“You can put your hats on the rack over there,” she said, regaining some of her composure. It was silly of her to react this strongly to the presence of a handsome man. Shoot, Martin himself was a looker, and he hadn’t affected her this way.
“Thanks,” Martin said in his friendly tone.
The other man didn’t speak, but both hung their hats on the rack. It had been fashioned decades earlier from longhorn cattle horns and was as ugly as the back of a barn, but her father had brought it with him from Texas, and Mari loved it for his sake. He’d once told her that encountering furniture made out of cattle horns was a hazard of the ranching life. He’d been such a jolly man. Mari always felt as if she were dishonoring him when she occasionally entertained the notion that it would have been nice if he’d been practical as well.
“Would you like some water?” she asked the two men. “It’s cold.”
“Love some,” said Martin. “Thank you.” He maintained his smile even in the oven-like heat of the cabin.
“Yes. Thank you.” Adonis hadn’t smiled yet.
For the first time in a long time, Mari felt puny and embarrassed about her circumstances. She despised herself for it, and felt an overpowering urge to apologize for the way she lived—which was idiotic. Silently commanding herself to cheer up, she said, “I don’t have electricity, but there’s a real good icebox.”
Neither man spoke, and she felt silly. She also felt their eyes on her as she went to the part of her home that passed as the kitchen and got out three old, cracked jelly glasses from the cupboard (the cupboard had come to her from Mr. Francis Marion Smith, when he’d built a huge house after he got rich mining borax). Then she opened the icebox door and retrieved the pitcher of water she always kept in there.
As she poured the water, she ruthlessly banished her feelings of inferiority. Blast it, she wasn’t inferior. She was merely poor, and there was nothing wrong in that.
Except that it was mighty uncomfortable sometimes.
Squaring her shoulders, she brought the men their water and went back for her own. Because she felt edgy, she leaned against the icebox and sipped at her water from there. She figured she’d feel stronger if she continued to stand while they sat.
“What brings you back here, Mr. Tafft?” She tried not to stare at Mr. Ewing, because she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing his looks intrigued her. He was probably one of those rich, handsome men who were used to women fainting at their feet.
Martin took another gulp of water, cleared his throat, and his smile underwent a subtle change. It now looked apologetic. Mari’s heart went cold in spite of the weather, which was somewhere in the lower hundreds.
“I’m afraid we went through the court records on the Marigold Mine, Miss Pottersby.”
Blast. Mari’s own smile slipped sideways. “You’re afraid of that, are you?” She was the one who ought to be afraid. And she was.
“Yes. Um, I suppose you know what we found.” Martin’s glance strayed to Tiny, who had flopped down next to Mari and laid his head on her left foot. The dog took up almost a third of the cabin when he sprawled like that.
A stab of guilt struck Mari when she realized. Martin was worried that she’d turn Tiny on him. She’d never do such a thing, but he couldn’t know it. Even if she did, Tiny wouldn’t hurt a fly. He might conceivably knock someone over from an excess of friendliness and then drown him by licking his face, but that was all.
“Suppose you tell me,” she said, knowing it was silly to try to evade the inevitable by verbally sparring with the man.
“This is ridiculous.” Tony Ewing shoved himself back from Mari’s raggedy table and stood.
Worried by the sudden movement and the tone of the man’s voice, Tiny lifted his head and uttered a low rumble. Tony eyed the dog suspiciously.
“Is it?” Mari asked, trying to sound cynically amused. There was nothing the least bit amusing about this situation. She supposed she should save her cynicism for something not so perilous, but his nasty tone riled her.
“You know it is,” Ewing went on angrily. “You owe back taxes on this place, and obviously you don’t have a cent with which to pay them. You’re going to lose the mine pretty soon, whether there’s silver in it or not. And it’s unmistakable to everyone, except possibly you, that you’ll never find any silver. There isn’t any, or you and your father would have found it thirty years ago. I don’t know why you’re being so stubborn.”
