Miner's Daughter (3 page)

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?”

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 be 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.

He imagined he’d find out. He’d been on his
own for years now, but not in such rough company in such a rugged
place. He unbuttoned another button on his shirt—he’d shed his
celluloid collar hours earlier—and scowled as he scuffed up dust.
His shoes were probably ruined by this time.

“I think she’s got a lot of guts,” Martin
said. “I hate to contradict you, Tony, but look what she’s had to
face in her life.”

“I’ve already looked,” Tony growled as he did
so again, scanning the scenery, or lack thereof, with loathing.
“And I agree that this is a hell of a place. That doesn’t excuse
her . . . her . . . her arrogance.” A prince of arrogance himself,
Tony didn’t know why hers had irked him, but it had.

Martin chuckled. “Give the girl a chance.
She’s fighting mighty big odds.”

“She’s a fool to fight, if you ask me, and an
even bigger fool to hesitate about taking your offer.” Tony
detested pigheaded people. “Obviously, she’s never seen ten
thousand dollars in her life, she’ll never he offered ten thousand
again, and I can’t understand why she doesn’t just snap it up.”

“Well,” Martin equivocated, “it’s only ten
thousand if she agrees to play the lead.”

Tony stopped in his tracks, turned, and threw
his arms out. “Why wouldn’t she?” he demanded. “Why, in the name of
all that’s holy would a young woman on her last legs—she’s about to
lose that precious mine of hers, as you well know—make a fuss about
such a splendid offer as the one we just made to her?”

With a shrug, Martin said, “Don’t know,
although I have a hunch.”

Tony pulled in a lungful of incinerated air
and dust. “Please enlighten me. Her attitude is completely beyond
my understanding.”

Martin grinned at him. Tony liked Martin. He
also respected him a good deal. Martin wasn’t hot-tempered like
him, and he seemed to understand his fellow man a good deal better
than Tony did. The latter quality was often a blessing and
sometimes a pain in the ass. Like now, for instance.

“I think it has to do with her father. She
considers the Marigold Mine his legacy to her.”

“Some legacy.” Tony wheeled around and
recommenced the trudge toward the hotel. This place was hell, and
there were no two ways about it.

“I know. It’s not your kind of legacy.”

In spite of the heat, Martin looked kind of
perky. Evidently, Tony thought sourly, their recent encounter with
the Pottersby witch had invigorated him. It had infuriated Tony.
Made him want to punch things, in fact.

Martin went on, “Your kind of legacy is
millions in stock shares and bonds, and a life of blissful
prosperity.”

“What’s wrong with that?” Tony jammed his
hands into his trouser pockets. Why would a young woman who looked
like Mari Pottersby want to run around in men’s britches? They made
her seem common and crude and unfeminine. Why, the girl looked like
Calamity Jane or another of those hellcats out of the Old West.

A gray and toothless prospector leading a
tired, elderly mule was coming down the road toward them. Tony
shook his head. Until recently, he’d believed scenes like this were
the product of a dime novelist’s imagination. He wondered if the
old coot was going to pay a visit to Miss Pottersby. Probably. He
looked like the type she’d fall for.

By God, he was really in a bad mood. Martin
deserved better from him. So did his father, although the truth of
it made him queasy. Tony made an effort to cheer up, but it didn’t
help much. He was too hot, too sweaty, too mad at Mari, and too
uncomfortable to be cheerful.

“Nothing’s wrong with your kind of legacy,”
Martin assured him. “I’d be willing to bet that Miss Pottersby
would kill for one. But that wasn’t the hand life dealt her. She
was born to a father with a dream, and he passed it on to her.”