This wasn’t funny anymore. It got less funny when Tony reached out, grabbed her shoulders, and wrenched her away from the fence and into his arms. She reacted automatically and violently.
“Ow!”
“Stop being such a baby.”
“Dammit, that hurts.” Tony swatted Mari’s hand away from his forehead.
“Serves you right,” Mari grumbled as she plopped the wet rag she’d removed into a bowl of water and handed him a wetter one to press against the lump on his skull.
“For the love of God, I was only trying to help you do well in the test.”
She lifted her chin “You didn’t have to try so darned hard. You might have warned me first, anyhow.”
“You’re a frightening woman, Miss Pottersby, did you know that?”
“Fiddlesticks.” Disgruntled, Mari took the bottle of iodine from Ben, uncorked it, and poured some of its contents onto a wad of cotton wool. “Here, move that cloth and let me put some of this on the cut.”
“What did you hit me with, anyway?”
“A rock. And it was your own fault. You shouldn’t have grabbed me like that.”
“We were doing a test!” Tony sounded furious.
In a way, Mari didn’t blame him. In another way, she did. “How was I supposed to know what to do? I’ve never done anything like this before!”
“God.”
“Mr. Tafft didn’t warn me you were going to butt in and scare me to death.”
“For the love of . . . I can’t believe you really thought I meant to do you harm. The whole thing was being captured on celluloid!”
“Hunh.” He was being such a pill, Mari almost wished she could hit him again. She felt kind of silly, though, since she ought to have known he was pretending. But she was right, too. This was all brand new to her, and she wasn’t accustomed to strange men creeping up on her, looking as if they wanted to strangle her and then do horrid things to her. Or vice versa.
He jerked away from her extended hand, giving her an excuse to snap, “Stop being a baby and let me dab this iodine on that bump.”
“A baby! I bet I’ll have a black eye tomorrow, blast you.”
“Fiddlesticks. It’s only a little bump.”
“A little bump? You might have knocked me out!”
Mari smirked. “It would have served you right.”
Fortunately, Martin rushed up to them, sparing them both increased hostilities. “Mari! Come on inside. I’ve seen the test, and I think you’re wonderful.” He slowed down and grinned at Tony. “You were pretty splendid, too, Tony. You really did look like you were bent on murder. Want a part in our next movie?”
Tony muttered, “God.”
Mari smirked again. “See? I told you so. You ought to have said something. Then I wouldn’t have been frightened.”
Martin laughed, which went some way toward dispelling the bad feelings swirling in the air. “Cut it out, you two. You look great together on film. I’m almost sorry we’ve already signed Harrowgate to the leading male role.”
Tony took the hand Martin held out to him. Although she felt more like giving Tony a big shove from behind than assisting him, Mari took his other arm and helped him to his feet. She really had given him a pretty good wallop. She was darned proud of herself, in fact.
“When we get inside the inn, maybe I can rustle up some sticking plaster and gauze,” she offered. “He probably ought to keep that cut covered, at least until it stops oozing.”
“Oozing?” Tony grabbed his arm away from her as if he suspected her of membership in some demonic cult. “Oozing? Good God, that sounds as if my brains are leaking out!”
Mari batted her eyelashes and shrugged, as if she were silently asking him what he expected.
“I can walk by myself.” He then let out an inarticulate growl, yanked his other arm away from Martin, and stormed off ahead of them to the inn. They watched him in silence for a moment, then Mari spoke.
“I didn’t mean to hurt him. I don’t know why I got so scared.”
Martin chuckled softly. “I do. You were already frightened about the test, didn’t know what to expect, and then Tony tried to help you along.”
“Humph. Well, if the test was to see if I could act scared, I expect it worked out all right. He scared the heck out of me.”
Fudge. She shouldn’t have said heck out loud. With a sigh, Mari guessed she had a lot of practice to do in order to fit in with the motion-picture community. The rough-and-ready mining environment in which she’d been reared hadn’t prepared her for polite society.
