Miner's Daughter (7 page)

“Are you worried about your dog?” he asked
curiously, speeding to keep up with her.

She slowed slightly and turned to gape at him
“My dog? Why should I be worried about Tiny?”

He shrugged. “I have no idea. I only wondered
why you were hurrying so much.”

“Hurrying? Am I?”

There wasn’t light enough for him to tell,
but he thought she might be blushing. “You needn’t be afraid of me,
Miss Pottersby. I don’t bite.” Although a discreet nibble here and
there on the comely Mari’s bare flesh held some appeal.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she advised sharply.
“It’s late, and I have to get up early to work in the mine.”

He considered asking her why she bothered,
but he didn’t want to rile her unnecessarily. “I see.” He was glad
when she slowed down, though.

She turned her head and gazed at him, a hint
of rebellion in her expression. “I suppose you think I’m a fool to
keep working the mine, don’t you?”

“Um, well, that’s not my call.”

“Right. I can tell you do.”

Tony decided silence would be prudent.

“Well, it’s not,” Mari declared hotly.
“You’re out here working for your father, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I am.” Prudence also dictated that he
not remind her of the differences between their respective sires.
Maurice Ewing was a multimillionaire. Mari’s father had been a
lunatic.

“There. You see? We’re both carrying on for
our fathers.”

“Right.”

They walked along without speaking for a few
minutes until Mari let out a huge breath and said, “Oh, very well.
You’re right. The mine’s probably played out, and I’m an idiot for
trying to keep it going.”

“I didn’t say a word.”

“You didn’t need to.” She sounded bitter.
“And I suppose I am stupid. But I can’t bear to quit. It was Dad’s
dream.”

“I understand.” He didn’t understand for a
second, although he pitched his voice to what he hoped sounded like
a soothing tone.

“I’ll just bet you do.”

They had come to within dog-sniffing distance
of her cabin, and Tiny set up an ear-splitting racket, so Tony
couldn’t try to redeem himself in Mari’s eyes. It was probably just
as well, since he couldn’t figure out why he even wanted to.

Mari was so concerned about her appearance,
it took her five minutes to work up the nerve to open the door and
step outside. The camera awaited her there.

“Am I really supposed to look like this?” She
heard the despair in her voice and hated it. But, honestly! She
looked like a ghost. A ghoul. She looked really, really bad.

The makeup artist who had accompanied the
cameraman to Mojave Wells laughed. “Trust me, Miss Pottersby, this
is exactly the way you’re supposed to look. Because of the nature
of the celluloid film, white makeup is the only type that looks
natural.”

She didn’t believe him, although she couldn’t
think of any reason he’d lie to her. Unless this was all part of an
elaborate plot to deprive her of her mine.

Don’t be any more of a fool than you can
help being
,
Mari Pottersby,
she commanded herself. Why
would Peerless want the Marigold Mine? The place was a worthless
piece of dirt in the middle of an even more worthless desert.

“It’ll be all right,” the makeup man assured
her. “I think you’ll look wonderful on film.”

That made one of them. Mari took a deep
breath, stiffened her backbone, and turned the doorknob. Staring
straight ahead, she flung the door wide and marched out into the
heat of the day. That had been a mistake, she discovered
immediately when she stubbed her toe on a huge trunk in her
path.

“Ow!” She grabbed her foot and hopped up and
down. “Who put that thing there?”

“Oh, golly, I’m sorry, Miss Pottersby.”
Another man—what his job might be, Mari couldn’t even guess—rushed
up and shoved the trunk aside. “I meant to move that before.”

Feeling extremely gloomy, Mari said, “That’s
all right. I don’t suppose it matters.” It wouldn’t matter if she
broke her neck, if it came to that, and it might spare her a whole
lot of future misery.

Which was no way to think. She scolded
herself some more as she tried to iron out her rumpled composure.
Thank God Martin Tafft possessed a compassionate soul. He hurried
over.

“Gee, I’m sorry about the trunk, Miss
Pottersby.”

“That’s all right,” Mari repeated dully. This
was stupid, and she knew she’d be humiliated when Martin discovered
it too. She was no more an actress than she was a princess.

Martin stepped back from her and gazed at her
face. Mari hoped the thick makeup hid her blush. “Boy, you look
swell!”

