Ella had spent entirely too much time enjoying Clara’s cooking and company this morning and paid dearly for it. She stole in through the open front door of the studio, her entry covered by the vitriolic ranting of an uncharacteristically early leading lady.
“Have you seen her work? Have you really taken a close look at it? It’s shoddy. Why, I could do as well myself. You’re wasting money on her salary.”
Mr. Thorson met Ella’s eyes in a glance over Mabel’s shoulder. The actress whirled and pointed, her outstretched arm stiff and judgmental. “See? She sneaks around and eavesdrops on people’s conversations too.”
Ella’s fingers crushed into the biscuits, and she strode to the costume area where she dropped the flattened bundle and Clara’s kit on the table before facing her accuser.
“She didn’t have to sneak, Mabel.” Thorson’s gaze rolled to the ceiling. “I’m sure everyone on this end of town heard you through the open door.”
The actress’s face reddened and her arms locked across her waist as she glared at Ella. “Well, what do you have to say for yourself?”
Much more calmly than she felt, Ella took a step forward and addressed Mr. Thorson. “Someone ransacked my room at the hotel while I was gone and stole my sewing kit.” Meeting Mabel’s dark stare, she continued. “I have borrowed one until mine can be found, so I’ll be able to carry on with my duties.”
“And you think I took it? How dare you!”
The director’s arm shot out to prevent Mabel’s advance and he stepped between the two of them. “She didn’t say that, Mabel. Calm down.”
Ella stiffened her back and held her tongue. She would not be cowed by theatrics. But neither would she make accusations based purely on suspicion, in spite of the fact that Mabel’s leap to a conclusion shed even clearer light on the matter.
“If you don’t fire her, I’m quitting. Quitting, I tell you.”
Thorson rubbed his forehead, darting a look at Ella. “We’ve got work to do. A saloon scene and other indoor shots. Can you get by with what you have?”
“Yes, sir. Undoubtedly.”
Mabel sniffed and tossed her curls.
“You need to get your mind on your work, Mabel. I expect the two of you to hash this out between yourselves and be ready in ten minutes for the job at hand.” He made for the back of the studio as if fiends were on his heels.
Ella stood her ground.
Mabel raised her chin with a dramatic flair before following Thorson. “You’re finished here.”
So much for hashing things out.
A replaceable costume designer and seamstress had much less pull with the studio than the leading lady, but Ella would not go down without a fight. Crippled or not.
A familiar pain pulsed through her thigh but with less of a razor’s edge. She draped her suit jacket over a hanger and sorted the men’s shirts. A bar-room scene meant a brawl, but likely only Jed and one or two others would be damaging their clothing. She gathered a half-dozen shirts as Thorson and others came in from the back.
It took mere minutes to arrange furniture and a backdrop into a change of scenery. The large open area was suddenly a saloon with round tables and curved-back chairs, poker chips and card decks, shot glasses and bottles full of tea. Pete set up his screens to reflect daylight from the windows directly onto the set.
“Where is Jed?” Thorson’s voice rang through the building.
“At the barber.” Jed’s unwitting friend tried ducking Thorson’s bullet glare, an unexpected recompense for his information.
They could not film the scene without the leading man, but the director’s ill mood said otherwise.
“You.” He jabbed a finger at the unfortunate cowboy. “Stand in for him. Over there.”
Rising rather cheerfully to the occasion, the man moved into position.
“Ella. Woolies for this man here.”
From her collection she produced three pair of chaps: angora goat, haired cowhide, and tanned leather. All were claimed.
Locals began arriving to fill in the background. She showed them where to sit and traded out hats and coats with some of the more well-dressed individuals who appeared to be prominent businessmen in the community.
Thorson and his assistant walked the actors through the fight scene, reminding them to throw broad, round-house punches, respond with exaggerated facial expressions, and fall with overstated force.
Everyone took their places, Pete signaled his readiness, and Thorson’s hand rose like a spire. “Roll cam—”
Jed Barr strode through the front door and everyone turned to look.
“Cut!”
Jed’s friend took on a sheepish look, accentuated by the wooly chaps he immediately stripped off and handed over. Thorson swore under his breath, Pete shook his head, and Mabel examined her fingernails.