Mari didn’t point out that she couldn’t have found anything thirty years ago, since she was only nineteen years old. She also didn’t know why she was being so intractable. Except that the Marigold Mine had been her father’s whole life. He’d lived in it. He’d died in it. He’d bequeathed it to her after exacting a promise that she’d never abandon it. Unfortunately, he hadn’t left her the wherewithal to keep it.
“Tony,” Martin said in a mollifying undertone. “Why don’t you let me handle this?”
Tony looked mulish for a second, then chuffed and sat down again. Mari sensed he was sweltering and uncomfortable, wasn’t accustomed to feeling like that, and was reacting badly to it. Since he’d clearly been pampered all his life, she imagined this weather must be rough on him. Nevertheless, she didn’t approve of his attitude. “Yes,” she said. “Why don’t you handle it, Mr. Tafft. Your friend’s too tactless to handle deal-making.”
Martin gave a little laugh. “Don’t be too hard on him, Miss. Pottersby. He’s not used to desert life.”
“Yeah. I figured that.” She tried to sound disdainful.
Tony glared at her. She glared back and wished she were a meaner person; she’d have Tiny go over there and give him a good scare. She’d never do it. Besides, he looked like the type who might carry a revolver, and she’d die if anything happened to Tiny. He was all she had left, except for the mine, and the mine was worthless.
Martin cleared his throat. “So, anyhow, we went to the courthouse today and discovered that you’ve been experiencing a little financial difficulty.”
All of the tact Mr. Ewing didn’t have, Martin did, apparently. She was facing ruin, was what she was. She nodded. “Go on.”
“Peerless has no interest in disturbing your mining operation, Miss Pottersby. I promise you that we’ll leave everything as we found it.”
Darn. And here she was hoping they’d improve the place. She nodded again.
“We’re willing to pay you five thousand dollars for the rental of the Marigold Mine for five weeks. That’s a thousand dollars a week, which is . . . well, it’s a lot of money.”
Five thousand dollars? Mari barely stifled a gasp.
It sure was a lot of money. Again, Mari appreciated Martin’s tact. He’d been about to say it was more than she could make in that period by working the mine. If he only knew, it was more than she could make in two or three years by working the mine.
On the other hand, he probably did know it. He’d been to the courthouse. She didn’t speak, knowing from experience that when a person kept quiet, other people felt compelled to fill the silence.
“I’ll tell you exactly how it is, Miss Pottersby. The Peerless Studio, which was established several years ago by Phineas Lovejoy and me, has become a leader in the emerging motion-picture industry.
“Peerless only makes pictures of the highest caliber. While we still produce a lot of one-reel and split-reel shorts, we’ve most recently been concentrating on what we call featured motion pictures. Featured pictures are longer and have more complex plots than the shorts. They might be likened to stage performances in that whole families can go see such a feature and make a holiday of it, so to speak. Lucky Strike, the picture we want to make here in Mojave Wells, will be a featured motion picture.”
He paused. Mari wondered if he expected her to say something. At this point, she had nothing to say. If she kept quiet for long enough, maybe he’d increase his offer, and she’d be able to pay all of her creditors and keep the mine going for another little while.
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Until the money ran out again. She sighed, knowing that she was always going to need money. And she wouldn’t always be able to depend on Martin Taft to require a mine for a motion picture, thereby pulling her out of the soup.
Martin took another drink of his water, emptying the glass. “I came out here a few weeks ago, searching for a suitable location to make the picture. Your mine is perfect. I had thought it was abandoned, but I know better now.” He gave her another apologetic smile.
It was difficult, but she managed not to smile back. She sympathized with him, but this was too important for her to give in to her indulgent nature. She attempted a basilisk stare. She didn’t know if she achieved it or not, but Mr. Tafft’s buddy’s frown deepened, so she imagined she’d come close. She remained silent
“Anyhow, this place is perfect.” Martin eyed her steadily for another moment Mari got the uncomfortable feeling that he was sizing her up for something other than a financial deal. “Say, Miss Pottersby, you’ve never considered acting in the pictures, have you?”
Chapter Two
Mari jumped a foot, startling Tiny, who leaped to his feet and growled at her visitors. She laid a soothing hand on his back, and his hackles gradually smoothed out. He flopped back down, creating a smallish earthquake in the tiny cabin.
