didn’t look to her as if it was going to have much luck in the endeavour. “And,” she confessed after a second, “I’m nervous about the horse, too.”

  He nodded kindly. “I understand.”

  She gazed up into his lovely brown eyes. “Do you really? Mr. Archuleta didn’t.”

  “You’re not used to horses.”

  “no,” she said on a relieved sigh. “I’m not.”

  “You’ve never been on one before?”

  It was a legitimate question, and Amy shook her head. “No. I’ve never even been this close to one before.”

  “Well, why don’t we try to get you used to this one while Archuleta is complaining to Martin?”

  “Oh, dear, do you think he’s going to complain?”

  His lazy grin warmed her already warm heart. “I ‘spect so. He don’t seem to like cowboys much.”

  “He don’t—doesn’t like me much, either,” Amy said.

  With a start, she realized that she’d stuffed Mr. Archuleta and Vernon Catesby into the same compartment in her mind—the one labelled “fusspots.” How odd.

  “So how’s about I lift you up onto this thing’s back, and you can see how it feels to sit a horse?”

  Charlie’s sensible suggestion drew Amy’s thoughts back to the problem at hand. She eyed the horse again. “All right.” She wasn’t looking forward to viewing the world from on top of that brute. She didn’t care for heights.

  “Turn around, please.”

  She turned around and a second later felt Charlie’s big, competent hands go around her waist. Unprepared for the thrill that shot through her at his touch, she shut her eyes and held her breath until he’d settled her in the saddle. It wasn’t ladylike to ride astride, she guessed, but Karen had told her that modern women often did. Otherwise, nobody would have invented split skirts. Besides, horseback riding was safer and more comfortable that way.

  On that sensible and practical thought, she dared to open her eyes—and gasped.

  Charlie was right there beside her, holding the horse’s reins with one hand. He’d settled his other hand on the horse’s neck. Amy’s hands were clutching the saddle horn as if it were her only link to life.

  “You all right, ma’am?”

  She tried to swallow, but all of her spit had dried up, so she nodded instead. Then she shook her head, closed her eyes, tried to slow her breathing, and opened them again. “Um ... I’m not sure.”

  “It’s a long way up there, isn’t it?”

  His easy smile, silky drawl, and twinkly eyes were all that currently kept Amy from breaking into shrieks of terror, so she stared into his face, petrified. “Yes.” It was a mere whisper of air, and she almost didn’t hear it herself.

  “Just take it easy,” he suggested. “Horses are pretty dumb animals. This old boy wants his pasture, I reckon, and isn’t happy to be in school this afternoon.”

  “Neither am I.”

  Charlie chuckled softly. “We’ll try to make your experience not too rough. Okay?”

  She nodded again, unable to make herself say “Okay” in response, but unwilling to say anything less casual. Her heart was beating a crazy tattoo against her ribs, her tongue was trying to cleave to the roof of her mouth, and she feared she was in imminent danger of fainting from sheer fright. Her head felt swimmy from the altitude.

  “Here,” Charlie said, never altering the tone of his voice. “Why don’t you hold on to these for a second of two? Just to get used to them.” He held the reins out to her.

  Amy stared at them, petrified. Merciful God, he was going to leave her to her own devices on top of this enormous beast. He was relinquishing the reins to her. Did he want her to die? Too unnerved to speak, she managed to unstick one of her hands from the saddle horn long enough to grab the reins. Immediately, her hand went back to the saddle horn, reins and all. She heard Charlie sigh, even as another voice came to them from several yards off.

  “Oh, yes, I see.”

 
; She dared to turn her head slightly at the sound and saw Martin, whose voice it was. He was approaching with Mr. Archuleta limping at his side. Why was he limping? Was it because a horse had injured him? If so, why hadn’t anyone told Amy about it? After all, if horses were so dangerous that they created limps in competent riders, somebody ought to have warned her.

  “Howdy, Martin,” Charlie said in his usual amiable drawl. “We’re getting Miss Wilkes accustomed to this here animal.”

  After trying thrice, Amy managed to swallow and say, “Yes.” Her voice was high-pitched and somewhat squeaky. She tried to clear her throat, but couldn’t summon enough spit.

  Martin, who didn’t seem at all put out, a circumstance for which Amy was extremely thankful, smiled and nodded. “So I see. How’s it going, Amy?”

