“Good.” Amy, who could think of few worse fates than being liked by Horace Huxtable, continued, “See that you keep it in mind. If you do anything, anything at all, to hurt me today, you’ll regret it.”
“Is that a threat, my dear?” He drew himself up so that he loomed over her. His smile didn’t waver.
Amy didn’t care. By this time, he had no power to do anything more than disgust her—except when he got her alone, and she’d prepared herself for that. “Yes, it is. Try anything, and I’ll do my best to see that you pay for it for a long, long time.”
“Get on your horses now, Amy and Horace!” came Martin’s call from the sidelines. He appeared worried, and Amy hoped for his sake that Huxtable wouldn’t do anything too awful today.
Without another word to the man whom she’d begun to think of as her mortal enemy, Amy turned and walked to her horse. If things had been different between herself and Charlie, she’d have asked him to check the saddle cinch, bridge, reins, and other equipment that could have been tampered with. Since Charlie was unavailable to her—if she expected to keep what was left of her pride—she and Karen had performed that task. All of the riding accouterments had looked all right to them, although they were far from being experts.
She sighed as she took the reins, put her foot in the stirrup, and gave what she hoped was a game smile to the young man who was holding the bridle for her. She was so unutterably bad at this horseback-riding stuff. What an idiot she’d been to think she could actually have made a suitable wife for Charlie Fox, when she couldn’t even ride a horse.
It took her three tries, but eventually she managed to get herself in to the saddle. Although she hadn’t intended to, she sought Charlie on the sidelines, hoping he hadn’t noticed how awkward she’d been in mounting the beast. Her luck seemed to running uniformly bad these days, because he was there and watching her. She sighed again, resigned to having one last miserable day on the Peerless set.
With another smile for the boy holding the bridle, she said, “I think I’m set now. Thank you very much.”
His eyes held a vaguely worshipful expression hen he gulped and said, “Sure thing, Miss Wilkes.” Which just went to show how much attention people paid to things. If this lad had been paying any mind at all to the way Amy Wilkes went about her job, he’d know she was a failure at it.
Oh, for heaven’s sake, buck up, she told herself sternly. After all, while she might be a poor horsewoman and a novice actress, she’d comported herself well through the whole ordeal of making this picture. She didn’t think she’d ever be able to watch it, though. It would surely play in Pasadena, and her friends would naturally want to go see it with her. Amy guessed she’d just have to catch something during those times, so that she could plead illness.
Coward, her innards fussed at her.
“Ready, Martin,” she called, trying to ignore both her innards and her outers, which were uncomfortably sitting on a stupid saddle, and get this over with.
“Good. All right, Horace and Amy. Take your places on the set. “
With trepidation, strained nerves, and severely flexed muscles—Amy was certain she’d never be able to relax on a horse, no matter if she were to ride every day for the rest of her life—she guided the animal to the mark chalked in the dust of the yard. Huxtable, who rode with ease and grace, was waiting for her with his customary sneer in place when she pulled her mount to a halt.
“Christ,” he muttered. “Some people are absolutely incompetent.”
He was talking about her. Amy knew it, and although she resented his words, she also knew he was only trying to rile her, so she didn’t react but instead looked at Martin so that she wouldn’t miss her cue.
Karen stood next to Martin, her arms crossed over her chest, watching Amy with concern. Amy knew Karen cared about her state of mind, but she hadn’t been able to talk to her friend about Charlie yet because the wound was too raw.
Besides, Karen had made no bones about her feelings regarding Vernon Catesby and Amy’s fear of trying new things. Amy was sure Karen wouldn’t understand why she’d rejected Charlie’s proposal. In reality, even Amy didn’t understand. All she knew was that when she contemplated starting out in married life—even with Charlie Fox, the man she adored—with nothing standing between herself and death but one man, no matter how wonderful he was, her insides knotted up, her heart twisted, and her brain went into total rebellion.
She simply couldn’t do it, and she knew it. What a worthless piece of female flesh she was. Charlie should be happy he was getting rid of her so easily. Before things got too serious.