But Martin only chuckled some more. “Whatever happened, the screen test looks very good. If you always come across that way on film, it looks as if you were born for this.”
She turned and gawped at him for a moment before she realized he was kidding her. Trying to make her feel good about making such an idiot of herself. It was nice of him but unnecessary. Mari had no illusions about herself—or about life, if it came to that.
Gazing at her in turn, Martin said, “You don’t believe me, do you?”
Now she was embarrassed. But she told the truth anyway. “Actually, no. I don’t.”
“Why do you think I’d fib to you?”
Good question. Mari thought about it. “To get my mine?”
“You’ve already agreed to rent me your mine, Miss Pottersby. I told you the truth when I said you look exactly the way the heroine in Lucky Strike is supposed to look.”
She thought some more. “In that case, I don’t know why you’re fibbing to me.”
Martin shook his head. “I wish you weren’t so suspicious of our motives, Miss Pottersby. All we want to do is make the best motion picture we can. If you’re right for the part, it will help us along.”
That made sense, even to Mari. Still, she couldn’t feature a man-about-town like Martin Tafft or a stuck-up rich boy like Tony Ewing actually needing her, Mari Pottersby, to act in a picture. It didn’t make any sense. Such a scenario was too far out of Mari’s experience to be believable.
She decided to shut up about it. It was going to be hard enough watching herself on film without making herself miserable ahead of time
They found Tony slumping in an uncomfortable folding chair in a darkened back parlor of the Mojave Inn, looking grumpy and with his arms crossed over his chest. The pose of granite-like grievance didn’t last long, since the rag kept slipping off his head and he had to keep uncrossing his arms to slap a hand to it When she saw him trying to keep up appearances thus, Mari’s heart did a teensy jump, and a twinge of compunction attacked her
“Oh, dear,” she murmured. “I’d really better fetch some gauze and sticking plaster before we watch this test thing “
“I’ll help you.” Martin was laughing as he said it.
Tony didn’t think there was one single little thing funny about this latest outrageous behavior on Miss Marigold Pottersby’s part. The woman was a walking disaster. He’d only been trying to help her, dammit.
She had looked so small and alone and scared when the camera started grinding that Tony had felt an overwhelming compulsion to help her make good. And then the fiend had seized a rock and tried to kill him with it. Damn her and all uncivilized females to perdition.
He glared at her and Martin when they entered the room where they were going to screen her test. He wished the damned washrag would stop slipping. He rose abruptly when they turned around and walked out again.
“Damnation, where are they going now?”
But they were already gone. They’d left him They’d taken one look at him, turned around, and left him all by himself.
Fine. This was just fine. First she tried to kill him, then she opted to leave him alone to die by himself with no one nearby to give a damn. All right for her. See if he cared.
He’d sat back down and resumed stewing in an even more powerful grump when the door opened again His heart did a crazy hitching leap when he beheld Mari, armed with scissors, tape, and gauze, heading
his way, although he wouldn’t show his pleasure to her for all the world.
“Here, Mr. Ewing. I’ve brought a bandage for you.”
Her voice was soft and musical; it didn’t fit her. She was anything but soft and musical. She was a stringy harridan, and she was crazy, obtuse, and dangerous.
“Thank you. You needn’t bother.” He made sure his voice was as hard as rocks.
The insane woman didn’t seem to care. “Don’t be a baby,” she commanded, as if his voice hadn’t put her off at all. “You can’t keep slapping that rag on your head for the rest of your life. I’ll just bandage it with gauze and tape and you can forget about it.”
And exactly what did she mean by that? Tony would never forget that she’d beaned him with a rock. Why, he might well have a permanent scar from this. Not that he cared about scars. Still, she seemed mighty nonchalant for a woman who’d recently attempted murder. Not to mention the fact that it was terribly humiliating to have allowed himself to be conked by a female.
