Cowboy For Hire

by Duncan, Alice

  “Are you sure you’ll be all right riding a horse?” Martin asked her. “I know you’re not … ah … used to horseback riding.”

  “You mean I’m a terrible horsewoman,” Amy said with a smile. “I know it, but that’s all right. The Peerless village is only two or three miles off, and if the horse doesn’t run away or anything, I’m sure I’ll be fine.

  “I’ll ride with her and make sure nothing bad happens,” Charlie offered instantly.

  * * *

  Martin eyed him thoughtfully for a second or two, then nodded. “Good. That’s fine, then. I’ll entrust Miss Wilkes and the rest of the cast who ride the horses to your care, if that’s all right with you Charlie. You’ve got more experience riding her on animals and people than anyone else.” Martin smiled, but Charlie knew what he meant.

  Shoot, Charlie had been sort of hoping he’d have Amy to himself for an hour or so as they rode back to the tent city. But he guessed it couldn’t be helped. “Sure thing, Martin. I’ll try to make sure nobody drowns.”

  He laughed and looked at the sky, which was still spitting a raindrop or two every few minutes. It was a tolerably lazy-looking sky to Charlie. Reminded him of Horace Huxtable, actually. Huxtable, except when he was drinking, seemed to prefer the exercise of sitting on his butt and criticizing everyone else than doing anything useful.

  Speaking of Huxtable, the actor stormed over to Martin before Charlie had turned away, sputtering and shouting about the possibility of a rainstorm. Charlie watched, just in case Huxtable got carried away. Although he was pretty sure Martin could deck the star, Charlie didn’t think it was worth it to take a chance.

  “I’m the star of this picture!” Huxtable roared. “I’m not used to being treated like this! I’m accustomed to being taken care of.”

  “Pampered,” muttered Charlie under his breath. Huxtable turned and glared at him, and he wished he’d been more discreet. No sense in riling the salty old ham hock now, no matter how much Huxtable deserved to be riled.

  Huxtable pointed a trembling finger at Charlie. “I’ll talk to you later. I have a bone to pick with you. You’re a violent, unpredictable villain, and you’re a menace to the civilized members of the cast!”

  Charlie bridled even though he knew Huxtable wasn’t worth getting mad at. People like him needed to be ignored almost more than they needed shooting. “Right,” he said sarcastically. “Unlike you, who only pick on tiny little ladies and throw them off of raised platforms.”

  “I did no such thing!”

  “Stop it!” Martin yelled, sounding as near to fierce as Charlie expected he could sound. He was also yanking hard on his hair, which Charlie was sorry to see, since it meant the poor fellow was at his wits’ end. “Please, don’t fight! We’ve got to think about the cameras now.”

  Charlie felt guilty about provoking Huxtable. Making Huxtable mad was pathetically easy to do, and Charlie knew it upset Martin. He said, “I’ll leave you to take care of your star, Martin. I’ll go help the ladies saddle up.”

  “Thanks, Charlie,” Martin said with patent relief. “Huxtable, you can ride in the covered wagon with the cameras.”

  “A covered wagon?” Huxtable roared. “What do you think I am? A pioneer? I’ve never heard of such a thing!”

  So Charlie strolled off in search of Amy and Karen, leaving Martin to sooth Horace Huxtable’s tender sensibilities, a prospect from which he himself shrank as if from a pack of wild boards. He heard the two men squabbling at his back, Huxtable indignant, Martin sensible and very weary. As for Charlie, he still considered the chance of any problems resulting from the rain as remote as the possibility of Horace Huxtable going to heaven when he died.

  He was wrong. They’d only been riding for about ten minutes when the sky opened up and the deluge began. Huge forks of lightning lit up the sky which had gone as dark as midnight, and booms of thunder rattled Charlie’s bones and the earth around him. Rain came down in sheets so thick he couldn’t see the ground in from of his horse’s hooves, much less the other people in his small party of riders.

  Pulling his collar up around his chin and yanking his Stetson down on his forehead, he muttered, “Shoot, it’s going on toward a regular gully-buster.”

