Martin cleared his throat. Charlie looked down at him and realized the shorter man was having to hotfoot it to keep up with Charlie’s long, country-bred stride. He slowed down and smiled. He liked Martin Tafft, who seemed like a pleasant, down-to-earth sort of fellow, even if he did wear some mighty fancy city duds.
Today Martin sported gray plus fours and a Norfolk jacket with a polka-dotted four-in-hand tie and a tweed cap. Charlie supposed the movie man’s sporty attire made Charlie’s own denim trousers, plaid shirt, blue bandanna, sweat-stained Stetson hat, and faded sack jacket appear mighty shabby. Although Charlie had never cared much about clothes, today he wished he’d visited a tailor in town before he’d hopped that train to California.
“Um, you might want to slow down on the cussing a little, Charlie,” Martin suggested. His voice was totally devoid of censure, and Charlie was impressed. He’d anticipated a lecture. He knew he deserved one. “I think Miss Wilkes has lived a pretty sheltered life.” With a chuckle, Martin added, “I think you shocked her.”
“That so?” As much as Charlie didn’t want to disappoint Martin, who’d given him this chance, still less did he want Miss Wilkes to think she’d cowed him into complying with her personal notion of propriety.
“Yes, I don’t suppose you’ve ever heard of Pasadena, but it’s where she’s from, and it’s a pretty straitlaced place. I understand there’s a church on every street corner, but it didn’t have a single saloon until recently.”
“Honest to God?”
“Honest to God. The Women’s Christian Temperance Union’s big there. I understand the White Ribbon is the biggest-selling newspaper in town.
“Shoot.” Charlie was honestly impressed. Not to mention appalled.
Martin chuckled. “So you can imagine what Miss Wilkes thinks of folks who cuss.”
“Mmmm.”
“To tell the truth, I’m a little worried about how she’ll get along with Horace Huxtable. He, er, drinks sometimes.”
Charlie nodded. “I expect she won’t like that.” No wonder Miss Wilkes acted so high and mighty. It was a shame, too, because Charlie’d seldom seen such a pretty girl. But if she lived in a town that didn’t even let its citizens have a snort every now and then—Charlie could scarcely conceive of such a place—he feared there was probably no hope for her ever becoming human.
“So,” Martin went on, “I guess you might want to take it easy on the cussing. Don’t want to shock our leading lady, now, do we?” He laughed a full-bodied, happy laugh.
Charlie laughed with him. Why not? It was a kind of funny situation.
They entered the chow tent together. “Golly, Martin, I didn’t know it took so many folks to shoot one of these here movie things.”
Martin smiled with evident satisfaction. “This is the largest film crew ever assembled, Charlie. Why, this is the most ambitious project ever to be attempted in the industry.”
“Honest?” Charlie was impressed. And he was part of it. Made a fellow kind of proud.
“Absolutely. Why, Charlie, The Great Train Robbery only ran for nine minutes. This movie will run for four whole reels, and will be a full forty-eight minutes long. We’re even going to do one of those premiere things, like they do for stage plays.”
“Shoot, really? Where?”
“Chicago. Chicago’s a great place for moving pictures.”
“Holy cow.” Although Charlie couldn’t conceive of who’d be willing to sit still for forty-eight minutes staring at a screen, he didn’t say so. Hell, maybe folks in Chicago didn’t have anything better to do with their time. Besides, it was nothing to him if the Peerless Studio folks wanted to throw their money around. They were throwing a good deal of it Charlie’s way, and that was the only thing that mattered to him.
“Of course, the main players in the picture will be invited to the premiere. You’ll like Chicago, I’m sure.”
Only if Peerless paid. Charlie didn’t say so, but he wasn’t about to waste his money taking a train to Chicago to see a moving picture show. Hell, he could go to the nickelodeon in town if he ever wanted to see himself on film.
“Oh, there’s Miss Wilkes.” Martin nodded toward the front of the tent.
Turning, Charlie saw her, too. She looked mighty little, standing there at the opening of the tent, peering around with her hands folded politely in front of her as if she were sort of scared. Charlie’s big heart got all warm and slushy, and he forgave her for being a prig and a cold fish. “I’ll see if she’d like to sit with us.”