“I doubt that I’ll be able to forget about it entirely, Miss Pottersby, since. I have no doubt the wound will take some time to heal.” Lord, he did sound rather like a small child, didn’t he? Trying to cover up, he said with an assumption of graciousness, “You needn’t bother. I can bandage my own head.”
“You’ll need a mirror to see yourself,” she pointed out.
Nettled, Tony snapped, “I’m sure I can manage.”
“Oh, stop being such a darned snot!” Mari had the grace to blush and press her lips together.
Tony merely glared at her, so indignant his head began to pound, which he was pretty sure wasn’t doing his wound any good.
“I’m sorry,” she said almost immediately. “I didn’t mean that. And I’m sorry I hurt you. Even if you did deserve it.”
It was as if she couldn’t bear to make a sincere apology. Livid, Tony said in measured tones, “I was trying to help you.”
She sighed. “Yes, yes, I know. Now shut up and let me cover that knot.”
He gave up. “Very well.”
“You might want to try to relax. You’re sure to get a headache if you stay all mad and tense like that, Mr. Ewing “
“And exactly how much medical training have you had, Miss Pottersby?”
She sighed again. “Go ahead, belittle me. But I’ve learned how to doctor most injuries and illnesses in my life.”
“I’m sure.” He hoped he sounded disparaging, because that’s how he felt.
She didn’t argue. Her fingers handled the gauze and scissors deftly, and she created a perfect pad for his poor head. The wound throbbed, and Tony wondered if she was right about him getting a headache if he didn’t calm down. Dammit, he didn’t want her to be right. About anything.
“After I get the pad taped in place, I’m going to massage your neck,” she told him
He jerked away from her, spoiling Mari’s aim and getting a piece of plaster stuck to his nose. He yanked it away furiously. “You’re going to what?”
“Will you stop that?” She ripped another length of tape from the roll and snipped it off. She was sticking the strips to one of the arms of his chair.
He wasn’t sure he trusted her. “Why are you doing that?” he asked suspiciously.
“So they’ll be ready when I need them.”
That made sense. “Oh.” He still didn’t like it.
“Stay still, or we’ll never get this done.”
But Tony wasn’t so easily mollified. “You said something about massaging my neck. What was that about?” It was outrageous. It was scandalous. No proper female put her bare hands on a gentleman’s flesh, massage or no massage, wound or no wound.
“For pity’s sake, calm down and stop being such a sissy,” Mari commanded
“Sissy? Sissy!”
“Yes. Sissy. You’re thinking it’s improper for me to massage your neck, aren’t you?”
Tony clamped his mouth shut and didn’t answer her sarcastic question, mainly because he’d have had to say yes.
“Well, for your information, mister, massage helps relax a body. When you have to live rough, you learn not to be fussy about maintaining all of the silly airs and graces people who live in towns think they need to survive. They’re wrong, you know. All of those things are unnecessary luxuries.”
Airs and graces? Was the woman mad?
Stupid question. Of course, she was. Although he hated it, the notion of Mari’s fingers massaging his neck appealed to him. Tony sat back in his chair and glowered at her. “Very well. If you must.”
“I swear, men are such babies,” Mari muttered as she dabbed more iodine onto his cut head.
He winced inside, because it hurt. But he’d be boiled in oil before he’d let her know it.
“There. Now don’t move again, or we’ll never get this done.” She gently placed the pad over his wound and held it there while she plucked one of the pieces of tape from the arm of his chair.
In order to bandage him properly, she had to lift her arms, thus giving Tony an up-close and perfect view of her bodice. She had a nice shape. And she obviously didn’t go in for corsets and a lot of boning. Although she was slender, the curves he could see were all hers. He could tell, because her nipples pressed against the calico. Tony swallowed and couldn’t decide if he was more happy to have found that out, or the opposite.
She worked fast. Too fast, in Tony’s opinion. He wanted to investigate her attributes for a while longer.
No such luck. He had just about decided that the size of her breasts was probably perfect—not mere fried eggs and not balloons, but a delicious handful—when she sat back, lowered her arms, and said, “There. All done.” She sounded intolerably self-satisfied.