  “All right,” she squeezed out. She realized that both of her hands were still clamped like talons to the saddle horn, and she made an effort to unclamp them. They didn’t want to be unclamped. Failing in the endeavour, she attempted a smile for Martin. That didn’t work, either. Fiddle.

  “I think she needs to get used to the horse for a few minutes before she tries to mount,” Charlie told Martin. “I lifted her up so she could see how it feels to sit in the saddle.”

  Archuleta huffed, but Martin said, “Sounds reasonable.” He eyed Amy critically.

  Amy, who was now experiencing a mortifying impulse to burst into tears, gave a jerky nod and hoped she didn’t look as pitiful as she felt.

  “In fact,” Martin said, and there was a trace of concern in his expression, “maybe it would be better if Charlie took over for a little while here. Would that be all right with you, Amy?”

  She managed another short nod, but couldn’t form words. Martin smiled at her encouragingly.

  “I don’t want no cowboy interfering with my lessons,” Archuleta said stubbornly.

  With a placating gesture and a gentle smile, Martin said, “I’m sure Charlie doesn’t want to interfere. But Miss Wilkes and he know each other already, and maybe he can get her accustomed to the horse before you begin teaching her the finer points of riding.”

  “Finer points?” Archuleta’s voice rose. “What finer points? She doesn’t even know how to mount!”

  “She’ll be able to learn better when she’s comfortable with the animal.”

  That was Charlie, and though he spoke reasonably, Amy thought she detected a note of steel in his voice. She hoped so, because if she were left to the tender mercies of Mr. Archuleta, she feared she’d collapse from fright. She was about to pass out now, if it came to that. She couldn’t recall another single time in her life when she’d been more afraid—not even when her parents had left her. She’d been too young to understand then, but she wasn’t any longer.

  “I don’t like it,” Archuleta declared. “It don’t make no sense. I’m supposed to be the teacher.”

  “You’re still the teacher,” Charlie assured him.

  To Amy’s horror, he withdrew his hand from the horse’s neck and took a step closer to Martin and Mr. Archuleta. She would have cried out but couldn’t get her mouth, lips and tongue coordinated. She wanted to shriek at him not to leave her. The horse moved, and everything in her froze into a solid lump of panic.

  “I don’t want to be nobody’s teacher if I got to have a cowboy interfering.”

  Charlie moved another step away from Amy and the monster. She tried to protest, but the horse moved under her, and her protest was drowned in a haze of terror. Good God in heaven, the thing was beginning to walk! Unable to think—her thought processes had congealed along with everything else within her—she held on to the saddle horn for dear life.

  As Charlie, Martin and Mr. Archuleta conversed—Charlie and Martin amiably, Mr. Archuleta with much hand-waving and angry shouting—Amy and her mount ambled along. Only it didn’t feel like an amble to Amy. It felt like a death march. A funeral dirge. An elegy to Amy Wilkes, whose life on this green earth had been short, but sweet for the most part.

  She’d miss her aunt and uncle. She’d miss Charlie Fox—she wished she’d been able to get to know him better; she believed they might have found they had a good deal in common underneath their surface differences. She’d miss her friends in Pasadena. She’d miss Martin Tafft. She’d miss Karen Crenshaw, even if she did smoke cigarettes.

  She wasn’t altogether sure she’d miss Vernon Catesby, because she was annoyed with him and wished she’d had more time to deal with her feelings about that wretched letter. She was pretty sure he’d miss her.

  A sob broke from her as the horse reached the fence. Was it going to try to leap over it? If it did, Amy knew she’d fall off.

  But wait. Didn’t horses have to take running starts before they jumped over things? Amy prayed it was so. Her relief was incalculable—and inexpressible, since she still couldn’t talk—when instead of leaping, the horse turned and moved along the fence, as if it were looking for a gate. Thank God, thank God. Maybe it wasn’t as stupid as Charlie thought it if was looking for a gate.

  After what seemed like thirteen days but could only have been a minute at most, Amy realized that she wasn’t falling off of the horse’s back. Not only that, but the horse, although entirely too tall for any useful purpose in life, didn’t seem to have a truly evil spirit in it, as Amy had at first feared. Actually, it seemed ... well ... sort of relaxed. Placid. Lazy, even. It halted every few steps to nuzzle the ground in search of green stuff to eat. There wasn’t any, since this was the middle of the desert in the middle of summer.

