Cowboy For Hire

by Duncan, Alice

  She saw three pairs of eyes open wide, and wondered if they disbelieved her. But the story was true, although it was also true that her early years had been anything but thrilling or inspiring. They’d been uncomfortable and hungry, for the most part. And then her parents had succumbed, and she’d almost died, and … well, she’d never spoken of it to anyone before. She couldn’t understand what had prompted her to speak of it now.

  Since she could see they were all fascinated, she hurried on before she could become too frightened to do so. “Actually, my parents didn’t go up there for gold. My father was a missionary. He and my mother were sent by the church to establish a mission for the Indians. The Athabaskans. Then other people, from the United States and Europe and … well, everywhere, I suppose, began moving up there, looking for gold.”

  “When was this? I didn’t think the Alaska gold rush started until around 1900. I know you’re not very old, but….” Martin smiled a question at her and said, “You’re a little older than that.”

  Amy laughed nervously. “Yes, of course I am. And you’re right about the big rush, but there were rumors before that, you know. It wasn’t like California, where that man found a nugget in a stream and the entire East Coast flooded west. Alaska moved more slowly.” She shivered suddenly.

  “Are you cold?” Charlie asked with concern.

  She wasn’t cold. She was remembering. “No. Thank you. I was just … well, it wasn’t a successful venture. That of my parents, I mean. I don’t recall too much about it. I was a baby when we moved to Dawson, and only seven when my parents died. I’m not sure how anyone discovered the whereabouts of my aunt and uncle down here in Southern California. I—I supposed my mother had been writing to them regularly. I expect the Indian women who found me with their bodies took some of the letters she found to town along with me. I … ah … don’t remember much about it.”

  “Good Lord, do you mean there was no one else around when your parents died?” Karen looked horrified.

  Which was nothing compared to the way Amy felt inside when she recalled that awful, miserable time in her life when she’d been so frightened, so alone, so bereft. She wished she’d never brought this up.

  Pride. Foolish, foolish pride. She’d wanted her new friends to think she wasn’t a simple stick-in-the-mud Pasadena girl. Although that was precisely what she wanted to be. People—herself included—could be very odd creatures without half trying, she concluded with bitter irony.

  “I was pretty sick, too. As I said, I don’t remember very much. I … well, I remember being consumed and sad.” Because she didn’t want anyone to think she was fishing for sympathy, she laughed brightly and added, “But my aunt and uncle have been absolute saints. They took me in and have treated me as their own child ever since. They’re wonderful. They’re every bit as wonderful as my own parents would have been, I’m sure.” What was more, they wouldn’t ever haul a tiny child into an uncivilized wilderness where there was no hope of survival; Amy was sure of it.

  The look of shock on Charlie’s face might have been comical if Amy didn’t feel so guilty for having caused it. Pickles. She wished she’d kept her mouth shut about her lamentable childhood. These people—Karen, Martin and Charlie—could relate tales of interesting journeys and bold chances taken. Their stories weren’t merely sordid and unhappy like hers.

  “My gosh, Amy. I didn’t know any of that,” said Karen.

  “Neither did I,” said Martin.

  Oh, good. Now they were all looking at her as if she were a pitiable specimen of endangered animal life. Where was Theodore Roosevelt when you needed him? Maybe he could create a national park in her honor or something.

  She said rather tartly, “It’s over and done with, and I’m very happy now. Pasadena is a beautiful city, and I love living there. My aunt and uncle have a thriving business, and I enjoy working there, too. Well,” she amended, her honesty getting the better of her determination to erase the bleak atmosphere she’d created, “except for people like MR. Huxtable who occasionally come to stay at the Orange Rest.”

  Karen laughed. “Indeed.”

  Martin smiled.

  Only Charlie seemed to linger in the dismals that Amy had so foolishly allowed to get loose. Drat it, she ought to have known better. Her early life was too ugly to bring up at a dinner table—even in El Monte—and she knew it.

  Fortunately for the state of her nerves, the waiter arrived with his pad in his hand. Amy hadn’t studied the menu very hard, having allowed herself to become mired somewhere in Alaska for the past several minutes. She said, “You go first, Karen. I need to think a little longer.”