  “Beg pardon?”

  That was another thing. The racket from the storm was so great that voices had to be raised in order to be heard. “It’s turned into a big storm,” he shouted to Amy, who had asked the question He pulled his horse up next to hers and gazed at her in some concern. “You all right, ma’am?”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  He didn’t believe her. She was soaked to the skin already, and the day had been so insufferably hot that she hadn’t thought to ring any sort of wrap out to the sawmill. Neither had Charlie, for that matter, nor anyone else. She looked kind of like a drowned kitten, and Charlie’s protective impulses soared like the mercury in a thermometer on a blistering summer‘s day.

  “Wish I had a jacket to lend you,” he told her. “You look mighty cold and uncomfortable.”

  She glanced up at him for a moment before ducking her head to avoid getting drowned by breathing in rain. “I’m no worse off than anyone else, “ she said shortly.

  He guessed that was true.; Glancing about at the five others in their little band of horseback riders, he saw that Karen Crenshaw was every bit wet and miserable as Amy. For some reason, while he wished he could do something for Karen, he wasn’t paralyzed with worry about her as he was for Amy. That probably meant something really stupid on his part, but he couldn’t seem to help himself.

  He didn’t know where the wagons were. Behind them somewhere. Martin had insisted the riders go on ahead in an effort to beat the storm. The crew had to remain behind and secure the cameras and other equipment in the wagons, and make sure the waterproof covers were strapped down tightly. Cameras were expensive. More expensive than, say, Charlie and Amy, who could be replaced with ease.

  “Glad Martin knows more about California weather than I do,” he shouted. “I didn’t think those few drops of rain meant a thing. In the territory, we usually can spot a storm coming for hours in advance. I didn’t even see any clouds to predict this one. The air was just sort of thick and heavy.”

  “I guess Mr. Tafft has experience with these things,” said Amy.

  Charlie’s heart turned over when he realized her teeth had begun to chatter. Shoot, he wished he could think of—wait a minute. Maybe he could.

  “Just a minute, ma’am. I think there’s a blanket rolled up behind this saddle. Let me unstrap it, and you can wrap yourself up in it.”

  “Don’t be silly, Mr. Fox,” Amy snapped. “I’m in no worse shape than you or Miss Crenshaw. If the two of your don’t have a blanket, I certainly won’t use one.”

  Damn. She would have to go all noble on him now, of all unhealthy times, wouldn’t she? A rumble from in back of them made Charlie turn in his saddle. “There are the wagons.” He wondered how those heavily laden wagons were going to traverse the rocky road to the tent city. Already water was running over the rocks and potholes like a river, and swirling mud was sucking at his horse’s feet. He was pretty sure he could keep his own mount upright and hoped the other horses wouldn’t flounder.

  Through the curtain of rain, he saw that one of the mules pulling the lead wagon had stumbled. He pulled his horse around. “I think they might need some help back there.”

  Amy turned, too. “Oh, the poor horse.”

  He didn’t tell her that the poor horse was a mule, figuring it didn’t matter.

  She went on, “Yes, please try to help them, Mr. Fox. I’m sure you have more experience with such things than they do.”

  “Yeah.” Charlie didn’t know how she’d gained that impression—after all, his experience with cameras dated back no further than his arrival on the Peerless lot—but he didn’t argue about that, either. Instead, he guided his horse back to the supply wagon. After a shouted conversation with the driver, he nodded and went to the mules’
heads, where he could be of some use in directing them around the biggest potholes.

  It was a bedraggled motion picture company that eventually stumbled into the Peerless lot a couple of hours later. Charlie, far from having been private with Amy Wilkes during that time, had spent the better part of it keeping the mules from breaking their legs. He wasn’t a happy man when he left Martin and the wagons and went off in search of Amy. If he hadn’t been of use to her on the ride home, he might at least help her setting in now.

  There would be no settling in that night, he soon discovered. Several of the tents had already been flooded, including the tent provided for female crew members. When he sloshed back through the muddy encampment, Charlie found Martin in the tent reserved for the cameras, trying to build temporary platforms in case the rain should get worse during the night. He asked about Amy.

