Cale set out before daybreak. The fiery sunrise threatened another storm later in the day, but his slicker lay dry and tied behind his saddle. His rifle and rope were at the ready as well. No telling which direction the bear might go next. If they’d wounded it last night, could be it was dying out in the scrub somewhere. Or not.
He doubted it would show itself on the road to town, but he wasn’t taking any chances.
And neither was he waiting any longer to talk to Ella Canaday. It was the not knowing that rubbed him raw. She might not even be in town, but at least he’d find out. That was something. But if she and the company had already pulled out, she might have left a letter and a photograph for him. The idea soured his stomach. Just thinking about her being gone wore a hole in his gut. He didn’t even have an address for her in Chicago.
She’d sure enough worked herself under his skin, and the timing couldn’t be worse, what with bears and rustlers. Maybe he’d talk to the sheriff first. Find out what the others learned in Cripple Creek. Stop by the newspaper office and run a piece on the reward. Maybe even find out if Ella had left her film there.
Then, if she was still in town, he’d take her to lunch, or the soda springs, or for a walk along the river.
At the bend into town, he caught sight of three familiar touring cars headed west along the railroad tracks. Could be they were aiming for the Hot Springs Hotel a couple miles upstream. Two riders trailed after them. The man riding the big white horse looked like Jed Barr from the way he sat the saddle. The sorrel probably carried Mabel Steinway. Wasn’t Ella. Even from this far away, he knew that.
His heart hitched a beat. He’d been right about her ability to ride. Saturday night confirmed it, the way she sat on Doc. Until he pulled her against his chest.
The sheriff could wait. He turned upstream.
The Arkansas ran full bore, tumbling down from the great gorge, intent on taking anything with it that got in the way. Not the perfect time to ford it on horseback, though it looked like Thorson was bent on doing just that. Grape Creek would be running heavy after last night’s storm, but the river flattened out just below it, with low banks and few boulders. No whitewater. If the horses crossed there, upstream from the hotel, they might make it.
He touched spurs to Doc and caught up to the crew at the hotel. Most were crossing the swinging foot bridge, including Ella with her arms loaded and another over-sized hat that blocked his view of her face. But relief at seeing her nearly made him light-headed. He followed the riders from a distance, cutting a wide circle around Mabel.
Thorson, with Pete hauling his camera, hiked up to the creek on the other side of the river, the director’s arms windmilling here and there. A racket drew Cale’s attention to a line of motorcars and the hotel’s hack coming up the road behind him. A crowd to watch the filming.
Thorson signaled from across the river. Jed and his mount took to the water, the rush of it tucking the white’s chin and drawing his ears sharp toward the muted roar. But Jed gave him his head, and they made it across. Onlookers cheered. Jed played to the crowd, reining in and tipping his hat to the crowd. Then he took position at the top of a small embankment, sheer cliffs hanging behind him like a granite curtain.
Mabel heeled her horse to the water’s edge. From the look on her made-up face, she wasn’t keen on the idea, and her horse danced and flattened its ears, evidently in agreement. She kicked it repeatedly but held the reins short in her panic. The mixed message sent the horse sideways into the water. Halfway across, it slipped, spooked, and tossed Mabel in the drink. Cale unlashed his rope and charged around the crowd toward the bank.
His first throw dropped the loop around the floundering, screaming woman, but she had sense to take hold. He jerked the slack and dallied to keep her from being swept away in the swift current. Backing Doc in slow, easy steps, he drew a waterlogged Mabel from the churning river and onto dry ground. The crowd cheered again.
Cale dismounted, then loosened his rope as Jed splashed across the river and caught the other horse’s reins. In spite of the bright summer sun, Mabel shook like leaves in the fall, soaked to the bone and mad as a plucked jaybird.
Thorson had run back across the footbridge and up to the commotion, red-faced from the effort and sucking wind. “You . . . all . . . right . . . Mabel?” He reached for her shoulder, and she jerked away. Someone from the crowd offered her his suit coat.
Thorson rubbed his hatless head and looked at Cale. “I can’t thank you enough, Mr. Hutton.”