  She heard Karen order a chicken enchilada and frijoles and arroz con pollo, whatever that was, and decided she might as well be brave and daring and order it, too. She smiled at the waiter and said, “I’ll have the same, please.”

  “I hope they serve mints or sprigs of parsley or something after dinner,” Karen said with a laugh. “Otherwise, we’ll drive everyone off the dance floor with our terrible breath.”

  Amy stared in consternation at her friend. Karen noticed the expression on her face and laughed again. “It’s all the onions and garlic and chili peppers they use in the food. At least, that’s what all the Mexican food I’ve ever eaten has been like.”

  “Me, too,” agreed Martin.

  “Yup,” said Charlie.

  Terrific. Amy had always longed to smell like a maiden in Dracula, strung with garlic to keep the vampires away. And here she’d been hoping that Charlie might move his lips up from her hand to her lips sometime during the evening.

  Which shocked her. But she couldn’t forget that kiss, and she’d really like to experience at least one more of Charlie’s kisses before she had to give them up forever.

  If she had to give them up forever.

  Good gracious, there she went again, spinning dreams out of cotton fluff and nothing else at all. She shook her head hard, and could almost feel her fantastic fancies shatter and fly away on the spicy air.

  “But it’s probably going to be all right,” Karen went on. “If that was the only kind of food they serve here, we’ll all smell the same, so nobody can complain.” She case a cheery glance around at her tablemates, and Amy took heart.

  The conversation drifted, as was natural, into the picture making business, for which Amy was extremely thankful. She didn’t want to dwell any longer on her own unfortunate past. Oddly enough—perhaps because of the garlic and onions—the topic drifted to Bram Stoker’s book.

  “I’m hoping Mr. Lovejoy will consider a motion picture about vampires one of these days,” Martin said, sipping beer since there was no wine to be had. “Vampires are huge lately.”

  “So’s the devil,” said Karen nonchalantly.

  Amy stared at the two of them. She’d never heard of the devil and evil nonliving creatures being discussed so casually. “Really?”

  Karen laughed at her incredulity. “It’s the truth. Nothing’s sacred any longer.”

  “Now, that’s not true, Karen, and you know it.” Martin looked about as severe as a man with a beer stein in his hand can look. And he launched into an energetic speech about the wonders of the motion picture industry, how uplifting it was, and how it was going to break down barriers between cultures. Amy listened, greatly entertained.

  Only Charlie, she noticed with interest, didn’t appear to get caught up in Martin’s enthusiasm. He kept sneaking peeks at Amy, and she kept feeling them, and wondering what he was thinking.

  She hoped to heaven he wasn’t contemplating the horrible story she’d told him about her life in Alaska. Again she wished she’d kept her mouth shut. If there was one response she didn’t care to generate in Charlie Fox, she realized with some surprise, it was pity. She could think of lots and lots of other emotions she’d like to inspire within him. Pity wasn’t one of them.

  Bother. This was becoming so complicated.

  Fifteen

  The dance floor was crowded, and the ha
ppy strains of “The Maple Leaf Rag” had everybody bouncing. Evidently, the entire city of El Monte, California, plus the folks from the surrounding countryside had turned out to gawk at the movie crew at the Royal El Montean. They were a friendly lot, too. Charlie liked them. He appreciated hospitality; it reminded him of home.

  The entire crowd seemed eager to have fun, too. Charlie grinned when the band struck up “IN the Good Old Summertime”, and the dancers broke into song. The cast and crew of One and Only, not intending to be left out of the festivities, joined in.

  That is to say, all of the cast and crew except Horace Huxtable, who huddled at a table in the back of the room, a shot glass in hand and a bottle in front of him, glowering as if there wasn’t anything in the world that could possibly please him. Gus, Sam and Eddie sat so close they were almost in his lap. Charlie was pleased to see that the three bodyguards were taking their jobs seriously. Not that Huxtable’s body needed guarding. It was the rest of the world that needed protection from him.

  The notion of somebody preferring to sit and drink rather than dance and laugh and have a good time depressed Charlie, and he shook off the mood with a shrug. To hell with Horace Huxtable. Tonight, if his luck was good, Charlie was going to reel in the girl of his dreams.

