by Janet Dailey
With the closing of the door, something inside LaRaine crumpled. She stared after him for several minutes. Then mechanically, she began undressing and changing into her filmy nightgown. Crawling into bed, she stared at the ceiling. Sam's words kept mixing with what Travis had told her—that he hoped tonight would be the first of many lessons. It was a long, long time before she slept.
A knock on her door wakened her the next morning. LaRaine didn't want to wake up, preferring the oblivion of sleep to the problems she faced. She pulled the pillow over her head to try to shut out the persistent knocking.
Finally, groggy from sleep that had brought her no rest, she climbed out of bed and tugged on the matching robe to complete her negligee set. Not bothering to tie the robe closed, she held it shut with her hand. She walked to the door and opened it a crack to look bleary-eyed at the desk manager of the hotel.
"I've been told you're leaving this morning," he said. "I wondered what time you intend to vacate the room?"
LaRaine ran a hand across her eyes and tried to think. If she left, where would she go? But she had to leave. Even disregarding Andrew Behr's orders for her to be packed and gone, she didn't have the money to pay for a hotel room.
"I…I haven't packed yet," she stalled. Which was true. "As a matter of fact, you just woke me up."
The manager didn't apologize for that. LaRaine could well imagine what the director had probably told the man about her. She didn't have a chance of appealing to the manager to let her stay another day.
"Twelve noon should give you sufficient time to pack your things," he told her.
"Noon, yes, that will be fine." She smiled wanly. What else could she say?
The man nodded curtly and turned to walk down the hallway toward the lobby. LaRaine closed the door and leaned her shoulder against it. The room was a mess, clothes scattered everywhere. And she was supposed to pack and be out of the room by noon.
Sighing heavily, she walked to the bathroom. First things came first. She would shower, get dressed, put on her makeup, then pack. If she were a few minutes late, then it was just their tough luck.
The shower did her a world of good. She felt refreshed, more able to battle whatever was to come. Going through her crowded closet, she selected her outfit with care—a faded pair of tight-fitting jeans and a yellow knit T-shirt. It was simple, down-to-earth, and exactly the image she wanted to portray.
Next came the makeup. The base and contouring color sticks were standard routine. But LaRaine used less eyeshadow and chose a tawny combination of shades with a light usage of brown eyeliner. The mascara, too, she was careful not to overuse. Instead of red lipstick, she applied a more natural color that tinted her lips. Brushing her raven hair until it glistened, she let it swing free about her shoulders, its style loose and casual.
The hard part was next—packing. The closet was jammed with clothes and so was the dresser. Outside of weekend trips, LaRaine had never done any major packing in her life. There had always been someone else to do it—a maid or her mother or her cousin.
Dragging the suitcases out of the closet, she opened them on the bed. Without following any natural order, she began folding garments and laying them in the cases. She ran out of room before she ran out of clothes. Her brief attempt at neatness was abandoned as she began cramming clothes and cosmetics into any and every available hole.
Closing and locking them became the next problem, solved when she sat on them. It took all her strength to drag the bigger cases off the bed and set them on the floor. Normally LaRaine would have called to have a porter carry her luggage to the lobby, but that would mean tipping. The few dollars she had could be better spent on other things.
It took her three trips before all her luggage was sitting in the hotel lobby. Her arms ached with the effort. She glanced at the clock above the desk. It was half past eleven. She had made the deadline, she thought triumphantly.
The manager was sitting at the switchboard behind the counter. LaRaine walked to it and dropped her key on the top. He turned at the sound. His gaze flicked past her to the suitcases she had piled near the door.
"All packed, I see," he commented.
"Yes," she nodded. "I was wondering if you knew of someone I might hire to drive me where I want to go."
"How far were you going?" he questioned. "The bus stop is just a few blocks —"
"I'm not going to the bus station," LaRaine informed him. She didn't have the price of a ticket to Los Angeles.
"Where, then?" he frowned.
