Books By Diana Palmer

by Palmer, Diana

  CHAPTER FIVE

  As Crissy suspected, the fence was cut in the same place that the other one had been, very close to the vertical brackets of the hog wire. She swung down from the saddle and examined the cuts carefully. The wire cutters that had been used both times weren't sharp and the cuts weren't neat and clean.

  She turned, leading Tobe by the reins, and sighed angrily as she looked toward the flat horizon. Jack Clark had stolen from them, and they'd fired him with justification. But Clark had a vindictive streak a mile wide, and he wanted vengeance. Crissy was afraid that it wasn't going to end with poisoned bulls and cut fences. She hoped that Duke Wright would have some news for Nick about the Clark brothers when he phoned him.

  She spotted Hob Downey on his porch and walked up to greet the older man.

  Hob was in his seventies. He'd been a cowboy all his life, until he was forcibly retired by his boss. He knew more about horses than most anybody, and he was lonely. He sat on his front porch most every day, hoping that somebody would stop and talk to him. He was a gold mine of information on everything from World War II to the early days of ranching. Crissy visited him when time permitted, but, like most young people, time was in short supply in her life.

  "Hi, Hob!" she called.

  "Come sit a spell, Miss Crissy," he invited with a grin.

  "Wish I had time, Hob. Nick says you saw some fellows in a pickup truck down by our fence this morning."

  He nodded. "Shore did. Skulking around like. I don't have a telephone, or I'd have called you."

  "Was one a tall man with a bald head?" she asked carefully.

  He grimaced. "One was wearing a hat pulled down low on his forehead, so I can't say if he was bald. Couldn't say how tall he was, either. The other fellow was wearing a shirt that could have drove a colorblind man crazy. Kept on the other side of the truck, mostly, couldn't see him well."

  She sighed. "How about the truck?"

  "Had a big rust spot on the left front fender," he offered. "Rest of it was black with a thin red stripe. Had homemade gates, un-painted. Looked to me like they were about to collect a cow or two, Miss Crissy."

  She'd have to find out if the Clark brothers had a pickup truck, or drove one of Wright's fitting that description, and what color it was.

  "Cut that fence, didn't they?" he persisted.

  She nodded. "But don't let that get around, okay?" she asked. "They might be dangerous, and you're all alone out here."

  He chuckled. "I got a shotgun."

  "You can't stay awake twenty-four hours a day," she pointed out.

  "They might come back and try again."

  She couldn't be sure of that. "You just keep your eyes open and watch your back," she told him.

  "Somebody mad at you, is that it?" he wanted to know.

  "Something like that. Thanks, Hob. You take care of yourself, and lock your doors at night."

  "You, too, Miss Crissy. Sure you won't sit a spell?"

  She smiled. "I'll come back when I can. But I'm up to my ears in movie people right now. I have to get back home."

  "We heard they was going to make a movie at your ranch. You going to be in it?"

  She laughed. "Not me! See you, Hob."

  "See you."

  She got back on Tobe and turned him toward the dirt road that led back to the ranch. It was disconcerting to think that Jack Clark and his brother John might have been responsible for two attempts on their livestock. They might try again, and they couldn't afford many losses right now, not even with the added revenue the movie shoot would bring in. They needed a new di­rection or they were going to go under.

  Specialization, she thought, was the only answer to their prob­lem. They could do what Cy Parks did and raise purebred live­stock—but that required a hefty bankroll up front that they didn't have. They could do what a few other producers had done and try marketing their own brand of organic beef. But that would entail upgrading their production methods and finding a buyer who wanted quality organic beef...maybe an overseas buyer, because those profits were really high, according to Leo Hart, who sold organic beef to Japan.

  If only horses could fly, she thought, and laughed at her own whimsy. Judd had tried that angle already, and failed. They were told that their cattle weren't lean enough for the high priced mar­kets, that they were fed too much corn and too little grass. That was why Christabel had been nudging their cattle into pastures to fatten them on grass—and had lost their prize Salers bull in the process.

