him by the calf and stuck the leg
under his arm tightly, subduing Huxtable’s struggles. The cameraman
grabbed the actor’s other leg.
“There we go.” Charlie nodded and grinned at
his helpers. “Point the way, Martin, and we can carry him there. I
got me a rope in my bag, if somebody’ll fetch it out of my
tent.”
Glancing around wildly, Martin’s attention
landed on Amy, the one person on hand in whose common sense he
trusted implicitly. “Miss Wilkes?” he asked, lending a tone of
pleading to his voice.
She swallowed. “I—why, of course, Mr.
Tafft.”
“Thanks a lot, Miss Wilkes. Charlie’s tent is
the first one on the left next to the one where the cameras are
stored.”
“Very well.” She gave what looked like a
valiant smile and Martin appreciated her a lot. “I’ll be there as
soon as possible.” She started briskly off, then stopped in her
tracks. “Er, where shall I bring it?”
“You won’t have any trouble findin’ us,”
Charlie assured her with a wink. “You’ll hear this here hoss
bellerin’ like a stuck hog.”
Martin wasn’t surprised when Amy’s eyebrows
arched nearly into her prettily piled hairdo. He couldn’t fault her
for her reaction. Charlie in cowboy mode was an astonishing thing
to behold. And to be-heard.
* * *
Intensely glad that she’d taken the time to
loosen her corset, Amy ran to Charlie Fox’s tent. She felt a pang
of indecision—after all, it was dreadfully improper to go through a
gentleman’s bag—which she overcame quickly. She’d been sent on an
important errand, and she’d been given permission by the bag’s
owner to rifle through it.
She had to force herself not to dawdle,
because she’d never had the opportunity to inspect a gentleman’s
things before. He wore very large shirts, she noticed. And his
underthings were clean and mended, if not of the highest quality.
Amy supposed a cowboy had considerations other than luxury when
purchasing such items.
“Good heavens, Amy Wilkes, you’re behaving
badly.” She quit contemplating Charlie’s underwear and searched for
the rope, making sure she didn’t wrinkle anything. Ah, there is
was. She snatched it up, replaced the clothes in the carpetbag and
fastened it, and hastened back to Huxtable’s tent.
Charlie had been right. If Amy had any doubts
about which tent was the right one, Huxtable’s bellows would have
led her on the proper path. The man was a disgrace to humankind.
And Amy was supposed to fall in love with him on-screen. She wasn’t
sure she had any acting talent, but if she did, she was pretty
certain it didn’t extend that far.
Thrusting her apprehension about One and
Only aside, she entered the tent. The sight that greeted her
wasn’t an attractive one. Huxtable was on his back on his bed,
shouting vile curses as he bucked and kicked, and Charlie, the
cameraman, and Martin tried to hold him down. Amy gazed upon the
spectacle, frowning, trying to figure out what to do now. Charlie
couldn’t very well leave off holding the beast down, because Martin
was surely not strong enough to hold him by himself, and the
cameraman looked exhausted already.
“Hurry up with the rope!” Charlie hollered at
her.
She transferred her frown to him. “In a
minute. I’m thinking.”
“Kee-rist,” Charlie muttered, offending
Amy.
Huxtable let go of a string of words, half of
which Amy had never heard before. She had no trouble at all in
discerning their meanings, however.
She shook her head once, decisively, said,
“This is ridiculous,” and headed straight for Huxtable’s dressing
table. There she picked up the flowered water pitcher, which some
underling had filled earlier in the day, and carried it to the
bed.
“For God’s sake, give me the rope!” Charlie
cried. He sounded as if he were tiring some himself.
“Oh, hold your horses.” Amy was quite pleased
with the tone of voice she achieved, which was both peeved and
steadfast. She paused only long enough to observe
under his arm tightly, subduing Huxtable’s struggles. The cameraman
grabbed the actor’s other leg.
“There we go.” Charlie nodded and grinned at
his helpers. “Point the way, Martin, and we can carry him there. I
got me a rope in my bag, if somebody’ll fetch it out of my
tent.”
Glancing around wildly, Martin’s attention
landed on Amy, the one person on hand in whose common sense he
trusted implicitly. “Miss Wilkes?” he asked, lending a tone of
pleading to his voice.
She swallowed. “I—why, of course, Mr.
Tafft.”
“Thanks a lot, Miss Wilkes. Charlie’s tent is
the first one on the left next to the one where the cameras are
stored.”
“Very well.” She gave what looked like a
valiant smile and Martin appreciated her a lot. “I’ll be there as
soon as possible.” She started briskly off, then stopped in her
tracks. “Er, where shall I bring it?”
“You won’t have any trouble findin’ us,”
Charlie assured her with a wink. “You’ll hear this here hoss
bellerin’ like a stuck hog.”
Martin wasn’t surprised when Amy’s eyebrows
arched nearly into her prettily piled hairdo. He couldn’t fault her
for her reaction. Charlie in cowboy mode was an astonishing thing
to behold. And to be-heard.
* * *
Intensely glad that she’d taken the time to
loosen her corset, Amy ran to Charlie Fox’s tent. She felt a pang
of indecision—after all, it was dreadfully improper to go through a
gentleman’s bag—which she overcame quickly. She’d been sent on an
important errand, and she’d been given permission by the bag’s
owner to rifle through it.
She had to force herself not to dawdle,
because she’d never had the opportunity to inspect a gentleman’s
things before. He wore very large shirts, she noticed. And his
underthings were clean and mended, if not of the highest quality.
Amy supposed a cowboy had considerations other than luxury when
purchasing such items.
“Good heavens, Amy Wilkes, you’re behaving
badly.” She quit contemplating Charlie’s underwear and searched for
the rope, making sure she didn’t wrinkle anything. Ah, there is
was. She snatched it up, replaced the clothes in the carpetbag and
fastened it, and hastened back to Huxtable’s tent.
Charlie had been right. If Amy had any doubts
about which tent was the right one, Huxtable’s bellows would have
led her on the proper path. The man was a disgrace to humankind.
And Amy was supposed to fall in love with him on-screen. She wasn’t
sure she had any acting talent, but if she did, she was pretty
certain it didn’t extend that far.
Thrusting her apprehension about One and
Only aside, she entered the tent. The sight that greeted her
wasn’t an attractive one. Huxtable was on his back on his bed,
shouting vile curses as he bucked and kicked, and Charlie, the
cameraman, and Martin tried to hold him down. Amy gazed upon the
spectacle, frowning, trying to figure out what to do now. Charlie
couldn’t very well leave off holding the beast down, because Martin
was surely not strong enough to hold him by himself, and the
cameraman looked exhausted already.
“Hurry up with the rope!” Charlie hollered at
her.
She transferred her frown to him. “In a
minute. I’m thinking.”
“Kee-rist,” Charlie muttered, offending
Amy.
Huxtable let go of a string of words, half of
which Amy had never heard before. She had no trouble at all in
discerning their meanings, however.
She shook her head once, decisively, said,
“This is ridiculous,” and headed straight for Huxtable’s dressing
table. There she picked up the flowered water pitcher, which some
underling had filled earlier in the day, and carried it to the
bed.
“For God’s sake, give me the rope!” Charlie
cried. He sounded as if he were tiring some himself.
“Oh, hold your horses.” Amy was quite pleased
with the tone of voice she achieved, which was both peeved and
steadfast. She paused only long enough to observe
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