Sleeping with him had been a very serious event to Amy, but she knew men were different. All at once the knowledge that she might be pregnant slammed into her brain, and she nearly fell off her horse.
“Good heavens,” she murmured, aghast.
“What is it this time, my little sweetie pie?” Huxtable asked in his malicious smear of a voice. “Does your tender little bottom hurt?”
She turned the most vicious glare in her repertoire upon him. “I’m so glad the filming ends today, Mr. Huxtable. And I hope I’ll never have the misfortune of ever seeing you again.”
“No more do I,” he said suavely. “Bitch.”
“All right, Amy and Horace, quit talking to each other. We’re going to get this in one take!”
“One take?” muttered Huxtable. “With this female who’s pretending to be an actress? Absurd.”
“I never pretended to be an actress,” Amy said, forgetting she knew better than to answer his jibes.
HE smiled a sugary smile. “It’s a good thing.”
“Quiet on the set!” Martin hollered. “Get set!”
He was beginning to sound a little frazzled, and Amy was sorry she’d had a part in making him so. She turned as much as she dared in her saddle and smiled at him to let him know she’d do her part, and she was ready. More or less.
Huxtable snorted.
Amy wondered why people like Horace Huxtable seemed to go on forever and good people like her parents died young. It wasn’t fair. She’d have to have a chat with God about it when this was all over.
“All right,” Martin shouted, a little more cheerful. “And—action!”
The cameras began to crank noisily, the sprockets began shooting out, and Amy’s and Huxtable’s horses began moving slowly away from the others. Amy took heart from the knowledge that his was the final scene in this horrid picture, and that she’d never have to work with Horace Huxtable again as long as she lived.
Facing the man she detested more than any other man on earth, Amy put on her loveliest, most adoring expression; an expression that, when viewed by the picture-going public, would appear to be one of abject love. “You have made my life miserable during the past few weeks, Mr. Huxtable. I’m sure you know that and are proud of yourself, although you did fail to kill me, which I’m sure you wish you had.”
“Nonsense. You had a few unfortunate accidents on the set, and they were brought about by your inexperience and stupidity. I had nothing to do with any of them.”
“That’s a lie, and you know it.” If this had been any other man, Amy wouldn’t have said such a directly hateful thing Huxtable deserved it, however, and she’d cast aside her natural courtesy and let him have it.
“Balls,” he replied, not at all contrite. “You don’t know what you’re saying, any more than you know what you’re doing.”
“I know what I’m saying this minute,” Amy responded instantly. “I dislike you very much, Mr. Huxtable. You were awful at my uncle’s health spa, and you’re even more awful on the set of this picture.”
“Bah. You’re raving.”
“Fiddlesticks. You know very well I’m not raving. I think you’re probably less than human. I do believe you’re a throwback to a lower life form. I never believed in Mr. Darwin’s theories until I met you.” To make her performance for the cameras even more believable, she held out her hand to him, as she was suppose
d to do, and batted her eyelashes.
“And you, my dear,” Huxtable countered, “Belong in that deadly place, Pasadena, serving up that deadly liquid, orange juice. You’re unfit for a more sophisticated life.”
“I’m sure you’re right. And I’m sure that if you personify the sophisticated life, nobody with two principles to rub together would want anything to do with it.”
“Good! Good!” Martin cried behind them. “You’re looking good. If you can go a tiny bit more slowly, do it. This will be the public’s last sight of you—”
“Thank God,” whispered Amy.
“—and we want to make it good!”
“My sentiments exactly, my dear.”
“You’re squeezing my hand too tightly, Mr. Huxtable. Please loosen your grip.” She hadn’t meant to say anything to him about how much he was hurting her hand, but was finally driven by pain to protest. “I’m going to shout in a minute and draw everyone’s attention to your childish antic.”
“Nonsense. The scene’s almost over. I’m only making sure you don’t fall off your horse. You’re no horsewoman, you know.”
“Of course I know it,” Amy ground out through her teeth. “Release me instantly.”
