Cowboy For Hire

by Duncan, Alice

  She turned over and placed her hands on his chest. Staring into his eyes, her own as full of love as if she were speaking the words aloud, she said, “You didn’t hurt me, Charlie. I’m fine. I’ve never been so fine.”

  That was a load off his mind. He grinned, hoping he didn’t look too proud of himself. “Good. I’m glad. Um, was it all right for you?”

  “All right?” She seemed puzzled for a moment, then her expression cleared. “Oh, do you mean did I enjoy it?”

  Shoot, once she decided to open up, she really went at it with a vengeance, didn’t she? He nodded. “Yes, that’s what I meant.” He’d been too shy to say it out loud.

  “Oh, my, yes. I had no idea. Why, I think marriage is going to be perfectly wonderful. I never thought about the physical aspects of marriage before this minute. Well, except in the sense that I didn’t want to starve to death or anything like that.”

  “Right.” She was moving a little fast for him. Like his uncle Bill might say, she was talking faster than he could listen. But Charlie had never heard anybody speak of starving to death in connection with marriage before.

  Then he remembered Alaska, his big heart turned sloppy and warm, and he drew her into his arms, sweat and all. If she could talk about sex so openly, surely she wouldn’t object to his sweaty chest. “Sweetheart, I swear to you that I’ll take care of you. You’ll never have to worry about having enough food. And if we’re lucky enough to be blessed with kids, they’ll never have to suffer the way you suffered when you were little. I swear it.”

  “Oh, Charlie.”

  He could tell she’s started to sniffle, and hoping she wouldn’t bawl. He’d never been sure what to do when females cried in front of him.

  After a few minutes of that, Charlie’s sex began to stir again, and he hoped he wouldn’t shock her unduly—Amy pulled away so that she could talk. He kept petting her because he couldn’t seem to leave off. He’d never in all his born days expected to have such an exquisite creature in his life. And she’d agreed to marry him. He could scarcely believe his luck.

  “I can’t wait to see the ranch, Charlie.” She curled up next to him and put her hand on his chest. She seemed to like running her fingers through his chest hair. That was fine with him; he liked it, too.

  “We can go to Arizona as soon as the picture’s wrapped up, if you want to.”

  “Oh, I’d love it. Do you suppose my aunt and uncle can go, too, if they can get away for a little holiday?”

  “Sure. I’m sure there will be room for them. I’ll write my mother.”

  “Your mother? Will she put them up?”

  “Put them up? Well, sure.” He looked down at her. “She and my dad live there, and there’s loads of room.”

  “They live on our ranch?”

  Our ranch? That seemed like a funny way to phrase it, but Charlie kind of liked the sound of it. Made their life together seem like a sure thing. “Sure.”

  “Oh. I guess I didn’t realize.”

  “Oh, sure. Heck, that ranch has been in the family for more than fifty years. A few of my brothers and two of my sisters live there, too.”

  A brief silence preceded Amy’s, “Oh. That’s a lot of people. Um, I thought it would be just the two of us.”

  Uh-oh. Charlie didn’t like the sound of this. He tried to recall exactly what he’d told her about the ranch, and guessed he hadn’t mentioned that lots of his family still lived there. Actually, he guessed he hadn’t mentioned his family at all, except to say the ranch had been in the family for a long time. He hoped he hadn’t given her the impression that the ranch was his alone.

  Feeling foolish and a little desperate, he said, “Well, there will be the two of us eventually, because we’ll set up our own operation. In the meantime, the ranch is plenty big enough for all of us to visit. It won’t be our home after we’re married, of course.”

  “It won’t?”

  “Shoot, no. I always expected to have my own place someday. What with the money I’m making from this picture, I’ll be ready to set us up right.”

  “Set us up? You mean you aren’t set up already?”

  The sugar in her voice seemed to be disintegrating. Charlie didn’t like the sound of it. “Well, not yet, but you don’t need to worry, Amy. Honest to God, I’ve got plenty of money. And I’ve got lots of built-in help to work on the place, too.”

  “Built-in help? I don’t think I understand, Charlie.”

