A Change of Scenery, page 13
Slim stepped out of his dress and rolled it around the wig. “Good thing, ’cause I got only one of those rides in me today.”
Thorson guffawed but quickly sobered as he took in the bay standing calm and droopy-eared. He narrowed his eyes at Cale. “You got any more unlikely surprises around here?”
“Not if Jed Barr is half the horseman I hear he is.”
Thorson coughed and ran a hand over his mouth and exchanged a glance with his assistant. “About that.”
Dadblastit. He turned Doc toward the barn. Snake followed meekly.
“Hold on there, Hutton.” Thorson lumbered after him.
He was holding on. Holding on to his horses and his temper.
Harsh coughing—more like choking—turned his head to find the heavyset man braced on his knees sucking air. Cale stopped. He didn’t need a heart attack on his hands. The hospital was a good twelve miles away.
Pete and Slim joined them but didn’t look too worried, as if Thorson’s wheezing fits were a common occurrence.
The director wiped his mouth and straightened. “Jed couldn’t make it today, so we won’t be filming a branding.”
Good thing, because no cow-calf pairs had been brought up.
“But I need to film the rescue end of this runaway scene. Pete’ll splice the film together and it’ll look like the real deal.”
Cale nudged Doc on.
“You could stand in for Jed.”
“No.”
Footsteps scuffled behind. “It’s not more than a two-minute shoot.”
“No.”
Thorson caught up and puffed along beside him.
Cale considered squeezing Doc into a trot, but the man was already red-faced again. He reined in, surprising Thorson into a sudden stop. “What about your actors? You’ve got several here that would work just fine.”
“I’ll pay you extra.”
That was a low blow. Cale considered himself above being bought, but things had been tight the last couple of years. Too tight. Two minutes?
He failed to mask a growl. “Two minutes.”
“Wonderful! You won’t be sorry.” Thorson brightened considerably. “And you’ll be famous. Why, when the towns people learn a local rancher pulled off the stunt, they’ll be asking for your autograph.”
Cale snorted outright. The only thing he wanted to sign was a paid-off bank note. “I’d just as soon they didn’t know.”
“Fine, fine.” Thorson swatted the air. “Anything you say.” He sent Pete a few yards down the road. “Slim, take your makeup over to the pine tree and get Mr. Hutton’s face and neck powdered for the scene.”
Cale bristled. The day he wore face powder would be a cold day in he—
The sight of Miss Canaday hidden by an oversized hat like an imp beneath a toadstool cut his thought in half. He wanted nothing more than to sit and talk with her.
Mabel approached, her face plastered with yellow cream and her eyes rimmed with even more kohl than before. “Can you save me from that wild bronco, cowboy? Like you saved someone else on Main Street?”
How’d she know about that?
Miss Canaday’s wide hat brim blocked his view of her face, but her rigid posture said she was as shocked as he was. If Thorson hadn’t offered to pay him, he’d take off to the ridge. Leave ’em all to figure it out on their own. Get Hugh to do the ride.
That’d be the day.
Mabel and Thorson must have planned this whole thing and left Jed behind on purpose. He ground his teeth more at being set up than at her ghastly appearance.
“He’s no bronc, he just likes to run.” With a little encouragement.
He dropped Doc’s reins to the ground and headed for the yard.
Miss Canaday busied herself with a gabardine shirt he recognized from that fateful day in town.
Mabel reached out to touch Doc, but the gelding was havin’ none of it and tossed his head.
Duly snubbed, Mabel whirled and snatched the hat from Ella’s head, then held it up for him. Doc didn’t like that move either and side-stepped with his ears pinned flat against his skull.
“See if this fits you. You’ll need to wear it when you rescue me from that horse.” A little fear joined the kohl around her eyes as she regarded Snake.
“I’ve got a hat.”
“But you need to look like Jed.” She dipped her chin and batted her eyes up at him. “Please? For little ol’ me?”
Miss Canaday clapped her hand over her mouth, and Cale had a notion to plain ol’ clap Mabel Steinway. Tarnation, he was losing his manners.