There was only one place she could go and one person who might help her. None of the cast or crew would assist her. LaRaine knew that without asking. Once she would have believed that Sam might have, but after last night she knew better.
"The McCrea ranch, outside of town," she answered.
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Chapter Seven
LARAINE HELD ON TIGHTLY as the old pickup truck bounced over the dirt road to the ranch. She was afraid to look through the back window at her expensive leather suitcases sliding from side to side in the rusty bed of the truck. The crusty old man behind the wheel seemed to have a death wish, considering the speed he was driving over the road. It was no wonder the springs no longer could absorb the shock of the ruts and chuckholes. It was a worse ride than the one Sam had made over the same road.
As they crested the rise and the ranch buildings came into sight clustered on the mesa, LaRaine almost sighed aloud in relief that they had made it in one piece. The man hadn't said two words to her the entire trip. Not that she particularly wanted to talk. Neither did she want to think.
"Don't look like no one's home," the old man observed as the truck hiccuped to a stop in front of the house.
"That's all right. I'll wait," LaRaine told him, and climbed shakily out of the cab of the truck.
The door didn't want to close. "I'll get that. There's a trick to it," he informed her, and walked over to kick the door shut with his boot.
"The trick is sheer brute force." LaRaine shrugged.
"But only if you kick it in the right place." Moving the rear of the truck, he began dragging her suitcases to the tailgate.
"Please be careful with them!" She winced at the treatment he was giving them. There were already scratches on the sides. But he paid no more attention to her now than when he had loaded them in the truck. He stacked them on the ground.
When they were all out, he turned to her and held out his hand. "We agreed on five dollars."
"Yes." She opened up her purse and took out the bill. "Thank you." She gave it to him.
"You're welcome." He tipped his hat and walked back to the truck.
It backfired as he started back up the dirt road. The chickens scratching in the yard scattered in a blur of dust and flying feathers. LaRaine coughed and waved a hand to clear the air in front of her.
Glancing at the suitcases piled on the ground, she wished she had asked him to carry them to the porch. He would probably have charged her extra, she thought wryly. Picking up the largest with both hands, she lugged it to the porch.
When all of them were on the porch, she sat down on the strongest of them all to wait for Travis. She had briefly contemplated going into the house where she would be out of the dust and sun, but she remembered Travis's reaction when she had walked in uninvited the last time. She needed his help desperately; she could not risk offending him.
Directly overhead the sun grew hotter and hotter. LaRaine wished for a drink of cold, cold water. Then the sound of cantering hooves made her forget the thirst. Rising quickly to her feet she walked to the corner of the porch and shaded her eyes. Two riders were coming in. One was Travis and the second had to be his hired hand.
Her hand was resting against the corner post, tension running through her nerve ends stringing them taut. The riders were approaching the rear of the barn, which kept them from having a clear view of the house.
Then LaRaine saw Travis slow his horse and change its angle so he
could see the house. She guessed that he had caught a glimpse of her. She waved, wanting desperately to speak to him alone. It would be embarrassing if she had to tell her story in front of the young hired man.
She heard Travis call something to the other rider, but the distance made the words indistinguishable. Reining his horse away from the barn, he guided it directly to the house. The bay horse trotted into the yard, slowing to a stop in front of the porch.
Studying his rugged features, LaRaine tried to find a clue to his reaction to finding her there, but his expression was unreadable. His dark gaze raked her, then slashed to the suitcases stacked on his porch.
"What are you doing here?" he asked in a quiet voice.
LaRaine felt pinned by his thrusting gaze. "I'm in trouble, Travis."
He hooked his right leg across the saddle horn and leaned on it. She realized he was waiting for an explanation of that statement. Moistening her dry lips, she completely forgot her rehearsed speech, blowing her lines as she had done so often in front of the camera.
"I was fired," she admitted. "I lost my job and was evicted from the hotel."
"Why?" Just the one word.