  From “In the Good Old Summertime,” the band rolled right into “Ida, Sweet as Apple Cider.” The musicians were pretty good, and very loud, and Amy was a wonderful dancer. Charlie liked to dance, too, and they ended up dancing most of the numbers together.

  “Oh, my, I can’t remember when I’ve had so much fun,” Amy gasped at one point, out of breath and shimmering with joy and perspiration.

  She looked like a pearl to Charlie; immeasurably lovely, graceful, delicate, and priceless. She took to ragtime as if she’d been born to it, which he thought was very interesting. Adding this tidbit to the information he’d already gleaned about her, he deduced that she’d built up a wall of stuffiness and propriety around her on purpose, sort of like a protective layer. He could understand that, given her past.

  His own life had been completely unremarkable. A loving mother and father, a big family full of aunts and uncles and brothers and sisters, lots of friends, and the wide-open, beautiful spaces of Arizona Territory. He recalled most of his childhood with humor and happiness. He couldn’t even imagine what dainty little Amy Wilkes must have gone through when she was no bigger than a mite.

  Hell, she was no bigger than a mite right now.

  She sure was happy tonight. Charlie could hardly leave off staring at her as she danced around the floor with Martin to the music of “Hello, Ma Baby.” It was a pleasure to watch her relax, and have a good time with friends. When he first met her, he’d never have expected that this delightful, funny, good-humored girl lurked under all that stiffness.

  The music ended. Martin took Amy’s arm and walked her over to Charlie. Charlie appreciated the gesture, since it meant that Martin, at least, had Charlie and Amy paired up as a couple in his own mind.

  Since he was feeling magnanimous, Charlie remarked, “You two look good dancing together.”

  Amy reached for the little fan dangling from her wide black belt—Charlie had heard Karen refer to it as a cummerbund—and fanned herself vigorously. “Oh, it’s so much fun!”

  “I think the nightclub is about to close,” Martin panted, mopping his forehead with a handkerchief that looked much nicer than any of the raggedy old bandannas Charlie owned. He’d have to improve his wardrobe once he got Amy to consent to be his wife.

  “Oh, do you think so?” Amy cried, disappointed. “I hope they play another couple of dances first. Although,” she added with a laugh, “my feet are so sore I wouldn’t be surprised if they fell off.”

  Martin laughed too. “We can’t have that.”

  “No, sir.” Charlie looked down at where Amy’s feet would be if he could see them, and wished he could take them in his big hands and rub them and then sprinkle sweet-smelling talcum on them, like his mama used to do to him when he’d run himself ragged as a boy.

  Karen, who had been dancing with Benjamin Egan, a very handsome member of the studio’s set-construction crew, gasped, “I’ll run and ask them to keep playing for a while. I want them to do ‘Frankie and Johnny.’”

  Still fanning herself, Amy opened her eyes at that. “Mercy! Can you dance to ‘Frankie and Johnny’?”

  “I can dance to anything!” Karen declared, and dashed off to talk to the bandleader.

  Martin chuckled. “I think Miss Crenshaw failed to attach herself to any of Dr. Freud’s famous inhibitions.”

  Amy laughed.

  Benjamin Egan, staring after Karen with overt appreciation, said, “By God, isn’t that the truth!”

  This time Charlie, sensing the same longing in Benjamin for Karen as he himself felt for Amy, laughed. Before Karen returned, the bandleader had directed his musicians through the first few bars of “Frankie and Johnny.” Karen grabbed Benjamin, and the two of them folded into the crowd of dancers on the floor. Amy, Charlie and Martin watched them go, smiling.

  “Care to tangle with this one, Amy?” Charlie wondered if he looked as much like a moonstruck calf as he feared he did.

  “Oh, there’s Magnus. I have to talk to him.” Martin took off after his chief cameraman.

  “Poor Martin,” Amy said, her fan losing some steam. “He seems to work all the time.”

  “Yup. He seems to enjoy it, though.”