“Make me,” he said, sounding even more childish than before.
“All right, I shall.”
“And ruin poor Martin’s one perfect take? Tut, tut, wench. You’re certainly no professional.”
“No, I’m not a professional. Nor am I a martyr.”
“Perfect!” Martin shouted. “Just a little more now, and we’ll be all through.”
“We’re through now,” Amy declared savagely. And with that, and with more athletic skill than she knew she possessed, she withdrew her dullish letter knife from the pocket of her shirt and stabbed Horace Huxtable on the back of the h and.
“Ow!” Huxtable bellowed. “You damned bitch!” He yanked her hand, pulling her right out of the saddle.
But Amy fooled him this time. She’d been expecting him to pull some stunt like this, and she didn’t let go of his hand when she fell. Not only did she not let go, but she reached wildly for his leg as she went down. She managed to snag his calf and held on for dear life. If she was going to fall, so was he.
“No!” he screamed, and Amy had the satisfaction of seeing him lose his balance and begin sliding in his saddle before she hit the ground and somebody turned out the lights on the set.
She woke up in Charlie’s arms, hearing his voice in her ear. “It’s all right, Amy. You’ll be all right. Jesus Christ, you’d better be all right.”
His panic-stricken tone of voice puzzled her. She couldn’t imagine Charlie Fox, the brave and noble cowboy who’d handled stampeding cattle and blue lightning balls, being panic-stricken. She wondered what was wrong. It must be something really bad to make Charlie sound like this.
Although it hurt to do so, she lifted her arm and brushed a strand of hair from his dear forehead. He stopped walking so suddenly that her body swayed in his arms and hurt all over. She couldn’t suppress a moan of pain.
“Amy!” he cried, hurting he ears, which made it unanimous: Every inch of her hurt now.
Although her chest and lips and throat hurt, she whispered, “You needn’t speak so loudly.”
“Amy!” he cried again.
She’d never known him to be a blabbermouth, but she’d always believed he had more than one word in his vocabulary. Her eyebrows lowered a little bit—not too much, because they, too, hurt. “What happened?”
“Good God, he almost killed you.”
She huffed impatiently. “Of course he did. But I fooled him this time. I stabbed him and made him fall from his horse too.” She couldn’t understand why Charlie seemed so worried. Unless…. “Oh, did I get hurt?” Stupid question, since she felt the answer even as she asked it. Because she didn’t want to be considered unintelligent by Charlie Fox, of all people, she amended the query. “I mean, did I break anything?”
“We don’t know yet. Be still. I’m trying to get you to your tent.”
“Oh.” That made sense. Curious, she asked, “What happened to Mr. Huxtable?”
She was pleased to see a tiny grin lift his beautiful lips. “Before or after I beat the tar out of him?”
Had he really done that? Amy was so pleased she could hardly stand it. “Oh, I’m so glad. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. He fell right on top of you, and the doc’s going to see if he broke any of your bones.”
“Ew.” Amy didn’t like the thought of Horace Huxtable on top of her. It made her feel queasy.
Charlie continued. “I think he busted an arm falling off the horse.”
“Good.” Satisfied with this initial report—she’d hear the full story from Karen later—Amy decided to close her eyes again. They didn’t want to be open. From what seemed like far away, she heard somebody running up to them.
“How is she?” It was Martin. Wasn’t that nice? Martin was worried about her, too.
Amy drifted off to sleep in Charlie’s arms.
* * *
Without turning, Charlie responded to Martin’s worried question. “I think she passed out again.” He tried to hurry and be careful with her at the same time, incompatible actions that were frustrating him a lot. Add that mixture to the anxiety gnawing at his innards, and he was in a state.
“Oh, dear, oh, dear. I was afraid something like this would happen. I should have had her strapped into her saddle or something.”
“That would have been worse. She could have broken her back.”
“My God.” Color drained from Martin’s face. He murmured, “It’s all my fault. Lord above, Charlie, this is all my fault. I should have fought Mr. Lovejoy. I never wanted to work with Huxtable again. I think the man’s gone completely mad.”