“If I get an infection . . .” his voice trailed off, because he didn’t want her to accuse him of being a baby again.
“You won’t get an infection,” she said with conviction.
He wanted to argue, but held back because he didn’t want her to think he was sniveling. In truth, he was only furious and wanted to lash out at her for catching him unaware and beaning him. He was a man, blast it, and she was a skinny little snippet of a female.
Perhaps not skinny . . .
At all odds, she was female, and females were supposed to be weaker and less capable than men. They weren’t supposed to bash men over the head with rocks.
Miss Marigold Pottersby was about as weak and incapable as a grizzly bear. With elaborate courtesy, he bowed to her from his chair. “I’m sure you’re right.”
Her head tipped slightly to one side, she gazed at him through slitted eyes. “And if you do get an infection, be more than happy to lance it for you.”
Her smile was as evil a one as Tony had ever seen. For some reason, it made him want to laugh out loud and hug her hard. Good God, insanity must be contagious. “Thanks a lot.”
“Think nothing of it.” She gathered her medical accoutrements together, rose from her chair in a more stately manner than Tony would have guessed her capable of, and trounced off to Martin’s side.
Martin, Tony noticed with interest, was grinning at the two of them, as if he thought they were as cunning a pair as he’d ever seen. Tony’s urge to laugh vanished. Miss Marigold Pottersby was a very dangerous female.
“Ready to watch this thing now?” Martin queried in a friendly, let’s-all-be-pals voice.
Mari set her tape, scissors, and gauze on a table. “I guess so.” If she was enthusiastic, she hid it admirably
“Let’s get it over with,” Tony growled.
Mari frowned at him He frowned back. So they were back to square one.
Martin had already arranged chairs for them. While she was doctoring Tony’s wound, Mari had moved a couple of them out of line. She pushed them back, then sat in the one on the end, leaving a chair between herself and Tony. Although this didn’t surprise Tony, it did disappoint him. He couldn’t have said why, since he really wasn’t keen on being close to a woman who was evidently out to k
ill him if she got the chance.
“I thought you were going to massage my neck,” he said stiffly.
“I’ll do it after this is over.” She sounded grim.
He had to be satisfied with that.
The screening was to be done against a wall of the parlor. Ben and Martin had removed two paintings—very bad ones—from the wall and propped them up next to the sofa. The wall was more or less white, and would make a passable viewing screen. The accommodations around this place were pretty pathetic, Tony thought with an internal sneer.
Then he told himself not to be a snob. Then he told himself he wasn’t a snob, and that Mari Pottersby was dead wrong about him. Nevertheless, he felt slightly ignoble about having had disparaging thoughts about the Mojave Inn. After all, nobody came here. Why would they? Unless a person had business with the miners hereabouts, why visit Mojave Wells? It was a terrible place. A ghastly one. One that no right-thinking individual would ever visit on purpose, unless he were forced to. As Martin and Tony had been.
Sighing happily, Martin sat in the middle chair. Eyeing him, Tony decided Martin, at least, was glad Mari had chosen to sit apart from Tony. The poor man probably feared a fight would break out if they sat next to each other.
That was silly. Tony would never strike a woman, not even one as irritating and hazardous as Mari Pottersby.
“Can you get the lights, Ben?”
“Sure thing, Martin.”
Tony watched as the cameraman went to the light switch, pressed the off button, and returned to his camera. The room wasn’t awfully dark, but it was dark enough that Tony wished Mari were sitting next to him. He still didn’t know why. But he’d have liked to watch her face as she saw herself on film. He was curious to see her reaction.
“Okay,” said Ben from behind the projector. “Here goes. It’s rough and unedited.”
“That’s fine,” Martin told him. “All we need to see is how Miss Pottersby projects herself on film.”
Tony thought he heard a noise from Mari, sort of a cross between a moan and a sigh. He looked her way but only saw Martin. Damn it.
Miner's Daughter Page 6