  With that realization came the understanding that she, who held the reins, might actually be able to control this equine friend. She wasn’t about to take any chances, but she did allow her body to relax its solid rigidity. She even dared to turn her head an inch or so, and was ecstatic to see that they were not too many yards away from Charlie, Martin and Mr. Archuleta, who were still in animated conversation.

  She licked her lips, pleased to note that she also had some spit to spare, although not quite enough to swallow with. Taking a deep breath, she released it slowly and said, “All right, horse.”

  It was a start, although it didn’t get her very far. The horse, however, seemed intent on getting her farther, and she decided that such a circumstance was probably not advisable. Which, she figured, drawing upon scenes witnessed during her lifetime, was where the reins came in. She lifted them in one hand—she still couldn’t quite bring herself to release the saddle horn entirely.

  Taking another deep breath, she pulled back on the reins very lightly—she didn’t want the horse to object—and said, “Whoa.” Even she could hear the lack of sincerity in the one syllable, so she spoke more firmly.

  “Whoa!” There. That was better.

  It wasn’t better enough, however, because the horse didn’t stop its slow walk away from the people who were supposed to be taking care of her. But were they? No-o-o-o. They were chatting. Arguing with each other. Discussing Mr. Archuleta’s bruised ego. Amy turned her head a little further this time and aimed a frown at the trio, who still hadn’t even noticed she wasn’t there any longer.

  Bother. Amy was beginning to understand her aunt’s sometimes caustic strictures against the male of the species. Her temper began to get the better of her terror. She spoke sharply to the horse. “Stop it!” Along with her command, she pulled more strongly on the reins.

  She could have sworn the horse heaved a big, dispirited sigh, but at least it stopped walking. Amy was very pleased with herself.

  “That’s better. Now why don’t you turn around and go back to where we came from?” Still clutching the saddle horn with her right hand, Amy pulled the reins in her left hand across her chest and over her right shoulder. It was an awkward position, but she didn’t dare let go of the saddle horn in order to rearrange the reins in her hands. If the horse didn’t like it, that was just too bad. She didn’t like it, either.

  The horse might well have not liked it, but it did as Amy directed. She wanted
to cheer, but still didn’t have enough spit.

  Her annoyance did not abate as she neared the three men, who were as yet unaware of her at all—not her presence, her absence, or her abject fear and terror. Amy resented them mightily and wished them all at the devil. Since she was far too refined and delicately reared ever to say such a thing aloud, she decided to bump into them with the horse and see how they liked it. Fortunately for her, the horse was either also annoyed or very obedient, because it did just as she directed it to do, and thrust its big horsy head smack into the middle of the three gentlemen.

  Charlie and Martin had begun to shout at Mr. Archuleta by this time, but the intrusion of the horse effectively stopped their conversation cold. All three men stared dumbly up at Amy, who frowned down at them.

  “Amy!” cried Martin.

  “Mr. Tafft,” she said coldly. Turning her attention to Charlie, she said, “I think this animal and I understand each other now, Mr. Fox. Would you care to continue the lesson?” Eyeing Mr. Archuleta arctically, she added, “I prefer to take lessons from Mr. Fox, who possesses far more patience than you do, sir.”

  Martin’s eyes went as round as doughnuts. Charlie grinned. Archuleta scowled hideously, threw up his hands, turned on his heel, and marched off toward the tent village. Amy, who wasn’t nearly as unfazed by the recent events as she wanted everyone to believe, glanced over to find Karen Crenshaw holding her clasped hands over her head in a gesture of victory and smiling broadly at her.

  The starch went out of Amy’s sails instantly, and she felt only very tired and very, very glad she had Karen Crenshaw as a friend.

  * * *

  Thank the good Lord that was over. After her initial problems with horseback riding, Amy’s lesson had proceeded fairly well, with Charlie teaching her. She had no idea what had happened to Mr. Archuleta and didn’t care if she ever found out.

  At the moment, she was frowning over the letter from Vernon Catesby which she’d received that noontime. She hadn’t liked it the first time she’d scanned it; she liked it even less now.