  “Lord, I don’t know where anybody is,” a frenzied Martin told him. “We’re still trying to secure the cameras.” Martin waved a hand in the air and looked as if he might never recover from this particular rainstorm. “Check out the chow tent. I don’t think that one’s flooded. I know I saw Karen heading there with her suitcase a few minutes ago.”

  Shoot. The notion of Amy and Karen, and however many other ladies might be working on this picture, fending for themselves while everybody else worried about cameras didn’t appeal to Charlie. He thought women deserved to be taken care of. At the very least, somebody out to be watching out for them.

  Because he thought it was important to Amy’s peace of mind—perhaps even to her safety—he asked Martin one other question before he set out for the chow tent. “What about Huxtable? Is his tent flooded?”

  “Good Lord, I hope not,” Martin said. “He’s too much trouble when conditions are ideal. If we have to suffer a flood and Huxtable’s temperament, too, I’m not sure I won’t go clean out of my mind.”

  Two crew members carrying a heavy burden swathed in oilskin struggled up to Martin then, and his attention was diverted from Charlie. What was more, it didn’t look to Charlie as if it would come back to him any time soon.

  With a worried mind and a heavy heart, Charlie set out for the chow tent. He knew he should stay and help, but some compulsion with which he was totally unfamiliar drove him to find Amy before he did another single thing.

  The first person he saw when he entered the chow tent was Amy Wilkes. The worry lifted from his heart instantly, and he smiled at her. She smiled back—rather shyly, Charlie thought.

  “You’re all right?” He hurried up to her, holding out his hands before he realized what he was doing.

  “Yes, thank you. We’re only a little bit wet.” She ignored his outstretched hands and gestured at the rest of the company, who were in various stages of toweling themselves dry.

  Charlie dropped his hands to his sides, embarrassed at having been caught in a spontaneous and, he feared, unwelcome gesture of intimacy. Shoot. When would he learn? He and Amy Wilkes were poles apart, both socially and historically, and it would take more than a single motion picture to draw them together. Ding-bust-it.

  Trying to recover a modicum of his dignity, Charlie said, “Yes, so I see.” Karen Crenshaw, he noticed with gratitude, smiled and winked at him, as if she knew exactly what agonies of embarrassment he was experiencing. He smiled back. “Is there anything I can do to help you folks out?”

  Dang, there was Horace Huxtable. Charlie frowned at the miserable old ham, who was, naturally, making a fuss.

  “I can’t endure this!” Huxtable whined. Then he sneezed.

  Good. Maybe he’d catch some deadly disease and do the world a favor by croaking. Charlie supposed he ought to feel guilty for entertaining the mean-spirited thought, but he couldn’t drum up an ounce of guilt to save himself.

  Amy peered over her shoulder at the commotion, wrinkled her nose, and stuck out her tongue, surprising Charlie, who hadn’t anticipated anything of such a spontaneous nature from this source. “That man ought to be forced to live like other people for a few days and see how he likes it.”

  Surprised by Amy’s comment, Charlie couldn’t think of a response. Amy eyed him and frowned.

  “Oh, I know,” she said, brushing her hair out with angry vigor. She had gorgeous hair. Charlie wished she’d let him brush it for a while Silly Charlie. “You think I’m a spoiled rich girl, but I’m not. I’ve had a rather sheltered life since I came to live with my aunt and uncle, but, believe me, before that I was far from sheltered.

  “Yeah?” Fascinated by this unexpected aspect of Amy’s life, Charlie hoped she’d expound upon her background. In truth, he had believed her to be a spoiled rich girl before he’d gotten to know her. He was kind of afraid to ask her about it because he sensed such questions would be considered impolite by a lady from Pasadena.

  In Arizona Territory, life was a good deal more casual than it seemed to be here, and nobody minded others asking stuff like that. If a man didn’t want anybody to know his background, he’d either say so, make up another one, or shoot you for asking, and most folks honored him for it. There was more than one fellow who’d started over from a bad East Coast beginning in the Western territories.

  “Charlie!”