  Charlie was disappointed when she withdrew her hand from his chest. He was getting an uneasy feeling about this conversation. “I mean my brothers. They’ll be happy to help build us a house and start up the operation.”

  “Start up,” she murmured. “I was under the impression your ranch was already a going concern.”

  “It is. That is to say, the family ranch is about as successful as a ranch can be. I’m going to set up my own.”

  “Oh.”

  Oh? Just oh? Charlie’s heart began to shrivel in his chest, and he scrambled to regain lost ground. “And we don’t need to do it in Arizona Territory, either,” he rushed on. “If you prefer living in California, we’ll just establish a ranch in California. Land’s cheap here, and there’s lots of it, and it’s a great place to raise cattle and kids.”

  He saw her lick her lips. “I, um, didn’t imagine that we’d have to start out with nothing, Charlie. I believed you had a ranch going full tilt already.”

  “The family ranch is,” he said lamely. “But I don’t even have the land for my own operation. Yet. I’m going to build a place and stock it as soon as possible after I get paid for this picture.”

  “I see.”

  She sat up. He did, too, and said, “Amy, I’m really sorry I gave you the wrong idea. Honest to God, I didn’t meant to deceive you.”

  “I’m sure you didn’t.”

  Her voice had gone … bleak was the only word Charlie could come up with to describe it. “Amy….”

  “I, ah, think you’d better go now, Charlie. I don’t want anyone to gossip about us.”

  “Amy, please, let’s talk about this. It’ll be all right. I swear to God, Amy, I’m well set up in the world. You’ll never want for anything or suffer anything. Honest. Please, sweetheart, just talk to me for a minute, and you’ll understand.”

  “Um, I don’t think I’m up to chatting any longer tonight, Charlie.”

  He could tell she was trembling when she got out of bed. She went to her overnight bag and withdrew a big flannel nightgown. Her beautiful body looked white and forlorn and very small in the dark room. He leaped out of bed and ran over to her. “Here, let me help you.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Lord, Amy, I’m sorry. I swear to you, I didn’t mean to give you any wrong ideas.”

  “No, I’m sure of it, Charlie. You’re too honest to do that.” He could almost hear the on purpose that she didn’t say. She slipped the nightgown over her head and looked up at him as if she expected him to be dressed already.

  “Amy….”

  She shook her head. “Let’s talk about it later, Charlie. I’m afraid there’s been a misunderstanding.”

  A misunderstanding. Good God, he couldn’t believe this. “Amy, I—”

  “Please, Charlie. Just go to your room, if you will. I … need to rest.”

  “But—”

  “No. Please.”

  Charlie gave up. He’d never felt so guilty and unhappy; his feet felt like lead and so did his heart when he closed the door of Amy’s room and went next door to his own room. The vision of her standing there in her voluminous nightgown, looking lonely and forsaken, stayed with him all night long. He didn’t sleep a wink.

  Seventeen

  Amy didn’t cry, a circumstance that later astonished her. Her eyes burned and felt as hot as a scorching poker, but the rest of her was colder than she could recall ever being—except when she’d been abandoned in Alaska. She sat on the edge of her bed and contemplated the disaster of her life, wondering how she could hav
e been so totally mistaken about Charlie. And about herself.

  Wishful thinking. That’s what had led to her downfall.

  “It can’t be true,” she whispered into the blackness that seemed to have spread from the outside in until it enveloped her, body, heart, and soul.

  Even as she spoke the words, she knew she was wrong. It could be true—and it was. She would never dream of accusing Charlie of deliberately misleading her, but she’d been misled nonetheless; perhaps because she wanted so very much to believe what she’d believed. Wishful thinking.

  Perhaps she was being silly. Perhaps it didn’t matter so much that Charlie didn’t really have a ranch of his own, and that he and she would have to start an operation together. Out of nothing. She tested the possibility in her mind, and such an internal earthquake rattled her that she was soon shaking from head to foot and had to cling to the bed or fall to the floor.

  No. She was unquestionably reacting strongly to the truth of Charlie’s situation because of her own personal background, but there was nothing silly about it.