Slim approached with an apologetic expression and what looked like a powder puff.
“Ella.” Thorson wheezed. “Get Mr. Hutton set up with Jed’s shirt and hat, and we’ll get this scene finished and come back another time for the branding.”
The way Cale saw it, Jed Barr was costing his boss a lot of money. Didn’t chap Cale’s hide none. Another day, another dollar. Tomorrow he’d have those cow-calf pairs corralled and ready to brand.
But at the moment he was taken by the rosy brand on Ella Canaday’s face and the way her dark eyes churned his insides. Maybe he’d just sweep her into the saddle with him and leave Thorson, Mabel, and everyone else behind.
And maybe he could fly.
~
Mortified that Mabel knew of her mishap on Main Street, Ella’s jaw tightened. As tight as Jed’s shirt would be on Cale Hutton. Anyone with eyes in his head could see it wouldn’t fit, and there wasn’t one thing Ella could do about it. Again, she appeared as if she’d failed at her job. And again, it was all because of Mabel and her manipulations.
Ella shook out the gabardine, praying it would miraculously stretch across Cale’s chest and at least reach his wrists.
He watched Slim’s powder box like a snake watches a mouse.
“Sorry about this, Mr. Hutton, but the camera sees things differently than we do.” Slim nervously cleared his throat. “You need powder on your face to even out your skin tone.”
Cale ignored him, Mabel, and everyone else, locking eyes on Ella. In three long strides he stood before her as stalwart as the pine, smelling of horse and man and strength. His expression said he wasn’t at all pleased with the turn of events but he didn’t hold it against her. Clearly, a double message, but she couldn’t quite make out the meaning of the other half.
“You’ll need to take your shirt off.” Flames shot through her insides and burst out across her face and neck. Such discomfort never occurred at the studio. Or on other locations with the regular actors. They didn’t stand before her like a giant child, waiting for her to tell them to disrobe.
She’d already seen him bare-chested. Or maybe it was his brother’s physique that had burned onto the inside of her eyelids. But it had been in private—if she could call the dining room private. He’d have no undershirt, not during these warm summer months. Lord, help her. How long could she hold her eyes on the piped yoking and pearl snaps of Jed’s shirt?
He tossed his vest and chambray on the crate.
Slim saved her from embarrassment.
“Close your eyes and mouth.” He hit Cale with a full puff and quickly worked it across his face, ears, and neck.
Ella rolled her lips and swallowed a laugh at his scrunched-up face. The three little Hutton boys had nothing on their uncle.
He blustered and blinked and reached for the gabardine, brushing her fingers. The act drew her eyes to his. Just as she’d feared, he was reading her as if she were a script in his hand.
“Slim is right.” She took a deep breath. “You can get by without the greasepaint because you won’t have a close-up shot in the chase. But without the powder, your skin will appear darker than it really is and blotchy.”
He stared at her, a muscle flexing in his powdered jaw. The powder flattened his weathered tan to the sickly yellow-white that would film more naturally.
“It washes right off.”
He slipped his arms into Jed’s shirt, tugged at the collar, and started with the first snap. A two-inch gap guaranteed no connection. Moving on to the next one, he dropped his chin to watch what he was doing. No luck. The next snap connected. Barely. And the next one and the next until he had most of the shirt front fastened.
She matched opposite corners of the brown silk neckerchief and handed it to him, resisting the urge to reach around his neck and join the ends herself.
As he tied it on, his perusal unnerved her. Clearly, his candid regard caused him no concern, and he continued to openly watch her. Inwardly she squirmed, as if caught in the camera’s eye. What did he want? He was pressing again. Just like in the pasture two days before. Did he think she understood the silent speech he so often used with Hugh? Did he think her a mind reader? If so, he spoke a language she did not understand. At least not completely.
Her heart pounded against her ribs. She stepped back and crossed her arms to hold the hammering beast inside. He picked up the hat she’d worn moments before and tugged it down.
All wrong. The camera could not be fooled. Jed would tip his hat to a jaunty angle.
