Cowboy For Hire (27 page)

“Oh, my
God!”

After it was
over, Amy was told by Karen, Martin and at least a dozen other
people that Charlie stormed over to Horace Huxtable, who was trying
to escape on his horse, grabbed him by the leg, hauled him out of
the saddle, dropped him on the ground, and, without even looking to
see if he was out of the way of the horse’s hooves, leaped up into
the saddle and raced after Amy as if all the demons in hell were
after him. Actually, most of the observers joked, the only demon
around was scrambling in the dust to avoid being kicked to death by
the horse Charlie had mounted.

At the time,
Amy had no idea that rescue was close at hand. She was frozen with
fear, trying with every ounce of her strength to maintain her seat
in the saddle, and losing the battle inch by inch. She knew she
couldn’t stay mounted for many more seconds, but everything
happened so fast that she couldn’t think of anything to do. She did
yell, “Stop!” at the top of her lungs several times, but the horse
didn’t seem to be paying attention. Or perhaps it understood only
Spanish, since it was one of the horses Mr. Archuleta had brought
to the set.

When she saw
Charlie and his horse gallop into sight, she would have taken heart
if her heart hadn’t been occupied at that moment in jumping around
in her chest like a demented jackrabbit. When he leaned over and
his hand reached out to grab the bridle, she wanted to squeeze her
eyes shut because she feared for his balance. When she realized
that the horse that had run away with her was slowing down, she
felt a smidgen of hope. When the horse finally came to a stop,
panting and wheezing, and Charlie lifted her out of the saddle and
onto his, she did something she couldn’t help, but which
embarrassed her to death. She burst into tears.

He held
her tight, right there in front of him on the saddle and spoke
sweet words into her hair. Amy tried to stop crying but couldn’t.
She was making an awful noise, but Charlie didn’t seem to mind. He
stroked her hair—her hat had blown off somewhere during her
headlong ride—and rocked her gently, crooning softly all the while,
“It’s all right, honey. You’re all right now.”

Somehow
or other, being called “honey” by Charlie Fox made her cry harder.
She clung to him as she’d been clinging to her saddle horn only
seconds earlier—but she felt ever so much more secure than she had
then.

She managed to
choke out, “I’m sorry,” although she wasn’t sure exactly what she
was sorry for. Crying, probably.

“It’ll be all
right, sweetheart. It’ll be fin in a minute.”

“Sweetheart”
had the same effect on her that “honey” had, and Amy, who was
trying to gulp breaths of air in an effort to stop this unladylike
display of tears, made a horrid choking noise and cried harder.

“You’re okay
now, Amy, darlin’. You’ll be fine. I’m going to kill Horace
Huxtable as soon as we get back to the set, and he’ll never be able
to hurt you again.”

That stopped
her tears instantly. She whipped her head up, bumping Charlie’s
chin. She stroked it with her hand to sooth the bump, and stared at
him, terrified that he’d meant what he’d just said. “No!” she
cried. “You can’t hurt him!”

“He hurt you.”
Charlie took the hand she’d stroked his chin with and kissed its
palm. “Any man who hurts you needs killin’, darlin’.”

If that wasn’t
the sweetest thing anyone had ever said to her, Amy didn’t know
what was. She was sure as anything that Vernon would never ever say
such a sweet thing. Not even if he rescued her from a runaway
horse. Not that he could. Which was totally beside the point. “But,
no, Charlie. Please don’t hurt him. You’ll get in trouble if you
do, and that would be awful.”

“Would it?”

His eyes
held an expression that was soft and warm as cocoa on a winter day,
and Amy melted like a marshmallow as she gazed into them. Unable to
get her mouth and tongue coordinated enough to form words, she
nodded.

“Well, then,
maybe I won’t kill him. Maybe I’ll just hurt him. It’ll go against
the grain, though. He needs killin’ bad.”

His face was
blurring. Amy had only a second or two to consider this phenomenon
when his lips touched hers and she understood that the blurring had
been because he was learning toward her.

She kissed him
back passionately. Thoroughly. With love.