  For whatever reason, Amy couldn’t abide the notion of going out into the world and creating something out of nothing. Not after what had happened to her parents. Not after watching them sicken an die from attempting to achieve an impossibility. Not for her the establishment of a mission from scratch.

  A ranch. She meant a ranch. It was a ranch, not a mission, that Charlie wanted her to start with him. Ranches weren’t as impossible to succeed at as missions, were they?

  Mission. Ranch. Mission. Ranch. Both words and the images they brought forth whirled around in her brain like dervishes. It didn’t matter what she called what Charlie wanted them to do together. The end result was the same: blind panic.

  Amy Wilkes was unfit to begin anything, and that was that. She needed security like other people needed food and water. There was no use pretending otherwise. She’d been damaged early in life, and some scars were permanent.

  “Oh, dear Lord, what have I done?” She stared into nothingness and contemplated the catastrophe of her night.

  It had started out so well, too. Dinner had been fun, dancing had been thrilling, and making love with Charlie had been the most exciting, fulfilling experience of her life.

  And then, after she’d built up in her mind the wonders of a life together on his thriving and prosperous ranch—obviously she’d been foolish to do so—he’d told her he didn’t have a ranch at all. Not one of his own, where he could bring a wife and raise a family.

  Amy couldn’t bear the notion of starting from nothing. She’d been avoiding anything even remotely insecure since the middle of her seventh year, and building a marriage from nothing sounded like the knell of doom to her.

  She felt guilty about Charlie. Surely he was going through agonies of doubt and misery that she’d misunderstood him, and he probably thought the whole thing was his fault. But it wasn’t. Her own personal inadequacy had created this ghastly mistake; her deficiency; her shortcoming.

  Unable to bear the thought of his pain heaped upon her own, Amy buried her head in her hands. She still didn’t cry. Her insides felt as if they’d been sucked dry and wadded up into a tight knot. They throbbed and ached, but there were no tears in her. She was empty; devoid of spiritual nourishment. There was nothing in her that might assist her in facing or, better yet, overcoming this crisis.

  “There’s something wrong with me,” she told herself. And she was right. There was something very wrong with her, and her moral defect was now spoiling what might well be her one chance at happiness with Charlie Fox. He was, as nonsensical as it might sound, the man of her dreams.

  Of course, there was always Vernon Catesby. Amy groaned. She’d given herself to Charlie tonight, under the misapprehension that they were soon to be wed. If she now married Vernon, she’d be giving him damaged goods.

  “I’m sure he’s slept with other women,” she said, feeling savage and scrambling for a way to make herself not wrong.

  But his sleeping with other women, as she well knew, didn’t matter. There were two standards prevailing in the world: one for men, and one for women. Amy had violated the standard for women tonight. That meant she’d either have to lie to Vernon or tell him the truth. If she told him the truth, he’d have nothing more to do with her. If she kept quiet, she’d be lying every bit as much as if she protested her innocence aloud.

  So what did that leave her? The Orange Rest Health Spa, she supposed. Uncle Frank and Aunt Julia would be happy to have her stay with them forever and continue working with the inmates. And they’d never need to know what she’d done. They’d wonder what happened to Vernon, but they’d never find out. Heaven knew, she’d never tell them.

  Which meant she’d never tell Vernon, either, and he’d more than wonder. He’d press her to reveal her reason for backing away from him after she’d received his attentions, if not with eagerness, at least without distaste, for months.

  What a mess she’d made of everything. What a calamitous, horrible, unhappy mess.

  Amy slept eventually, but she tossed and turned, and awoke in the morning with a headache and with heavy, puffy eyelids. As luck would have it, she met Karen in the hallway outside her room. She’d been praying that she’d not meet anyone, but Karen was the least worrisome of the many people she might have run into, so she tried her best to smile.

  “Good Lord, Amy, you look terrible this morning. Are you feeling unwell?”

  How sweet of Karen to offer her an excuse. “I think I’m coming down with something. I don’t feel at all well, actually. Sick. I feel quite sick.”

  “My goodness.” Karen’s brown eyes lit up. “Say, you and Charlie didn’t go out drinking last night after the dancing was over, did you?”