Several locals nodded to Jed as he passed. “Mr. Barr.”
Remarkably, he called them each by name, cementing his popularity with the town’s people. At least the men. Ella suspected a few members of certain female social circles did not utter his name with such deference.
A half hour later, the brawl was completed with only a handful of punches connecting with actual chins. Jed, a master at deflecting a flying fist, appeared unscathed other than a tear in the seam of his right shirt sleeve.
She collected it from him, halting as he spoke to her under his breath. “Saw the rancher at the barber shop.”
His low-voiced comment sent her heartbeat into a flurry for no reason she could justify. The news stunted her movements as she gathered chaps, hats, and a pointed glare from Mabel, who left the room on Jed’s arm, unaware of a wink over his shoulder to Ella.
Her pulse thrummed.
Rancher? Which rancher? Hugh didn’t seem the type to ride into town just to visit the barber. But was Cale? Did he have business here? And if he were here, would he stop by the studio? Seek her out?
Ridiculous.
She puffed out a disgusted breath and piled the clothing on her table before stopping two gentlemen who attempted to leave the building in studio vests and coats.
Purely forgetful, they apologetically assured her. A matter of habit.
With a tight smile, she offered her thanks. Indeed. She’d heard it all before.
The crew dispersed for lunch. She dispersed the clothing and took her mauled biscuits to one of the gambling tables, where she claimed a chair facing the door. Just in case.
Finger indentations clearly marred the golden-topped mounds that resembled pancakes more than they did Clara’s delectable biscuits. With a heavy sigh, she tore one in half and shoved it in her mouth. How good it would be with Helen’s sliced beef and coffee.
A shadow dimmed the light pouring through the door, and she looked up in mid-chew.
The hat and vest said Cale, but the newly shaved jaw and trimmed hairline stirred doubts. Her half a biscuit enlarged, filling her mouth, throat, and mind with wordlessness.
“May I come in?” He sounded like Cale.
Choking, she covered her mouth with the napkin, and with her free hand waved him in. Nana would have a stroke at such manners.
He doffed his hat and his dark hair shone. Shone. She tried to remember what Hugh’s had looked like at the dinner table but could dredge up only the man’s scowl.
“Mind if I sit down?”
Where was a good hole in the floor when she needed one?
~
Cale nearly gouged his cheek clamping down a laugh at Ella’s shock. Laughter would add nails to his already lidded coffin, not help him resurrect a conversational tone with her. Pretty as ever, her cheeks got all pink as she swallowed. A couple of pitiful-looking biscuits lay on the table, and she brushed at the crumbs.
“Pardon me. You caught me with my mouth full.” She swept a look his way and his insides tumbled.
Smelling too much of Bay Rum No. 4, he palmed his jaw. “Thought I’d get a shave while I was in town visiting the sheriff.”
Her brow wrinkled. “The sheriff? Is there trouble at the ranch?”
His decoy worked. “Same as we’ve had. But I want to know what other ranchers besides Harper are reporting. Maybe offer a reward for a successful bear hunt, or rustlers caught red-handed.”
She shuddered, sinking his hopes. Due recompense for starting out with violence rather than what he’d intended.
He cleared his throat and fiddled with his hat. “You left something at the ranch, and I have it in my saddle bags.”
Her face brightened like an electric light. “My camera satchel! You found it?”
“Kip did. Told him you’d be proud of him for bringin’ it to me.”
Relief softened her features, and she fingered the collar of her blouse. Her eyes flitted between him and the biscuits.
He screwed up his courage. “Thought you might enjoy a soda at the drug store, then I could return it to you.” Out loud, his carefully planned words sounded more like a ransom than an invitation.
Fortunately, she took them at face value.
“That would be lovely.”
Lovely? Did that mean she’d forgiven him?
She folded the biscuits into her napkin, left them on a table by the costume rack, and gathered a jacket that matched her green skirt.
Scrambling to not miss his opportunity, he took the jacket from her and held it as she slid one arm into it and then the other. Somewhere he’d heard ladies liked that sort of thing.