She moved closer and reached up for the brim, cocking it to one side for a roguish look. And while she was there holding her breath, she might as well adjust the neckerchief so it covered the open shirtfront. Not that it would stay put in the wind of the ride, but it made her feel somewhat better to have him covered.
She retreated again and filled her lungs, at the same time considering the man before her. His stature. His unsmiling face, stern jaw—and too short sleeves. Oh dear. She took one arm and tugged on the sleeve as if by pure will she could lengthen it to cover his wrists.
And the boots. She looked at Mabel, who sat atop the bay a bit paler than before. “Did you bring Jed’s boots?”
The leading lady scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous. They’d never fit Cale.” Leaning down, she added in less than a stage whisper, “And just so you know, Miss Hobble-skirt, your days here are numbered.”
Ella froze. What had Mabel said to Mr. Thorson while Ella’s absence? Forcing herself to focus on the scene, she again checked Cale’s attire. Pete would simply have to shoot a tight frame and leave the boots out of the picture. If that were even possible.
Mr. Thorson blasted through her worry with a boisterous interjection, laid out his plan for Mabel and Cale, and had them walk out to the road and take up their positions with Mabel in the lead. He waved his hat at Pete who remained at his earlier position and waved in return.
“Roll film!” he yelled.
Ella flinched.
He turned to Mabel. “Action!”
Mabel kicked the bay and shot off with Cale and Doc deliberately in her wake. Not as fast as Slim’s ride, but a good pace just the same.
Ella stumped to the road, dreading what she might see. But she could not look away, as if she were watching a burning house—full of wonder and agony at the power of the flames and the overwhelming loss.
Halfway to Pete, Cale came alongside Mabel and pulled her from the bay’s saddle and into his own. She flung her arms around his neck, and her full skirt whipped around the both of them. Cale reined Doc in just past Pete, who followed the action.
“Cut!” Thorson waved his hat again, completely ignored by Pete, who continued filming.
Even from this far away, Ella imagined the tension between Mabel and Cale.
The rescuer successfully saving the lady in distress.
Her overwhelming gratitude.
Ella’s hands balled into fists. This was the stuff of moving-picture romance, the lure that drew viewers to the theatre.
The moment when every woman’s heart stopped.
Ella’s eyes closed, yet still she saw the heroine’s hands reach for the hero’s face. She pulled him closer . . .
Turning on her left foot, Ella hobbled to the crate, where she gathered Slim’s costume and came as close to running as she had in more than fifteen months. Again, Mabel got what she wanted. And this time, it was what Ella wanted.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Stunned, Cale pulled back from Mabel’s garish face, and she slipped through his hands. Doc whinnied and danced away from the woman sprawled beneath him.
Thorson hadn’t said one blasted thing about kissing, and it better not be on the film. Doggone it, Cale had never tossed a gal off a horse, but this beat all. He jumped down and helped her up.
Pete ran over. “You all right, Miss Steinway?”
She sliced Cale up one side and down the other, then turned on the cameraman. “Tell me you did not get that on film.”
“I-I got the whole thing, ma’am. Just like always.”
She stomped her foot. “That last part, you idiot.”
His face blanched and he pulled at his collar and shied toward the camera. “Uh, no, ma’am. When you were getting off just now? No. I, uh, didn’t film that. No, ma’am.”
Ten to one he had, but Cale didn’t make a habit of throwing good money after bad. “Sorry, Miss Steinway. I didn’t intend to drop—”
“You!” The word shot like a bullet and hit him right between his eyes. She whirled and stomped away to the cars.
Looked like filming was done for the day. That’d save him the trouble of refusing any more of Thorson’s harebrained ideas.
Pete folded up his camera contraption and headed down the road toward the house. Thorson, Slim, and a few others stood out front. Ella was gone. Maybe she had seen what happened.
Dear Lord, he hoped his brother hadn’t seen it either. He’d never hear the end of it.
Snake had moseyed off the road and into the lower pasture, grazing his way toward the hills. Cale swung up and rode after him, gathered his reins, and turned back for the barn. Yes, he needed the money this filming crew brought with it. But no, he didn’t need the aggravation. And yes, he wanted to spend more time with Ella Canaday, but no, he probably wouldn’t get to.