“You couldn’t have predicted this. I only hope Huxtable’s pretty face will never recover, and he’ll never have another chance to hurt another woman.”
“I’m afraid that’s all taken care of.” Martin didn’t sound awfully happy about it, considering what Huxtable did to Amy. “His nose will never be the same. And Amy managed to mangle him pretty badly all on her own, even before you showed up.”
“Yeah. She did a good job on him. I’m glad I was there to see it.”
“Oh, dear, oh, dear. I hope we don’t have to reshoot my scenes that he’s in.”
“Yeah. Me, too.”
“He’ll never look the same again.”
“I sure hope not.”
Obviously, Martin didn’t share Charlie’s happiness about the injuries Huxtable had sustained. Charlie didn’t wonder at that, although he thought Martin should be more pleased than not. Huxtable was certainly no asset to any picture Peerless might make.
“I’ve sent Eddie to get the doctor. He’ll be here soon,” Martin said distractedly. “Maybe I’d better go help him.” He veered off in the direction of the doctor’s tent.
Charlie had almost reached Amy’s tent by the time Martin left him alone with Amy. Karen had run on ahead and lifted the tent flap so that Charlie could carry Amy in and tenderly set her on the bed without fumbling with the flap.
“How is she?” Karen asked, clearly worried.
“I’m not sure. I think she’s only woozy.” Charlie prayed he was right. “Martin’s gone to get the doctor.”
“Good. Oh, Charlie, I hope she’s going to be all right.”
Charlie could scarcely believe it when he saw Karen wipe her eyes. He patted her on the shoulder. “I’m sure she will be.” And if she wasn’t, he was going to kill Huxtable for her, no matter how hard Martin tried to dissuade him. If he got locked up for it, so be it. He wasn’t too keen on living without Amy for the rest of his life anyway. He didn’t suppose it mattered where he did it.
He was appalled when he realized where his thoughts had drifted and gave himself a mental kick in the butt. “Ain’t no woman worth getting’ het up for,” Uncle Bill used to say. Quite often. And, while Charlie didn�
��t really believe it, he knew good and well that any woman who wasn’t willing to follow her man into hell wasn’t the woman for him. And Amy wouldn’t even follow him into a new ranch. She surely wasn’t worth sacrificing himself for. No matter how much the notion of killing Horace Huxtable appealed to him.
As he peered down into Amy’s face, which was at the moment as white as a snowdrop, he knew Uncle Bill was dead wrong. He also knew Amy was wrong to reject him for such a frivolous reason as the one she’d given him. If she really loved him, she’d marry him, even if he wasn’t rich.
Because his heart was in a turmoil and because he didn’t want to be around when Amy awoke—he feared her weakened state would weaken him, and he’d end up acting like a sick puppy and following her back to Pasadena—he waited only long enough for the doctor to arrive and shoo them all outside. There he paced up and down with Karen and Martin until the doctor pushed out through the tent flap. The three of them stopped pacing and stared at the man. Charlie bit his tongue so he wouldn’t holler for information before the doc had a chance to get his thoughts together.
“She’s going to be just fine. She sustained a minor concussion—”
“Concussion!” That didn’t sound minor to Charlie, and he took a step toward the doctor, intending to shake the truth out of him. Martin grabbed him by one arm, and Karen grabbed him by the other, so he couldn’t fulfill his intentions.
The doctor took a step back, and his eyes opened wide with surprise and apprehension. “She’d going to be fine,” he repeated. “The concussion isn’t serious. Just be sure she’s awakened every hour or so and given liquids. Don’t let her get up and walk around, and you might want to check her vision occasionally to be sure there’s nothing more amiss than I think there is.”
After giving Charlie an assessing glance, the doctor continued, “I’ll go check on Mr. Huxtable now—”
“Check on Huxtable?” Charlie roared. “You’re not checking on Huxtable until you tell us more about Amy!”
Cowboy For Hire Page 28