“It’s not far from here. Just a few blocks.”
She smiled up at him, and he doubted he could make it the whole way there without tripping over his spurs.
Outside, he offered his arm—something he’d seen his father do for his mother on Sunday mornings when they made it in for church. To his great surprise, Ella tucked her fingers in the crook of his elbow. His throat got tight. Maybe he’d been right to stop at Hank’s before he came calling. Not that this was calling. Not exactly.
Shortening his stride, he matched her pace, which was nearly smooth. He’d like to think he’d played a part in helping her get stronger, though he was pretty sure she’d argue that point.
Palace Drug held down the corner of Sixth Street and Main, where he opened the door for her and followed her inside. A line of stools fronted the soda counter on their left, and a couple of tables huddled in front of the window. When she hesitated, he nodded toward a table and pulled out an iron-work chair for her, feeling just about as gentlemanly as he ever had. His shirt buttons pulled a little tighter.
“Thank you.”
He sat facing the window, and she studied the store over his shoulder, looking everywhere but at him. He sure would like to hear her story if he could just figure how to get it out of her without prying. Unlike every other woman he’d been around, she was less than eager to talk about herself.
But he didn’t do chit-chat. Just like he didn’t run Helen’s sewing machine. Probably stitch his fingers together, which was how he felt sittin’ in a flimsy parlor chair with the need to make conversation. They’d come flying past here last week in his race against the buggy horse, but he highly doubted she’d want to talk about that.
It’d be a short soda if he didn’t come up with something quick.
A girl in a striped apron took their order and asked if they’d like a pastry. Ella declined. He eyed the display case across from them and saw a couple things he’d like to try. Maybe next time.
The idea notched a bur under his skin. Next time meant she’d still be around, which she wouldn’t be. And he sure enough didn’t plan to sit in Palace Drug by himself any time soon.
He leaned back. “Been busy sewing and such since you got back to the studio?” Now there was a stirring bit of conversation if he’d ever heard it.
She frowned and considered the table before raising dark worried eyes. “Someone broke into my room at the hotel.”
He leaned forward, his shoulders tightening, ready to find the culprit and work him over. “Did you report it?”
She ran a hand under the back of her bobbed hair. “I told a few people.”
“The hotel manager? The sheriff?”
She puffed out a breath with a nervous glance. “I think I know who did it.”
Their sodas arrived, and he cooled his temper with a long sip through the straw sticking out of his glass. His free hand clenched in his lap. He’d like to catch the scoundrel. “That much more reason to report it.”
She twirled her straw between her thumb and forefinger, first one way and then the other, twisting his gut into a knot.
“Who do you think it was?”
Leaning in, she measured him with a look before lowering her voice to a whisper. “I shouldn’t say because I have no proof.”
Intuition. Helen ruled by it. “You just know, don’t you.” Like he just knew when the herd was in trouble.
Her glance confirmed his suspicion.
He took a shot in the dark. “Mabel.”
Quick as lightning, her fingers clamped around his sleeve. “Shhh.”
His arm flexed of its own accord.
She pulled away, but not without a warning glare. “I said I can’t prove it. I just sense it.”
If she sensed it as well as she sensed a good horse and how to handle it, she was right on the money. “Anything in particular that leads to the . . . sense?”
She picked up her glass and pulled the cold liquid through the straw, puckering her lips and spurring his thoughts off in the wrong direction. A flick of her pink tongue across those lips nearly unseated him.
He pulled his straw from the glass, crushed it in his fist, and gulped a mouthful. She didn’t seem to notice.
“Whoever it was, they took my sewing kit. It’s what I use on the set for repairs. But rather than take it with me the other day, I grabbed some needles and thread and hid the kit under the bed before leaving for the ranch.”
Another dainty sip.
He looked away from her. Stared at a horse and buggy tied outside next to an automobile. Reviewed the number of cattle gone missing at the ranch.
“It wasn’t a very good hiding place because the kit was the only thing missing.”
He frowned, pushed his hat up, and rubbed his forehead. “Was it valuable? I mean, was it worth a lot of money?”