Cale coiled his rope and glanced at Mabel, encircled by sympathizing citizens. “Water’s cold this time of year. Still running full of snowmelt. But she looks to be unhurt.”
Thorson’s shoulders rose with a deep breath that he shoved out hard. “We’ll just have to try it again.”
“In a pig’s eye!”
He whipped around to a fire-spitting Mabel, the coat clenched tight in her trembling hands. “You can get somebody else to ride that fleabag across that death trap, because it’s not going to be me.”
Jed heeled his horse closer. “But Mabel darlin’—”
“Don’t you darlin’ me!”
Thorson’s mouth gaped as his leading lady tromped to the hotel’s hack and climbed in, followed by the driver.
Quick to recover, he eyeballed the crowd, much closer now, as well as the crew across the river. “Where’s Slim? We’ll just have to dress him up. Canaday!”
Cale’s hackles rose at the harsh yell, and his hands clenched, reminding him of what he wanted to tell the man about deserting Ella after the rodeo.
She must have crossed on the footbridge shortly after Thorson, because she emerged from the crowd, holding costumes and wearing a smaller hat. But not by much.
Thorson’s arms went to work. “Where’s Slim? Get him dressed for the ride.”
Her chin came up and she flicked her dark eyes at Cale. His knees nearly buckled.
“He won’t do it, sir.” She stepped closer with hardly a hitch. “He said he’s not crossing the river on a horse, no matter what. That’s why he stayed on the other side.”
“Why, that lazy, no-good little—”
“Maybe a local can do it.”
Thorson stopped his tirade, blinked at her a couple of times, and then turned to the long-eared onlookers craning for every word. “Well? Who’s up to ford the stream?”
Cale grunted. Wasn’t exactly a stream. But he nearly choked when the crowd took a collective step. Back.
Ella drew herself up, snagging Cale’s scrutiny. He looked deeper. Past the costumes and hat and bobbed hair to what he believed was the core of Ella Canaday. It sparked in her clear eyes, supported by the set of her jaw, reinforced with her square-shouldered stance. His earlier conviction solidified. She could ford the stream. She was horsewoman enough, especially if she rode Doc. But she’d never volunteer.
And she might never speak to him again.
He reset his hat. “I have a suggestion.”
Thorson’s flushed face and cold-steel eyes swung his way. “What, Hutton?”
“You need a sure-footed horse for the crossing. That little sorrel isn’t up to it. You could see it as Mabel urged her toward the bank.” He tugged on Doc’s reins and the gelding moved closer. “But Doc here can do it. Best horse around.” He patted Doc’s neck in affirmation.
Thorson gave him a once-over, then planted his hands at his belt and cut Cale a sharp glare. “Maybe so, but you don’t look a lick like Mabel Steinway.”
The crowd snickered, a few guffawed. Humor rippled over Ella’s features, but she rolled her lips and ducked her chin.
“You’re absolutely right, I don’t. But I know someone who can pass for her and fit into her clothes—and I don’t mean Slim. Someone who’s more horsewoman than Mabel ever will be.” He flashed the costume girl a quick glance. “In fact, she’s already ridden Doc and they proved a good match.”
Ella’s head shot up so fast, her hat fell off.
~
Cale Hutton was out of his ever-loving mind and she told him so.
He smiled. Smiled! “Why, thank you, Miss Canaday. I’ve always considered myself to be an ever-loving soul.”
Steam churned just inside her ears, scalding the words piling up on themselves, stuck behind her gritted teeth.
She’d walk away, but her feet had sprouted roots again—three steps from Mr. Thorson’s tomato-red face. He glared at her as if he’d never seen her before, as if she were an imposter, stealing the spotlight from his star performer. She would be an imposter if she tried such a foolhardy move as riding across the river in Mabel’s stead. Ridiculous. Ridiculous!
And the spotlight was exactly what she did not want, metaphorically or otherwise.
She darted her focus from the director to Cale. How dare he? This was the second time he’d forced his hand with her where riding was concerned. And yet . . .
She swallowed around the rock in her throat, admitting to herself that she had ridden Doc. For a while, anyway, taking note of his rock-solid build, his trustworthy nature. Until Cale pulled her back against his chest. The memory quickened her pulse.