"Because—" LaRaine took a deep breath "—the car I drove here in last night belonged to the director. I thought it was Sam's. He gave me the keys, but he didn't tell Mr. Behr. When I got back to town last night, Behr was notifying the police that someone had stolen his car—me. He didn't have me arrested, but he fired me and ordered me to pack up and leave."
"Sam didn't explain?"
"No. "She laughed shortly and without humor. "Do you remember what you said last night about the lessons I needed to learn? Well, Sam gave me lesson number two. So I would know what it felt like to be tricked."
"None of this explains why you're here," Travis stated.
"I'm broke. All I had was twenty dollars, and I had to give five of it to the man who drove me out here. I couldn't think of anyone who might help me." Her voice cracked on the last, the desperateness of her situation creeping through.
"What makes you think I'd help you?" He eyed her narrowly, not moving out of his relaxed pose, leaning on the knee hooked around the saddle horn. Yet he was alert, unnervingly so.
"Because I—" LaRaine faltered "—I remembered what you said about being an easy prey for women in trouble."
She saw the silent laugh Travis breathed out before he looked away and shook his head. His dark eyes glittered with sardonic amusement when they refocused on her. The line of his mouth was hard and unrelenting.
"So you expect me to give you some money," he drawled in a voice that didn't admit whether he would or not.
"Yes." LaRaine held her breath.
"How much do you need?" The bay horse stamped at a fly and the saddle creaked beneath Travis as his mount shifted.
That sounded very positive. She moistened her lips, hardly daring to hope. "I could use a thousand." At the lift of his eyebrow, she added hastily, "But I could get by with five hundred."
Travis studied the reins held loosely in a leather-gloved hand. "You're asking me to give you five hundred."
"I'll pay you back," LaRaine promised.
"I have a feeling I'd have to wait a long time." His mouth crooked cynically.
"I'll pay you back as soon as I can. You have my word on that." But the glint in his eye said he didn't put much stock in her word. She had built her hopes up so high and Travis had let her. Stung by his mocking attitude, LaRaine challenged, "Will you give me the money?"
"No."
It was a flat denial without qualification. Her eyes smarted and she pivoted away to face the wild land spreading out from the ranch buildings. She blinked furiously at the moisture in her eyes, not wanting Travis to see how close she was to crying. Where would she go now? What would she do? She didn't even have a place to sleep tonight.
"I know how you might earn the money you need," Travis told her, "if you're willing to work."
"Where?" She spun around, grasping at any straw.
"Here, for me." He watched her closely.
"What do I have to do? How much would you pay?" she rushed.
"I'll pay you fifty dollars a week plus room board to take care of the house."
"Fifty dollars?" LaRaine repeated incredulously. It was such a paltry sum, a tenth of what she needed.
"Plus room and board," Travis reminded her dryly.
"But it would take me ten weeks to earn enough money to leave here," she protested. "Why won't you just give me the money?"
"Because I can't afford to give away the money without getting something in return for it."
"But fifty dollars?" LaRaine repeated again, and looked about her before turning her imploring brown eyes on Travis. "Why can't you pay me a hundred dollars a week?"
Travis tilted his head to one side. "You came to me for help. Fifty dollars a week is my offer. Take it or leave it," he answered.
Her jaw was clenched as she met his unwavering gaze. "What's this? Another lesson?" she challenged bitterly.
"From your viewpoint, it probably is. From mine—" Travis paused "— I'm paying wages to a housekeeper so that I can devote my time completely to running the ranch. What's your answer?"
"I don't have any choice." LaRaine glared at him resentfully. "I don't have any place to go, no place to sleep, and very little money. I'll take it."
Straightening, Travis unhooked his knee from saddle horn and stepped down off the horse. He glanced at the barn and called, "Joe!"
A slim figure stepped out of the interior shadows. "Yes, sir?"
"Will you take care of the bay for me?" It was an order phrased as a request.
The hired hand trotted across the yard to obey. As he drew closer, the impression of youth increased. The chest and shoulders were just beginning to muscle out. There was a fresh, open quality about his features.