“No.” She shook her head, and her hair swayed against her face in that way that made him want to run his hands through it.
“That’s the thing. It’s valuable only to me. It was my grandmother’s.”
None of his business, but he had a hunch why she suspected Mabel.
She met his gaze and lowered her voice again. “Only someone who wanted to see me fail would steal it.”
“Favorite Dry Goods is a block away. I’m sure they’ve got one. I’ll buy it for you.”
His statement startled him as much as it did her.
She stared, then blinked. Twice. “No.” She tugged on her jacket. “I mean, thank you, but that won’t be necessary. Besides, I could never let you do something like that.”
She lowered her gaze, and her face went all pink again. “I should be getting back.”
He rose as she did, kicking himself for making her uncomfortable. Much more of that, and she wouldn’t give him the time of day much less tell him anything about herself. Like why she limped and why she took a job with Selig Polyscope. And why she wasn’t married with a passel of kids.
He moved ahead of her to open the door.
She stopped with a glance his way.
“Thank goodness I didn’t leave my camera in the room.”
Camera. Right. His excuse for seeing her again. “Doc’s waiting behind the barber shop. Just up the street.”
He offered his arm, and once more she took it. If he could line his words out as easy as he bent his elbow, he’d make some progress. “I saw Jed there this morning.”
Her fingers tightened and she took a moment before she said anything. “One of his friends almost got to play the lead in a bar brawl because he was late.”
Figured. A no-show one day and late the next. He ground his teeth. If Barr worked for him, he’d fire his sorry hide. “Why does Thorson keep him around if he isn’t dependable?”
“He has the looks.”
He gave her a look of his own but caught only the top of her dark head.
“And he can ride. Trick ride, even. He has a good way in front of the camera.”
Cale let go an opinionated grunt. Evidently, he did too, but only for two minutes.
“He’s entering the rodeo, if we’re still in town by then.”
His turn to flinch. They couldn’t leave already. He wanted to talk to her more and take her riding up on the ridge and . . .
Ott’s Candy Store reared up on his right and he slowed. “I need to stop in here for Kip and his brothers. Sort of a reward for finding the camera.”
She smiled, and he decided he’d buy her the whole store if she wanted it. If she’d let him.
Which she wouldn’t. “After you.”
She preceded him through the doorway and into a wall of irresistible aroma. Peppermint. Chocolate. Coconut. Caramel.
“Oh, but it smells delicious in here.” Her shoulders scrunched and she stopped at the glass-topped counter.
“What strikes your fancy?”
Her bob began to sway. “No—”
“Can’t very well buy for the boys and leave you out, now can I?” A weak argument, but doggone it, he wanted to get her something.
A smile teased her lips. She eased along the case, halting briefly in front of a tray of chocolate balls. Bonbons, a small card read.
He caught the eye of the man behind the counter and held up four fingers. “In two bags. Two in a bag.” Helen deserved as much, and a lot more, but this would do for now. “And four peppermint sticks.”
“Four?” Ella quirked a half-smile. “One for Hugh?”
He snorted. “Not likely.”
A small laugh escaped her lips. He paid the man, gave her one bag, and rolled the tops down on the other two.
At the next block, he made a right turn. “Doc’s in the alley behind the barber shop. If you don’t want to walk down there, you can wait here and I’ll bring your satchel.”
“I can walk.”
He stopped and faced her. Her chin had tightened, her shoulders were stiff.
“That’s not what I meant.” His neck itched. “I know you can walk. And a fine job you do of it too.”
She raised her head to look him in the eye and crossed her arms into a barricade.
“I mean, you’re hardly limping at all today.”
Her head tipped to the side, but her eyes never left his.
His collar band tightened. “Not that you limp, mind you.”
One small foot began to tap.
“You do real well for someone who . . . who . . .”
The paper sack crinkled in her hand. “For someone who’s a cripple?”
Tarnation, he was digging himself deep. “No. That’s not what I was going to say.” He pulled his hat off and ran his sleeve across his brow. “You know I don’t see you like that. I mean . . . what I’m trying to say is—”
“Yes?”
“Well, if you were a horse, I wouldn’t put you down.”