Thirteen

The
following night, a Friday, the entire cast and crew were promised a
trip to the city of El Monte to have a good dinner in a restaurant,
visit a nightclub, and spend the night in a hotel. Martin estimated
that the picture would wrap up in another three or four day’s
shooting, and this was a
pre-celebration.

“It’s not much
of a treat, but after the flood and all the hard work we’ve all
done, I think we deserve it,” Martin said as he made the
announcement later on the day of the horse incident.

Everyone in the
throng gathered around Martin turned to stare at Horace Huxtable.
Huxtable, as everyone knew, had been promised a trip to town in
return for helping out during the flood.

Charlie, who’d
been keeping particular tabs on Huxtable since Amy’s latest
accident, noticed that the majority of the stares trained at the
actor were disapproving. Which, he thought, was absolutely
appropriate.

It wasn’t
Horace Huxtable’s fault that Amy Wilkes hadn’t been killed today
when her horse had bolted. Charlie was pretty sure he was the only
one of the set who’d seen Huxtable flick the rump of her horse with
a twig. And although Charlie couldn’t prove it, he was morally
certain it had been Huxtable who’d cut Amy’s reins so that she
couldn’t stop the horse when she tried. The lousy bastard. He might
be a murderer this minute if Charlie hadn’t saved Amy’s gorgeous
hide.

It wasn’t
Charlie’s fault that Huxtable was still alive, either. His
intentions post-rescue had been directed at homicide, and in his
opinion had been valid.

It was
the way Amy had kissed him that had distracted him from his
purpose. By the time she’d finally pulled away from him he’d been
fit for only one thing—procreation—and that was about as opposite
to murder as it could be.

Unfortunately,
the act of procreation was denied him, too. Not only were they on
top of a horse in the middle of a motion picture set, but he and
Amy Wilkes weren’t married. Shoot, they weren’t even promised.

And
that
, Charlie
swore to himself as he, too, glared at Huxtable, was a situation he
aimed to fix tonight. The evening would be given over to relaxation
and fun, and he was sure to find an opportunity to have Amy to
himself for a little while. It wouldn’t take long, he hoped, to
convince her that, no matter how remote the possibility seemed when
they’d first met, he knew—and he’d convince her of it or die
trying—they were made for each other.

Charlie had
been to saloons in Arizona Territory. He expected that any
nightclub in El Monte, California, would be comparable. Maybe a
little fancier. But there would be music and laughter, and maybe he
could get Amy to dance with him. And then maybe he could get her to
walk outside with him. And then maybe they could get to talking,
and he could tell her how well fixed he was to begin married
life.

Or, he amended,
since he needed to be honest with himself and with her, he would be
well fixed after this picture was finished and he added his pay to
the money he had in the bank. Charlie had been saving for years.
With the big pile of cash he’d earn from this picture, he’d be
ready to make his move.

He aimed to
have himself a real, honest-to-God cattle ranch. No ostriches or
any other silly thing for him. No, sir. He was going to have
himself the finest herd of Jersey cows west of Texas. He was
particularly fond of Jerseys because they produced the richest
milk, and Charlie aimed to have at least a dozen kids, all of whom
would need that good, rich milk.

Cattle ranching
was the life he knew and loved. Shoot, he might even branch out
into dairy farming if such a move seemed profitable. He’d been
reaching up on both industries, and they were absolutely
compatible. Dairy farming might be better for California, which Amy
might prefer. Charlie had been reading up about California,
too.

After all, he
had Amy’s wishes to consider as well as his own. If Amy had a
particular attachment to California, well, then they could settle
in California. He wouldn’t mind California. He liked it here. He’d
even plant her an orange tree, if she wanted one. Or a whole danged
grove of the things. Oranges were good for kids, too.

Of course,
first he had to talk her into marrying him. He saw her standing
next to Karen Crenshaw across the way from him. She and Karen
seemed to be real chummy lately, a circumstance Charlie found
amusing. She’d been so upset when she’d first seen Karen
smoking.

But she wasn’t
as much of a prig as Charlie’d at first believed her to be, and
she’d been willing to overlook Karen’s smoking habit because Karen
was a nice girl. Charlie approved of such flexibility in personal
relationships, because it made life easier. Anytime a body required
folks to behave in a prescribed manner, a body got to losing
friends. Charlie knew from experience that a man could never have
too many friends.