"Joe, this is Miss Evans," Travis introduced. "She's going to keep house for me." To LaRaine, he identified, "This is Joe Benteen."
"Hello, Joe." LaRaine attempted to sound pleasant, stifling the resentment she felt toward Travis.
"Ma'am." Joe briefly lifted his black hat, grayed with dust. The action exposed the unusual red blond shade of his hair. There was a hint of shyness in the hazel eyes, but his smile seemed natural. LaRaine remembered that he was only nineteen.
"When you're through in the barn, Joe, come to the house," Travis told him. "I'll be needing your help."
"Sure thing." He took the horse's reins from Travis and led it to the barn.
Walking onto the porch, Travis picked up the two heaviest suitcases and glanced at LaRaine. "We might as well bring your things inside."
She picked up the lightest of the three remaining pieces and followed him into the house. Her nose wrinkled in distaste at the deplorably furnished living room. Travis didn't take the hallway that led to kitchen and the closed staircase to the second floor. Crossing the living room, he walked to a door and opened it.
It was a bedroom, LaRaine discovered as she followed Travis through the doorway. She guessed that because there was a bed and a dresser and a closet. It was almost monklike, with no pictures on the drab green walls to relieve its severity. Travis set her luggage on the floor at the foot of the bed.
"You'll have to wait to unpack until I can get things moved out to the shed," he told her.
"The shed?" she echoed.
"Yes, I'll be sleeping out there."
"But why? I mean, you don't have to. There are bedrooms upstairs, aren't there?" LaRaine frowned.
He studied her with amused patience. "I know it may seem to you that we're relatively isolated out here but things have a way of getting around. When people learn that I've hired a young, beautiful actress to house for me, they're going to talk—especially if we're sleeping under the same roof."
"So what?" She lifted her shoulders in a shrug of bewilderment. "I'm used to people talking about me. It doesn't bother me. I don't care what they say."
"But I care what th
ey say. They're my neighbors, and I want their respect and trust. So you see, it isn't your reputation I'm trying to protect." Travis smiled lazily. "It's mine." Turning, he added over his shoulder, "I'll bring in the rest of your luggage."
When he came back, he set the last two pieces of her luggage on the floor beside the others. "That's all of it," he said.
"Look," LaRaine began guiltily, "I'm sorry to be putting you out of your home this way. I really am."
"If you mean that, I'll stay here and Joe can move into one of the upstairs bedrooms, then you can sleep in the shed," Travis suggested.
Stunned, LaRaine could only look at him with horror. She couldn't imagine sleeping in that broken-down building—there were probably rats and mice all over the place. Then she saw the wicked glint in his eye and realized he was teasing.
"I don't think that was very funny," she muttered.
Travis chuckled and walked into the living room. LaRaine stayed in the bedroom, fighting to control her temper. She didn't like being the butt of a joke. Joe came. She heard Travis give him orders to bring down an army cot from an upstairs bedroom and take it to the shed.
When all that was done, the two of them exchanged the small dresser that had obviously been in the shed for a larger chest of drawers from upstairs. Then Travis emptied his things from the dresser drawers and closet in the bedroom to make room for LaRaine's. She was unpacking when he returned to the house.
"Do you want some lunch?" He paused in the doorway.
"No, thanks." LaRaine tried to restrict her eating to one meal a day to avoid unwanted pounds.
A few minutes later she heard the clatter of pots in the kitchen. After that came an appetizing aroma filtering into the bedroom. LaRaine steadfastly ignored it and continued unpacking. She heard the scrape of chair legs across the linoleum floor of the kitchen and the muffled voices of Travis and Joe as they sat down to eat.
She had one suitcase emptied when chair legs scraped again and there was the clink of silverware on plates. The screen door slammed and footsteps crossed the porch. But a second pair of footsteps approached the bedroom and she glanced up when Travis's brawny frame darkened the doorway.