“Good for you.” Martin gave him an approving slap on the back, and Charlie strode over to her.
“Howdy, ma’am.” He tipped his hat and smiled down at her.
She gave a jump of alarm, and some of Charlie’s friendly feelings slid sideways. Slapping a hand to her starched white bosom, she gasped, “Oh, Mr. Fox, you startled me.”
“Yeah? You might want to talk to a doctor about your nerves, ma’am. I hear they got all sorts of nerve specialists and other such truck out here in California.”
“My nerves are fine, thank you, Mr. Fox.” Her voice had taken on the frigid quality that rasped so disagreeably on Charlie’s pride.
“Glad to hear it. Would you care to join Mr. Tafft and me, ma’am? I’ll try not to eat with my knife.” He probably should have attempted to suppress his sarcasm, but she was annoying the hell out of him with her fancy airs and graces.
“I’m sure your table manners are delightful,” she said. It sounded to Charlie as if she’d chipped the words from a block of ice. “Thank you. I should be happy to sit with Mr. Tafft. And you.”
Cold-hearted heifer. “We’re over there,” Charlie muttered. And since he figured it would scandalize her, he pointed with a jabbing finger.
“Yes,” she said—and she was clearly scandalized. “I see.” She began moving ahead of Charlie, as if she hoped to lose him in the milling throng.
Fat chance. Not only was Charlie taller than almost everybody else in the tent, but he found himself resolving to stick to her like a flea on a hound dog until she either recognized him as a fellow human being on this green earth—well, brown earth here in this lousy desert—or he nettled her so much that she lost her temper and screamed at him. That would unnerve her completely. He knew he was being childish and couldn’t seem to help himself.
She smiled at Martin as if she were relieved to see a civilized human in a throng of wild savages.
Martin stood, smiled a charming smile, and held a chair out for her. “Here you go, Miss Wilkes. Nothing but the best for our stars.”
“Thank you,” she murmured. Then she sat as if she were a queen and Martin a courtier. She ignored Charlie absolutely, which grated on his self-image like a rusty file.
Feeling unaccountably huffy—what did he care about this female?—Charlie hauled a chair out for himself, making a lot of noise about it, and straddled it, being sure his long legs sprawled out on both sides. Let her deal with a real cowboy and see how she liked it.
Three
Amy gazed at Charlie’s legs with some perplexity. She should deplore his abysmal deportment, but couldn’t seem to get past admiring his musculature.
This was surely a bad sign. It probably signified the beginning of a slide down the perilous slope of moral rectitude into the swamp of sin and degradation. And all because she’d agreed to do something not quite right for money. Filthy lucre. Served her right. She should have stuck to what she knew. The familiar. It was safe. Pasadena was safe. Vernon was safe. This picture business was new and frightening and therefore, extremely unsafe, and she was a silly fool to have agreed to do this job.
She sighed and folded her hands in her lap, unsure what to do now, but extremely glad that Vernon wasn’t there to see the depths to which she’d sunk. Her heart thundered sickeningly, and her craving for the security of her old life rose up in her mind’s eye like a shining, golden star.
Thank heavens for Martin Tafft, who seemed to have an uncanny knack for sensing when s
he was in distress. He smiled kindly and said, “The catering crew will be handing out sandwiches, Miss Wilkes. Peerless tries to give its case and crew only the best, but sometimes the conditions don’t allow for fancy meals. We’ll probably be having sandwiches for lunch most days.”
“Of course.” She smiled at Martin and hoped her expression conveyed even a fraction of her appreciation. If she were made to deal with Charlie Fox and the whole new universe of moviemaking without Martin Tafft to ease her way, she was sure she’d fold up like a fan and run home to Pasadena, defeated and depressed. Wouldn’t Vernon be happy then? Of course, she probably would be, too. She decided not to think about it.
“Here y’are,” a female voice said at her back, and Amy started slightly when a waxed-paper-wrapped sandwich hit the table with a soft plop in front of her.
“Oh,” she whispered. With a little more pep in her voice, she added, “Thank you.” She smiled up at the girl who’d delivered the luncheon package and discovered herself being completely ignored. The sandwich girl was all but drooling over Charlie Fox. Amy quickly returned her attention to her sandwich.