After clearing her throat, she said, “No, Mr. Tafft. I have never entertained the slightest wish to act anywhere, including the motion pictures.” The notion had never entered her head, for that matter. The pictures? Her? Marigold Pottersby, a miner’s impoverished daughter? What a laugh!
He continued squinting at her, and Mari became edgy. “Why?” she snapped. “Do you think offering me a part in your picture instead of paying me for using the mine will work? It won’t. Trust me.”
“No, no,” Martin said quickly. “It’s not that”
Mari let her gaze drift to Adonis and realized he had begun looking at her speculatively, too. She felt heat creep up her neck. Mari’s exposure to people outside the extremely small community of Mojave Wells was limited to a couple of trips to San Bernardino each year. Since San Bernardino was about as far from being thriving metropolis as it was from Cincinnati, she had met very few people as sophisticated as Martin Tafft and Anthony Ewing. They made her feel inconsequential and even more like a poverty-stricken hick than usual.
“Of course not,” Tony said. Mari heard the scoffing note to his voice. “We’re not chiselers, Miss Pottersby. We’re trying to make a motion picture.”
“Yes, yes,” Martin said. He sounded distracted. Turning to his companion, he said, “Say, Tony, do you remember the description of the heroine in Lucky Strike?”
Tony frowned at Martin. “Vaguely.”
Martin’s scrutiny returned to Mari, who felt like squirming but didn’t. “The description fits Miss Pottersby perfectly. Absolutely. I don’t think we could find a more perfect match.”
“Hmm,” Tony mused.
“What?” Mari asked, drowning out Tony’s murmur. The word came out as sort of a screech and embarrassed her. She swallowed and tried again. “I beg your pardon, Mr. Tafft. I don’t believe I understand what you were trying to say’
For a tense second, Martin continued to eye her without speaking. Mari’s nerves almost crawled out of her skin. Then he cleared his throat and spoke, and Mari decided she hadn’t gone daft. He had
“Would you consider acting in this picture, Miss Pottersby? We’ll still pay rent for the use of your mine, but you’d be perfect for the part of the leading lady”
“Provided she can act and looks all right on film,” Tony growled.
Mari’s glance careered wildly between the two men for a moment before she convinced her innards to settle down. Tiny was apt to become disturbed if he sensed uneasiness in her, and she didn’t want to frighten these fellows, no matter how much they scared her.
“Oh, yes,” agreed Martin, not waiting for Mari to respond. “Of course, we’ll have to do a test first.”
She swallowed again. “Oh.” For the life of her, she couldn’t think of anything intelligent to say.
“Would you consider acting in the picture, Miss Pottersby? For the leading part, we could pay you another five thousand.”
That would make a grand total of ten thousand dollars. She was standing here listening to a man offer her ten thousand dollars for five weeks’ work. Unless this was a dream. Ten thousand dollars could keep Mari and the mine operating for at least three years. Four or five if she was careful, and Mari was accustomed to being careful. Her largest daily expense was for Tiny’s upkeep. She grew her own food, and shot whatever didn’t grow in her garden.
There had to be a catch in here somewhere. “What would I have to do? You said something about a test?” What kind of test would an actress have to take? Mari had been under the impression that actresses were all fluffy headed nitwits who couldn’t pass a test if given the answers along with the questions.
“It’s not a written, test,” Martin assured her, as if he were used to answering this question. “It’s a test to see how you look on film.” He smiled at her kindly. “Sometimes a person will look perfect in person, but comes across as wooden on film”
“I see.” That made a certain kind of sense, she guessed.
“Well?” Tony asked gruffly, as if he were restless and wanted to get this over with.
Mari frowned at him “Don’t rush me. I’m thinking. She didn’t appreciate it when he rolled his eyes. He was as handsome as the very devil, but she liked Martin better. Martin at least was nice.
“I don’t think you could lose if you take Peerless up on its offer, Miss Pottersby,” Martin assured her. “Peerless has a spotless reputation in the industry.”