As he rode into the yard, past the filming crew, and on to the barn, Hugh leaned against the wall, one boot cocked against it and his hat tipped back. Cale would knock him out if he said a word.
He didn’t, for once. Just took Snake’s reins, stripped the tack, and led him to the pasture.
On his way to the house, Cale yanked Jed’s hat and scarf off, and intended to do the same with the shirt. But that would make more work for Ella if he tore something. Instead he peeled it off and dropped everything in the crate, then took his own clothes around back to the wash tub. He’d prefer a dip in the creek, but Helen’s bar soap and towel on the porch made short work of the powder. Just like Ella said.
After he finished, he walked around to the front, where Pete, Thorson, and the rest of the men were laughing and shaking their heads. He was certain he knew the topic of discussion.
“Thorson.” He joined them with a change of subject. “What time you comin’ back tomorrow for the branding?”
“Day after. And the earlier, the better, if that works for you. With a good take, we’ll be out of your hair.” He offered his hand. “Fine job today. Fine job.”
“Just make sure those two minutes are in the check.” A hard glare and harder grip underscored his point.
The back screen door slapped, and Kip ran around the end of the house. “Miss Helen needs help with the table and then everyone can have pie and cookies.”
Two of Thorson’s men hoofed it inside and returned with the table. The boys and Helen followed, loaded down with her handiwork. While Thorson rubbed his hands together like he was about to sit down to a feast, Cale retreated to the big pine and waited for Ella.
She finally showed up with a stack of tin cups in one arm, the coffee pot in her hand, and a hitch in her walk. She started with Thorson and made the rounds, giving each man a cup and then filling it. He palmed his jaw, reminding himself he hadn’t shaved that morning. No wonder Slim had thrown powder on him.
By the time Ella made it to him, the pie was gone. He’d get the bottom of the pot too, more than likely on purpose, but he wasn’t sure why. Could be she was still mad about yesterday’s ride home.
He straightened as she approached and thumbed his hat back for a clear view. Her hair teased her eyes, and his hand itched to push it aside before he thought better of it. Instead he accepted her last cup and the thick brew that only half-filled it. She turned away before he could think of what to say, and limped back to the house.
Confounded woman.
After every last crumb was cleaned up, Thorson signaled two men to take the table in. Everyone else headed for the automobiles, and Cale planted a foot on the lone crate, determined to catch Ella before she left.
And then he saw her making her way across the road with Jay beside her. She’d gone out the front door, favoring her right leg like she had her first day at the ranch. He couldn’t figure. Yesterday she’d had hardly a catch in her gait, and now she limped like a saddle-sore cowpoke.
He started after her, but doubt hobbled him. Only a fool would miss that she’d intentionally avoided him. If he stopped her, what would he say?
Mainly, he just wanted to know if she was coming back for the branding. And if she’d ever forgive him for tricking her into riding Barlow.
He pulled his hat off, ran his hand through his hair, and re-set it. This was not how he’d hoped things would go.
The motorcars cranked and sputtered and rattled off down the road with the boys and Tug chasing after them nearly to the turn off. He headed for the barn, where he adjusted Doc’s saddle and swung up.
The rest of the day he spent doing what he knew best—cowboyin’ in the quiet of the mountain parks. Green and sprouting fiery Indian paintbrush and yellow buffalo bur, the parks opened around him like welcoming arms, giving up a dozen cow-calf pairs and a couple of maverick steers that he and Hugh trailed back to the corrals. The familiar thud of hooves on dirt, grit on his teeth, and an occasional bawl raised a reassuring barrier that insulated him from the crazy world of automobiles and crowds and clamor. He had more than enough to fill his days without worrying after some gal who avoided him. Who’d soon enough be going back home to the city.
Early that evening, the corral gate squawked shut behind the last cow and dust hung still and thick, no breeze to send it off. He rode around the barn and cut across open country for the south ridge and a clear perspective.