  But it wasn't the grass—rather, the clover—that had killed that bull. And that cut fence was no accident, either. It was the Clark brothers. She knew it, even if Judd wouldn't listen. Cash would. And somehow, she was going to prove it!

  She walked Tobe down to the barn, noting that the big SUV was gone, and so was Judd's truck. What a relief. At least she didn't have to worry with company today.

  But the relief was short-lived. After she'd unsaddled and brushed Tobe, and taken the rifle back to Nick, there was unwelcome news.

  "Duke Wright doesn't own a black pickup with a red stripe," Nick told her with a sigh, pushing back the hat from his sweaty blond hair. “And he doesn't have any cowboys who do."

  She grimaced. "I was so sure...!"

  "Maybe he borrowed it," he said.

  Her eyebrows lifted. "You think?"

  “Anything's possible." He gave her a long look. "Judd wanted to know where you were. I told him you rode over to check on the cows that got out of the pasture." He held up a hand. "I didn't tell him the fence was cut. I figured you'd tell him when you wanted to."

  She smiled. "Thanks, Nick. I owe you one."

  He shrugged. "No problem. I've already told the boys to keep their eyes open for any suspicious vehicles around here."

  "Good idea. And keep that pasture where you moved the cattle under twenty-four hour guard, even if you have to pay somebody overtime," she added firmly, inwardly grimacing at another ex­pense they could ill afford. "Make sure he's carrying a rifle, too."

  He nodded gravely. "I'll do that."

  She hesitated. "And take pictures of the way the fence is right now, and save that wire where the cuts are," she added as an af­terthought. "If anything ever comes of this, we'll need evidence."

  "You bet! I'll put it in the equipment shed."

  “Thanks, Nick." She wandered back up to the house. Maude was wrapping untouched slices of cake and grumbling.

  "'Can't eat cake,' she said. It's got calories." She glared at Crissy, who was smothering a grin. "And doesn't drink coffee, because caffeine's bad for you. They didn't have time for it, any­way, and she gave our house a look that I'd have liked to push her off the steps for! "

  "They won't be here long," she said comfortingly.

  "That's what you think! I heard that director tell Judd that it would take a couple of months for them to shoot the movie, and even then, that they'd probably have to come back to reshoot some scenes after they finished."

  That meant they'd be here until Christmas. She thought about Judd being around that model all the time, and her heart sank. It was worse than she'd ever dreamed it might be.

  "That model was really playing up to him," Maude was mut­tering. "Hung on him like a chain the whole time, smiling up at him, laughing with him. She's stuck on him already."

  "And he's stuck on her, isn't he, Maude?" she asked quietly.

  Maude reddened. "He's married, honey."

  "He isn't, to hear him tell it." She sat down in the nearest chair. "Be a dear and hand me a cup of coffee. I'm whacked."

  She related her suspicion about the cut fence to a concerned Maude.

  "You tell Judd?"

  She hesitated. "No."

  Maude glowered at her. "That's reckless. When I go to my sis­ter's on the weekends, you're here all alone. The bunkhouse isn't close enough for the men to hear you scream. You should tell Judd."

  "He didn't believe me about the bull being poisoned, Maude," she said, accepting a cup of black coffee w
ith thanks. "And he isn't going to believe the fence was cut deliberately, either."

  "Show him."

  "Even if I show him the evidence he still won't believe me. He thinks I'm just trying to get his attention."

  Maude smiled. "You are."

  She shrugged. "That's no secret. But I don't tell lies." She sipped coffee. "When are the film people going to start?"

  "Tomorrow, bright and early."

  She choked on her coffee. "So soon?" she groaned.