She’d ridden Barlow too, but that was different. Both times were different. Riding through a pasture or along a roadway was nothing like fording a river. Cale Hutton was the gambler this time, gambling on her horsemanship. And wagering her life.
The dimple flashed, but he stuck his tongue in his cheek and peered all the way into her soul. Suddenly exposed, she couldn’t hide the pain of dashed hopes, nor the longing for a second chance. His jaw clenched and the slightest dip of his chin betrayed his confidence.
And filled her with . . . what?
Silently she commanded her lungs to participate in her wellbeing before she fainted dead away. Oh Lord, help me now, please. I can’t do this . . . can I?
“Is he talking about you?” Thorson rubbed his jaw and looked her up and down. Then he tipped his head toward the gelding whose kind eyes took in every nuance. “You’ve ridden this horse?”
She nodded, unwilling to open her mouth for fear of what might come out.
“Well, we don’t have all day. Change clothes. Pete’ll get you powdered up. It won’t be a close shot, so powder will do. And kohl around your eyes.” He turned to a technician. “Go get Pete and tell him to bring makeup and be quick about it.”
The young man dashed off, much more spry of foot than anyone there.
She bent for her hat and Thorson zeroed in on her again, his face a paler shade, closer to under-ripe cherries. “Just ride across the river and up the embankment to Jed. Then turn and face the camera, right next to him. It’s the big finale.”
He hadn’t asked if she was willing to try, but trying wasn’t an option. Deep down in her walled-up heart she wanted to do it, to ride again, free and unencumbered.
Remarkably, she trusted Cale’s judgment—for all his bull-headed, independent, know-it-all ways.
Beyond question, she trusted his horse.
All she needed now was to trust God to see her through the challenge.
He’d seen her through a lot worse.
“All right.”
A pent-up breath escaped through Thorson’s seamed lips. He shot Cale an unreadable look and clomped off toward the bridge, mumbling under his breath.
Ella juggled the costumes, sorting out what she’d need, and gauged the distance to the hotel and back. Surveying the automobiles, she chose them as a closer cover, and singled out two women from the crowd as lookouts. They barely contained their glee.
Moments later, outfitted in Mabel’s costume, complete with a wig and hat, Ella passed through the crowd to quiet comments of “We’re pulling for you,” and “You can do this.”
She coveted their confidence.
Pete seated her on the running board of the nearest automobile and came at her with a kohl pencil. She drew back.
“It won’t hurt, sit still. Do you want Thorson yelling at us any more than he already has?”
She blinked.
“Don’t blink.” He gripped her shoulder and pulled her straight. “Tip your head back but don’t close your eyes. Stare at something over my shoulder. The sooner you cooperate, the sooner we’ll get this over with.”
She’d never considered how hard it was to hold one’s eyelids open when faced with a pointed object in another person’s hand. The oily pencil pulled a line from the inside corner of her eye, over to the outside edge, and lifted. Pete braced the heel of his hand against her chin, and drew a line under her bottom lashes, stopping where the first line had begun.
He lowered his hand and squinted, studying his work. “Good. One more.”
She blinked.
He frowned.
“My eyes are drying out.” After blinking several more times, she tipped her head back. “All right.”
He repeated the process, then smudged the lines with his finger and added a few marks to her brows.
“Close your eyes.”
Well aware of what came next, she drew a deep breath and complied just before the powder hit her face.
Pete smoothed it down her neck and under her collar, then stepped back to admire his work, judging by the half-smile on his face. “Not bad. Not bad at all. From a distance, everyone will think you’re Mabel.”
She shivered at his misguided compliment. Mabel was the last person she wanted to emulate or be mistaken for.
Pete gathered his tools, slapped his makeup box closed, and took off at a run. Stopping suddenly, he whirled around. “Break a leg!”
As soon as the words left his mouth, he blanched. “I mean …” His glance jumped to her right leg and back to her face.
“It’s all right, Pete. And thank you.”
He bobbed his head and returned to his race against the sun, across the footbridge, along the opposite bank, and several yards up a small rise across Grape Creek near the chosen bluff.
