A Change of Scenery, page 12
Cale.
A shiver coursed through her at the bold blue of his challenge earlier that day, prodding her into doing the unthinkable. Shifting beneath the covers, she dug through Helen’s tent-like nightgown and fingered the long, ugly scar. Her leg hadn’t pained her all evening. Perhaps the walk today had been good for it.
And the ride? Muscles long dormant had wakened in response to sitting astride Barlow, maintaining her balance. Demand had required response that she had not believed she could produce. Yet she had.
Harsh steps pounded into her thoughts, scattering her musings. They faded to the opposite end of the hallway and a slamming door cut them off completely.
Hugh.
He wore his anger like she wore her scar.
Closing her eyes, she saw again Cale’s worried expression at the dinner table. Was it the bear that troubled him so? Or was it her?
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The gunshot cracked close and clear.
Brutally awakened, Ella crawled to the window near the end of the bed and flinched again at a second shot. It sparked in the night, revealing the shooter’s location mere yards away.
Scuffling noises from the dining room traveled to her door, and it creaked open on an urgent whisper. “Miss Ella?”
“Come in, boys.”
She hurriedly wrapped the quilt around her shoulders as the boys pounced onto the bed and shoved their way past each other to the window.
“You think it’s the devil grizzly?”
“Maybe rustlers.”
“I can’t see anything.”
A glow at her door announced Helen with an oil lamp. “You all right in here, Ella?”
“Yes, we’re fine.” She scooted to the head of the bed. “Please, join us.”
“Us?” The soft light warmed the room and glinted off three dark heads pressed against the glass. “What are you boys doing in here? Sakes alive, intruding on our guest!”
“It’s all right, Helen. I don’t mind. It is their room, after all.”
The tsking woman joined her on the edge of the bed, and it complained beneath the weight of yet another person on its frame. Moments later, the back door blew open and booted feet entered the kitchen. The boys scrambled off the bed and out the door.
“I’d best put on a pot of coffee.” Helen rose. “The mantel clock said four thirty when I checked, so I might as well stay up and get an early start on the pies and cookies for your moving-picture folks.” At the door, she looked back. “Not you, of course. Rest in a bit if you can sleep through all the racket.”
She bustled into the dining room and on to the kitchen.
Ella gripped her quilted cape and went to the doorway to listen.
A man strode through the dining room toward the gun cabinet, saw her across the hall, and stopped. Rifle in hand, hair mussed, and tall boots bunching his trousers at the knee, he stood before her, bare chest rising and falling with exertion. Every visible muscle stretched tight in defense of his home and property.
Frozen in place, she tugged the quilt tighter and swallowed. Who was he? Which was he? Hugh or Cale? Sharp blue eyes and a stormy brow spoke of his frustration over a fight he wasn’t winning.
No dimple came to her aid.
She stepped back and closed her door.
~
Cale stared at the door, the image of Ella Canaday burned on his brain, her eyes as big as dollars, as if she’d seen Old Mose himself. He skimmed a hand over his chest, sweaty from chasing after he didn’t know what. But if the crashing through brush and cedar were any indication, it sure enough could have been a grizzly.
He reloaded the rifle and shelved it, then grabbed a shirt from his room and went outside to wash. Cold water was just what he needed to douse the emotions churning in his gut. He’d not meant for Ella to see him without his shirt, but her gasp left no doubt that she’d gotten an eye full. He dragged both hands down his face and back through his hair. Of all the confounded lousy timing. He’d definitely made an impression on her. Twice. And neither were for the better.
The scent of freshly ground coffee beans hooked him by the nose and drew him inside. The boys all craned at the window, looking for their father.
Kip could barely see over the sill. “Did you get the devil grizzly, Uncle Cale?”
Helen’s dish towel snapped the youngster’s backside before Cale could answer. “I told you not to say that. Off with you all. Roll up your beds and wash your hands. We’ll have breakfast soon.”
The three trailed to the dining room, but Kip stalled at the doorway and looked back.
