Cowboy For Hire by Alice Duncan Page A

expected him to do about it. While
he was as happy as a lark to belt Horace Huxtable for making
improper suggestions to a female member of the cast, he sure as
heck wasn’t going to punch that lady for smoking.
    “My goodness.”
    When he peered at Amy again, he saw that her
cheeks remained pale, and that the expression of horror he’d
thought he’d imagined, he hadn’t. It was there; no doubt about
it.
    All righty, then, Charlie presumed that folks
in Pasadena, California, didn’t cotton to females smoking. He
didn’t either, really, although his grounds weren’t moral—as he
felt sure Amy’s were—but protective. It was dang dry in the Arizona
desert, and smoldering cigarette butts had set off more than one
wildfire.
    Curious, he asked, “You got something against
folks smoking, Miss Wilkes?” He tried to keep his tone
friendly.
    Her head jerked up and she stared at him for
a moment. Charlie all but got lost in those big, limpid pools of
blue. Then her gaze fell, and the pink returned to her cheeks. “I
suppose,” she said tightly, “that you think I’m an unconscionable
snob for being shocked to see a woman smoking a cigarette.”
    Well, yeah, kinda. Charlie said, “Er,
I don’t know about that, ma’am. Just wondered why you cared, is
all. I’m sort of a live-and-let-live kind of feller, myself.”
    She made a clicking noise with her tongue,
and Charlie thought he glimpsed the ragged edge of her frustration.
With a gesture of her hand, she said, “Oh, I don’t care .
Exactly. Not really. But….” She tilted her head and stared up at
him some more.
    Charlie had to swallow an oath. He wished she
wouldn’t do that. It made him prey to all sorts of impulses he was
sure she’d just hate, and which made him feel sort of like Horace
Huxtable, which was an awful way to feel.
    “But this is all so new to me, Mr. Fox. I
know you think I’m a straitlaced priss, but I’ve … well, I suppose
I’ve been sheltered in my life.”
    Since he didn’t know what to say to that, and
sensing she wouldn’t appreciate agreement, Charlie kept mum.
    She went on with a choppy wave of her arm
that spoke eloquently of the state of her nerves. “Since I was
seven years old, I’ve never been anywhere but Pasadena or done
anything but what … well, what people in Pasadena do. And all of us
at home do the same things—and none of us do anything I’m
being expected to do in this picture. A woman in Pasadena wouldn’t
be caught dead smoking or drinking.” She hung her head. “I suppose
you think that’s intolerably stodgy.”
    Charlie, who had been appreciating the way
Miss Wilkes’s lithe body moved and the way her rosebud mouth tilted
at the corners, pried his mind away from baser matters and thought
about it for a minute. When he answered, he told the truth. “Well,
ma’am, I don’t rightly think it’s stodgy. It’s … well, it’s kinda
irritating when someone keeps exclaiming about what other folks do.
It’s not as if anybody asked for your opinion or anything.”
    The pink in her cheeks deepened
significantly. “Oh, dear, you must dislike me intensely, Mr.
Fox.”
    “Good God, no! I don’t dislike you at all.”
Her little rosebud mouth quivered, and Charlie went all gooey
inside.
    Amy hung her head. “Thank you for saying
that, even if you don’t really mean it. I honestly didn’t mean to
give you the impression that I disapprove of everything everybody
who doesn’t live in Pasadena does. It’s only that this is all so
new to me.”
    “I understand,” Charlie said, nodding. And he
did. Sort of.
    The poor thing looked as if she were
suffering acute humiliation, and Charlie hadn’t meant her to. He
was shuffling through the rubbish heap in his brain, trying to dust
off some words that might both soothe her and keep her from
slapping his face, when Martin’s voice came to them. Reprieve,
thank God! Charlie turned with a real, live, honest-to-God happy
smile. “Well, howdy, Martin. How’re