“Thanks,” Charlie said at her side. “I don’t suppose I can have another one?” He grinned up at the girl who was handing out sandwiches. She grinned back and threw another sandwich onto the table in front of him.
Shocked out of contemplating her own sandwich, which looked large enough to feed a battalion or two, Amy turned to stare at Charlie, flabbergasted. “You’re going to eat two of these things?” Good heavens, Amy was sure she’d never plow her way through even one of the enormous concoctions presently being flung hither and yon.
Charlie squinted down at her, and she wished she’d kept her mouth shut. “You got something against a feller eating a hearty meal, Miss Wilkes?”
“Of course not.” Her voice, she noticed, sounded stifled. She felt stifled.
“I reckon,” Charlie continued, “that you’re not used to folks who toil for a livin’, but some of us have to use our muscles and such, and we work up quite an appetite.”
Indignation swelled in Amy’s breast. Why did this man seem so all-fired eager to make fun of her? She resented it every bit as much as she deplored her own ignorance of the world. “I beg your pardon, Mr. Fox. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“Hell, ma’am,” Charlie said, “you didn’t upset me.”
He laughed. Amy noticed that Martin rolled his eyes. He, too, had a couple of sandwiches sitting in front of him.
Martin said, “Let’s dig in, folks. I understand the roast beef sandwiches these folks prepare are quite good.”
Fearing she would only put her foot in her mouth again if she tried to speak, Amy slowly unwrapped her sandwich. She was pretty sure she could get through a quarter of it if she tried hard. A thick ceramic mug of coffee appeared as if my magic in front of her, and she jumped again. Drat! Although she hated admitting it to herself, she guessed her nerves were somewhat rattled. Shooting a sideways glance at Charlie, she noticed him eyeing her with distaste. She lifted her chin, picked up her coffee mug, and sipped.
An involuntary shudder ran through her from tip to toe and she set her mug down with a jerk, slopping the horrible-tasting beverage on the table. Good heavens, how did people drink this stuff? More to the point, why did they drink it? Amy had never tasted anything so vile in her life.
“You got something against coffee, too, Miss Wilkes?” Charlie’s voice had taken on a sugary quality.
Swallowing convulsively, trying to get the bitter taste out of her mouth, Amy couldn’t answer at first. When at last she managed to get her tongue uncurled, she said, “I’m unused to coffee, Mr. Fox.” Then she braced herself, wondering what unkind thing he’d say now.
“I imagine you’re more accustomed to drinking orange juice,” Martin said with one of his friendly chuckles.
Silently blessing him as a saint, Amy said, “Yes, I am, Mr. Tafft. I—I’ve never tasted coffee before.” What was more, if she could help it, she’d never taste it again.
“Orange juice?” Charlie stopped chewing and lifted an eyebrow. He had lovely eyes, Amy noticed with some dismay. They were ever so much prettier than Vernon’s, which were rather squinty and small.
She nodded. “My uncle has a health resort in Pasadena where orange juice is served daily.”
Amy’s heart gave an enormous tug of nostalgia, and all at once she felt like crying. This was so foreign to her. She wanted her aunt and uncle here. She wanted Vernon. She wanted an orange. If she had to exist on huge meat sandwiches and coffee for as long as it took to finish this movie, she wasn’t sure she could do it. She, who was accustomed to eating delicate meals replete with vegetables, fruit, and milk, and to drinking pure, sweet-tasting, unadulterated orange juice. Oh, dear.
“I’m sure we can get something else for you to drink,” said Martin.
Amy silently blessed him again. She’d have thanked him, but feared for the steadiness of her voice. She did manage a smile.
Charlie said, “Hmmm,” as if he didn’t approve of people who had special, inconvenient, and probably arbitrary requirements in order to eat a meal or do a job. Amy shot him a frown.
“Do you care for milk, Miss Wilkes? I’m afraid we won’t be able to get any orange juice.” Martin, on the other hand, looked as if he understood completely and didn’t consider Amy’s unfamiliarity with coffee anything to be deplored.
Amy could have kissed him—were she another sort of woman. “Milk would be wonderful. Thank you so much, Mr. Tafft. You’re very kind.”