Cale gave his head a quick shake. No, they hadn’t gotten the bear.
But neither had the bear robbed them this night. The tin cans he and Hugh had strung around the holding pen had alerted Tug whose urgent barking dragged Cale from his room.
Again he’d shot into the dark, aiming for the snuffling, ambling sounds. A blamed fool thing to do.
Crammed around the kitchen table a half hour later, the boys finished off most of Helen’s hotcakes and sausage. His gut was in such a knot, he had no room for her fine cooking. Floating in coffee, he kept an eye on the doorway to the dining room, but Ella didn’t fill it. When a ruckus outside set off Tug again, he shot from the table, grabbed the gun from the rack, and rushed out through the front door with the boys on his heels.
They were earlier than he expected.
Two motorcars rattled up the ranch road and pulled into the picketed area they’d used three days ago. Thank the Lord for small favors.
Thorson, the cameraman, and several others climbed out. So did Mabel Steinway. He turned for the barn, passing his red-faced brother on the way. On second thought, Hugh might send ’em all off in a cloud of blue thunder.
Cale reversed himself and joined the bunch as Hugh began to unload. The ranch needed the money.
“Thorson.” Cale threw the word over his brother’s shoulder with as much goodwill as possible. “Glad to see you again. What are your plans for today?”
He pulled Ty close and ducked down. “Ask Helen to make more coffee and tell her the film folks are back. Eight of ’em.”
Thorson’s brow dipped, and he nodded at Cale’s rifle. “Have you got trouble up here, or are you just unhappy to see us?”
Cale slid it through his hand, butt end to the ground. “Nothing we can’t handle. Come on up to the house. Helen’s got a fresh pot of coffee cooking.”
The director made a show of thumbing his belt, leaning back, and drawing in a deep breath. “What air you have up here. Why, I could bottle this and sell it in Chicago.”
Hugh spit.
Cale forced a laugh. “I imagine you could. It’ll cure what ails you.”
Mabel pushed away from the car where she’d been leaning and batted smoky eyes as she sashayed by.
Jed wasn’t in the group. Shame.
Hugh stomped off to the barn.
Cale indicated the house with his free hand, and Thorson took the bait, telling everyone to stay outside and get ready. Mabel slipped ahead and beat them through the screen door.
“What a quaint kitchen you have.” She trailed her fingers along the smooth surface of the old table. “And something smells divine.”
Helen gave her a quick once-over with a muffled remark and poured her and Thorson each a cup of coffee.
“Why, thank you. Helen, is it? I seem to recall that name from the other day. However do you stand living out here so far from town?” Black eyes peered over the rim of the tin mug as she sipped.
Ella entered from the dining room and lightning hit.
Mabel raised her nose and sniffed, tossing her bushy curls.
“Ella. I’d completely forgotten about you.” A smirk pulled her lips as her gaze swept from boots to bobbed hair. “Have fun?” A cutting laugh. “Surely you didn’t try riding.”
Standing so near, Cale felt the electricity fire between them. “Surely she did.”
Ella’s face reddened. Mabel’s nose increased in altitude.
It wouldn’t be gentlemanly to hogtie a leading lady, especially in front of the director. “And a fine job of it she did.”
Mabel sashayed closer and rubbed her hand up his arm.
“Well, I’m sure you had something to do with that, Cale darling. A strong cowboy like yourself wouldn’t let a crippled girl fall off her horse.”
Helen slammed a pot on the stove so hard that Mabel yanked her hand back and sloshed the coffee in her mug.
Cale’s hands clenched.
Thorson finished his cup with a swig. “Well, let’s get at it, Hutton. We’ve got a runaway scene to shoot. Let me have a look at that horse you mentioned.” He jerked his head toward the door. “Mabel. Get your makeup on.”
With a swing of her hip, Mabel followed him out the door.
Too late, Cale realized his defense of Ella might be misconstrued. As if he also saw her as a cripple. He saw her as anything but.
Ella smoothed her hands down the front of her riding skirt. Spine stiff and shoulders square, she joined Helen at the stove without a glance his way.
