Free Cowboy For Hire by Alice Duncan Page A

better about her error when Martin
smiled and patted her shoulder. Charlie was smiling, too, with what
looked like sympathy. She tried not to begrudge his expression as
she’d begrudged Huxtable’s, since she didn’t think Charlie’s smile
should be cast into the same mold as Huxtable’s long-suffering,
insulting glance. She smiled back at Martin. “Very well. I’ll get
set again.”
    Huxtable sighed long and loud, and Martin
whispered, “Pay no attention to him, Miss Wilkes. He doesn’t feel
well today.”
    “Small wonder,” she said darkly, and resumed
her pose at the fence.
    Again she heard Huxtable shuffle onto the
set. The big boor. But she didn’t turn, awaiting his words. They
weren’t long in coming.
    “Well, bless my soul, if it ain’t Miss Prissy
Wilkes. Do you suppose I can wrangle a kiss from her? Most women
can’t resist me once I turn on the old charm.”
    She turned at that, horrified. “You beastly
man! How dare you say things like that to me?”
    “No, no, no,” said Martin, sounding faintly
exasperated this time. “Miss Wilkes, you’re not supposed to be
angry, only surprised.”
    She turned to Martin, furious. “Did you hear
what he said to me?”
    “Yes.” Martin frowned at Huxtable, who was
snickering like a naughty schoolboy. “But you have to ignore his
words, Miss Wilkes. I know you’re not used to this.” His smile
appeared a wee bit tight. “And you’re doing remarkably well. You
only need to keep in mind that this is a silent picture, and that
the audience probably isn’t adept at lip-reading. Act you part, and
forget Huxtable.
    “I wish I could!”
    He rounded on Huxtable. “Will you at least
try to behave yourself, Horace? You’re not helping any, you
know.”
    Huxtable chuffed irritably. “I feel like
shit, and she’s doing a very bad job.”
    Amy gasped.
    “You’re the one who told me to hire her,”
Martin said.
    She gasped again, dismayed. Was that the
truth?
    Huxtable shrugged. “She’s pretty. I figured I
could probably woo her into my bed before the end of the
picture—”
    Amy shrieked. “What did you say?”
    “– but I don’t think I even want her
anymore.”
    Whirling, Amy shouted again, “What did he
say?”
    Huxtable, ignoring her, shouts and all, went
on, “She’s pretty enough, and she has a luscious figure. But she’s
also got a ghastly personality, and she’s a terrible prig.”
    Before Amy knew what was happening, Charlie
had come over to the little group. She was shaking with rage and
humiliation, felt like crying, refused to give in to the urge, but
didn’t know what to say or do instead. At least Martin appeared
chagrined, which was something. Huxtable, needless to say, sneered
at her.
    Charlie had been chewing on a straw, but when
Huxtable’s vile comment smote his ears, he chucked the straw aside.
He didn’t approve of men talking about women that way, even when
the women weren’t around to hear it. Miss Wilkes was standing right
there, hearing every word. And Miss Amy Wilkes, while assuredly
priggish and a shade too sharp, was sure as the devil no match for
Horace Huxtable when it came to bandying words. Charlie disapproved
mightily of Huxtable’s taking advantage of her lack of
experience.
    “I don’t think you want to be talkin’ like
that in front of a lady, Mr. Huxtable.” He kept his voice low and
soft, as if he were merely offering a suggestion.
    Huxtable eyed him up and down as if he were
an unwelcome species of desert reptile. “What do you have to say
about it, pray tell?”
    “Oh, I ain’t much of a one for words.”
Charlie smiled, giving the oaf a chance.
    “You ain’t much of a one for grammar,
neither,” sneered Huxtable.
    Charlie only smiled some more.
    Huxtable flipped a hand at him. “Off with
you, bumpkin. I won’t be dictated to by the likes of you.”
    Amy gasped.
    Charlie’s expression didn’t alter a whit.
    “Horace,” Martin muttered miserably. “Can it,
will you?”
    “Pshaw,”