Martin called
the casual meeting to a halt, and dismissed the cast and crew to
prepare for a trip to town. He cornered Charlie before he was able
to lope over to Amy and make arrangements to have dinner with
her.

“Charlie, will
you try to keep an eye on Amy this evening?” Martin asked. He
looked a little worried.

Startled that
Martin should ask him to do exactly what he’d planned to do,
Charlie nodded his assent. “Sure. How come?”

“Well....”
Martin took a glance around the clearing that had lately been full
of people. “I hate to say this, but I think Huxtable has it in for
Amy. He resents her for not falling in love with him. He thinks
he’s God’s gift to women, you know, and doesn’t like it when women
don’t agree with him. Also....” He broke off abruptly and looked
embarrassed.

Charlie
tried to appear kind and approachable because he wanted to hear
what other interesting tidbits of information or speculation Martin
had to divulge. He knew he himself was being less than
forthcoming—after all, if Martin added any more fuel to Charlie’s
already huge heap of Huxtable detritus, Charlie probably wouldn’t
be able to restrain himself from killing the bastard—but he wanted
to know the worst. “Also what?” he asked encouragingly.

“Well,” Martin
said, and he seemed very uncomfortable to be speaking so, “I
wouldn’t want to accuse anybody unjustly, you understand, but I
have a hunch Huxtable might have been behind that runaway horse
incident this morning.”

Charlie stared
at him, unable to imagine even the kind-hearted, sweet-natured
Martin Tafft being so naive as to feel any reluctance to blame
Huxtable for so Huxtable-like a maneuver. “He was behind it, all
right. I saw him hit the horse with a twig.”

Martin’s
eyes went huge. “You
what?
”

Charlie
shrugged. “I saw him. He might have killed her.”

“Good God, I
think the man’s lost his mind.”

“
He’s
going to lose more than that if I can get him alone.” He smiled
amiably to let Martin know he didn’t hold him responsible for any
of Huxtable’s antics.

“Good God,”
Martin repeated, as if bereft of more cogent speech.

“At first I
thought I might just break one of his arms, but I think he’d learn
more from a couple of broken legs.”

Martin’s eyes
looked as if they might bug out of his head. “I can’t believe
you’re actually saying this.”

“Believe it,”
Charlie suggested. He warmed to his subject, glad that Martin knew
Huxtable had spooked Amy’s horse. “I saw him. I’m going to break
both his legs for spooking Miss Wilkes’s horse as soon as I can get
him alone.”

“Good God,”
Martin said for the third time.

Charlie was
sorry to see the horrified look on his face. He liked Martin Tafft
and didn’t want to upset him. But enough was enough. “Sorry,
Martin, but that’s the way it is. Somebody’s got to teach the man a
lesson, and if nothing else will work, I expect I can at least lay
him up so that he can’t get around for a while.”

“You can’t do
that. Lord above, you can’t do that, Charlie! Think about what
you’re saying! The police will arrest you. You’ll be thrown in
jail!”

Charlie
obligingly thought about it for approximately five seconds, which
was all the time he needed. He shrugged again. “It’ll be worth
it.”

If he did
get thrown in jail for performing such a worthwhile public
service—and he supposed it could happen. After all, he was in
California now and not Arizona Territory, where people looked upon
justice in a more practical light than they did here. Still, he was
sure he’d be let out in plenty of time to get ready for his
wedding.

“
No. No,
you can’t do it. It’s ... it’s—” Martin broke off and looked up at
Charlie. He smiled tentatively. “Oh, I get it. You’re joking,
right?”

Charlie shook
his head. “Nope. The man deserves to have his legs broken. He could
have killed her.”

“Good God.”

“I’m real
sorry, Martin. I’ve held back for this long, but this morning he
really could have killed Miss Wilkes. He’s hurt her before, but
that was a long ways from killing somebody. He deserves whatever he
gets, and if I can help it, he’s going to get hurt bad.”

“
Can't
you at least wait until the filming’s over?” Martin’s level of
stress was making his voice hoarse.