  Charlie turned at his name, and realized Karen had walked up to him. He tipped his drenched Stetson and smiled at her.

  “Would you mind helping us set up cots and bedrolls in this tent so we can sleep here tonight? I guess the cooks are going to fix some kind of soup and sandwiches for supper in the kitchen area, but most of us are going to have to camp out here since our tents are all wet.”

  “We’re going to be camping out!” Amy exclaimed.

  Both Charlie and Karen looked at her, and Charlie was charmed when she flushed.

  “I’ve never camped out before,” Amy explained, lifting her chin in a gesture Charlie had come to recognize as one of defiance. He thought she was cute as a button.

  “By gum, that’s so,” he said, mainly to encourage her. “This will be just like camping out, only we’ll all be in a big tent instead of our under the stars.”

  “If we were out under the stars,” Karen said wryly, “I don’t suppose we’d any of us, get any sleep.”

  “True,” said Amy, whose spirit had returned. “We’d be too busy swimming.”

  Both Charlie and Karen laughed, and Charlie could tell that Amy was pleased with herself for being witty in trying circumstances. He was pleased with her, too. In fact, he realized there was very little about Amy Wilkes that didn’t please him these days. He sighed, thinking he was a danged fool to fall for a city girl.

  Nevertheless, he set about arranging things so that as many people as possible could fit into the chow tent to sleep. He even rigged up a curtain behind which the ladies could change their clothes, providing they could find warm dry clothes to swap for their sopping ones.

  “This is just like camp,” Karen said at one point. She seemed mighty cheerful about it.

  “Oh, how fun. I always wanted to go to a camp in the wilderness somewhere,” Amy sounded cheerful, too.

  Charlie watched them curiously. “It’s like a storm on the trail, too,” he murmured, wondering what they’d make of that.

  “Oh, it is really? How interesting.” That was Amy, and Charlie felt a potent combination of enchantment and surprise mingling in his chest area.

  “Yes, ma’am. Sometimes when we’re driving cattle to market, it’ll storm. Thunder and lightning scares the willies out of cattle.”

  “My goodness.” She sounded breathless, as if she’d never heard anything so fascinating in her life.

  Wondering if she was pretending of if she really found tales of ranch life interesting, Charlie went on cautiously, ready to stop talking immediately if she began to look the least bit bored. Maybe the dreams he’d begun to spin weren’t as nonsensical as he’d believed them to be. “Yes, ma’am. It’s hard to get a herd settled when there’s thunder in the air.”

  “Is it the noise, do you suppose? I imagine
a cow wouldn’t know what thunder was and might be startled.”

  Charlie grinned, but didn’t laugh, sensing that Amy wouldn’t appreciate it but would believe that he was laughing at her ignorance. And it wasn’t that, exactly. It was only that she was so danged darling. “That is true, ma’am. Cattle are pretty stupid. But there’s also something in the air that riles them, even before the rain starts. Something they can sense that we humans can’t. Reckon it might be the electricity or something.”

  “My goodness.”

  “Oh, yes,” Karen said. “My cat always gets a little strange before a rainstorm. Although,” she added as if bent upon telling nothing but the truth, “we don’t often get thunder and lightning in the Pasadena area.”

  “That’s true,” said Amy.

  She didn’t sound as if she were as terrified of thunder and lightning as Charlie’d been led to believe city ladies were. He asked with interest, “Do you mind the storm, ma’am?”

  He stood on a chair, grabbed the rope Amy tossed to him, and wrapped it around a tent beam. He tied a square knot in the rope so he’d be able to untie it again come morning if they didn’t need it any longer.

  Amy shrugged. “Not really. I mean, I’m not scared, if that is what you mean. It would be rather more pleasant to be listening to it from inside a nice, warm house, I guess.”

  “You can say that again,” said Karen. “With a cup of hot cocoa and a big fire in a fireplace.” She sighed.

  “On a soft bearskin rug,” Amy said dreamily.

  “With a plate of macaroons to nibble on.”

  “That sounds lovely,” Amy said, and Charlie noted a hint of wistfulness in her voice.