Disappointment smote her. She hadn’t truly
believed Martin Tafft was a liar until this minute. She said,
“Right.”

Martin laughed. “Oh, I know. You don’t
believe me. But you’ll see. I have a feeling a new career awaits
you in the pictures, Miss Pottersby. Motion-picture actors make a
lot of money, so don’t sneer until you see the results of this
test.”

“Okay.” Mari figured she might as well comply
meekly rather than make a fuss. Her failure would be less
mortifying if she didn’t stir up a lot of bother as she achieved
it. The sooner this was over, the better.

Great. Perfect. There was Tony Ewing. Why did
he have to be here?

Stupid question. It was his father’s money at
work on every aspect of this idiotic venture. Mari was surprised
when he rose from the camp stool he’d been occupying and came up to
her, holding out his hand and smiling. This was a change, indeed.
Glancing up at the sky, she had to acknowledge that the weather
seemed cooler today. Maybe his bad moods really were a result of
the sweltering heat.

“Good morning, Miss Pottersby. You look
swell.”

Hmmm. That made two swells and one
abysmal—her personal assessment. Mari decided to withhold her final
judgment until she saw what Martin called the test.

“Thank you.” The two words were mechanical.
It was a darned good thing these silly pictures were silent,
because Mari knew from bitter experience that she couldn’t emote
worth a darn. Her teacher had told her that more than once, during
the catastrophes that passed for class plays.

“Ready, Ben?” Martin called to a man who
stood behind the motion-picture camera, an intricate contraption
the likes of which Mari had never seen before. It was big and
box-like, had a crank on its side, and stood on a tripod. Martin
had explained during their meal at the Mojave Inn that great
advances were being made almost daily in the motion-picture
industry. Folks were developing fancier cameras and better
lighting. They were even building huge motion-picture palaces in
cities large and small across the nation.

Mari wondered what would happen to the world
if all those geniuses spending their brain power on the pictures
were to turn it to something useful. Like medicine. Eliminating
poverty and famine. Mining engineering.

She was nervous. That was the only reason she
was finding fault here; she was sure of it.

The man named Ben stepped out from behind his
camera, signaled to Martin that he was ready with a wave and a
grin, and Martin took Mari’s arm. “Now try not to be nervous, Mari.
We’re all on your side.”

He’d called her Mari. She blinked at him, so
surprised he’d used her given name that she forgot to be scared of
the camera. She wondered if that had been his intention. After the
cameraman started turning the crank, a huge grinding noise erupted,
and Mari whirled around to see what was going on.

“Good!” Martin cried. “Now walk up to Ben.
He’s the guy behind the camera.”

Well, heck, this wasn’t so hard. Mari even
smiled a little as she did as Martin had instructed her. A big pop
startled her, she saw a sprocket fly out of the camera, and she
worried for a second that something terrible had happened. Martin’s
voice at her back reassured her.

“That’s natural, Mari. Those sprockets chunk
out every few seconds. It’s the nature of the filming process.”

“Oh. All right.” She wondered what she was
supposed to do now. Fortunately, Martin also directed motion
pictures from time to time, and he told her.

“Can you walk over to the fence now? Pretend
you’re picking flowers or something.”

Picking flowers? In Mojave Wells? Mari
shrugged and did as directed. She felt silly bending over to pluck
imaginary flowers out of the air, but she’d built a fairly sizable
bouquet before Martin gave her another direction.

“Wonderful. You’re doing swell! Now, can you
turn quickly and look frightened, as if someone you fear is
creeping up on you?”

“Sure. I guess so.”

“I’ll help,” came a voice she recognized from
behind her.

She stood abruptly and turned to see Tony
Ewing stalking toward her like the villain out of a nightmare. She
backed up, honestly frightened for a moment as she took in the grim
expression on his face and heard him snarl wickedly.

“You don’t have to pretend so hard,” she
muttered, and put up a hand as if to ward him off.

“Who’s pretending?” he growled.

He sounded as if he meant it, and Mari
experienced a moment of real panic. She felt her eyes open wide,
and she backed up until she bumped flat against the fence. Still he
came at her. She cried, “No! Stop it!”