His throat jammed with words. He might not get another chance to speak with her before she left, but he couldn’t sort his thoughts. He reached for her shoulder, thought better of it, and turned for his hat.
On his way out the door, he looked back. She stood with her head down, the bob swinging against her jaw like a curtain, hiding her face.
~
Ella had known Cale and Helen for only two days, yet both had stood up to Mabel on her behalf. What did a person say to that kind of friendship?
Still, she didn’t need people coming to her rescue. She could handle Mabel. Though maybe not as forthrightly as Helen with her pots and skillets. A giggle escaped.
“Did you see the look on that painted face?” Helen shook her head. “I never saw such a flauntin’ fluff, not even when Ben and I were at the World’s Fair, bless his soul.”
Without her marcel iron, Ella’s fringe hung in her eyes. She brushed it away, considering Helen’s surprise if she saw a truly painted face, ready for the camera. “She’s an actress—accustomed to people admiring her.”
“I’d like to see that floozy ride a horse herself.”
Envy darted through Ella, tearing a tiny hole on its way. “She rides quite well, really. In fact, she does most of her own stunts, other than when Mr. Thorson wants a runaway scene. Then he dresses Slim in her clothes and a wig.”
A sudden realization darkened her mood. Jed hadn’t joined them in the kitchen. Was he even here?
Helen slammed a lid on her roasting pan and slid it in the oven. She’d made three pies the day before, anticipating the crew. Another delectable meal would cover the table tonight, but Ella would not be there to enjoy it. A part of her regretted that fact.
“Excuse me, but I’m going to see if Mr. Thorson needs my help with the costumes.”
“You go on and take care of what it is you do. And shoo those boys off if they get under foot.”
Ella didn’t feel as fresh as she’d like, three days in the same clothes. But she felt stronger. No doubt the activity and fresh air contributed to that.
With fewer halting steps than before, she made her way to the corral where Cale was saddling a dark horse she didn’t recognize. Jed was nowhere to be seen, and suspicion wedged its way into her thoughts. It would be just like Mabel to deliberately sabotage his appearance today so Cale or Hugh would be forced to fill in.
Slim stood by, already dressed in Mabel’s costume—identical to the one she was wearing. He’d dusted his face with powder and pinned a wig on his head.
Hanging over a corral post were Jed’s shirt and scarf and his signature Stetson. Everything had been taken care of without Ella’s help. As if she were unnecessary. Suspicion grew.
Pete waited in position with his camera, several hundred yards down the ranch road. From the looks of the setup, Slim would begin the ride here at the corrals, then race toward Pete.
Thorson approached as Slim mounted. “Can this horse run?” He appeared doubtful, circling the placid animal as if checking for signs of life.
Hugh and Cale exchanged a look, and again she sensed their unspoken communication. Hugh’s eyes sparked, dangerously cold.
Cale merely tugged his hat down. “He’ll run.”
“Well, I certainly hope so.” Mabel sniffed and planted her hands at her waist. “It won’t be much of a runaway if the horse doesn’t run. And quite honestly, this animal is half asleep.”
Ella agreed, as distasteful as that agreement was. The bay stood with its eyes half closed, ears splayed, and one back leg cocked. But the look on Cale’s face sent a tingling sensation up her back. She’d seen that same light in his eye the day before when he challenged her to ride back to the house.
The show was about to begin.
Cale called an old dog out of the barn. He and Hugh separated to either side of the bay’s hind quarters and removed their hats. A quick nod. A sharp whistle.
The dog took to the bay’s heels and the brothers slapped their hats on its rump and hollered.
“Y’ha!”
The horse reared and bolted. Poor Slim’s head snapped back like a whip, and she feared the wig would fly off and they’d have to start over. But Slim had the good sense to reach up and grab it before he went to flailing his arm and acting like he was scared to death.
At least she thought he was acting.
Mabel stared after the horse, her jaw slack.
Ella stifled a remark.