  Amy nodded. Then she tilted her head back and peered up at Charlie as if she were trying to memorize his face. He wanted to tell her there was no need to do that; all she had to do was marry him, and she would see his face every day of her life. He lifted an eyebrow to prompt her to answer his question.

  “You know,” Amy said slowly, “I’ve had so much fun tonight, and I’ve never danced so much, but I’m hot and tired, and my feet are sore, and I’d really like to go outside for a minute or two. Would you mind that?”

  Would he mind? Ha! Charlie said, “Wouldn’t mind at all,” and applauded himself as a master of understatement. “I’ll get your wrap.”

  “Thank you.”

  Her smile was so warm and lovely and sparkled with the promise of so much untapped passion that Charlie very nearly forgot himself and swept her up off the floor and absconded with her. Fortunately for Amy—and himself—he controlled his uncivilized craving and only turned and headed for the cloak rack. He’d heard that big-city restaurants actually had special rooms to store coats and hats in, and special attendants to mind the rooms. He supposed a fellow would have to pay for that service, and spared a moment to be glad they were in the wilds of El Monte. Although he was far from stingy, Charlie was careful with his money.

  During the course of the evening, folks had piled lots of coats and wraps and things on top of Amy’s shawl, and it took him a minute to find it. When he returned to where he’d left her, he was horrified to discover her face to face with Horace Huxtable. Her face was bright pink. Huxtable’s was sort of a washed-out ivory. Charlie ran the last few paces.

  “Where are Gus and Sam and Eddie?” were the first words out of his mouth.

  Amy turned at the sound of his voice, and the look of anger on her countenance instantly transformed into one of relief. “I don’t know. Evidently, Mr. Huxtable managed to shake them off. I told Martin to use chains, but he wouldn’t do it.”

  “You damned bitch!” Huxtable slurred, wobbling slightly. “You think you’re so grand. Well, you’re not!”

  “Oh, go away, Huxtable,” Charlie muttered, helping Amy don her shawl. He didn’t want any trouble in the Royal El Montean. Dammit, where were Huxtable’s keepers? The music went on as if nothing untoward was happening, which he supposed was a good thing.

  Charlie noticed that Amy’s lips were pinched tightly together, as if she were having a hard time keeping some mighty hot words inside. He felt for her. He’d like to sock Huxtable in his filthy mouth, but he was holding himself back, just as she was.

&nb
sp; “You think you’re so great. Well, you’re not. I’m the star! I’m the one who will draw the crowds to see this picture. Not you.”

  “I’m sure you’re absolutely correct,” Amy said tightly.

  She held her arm out for Charlie, and he took it and placed her hand firmly on his arm. He nodded at Huxtable. “You’re the star, all right. We’re a couple of nobodies.”

  Huxtable, apparently not having anticipated such complete agreement from two formerly obstreperous co-workers, blinked a couple of times and took a staggering step backwards. “Hunh,” he said.

  Spying Huxtable’s bodyguards hurrying up to the star from behind, Charlie said, “Right,” and left it at that. He and May began to walk away. The music was too loud for him to sure that Amy giggled, but he thought she did.

  The night air, which hadn’t felt cold when they’d arrived at the Royal El Montean several hours earlier, hit them like an Arctic blast when Charlie opened the door for Amy. It felt good to him—fresh and clean after the stuffiness of the dance floor.

  Amy pulled her shawl more tightly around her shoulders. “My goodness, I didn’t realize it was so brisk outside.”

  “I don’t think it’s so much brisk as it is we’re warm from being indoors and dancing,” Charlie said, inhaling a lungful of fresh air. It smelled good—like Arizona.

  “I’m sure you’re right. It’s actually quite refreshing.” Amy’s voice carried a happy overtone that Charlie was glad to hear. “Oh, look up there.”

  She must have forgotten her manners for a second, because she pointed at the sky. Although it was difficult for him, Charlie managed to drag his attention away from her and focus on the moon and stars. They really were pretty. The moon was almost full, and the stars were twinkling around it like a bunch of excited fireflies. “The sky’s beautiful,” he said, knowing the word to be inadequate. At the moment, though, all of his appreciation was entangled with the slight woman beside him. He didn’t have much eloquence left over to spend on the scenery.