“Never!” His voice had taken on a timbre Mari
had never heard in a human being. He sounded like a human version
of Tiny when he was seriously irked.

This wasn’t funny anymore. It got less funny
when Tony reached out, grabbed her shoulders, and wrenched her away
from the fence and into his arms. She reacted automatically and
violently.

“Ow!”

“Stop being such a baby.”

“Dammit, that hurts.” Tony swatted Mari’s
hand away from his forehead.

“Serves you right,” Mari grumbled as she
plopped the wet rag she’d removed into a bowl of water and handed
him a wetter one to press against the lump on his skull.

“For the love of God, I was only trying to
help you do well in the test.”

She lifted her chin “You didn’t have to try
so darned hard. You might have warned me first, anyhow.”

“You’re a frightening woman, Miss Pottersby,
did you know that?”

“Fiddlesticks.” Disgruntled, Mari took the
bottle of iodine from Ben, uncorked it, and poured some of its
contents onto a wad of cotton wool. “Here, move that cloth and let
me put some of this on the cut.”

“What did you hit me with, anyway?”

“A rock. And it was your own fault. You
shouldn’t have grabbed me like that.”

“We were doing a test!” Tony sounded
furious.

In a way, Mari didn’t blame him. In another
way, she did. “How was I supposed to know what to do? I’ve never
done anything like this before!”

“God.”

“Mr. Tafft didn’t warn me you were going to
butt in and scare me to death.”

“For the love of . . . I can’t believe you
really thought I meant to do you harm. The whole thing was being
captured on celluloid!”

“Hunh.” He was being such a pill, Mari almost
wished she could hit him again. She felt kind of silly, though,
since she ought to have known he was pretending. But she was right,
too. This was all brand new to her, and she wasn’t accustomed to
strange men creeping up on her, looking as if they wanted to
strangle her and then do horrid things to her. Or vice versa.

He jerked away from her extended hand, giving
her an excuse to snap, “Stop being a baby and let me dab this
iodine on that bump.”

“A baby! I bet I’ll have a black eye
tomorrow, blast you.”

“Fiddlesticks. It’s only a little bump.”

“A little bump? You might have knocked me
out!”

Mari smirked. “It would have served you
right.”

Fortunately, Martin rushed up to them,
sparing them both increased hostilities. “Mari! Come on inside.
I’ve seen the test, and I think you’re wonderful.” He slowed down
and grinned at Tony. “You were pretty splendid, too, Tony. You
really did look like you were bent on murder. Want a part in our
next movie?”

Tony muttered, “God.”

Mari smirked again. “See? I told you so. You
ought to have said something. Then I wouldn’t have been
frightened.”

Martin laughed, which went some way toward
dispelling the bad feelings swirling in the air. “Cut it out, you
two. You look great together on film. I’m almost sorry we’ve
already signed Harrowgate to the leading male role.”

Tony took the hand Martin held out to him.
Although she felt more like giving Tony a big shove from behind
than assisting him, Mari took his other arm and helped him to his
feet. She really had given him a pretty good wallop. She was darned
proud of herself, in fact.

“When we get inside the inn, maybe I can
rustle up some sticking plaster and gauze,” she offered. “He
probably ought to keep that cut covered, at least until it stops
oozing.”

“Oozing?” Tony grabbed his arm away from her
as if he suspected her of membership in some demonic cult. “Oozing?
Good God, that sounds as if my brains are leaking out!”

Mari batted her eyelashes and shrugged, as if
she were silently asking him what he expected.

“I can walk by myself.” He then let out an
inarticulate growl, yanked his other arm away from Martin, and
stormed off ahead of them to the inn. They watched him in silence
for a moment, then Mari spoke.

“I didn’t mean to hurt him. I don’t know why
I got so scared.”

Martin chuckled softly. “I do. You were
already frightened about the test, didn’t know what to expect, and
then Tony tried to help you along.”

“Humph. Well, if the test was to see if I
could act scared, I expect it worked out all right. He scared the
heck out of me.”

Fudge. She shouldn’t have said
heck
out loud. With a sigh, Mari guessed she had a lot of practice to do
in order to fit in with the motion-picture community. The
rough-and-ready mining environment in which she’d been reared
hadn’t prepared her for polite society.