“I see.” Mari thought hard for a moment, wishing the two men would go away so she could mull stuff over in peace. Something very important occurred to her. “If I agree to this and somebody strikes ore by accident while you’re making your picture, the ore’s mine.”
Tony said, “Good God,” as if he couldn’t have imagined anything more illogical or improbable if he’d tried for the rest of his life.
Again Mari frowned at him. He was getting to be a royal pain in the neck, and Mari contemplated asking him to leave.
Before she could, Martin again came to the rescue. “It’s a good point, Tony. I applaud Miss Pottersby for thinking to secure her interests.”
Tony said, “Right,” and shut his mouth. Mari wanted to stamp on one of his highly polished, though dusty, shoes.
Martin rose. “Why don’t we leave you to think about it, then? Please take your time. We’re staying at the Mojave Inn. Perhaps you’d like to join us for dinner this evening, and we can further discuss the matter in relaxed atmosphere.”
Relaxed? Was he kidding? Any time Mari had to dress up and dine in a restaurant—she’d done so only thrice in her life to date—she was as nervous as a frog in a skillet. Grand manners weren’t something she’d had a lot of practice with. On the other hand, he’d probably not have asked her if he hadn’t intended to pay, and it might be nice to eat something she hadn’t had to grow or kill.
She decided to make sure. “Your treat?” The heat crept from her neck to her cheeks, but she couldn’t afford to take chances with the few dollars she had left.
Tony snorted. No big surprise there. He might be as rich as one of those Greek gods, and as handsome, but he was as rude as anything.
“Of course,” Martin said.
He, Mari noted with gratitude, didn’t seem to despise her just because she hadn’t grown up in a big city with money and fine clothes and society manners. She wished Tony’s attitude didn’t make her want to sock him. Or sic Tiny on him. Not that she could, since Tiny could never be persuaded to sic anything except as a gesture of friendship and welcome, which wasn’t what she had in mind.
“Fine,” she said with a nod. “I’ll think over your offer, maybe think of more questions I’d like you to answer, and we can talk about it tonight. There may b
e other things I’ll need written into any contract.”
“Of course,” said Martin. His smile was warm and comforting. Mari wished Martin’s smile could visit Adonis’s face, just once. “Peerless is only interested in making the picture. We have no interest in the mine itself, and naturally will turn over any findings to you.”
Martin, Mari noticed, unlike Tony Ewing, didn’t smirk as he said it. She liked Martin Tafft a lot. Again unlike Tony Ewing. “What time?”
“Eight?” Martin said.
“Eight?” Shoot, Mari was usually in bed by eight. Mining was hard work and didn’t allow for late nights. She remembered reading somewhere that city folks had dinner at eight, but she’d probably starve to death before then.
Martin, who apparently had detected a note of dismay in her voice, amended his offer. “How about seven? Would that be better for you’?”
She saw Tony give Martin a sour look, and she felt more like a bumpkin than ever. Nevertheless, she lifted her chin—it wasn’t her fault Tony Ewing was a darned snob—and said, “Seven would be fine. Thank you. I’ll meet you at the hotel.”
She’d probably starve to death by seven, too, but she wasn’t going to give that blasted Tony Ewing any more ammunition .to shoot her with. Blast him.
“The girl’s impossible,” Tony grumbled as he and Martin made their way back to the Mojave Inn. “She’s rude and crude and hasn’t a single thing to recommend her except her looks, and they need all the help they can get. I’m afraid it would be a mistake to hire her to act in the picture, Martin.”
Not only that, but she’d been completely unimpressed by Tony and his money. It galled him that her attitude mattered to him. He’d believed himself to be above such things. He knew that, while money made the man—in his father’s cynical words—money didn’t matter a hill of beans when it came to character, ethics, or moral worth.
Yet Mari Pottersby’s attitude of indifference toward him had peeved him. A .he’d stood there, squinting at them in that condescending way she had, with that monster dog lying next to her waiting to pounce. Arms folded over her breasts, she’d eyed Martin and Tony as if they were a couple of scummy worms. Tony had never been treated thus. He wondered if his father’s money had protected him from the real world a trifle too much.
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