All the brothers—young and older alike—doubled over with laughter. It was the first time she’d seen Cale and Hugh on the same side of an issue.
Mr. Thorson and his assistant took off after Slim, careful to stay out of the camera’s view frame. She couldn’t imagine what the director thought he was going to do, but halfway to the cameraman, he stopped, evidently out of breath, and leaned against a rock outcropping.
Cale swung up on Doc and took off after the runaway. Hugh mounted and followed at a walk, and the boys and other actors ran along after them, leaving Mabel alone at the corral.
Ella joined her and gathered Jed’s clothes. “I see Jed didn’t make it today. Is he ill?”
Snapped out of her stupor, Mabel closed her tinted lips and regarded Ella with her usual disdain. The yellowish greasepaint she wore for filming fit her tone. “He wasn’t feeling himself this morning.”
Ella could imagine. More than likely a night sampling the local liquor and ladies had left him worse for wear. Then chagrinned by such unkind thoughts, Ella bit her tongue on further comment, and determined to be more generous and less judgmental. In spite of Jed’s history.
Rather than walk the full length of the road, she chose to wait beneath the pine tree next to the house. With Jed’s shirt and neckerchief over one arm, she donned his hat, found a small crate from the first day of filming, and carried it to the yard. Mabel did not join her. Nervous, Ella suspected, about filming the end of the chase scene on that horse.
The animal had certainly substantiated yesterday’s remark about deceptive appearances. So did Mabel. Yet, if Mr. Thorson chose Cale for the rescuer, deceptive or not, Mabel was in good hands.
Jealousy reared its hateful head and nearly bolted with her good sense. She knew what the setup entailed. Cale would wrap his arm around Mabel’s waist. Snatch her from the running horse. Hold her close against his body in the saddle.
Ella thought she might be sick right there in the yard. She turned the crate on end, seated herself, and took several deep breaths, blowing them out slowly through tight lips.
She knew the strength of those arms. The refuge of his hard chest. Her pulse raced like the bay, but she held to her outward calm. No better than Mabel, she was just as practiced in deception, an art she had perfected over the last fifteen months.
In spite of her earlier anger with Cale for manipulating her into riding Barlow, she wanted to preserve that day as something just between the two of them. She did not want to share his attentions with Mabel Steinway, whether he was chosen for a scene or not.
As if he were hers to share or not.
A sharp pang knifed between her ribs.
The only thing she had to share was her skill as a seamstress. Was it enough?
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Cale had seen some fancy riding in his day—Grace was always willing to show off for the family and anyone who would watch—but Slim sure enough looked like a female floundering on a runaway horse. Trouble was the fella didn’t have much of a whoa.
Cale caught up with him before he made the turnoff to the county road. Ol’ Snake had nearly winded himself, but he’d be fine soon enough. Finer still for an easier run with Mabel. But Cale had yet to see hide or hair of Jed Barr, and he was beginning to get a funny feeling in his gut.
Galloping alongside his “sleeper” horse, he reached for its bridle, then slowed Doc to a lope. “Whoa there, Snake. Easy, fella.”
Familiar with Cale’s voice, the gelding quickly matched Doc’s stride and eased down to a trot. Cale took the reins and they circled around and back to Thorson.
Slim was gray as goose down.
Cale almost felt guilty. “That was quite a ride.”
“You’re telling me.” More winded than his mount, the man grabbed the front of his dress, clawing for air. Then he pulled his wig off, flinching visibly as pins snagged in his own hair. “This is some horse you’ve got. Ever race him?”
The question tugged a grin across Cale’s face as he recalled a lap ’n tap race at the county fair. “Some.”
“Well, my money’s on him if I’m ever around for the race.”
“You volunteering to jockey?”
“No, sir. One ride on this Pegasus is enough.”
If Cale’s memory served him right, Pegasus was a white horse. But he doubted color was what weighed on Slim’s mind.
He reined in near Thorson and the cameraman. Slim hunted the ground.
The director slapped the fella on his thin back. “Best you’ve ever done! And Pete got the whole thing.”