  "They want to get a start while the weather's good. They've already moved into the Jacobsville Commercial Hotel, where they'll sleep. They hired caterers to bring the crew breakfast and lunch out here, and the electricians have been talking in Mar­tian to Judd about what they want to do with portable genera­tors," she added facetiously. She shook her head. "That director fella says they're bringing in huge trucks to carry all their equip­ment, and trailers for the stars to use for dressing rooms and makeup. They hired Bailey's Tour Service to bus the cast and crew out and back every day."

  "Are they bringing portable rest rooms?" Crissy asked hopefully.

  "Judd told them they could use the ones in the bunkhouse. Won't be any cowboys in there during working hours, except for the nighthawks, and nothing short of a tornado would wake Billy and Ted when they get to sleep."

  "Good point," she mused, sipping coffee.

  "The mayor is going to be in the film, along with the chief of police," she added.

  "Nice move, politically speaking," she agreed.

  "They're going to do some of the shots in town. It doesn't hurt to impress people before you start tearing up highways and causing traffic jams."

  Crissy grinned. "Maybe they'll cause gout and get kicked out of town!"

  "Not a hope. Too many people around here think they were born to be movie stars." Maude shook her head. "It's going to be a night­mare, darlin'," she said heavily. "And that model...!" She wrinkled her nose. "She'd kill an asthmatic with the perfume she bathes in."

  Crissy's dark eyes lowered. "And she's beautiful."

  "She's that."

  "No way I could compete with somebody like her," Crissy said wistfully.

  Maude turned around. "Judd's known you most of your life," she said. "You're good, and kind, and you have a way of mak­ing a man feel special and tender. Besides that, there isn't much that you can't handle here, from cattle management to ranch im­provements. You've got a good brain. Most men are attracted by beauty, but only if there's something behind it to keep them in­terested. She's a pretty face and figure with bad manners. Judd will see through her."

  'Think so?" she finished her coffee. "I'm glad I'm in school," she said when she'd put the cup in the sink. "I won't have to be around them much."

  "They'll be shooting on the weekends, too," Maude said hes­itantly.

  She turned in the doorway, frowning. "You said something about generators?"

  Maude nodded. "To run all the lights they'll be using in the house and the barn..."

  Her face froze into a caricature of its normal self. "In the house? In my house!"

  Maude grimaced. "Didn't Judd mention it?"

  "No!"

  "Just the living room and the kitchen," she said gently. "They're going to need to change a few little things here and there...they're paying extra for it!" she interrupted herself to say quickly when Crissy started turning red in the face.

  "Judd said they could do that?" she groaned.

  "We need the money, he told me," she said softly. "It's only for a little while, Crissy. Just a little while. It's a lot of money."

  "And we're going under without it, I know that" came the mis­erable reply. "It's just that I didn't expect anything like this. It's...like an invasion! We won't have any privacy!"

  Maude nodded. "I know, but we'll get through it somehow. Just get out of the way and let it roll over us," she advised. "In other words, darlin', take the money and run. It'll be over be­fore you know it! Honest!"

  It wasn't. Crissy came home from classes the next day to find the driveway completely blocked, to keep curiosity seekers out.

  There were five or six cars parked on the side of the dirt road that led up to the ranch, and people had spread blankets on the buffalo grass, using binoculars to watch the movie crew while they ate snacks. There were half a dozen trailers, two flatbed trucks, at least two tractor-trailer rigs, and what looked like a small army of people carrying equipment.

  Crissy couldn't forcibly move the tractor-trailer rig that had the driveway blocked, so she had to leave the pickup truck there and walk the half mile to the ranch house. Arriving at the steps, dusty and sweaty and tired, she was stopped at the steps by one of Cash Grier's men working security.

  "Sorry, Miss Gaines," the officer said apologetically, "but they're shooting a scene in the living room right now. You can't go in this way."

  She turned without a word and went toward the back of the house. On the way, she tripped over a huge bundle of extension cords and almost went headfirst into a camera setup just outside the kitchen window. If Judd had been anywhere on the place, she'd have tossed her books straight at his head.

  Inside, a soundman was working with a boom while two total strangers, a man and a woman, sat at her kitchen table with empty cups while lighting men hovered with meters and tapes and portable lighting equipment.