Ella smoothed her split skirt and scrunched her toes in the scrolled, high-top boots. Break a leg indeed. Her moment of triumph—or failure—awaited.
Cale approached with that easygoing, long-legged stride she couldn’t afford to appreciate at the moment. Doc stayed “ground-tied,” as he called it, but followed with eyes and ears.
He stopped so close, the heat of him radiated against her powdered face. He thumbed his hat brim up, fighting the dimple and losing. Scrubbing one hand over his mouth, he erased the near smile, took her hand with the other, and her breath with his words. “I believe in you.”
His deep tones wrapped around her like a warm wind on a cold day, seeping through her skin and into her bones.
“God gave you a natural gift. I don’t know why you hide it and fight your head. Maybe it’s none of my business, but it’s there. A blind dog could see it.”
His calloused hand tightened around her fingers, infusing her with strength. The confidence shining in his Colorado-blue eyes fed her own.
Marveling that she was no longer angry about the outlandish position he’d put her in, she allowed his words to penetrate her reserve.
He touched the coiled rope on his shoulder, still wet from rescuing Mabel. “I’ll be close by in case anything goes wrong, but it won’t. You know Doc is true. He’ll get you across.”
Releasing her fingers, he trailed his hand up her arm to her shoulder, and his eyes darkened to evening blue. “I won’t let anything happen to you. Just ride like you know you can.”
A faint rumbling filled her ears, but it wasn’t thunder on the mountain, the river, or Cale’s throaty laughter. Afraid he might hear it, she turned toward Doc and the rushing water, her steps still uneven but stronger than when she’d arrived in Cañon City. She’d have four strong, healthy legs beneath her, as well as the watchful eye of a man she was willing to trust with her life.
Doc whiffled his greeting, and she buried her face in his neck. “I’m counting on you, boy.” A deep-chested answer vibrated beneath her hands, and she reached for a fistful of mane.
Cale linked his hands for her left foot, and she stepped up, shifting forward in the seat so much larger than her customary English saddle.
Sliding her booted feet into the wide stirrups, she glanced at Cale with surprise. “They’re the perfect length.”
He took Doc’s bridle with a half-smile pulling one side of his mouth.
Thorson’s holler across the river swept downstream with the water, but his waving arms were loud and clear.
“I’ll be right here.” Cale stepped back with a tug on his hat brim. She reined Doc toward the riverbank, hearing nothing but the rushing water and the other odd rumble—the tumbling of stones from the heavy wall around her heart.
Jed and his horse, Lucky, entered the river, water quickly rising above the horse’s knees and churning close to the stirrups in midstream. Up the opposite bank, he made for the bluff top once more where he turned Lucky with a flourish, waiting for Ella to follow.
She knew the camera rolled.
She knew Thorson held his breath.
She knew the silent crowd behind her waited spellbound to see if she would make the crossing or be thrown into the Arkansas River.
And she knew, as Cale had reminded her, the gift that God had given her.
Like Peter climbing from the boat to walk on the sea, she heeled Doc forward, keeping her eyes on the opposite bank. Leaning forward with a pat on the gelding’s neck, she committed to the journey. “Come on, boy. It’s just a little water.”
Ears perked forward, he stepped soundly into the rush, finding purchase on the slick rocks of the riverbed.
Halfway across, the water’s roar thundered around her. Powerful. Unrestrained. Untamed.
Doc didn’t flinch or hesitate but crossed confidently until he climbed the opposite bank.
Quickly taking charge, she reined him up the embankment to Jed’s side atop the bluff and faced the camera. Thorson would want her looking at Jed as if he’d saved her life—which he was completely incapable of doing—so she gave him her best wide-eyed Mabel imitation.
Surprise rippled across Jed’s features, at her riding or her acting she couldn’t tell. He leaned from his saddle for the signature kiss.
“Cut!”
Bless Thorson’s soul. She slapped her stirrups and Doc lurched forward.
Jed caught himself before he took a spill.
Ever the showman, he covered his blunder with a wave of his hat and winked. “Maybe next time, darlin’.”
In a pig’s eye.