“Nonsense. Not everybody likes coffee.”
Really? That made her feel better. She hoped he wasn’t just trying to be nice. She compressed an end of her sandwich between her fingers so she could get her mouth around it, and took a bite. Thank the good Lord, it didn’t taste bad. It was true that Amy was accustomed to eating light lunches composed primarily of cheese and fruit, but if she could have mild to drink, she might survive.
Charlie had finished his first sandwich and started in on the second one before she’d taken three bits of hers. He was also guzzling the coffee as if it tasted like the nectar of the gods. Amy tried not to stare.
But, honestly, his legs still sprawled out in a most unseemly way, he was eating much too fast for gentility, and he’d even propped his elbows on the table. Amy was more shocked than disgusted.
As she’d never been exposed to coffee, she’d never been exposed to the manners which prevailed in the bunkhouse or a chuck wagon. At least she presumed these were those manners. They certainly weren’t what she was used to. She was absolutely positive that Vernon would never allow himself to eat like that. Suddenly Vernon didn’t seem boring at all, but merely civilized.
A glass of milk was plunked down in front of her, and Amy turned in her chair to smile at the girl who’d plunked it. It was the same girl who’d exchanged grins with Charlie, but she was now eyeing Amy as if she were a strange and unwelcome species of animal life. Amy gulped and maintained her smile. “Thank you very much.” The girl sniffed and flounced off, and Amy wondered what she’d done to irritate her.
Life outside Pasadena was a strange and mysterious affair, and Amy feared she was going to have a hard time adjusting. She heard Charlie mutter something and turned to him.
“I beg your pardon?” she asked politely.
“Nothin’.”
“Oh, I thought you said something.”
“Naw. Not really. Just thinking about the airs some folks give themselves is all.”
Martin Tafft muttered, “Charlie!”
Amy’s mouth pursed. “I don’t believe I know what you mean, Mr. Fox.” She knew exactly what he meant, the cretinous blockhead.
He shrugged. “Probably not.”
But thanks to the milk and Martin Tafft, Amy was regaining some of her fighting spirit. Charlie Fox wasn’t being fair to her, and his attitude irked her. “Merely because a person is accustomed to polite manners and milk, I don’t believe that person shoul
d be accused of putting on airs.”
“Yeah?” Charlie grinned at her and stuffed the last of his sandwich into his mouth. Then he licked his fingers.
Amy felt her lips prune up and made an effort to smooth them out again. She didn’t approve of ladies wearing makeup and powder. In an effort to negate the need for such pain, she’d vowed to avoid wrinkles if she could. “Yes,” she said firmly.
“Then maybe you’ll just have to teach me some manners. Hell, I wouldn’t want to upset such a dignified little lady.”
She thought she heard Martin groan, but wasn’t sure. “I’d be delighted to try to teach you some manners.” She placed some emphasis on the word try. “The efficacy of such an educational undertaking will depend primarily upon the ability of the student to learn.” There, she thought savagely as she opened her mouth as wide as it would go and tried to fit a corner of her sandwich in it, let him figure that one out if he can.
To her astonishment, Charlie Fox threw back his head and laughed. She scowled at him, gave up on eating her sandwich as it was, and opened it up. If you can’t beat them, she thought ferociously, join them. It was horribly impolite and probably unsanitary as well, but it seemed nobody else cared about manners. Why should she?
Oh, dear, she was truly being corrupted. Thank heavens Vernon couldn’t see her now. Even as she deplored her incipient fall, Amy picked up a piece of roast beef from a piece of bread with her fingers and popped it into her mouth. Then she glared defiantly at Charlie Fox as she chewed. She might be going straight to hell, but she wasn’t going to starve to death in order to get there, Vernon or no Vernon.
“Here, Miss Wilkes,” Charlie said after he’d stopped laughing and wiped his eyes. “Maybe you can use this.” He unsnapped a leather scabbard, which Amy hadn’t noticed was buckled to his belt, and withdrew a knife that was larger than any Amy had ever seen outside of a kitchen. She blinked at it. “Maybe it’ll help you carve through some of that meat and bread.”
Cowboy For Hire Page 4