  “Drinking? Good heavens, no.” Although, come to think of it, if she had been drinking instead of doing what she’d been doing, she’d probably feel better this morning. At least a night of drinking wouldn’t have such detestably permanent consequences.

  “Oh.”

  Feeling low and irritable, Amy snapped, “You sound disappointed. Do you want me to turn into a drunkard?” That wasn’t nice, and she wished she’d bitten her tongue instead of saying it.

  “Of course no. Golly, you really do feel bad, don’t you? You’re never snappish except to Huxtable. Can I get you anything, Amy? Some water? Some juice? Anything?”

  All at once, at Karen’s solicitude in the face of her own irritability, the tears Amy hadn’t been able to shed the night before gushed forth. She ran back to her room, with Karen following her and looking worried. Amy flung herself across the bed, which she’d made up herself, and cried like a baby.

  Karen sat next to her and put a hand on her back. “Lord, Amy, maybe you ought to see a doctor.” She pressed a palm to Amy’s forehead. “You feel warm. Maybe you’re getting a fever.”

  She’d had a fever last night. Charlie had cured it. Now she was suffering the consequences. She didn’t tell Karen any of that.

  “I—I’ll be all right. I’m just feeling under the weather this morning.”

  The only thing Amy could hear for at least a minute was her own sobbing. She felt foolish and miserable and was torn between wishing Karen would go away and wishing she’d stay and offer the comfort of her friendship.

  All at once, Karen said, “Did you and Charlie have an argument?”

  Shocked, Amy sat bolt upright on the bed. Her face streaming with tears, she blurted out, “Why do you ask that?” Good heavens, Karen couldn’t tell what they’d done on this bed last night, could she? Amy had scrutinized herself in the mirror this morning, squinting from all angles, trying to determine if her damaged status from proper virgin to debauched hussy was in any way visible. She’d come to the conclusion that, as long as no one could read her heart, she was safe from discovery.

  Karen shrugged. “Well, you were happy as a lark last night and then you and Charlie went off together—”

  “What do you mean, we went off toget
her?” she brushed tears from her cheeks and stared at Karen, aghast.

  “Well, I mean, you went for a walk outside. I figured you wanted to cool off. I know I did after the band quit. Benjamin and I had quite a nice little walk together.”

  Amy could scarcely believe her eyes when Karen—outgoing, bold, daring Karen—blushed. “You did?”

  With a sniff of defiance, Karen said, “Yes, we did. So what?”

  “Nothing.” Amy shook her head so hard the French knot she’d made in her hair lost a pin. She stabbed it back in clumsily, not caring if the whole thing fell apart. The rest of her was falling apart; why not her hair?

  “Benjamin is a very nice man. We … like each other.”

  “I’m sure of it.” Blast it, why did her eyes keep leaking? Why couldn’t she have cried last night and gotten it over with? Amy scrubbed her face with her fists again. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything.”

  “Well, did you?”

  “Did I what?

  “Have a quarrel with Charlie.”

  What a good excuse. Even if it wasn’t the truth. What was one more lie in her life? She might as well begin weaving the fabric of lies now, so she’d be in practice when she went home to Pasadena and had to face her aunt and uncle. And Vernon.

  “Yes,” she said. “We had a quarrel.”

  “Oh, Amy, I’m sorry.” Karen hugged her, and Amy gave up any pretense of strength and sobbed on her friend’s shoulder. She’d never had a friend to cry with before, and she appreciated Karen this morning more than words could say.

  Karen, in an excess of sympathy, perhaps brought about by her own newly tenderized heart, cried with her. Amy had never felt worse in her adult life.

  Eventually, the two women dried their eyes, blew their noses, straightened their clothes—Karen twisted Amy’s French knot up tighter—and tidied up. Karen persuaded Amy to wear a little powder to hid the swollen blue patches under her eyes. Amy figured she might as well wear makeup since she was already fallen beyond redemption.

  Finally they were able to go downstairs and face the rest of the One and Only cast and crew. They were going back to the set today, and filming was expected to be finished shortly.