  Maude motioned her to the back hall and dragged her into her own bedroom. "We have to be very quiet," she whispered. "They're shooting one scene in the living room today."

  "When will they be through?" Crissy asked.

  "Well, they started just after you left this morning. They've already shot it ten times," she began.

  Crissy groaned audibly.

  "The boom showed up in one scene. Then somebody coughed in the next one. The model flubbed her lines three times because she didn't sleep last night on account of the train running so close to the hotel. Then the leading man tripped over that old Persian rug you won't throw away because your mother loved it, and after that a light went out..."

  "I want to move to Alaska today," Crissy said in a pitiful tone, putting her books aside to sit down heavily on her bed.

  "But the director thinks they can finish it by suppertime," Maude concluded.

  "And this is just one scene," Crissy thought aloud. "My gosh!"

  "It's bound to get easier as they go along," Maude assured her. "Things are always hard at the beginning." She frowned. "I don't know about the fights, though."

  "Fights?"

  "It seems the lead actor doesn't like the assistant director. They worked together before and had a bad fight over a woman. The actor lost. So now the actor is giving the man fits and refusing to do scenes his way. Miss Moore doesn't like the assistant director, either, and he hounds her unless Judd is around. The writer is having to come down here, too, because the actor says he's not doing the scene in the barn the way it's written. He says his part is stupid and Tippy Moore gets the best lines. He says his contract guarantees him as many lines as she gets."

  Crissy shook her head. "What sort of changes are they mak­ing to my house?" she asked.

  "Just a little new furniture and rugs and curtains and stuff, on account of, in the movie, the heroine redecorates the hero's house for him." She brightened. "They're redoing the kitchen, too, and we get to keep all the stuff they use for props!"

  "What if we don't like it?" Crissy wanted to know.

  "We'll like it," Maude assured her. "The director told Judd they'd get all new appliances for the kitchen, too. Tippy Moore's going with him and the prop man and some assistant camera­man to pick them out. She said it needed a woman's touch."

  That was disheartening. It was Crissy's house, not Tippy Moore's. She should have had some input into purchases. But nobody cared for her opinion. She felt as if she'd landed in hell.

  It couldn't get any worse. It just couldn't. She had to try to think of the money. They needed it so badly.

  Maude patted the younger wom
an on the back. "Buck up, now. It's only for a little while. She'll go away and he'll get his mind back where it belongs."

  By the end of the week, Christabel had figured a way to get breakfast eaten before the tour bus rolled down toward the barn with the actors—by getting up before daylight. She groaned at the number and size of the trucks and trailers scattered around, and the number of support people that it apparently took to make a movie. There was sound equipment, cameras, rails to support moving cameras, huge reflectors and fans and booms. It looked like an in­vasion of technicians, and Christabel couldn't wait to leave.

  She gathered up her books and darted out the side door to the old pickup truck she drove to school. It had belonged to her father, and was one of the few things she owned free and clear. It was old, and it needed a new paint job, but it ran very well, thanks to Nick.

  Just as she opened the truck door, she saw Judd drive up at the front steps. Her heart raced and she hesitated. But just then, he got out of his SUV and went around the hood to open the passenger door. The redheaded model climbed down beside him, laughing up at him with that smile that had graced half a dozen magazine covers. Christabel smiled wistfully, and climbed into her truck.

  As she drove away, she saw Judd's arm slide around Tippy Moore's thin shoulders as they walked toward the barn where the film crew was waiting for her. So much, she thought, for her pitiful dreams.

  The days dragged while the film crew worked. Fortunately school took up most of Crissy's time. When she was home, she was out with the men, supervising the various seasonal projects that had to be completed before winter set in. She didn't bother trying to dress up or wear more makeup or change her hairstyle from its customary bun on top of her head. It was impossible to compete with a beautiful woman like Tippy Moore. She wasn't going to get caught trying.