Later, Freddy lay in his arms, her fingers idly combing the hair on his chest. “When did it get dark?” she asked softly, laughing. “I didn’t notice.” After a moment she posed a serious question. “Dal? What will you do if we don’t win?”
He pulled a long strand of dark hair across his throat, enjoying the silky feel on his skin, then he tightened his arms around her. “Maybe I’ll go to Montana anyway. See if I can hire on somewhere. What would you do? Join up with an acting company?”
She was silent so long that he wondered if she had fallen asleep. “I’ve never told anyone this,” she said finally. “I didn’t return to Klees because I came to my senses or because Pa ordered me to return. I went home only because the Maestro sent me packing. I tried three different companies and—this is so hard to say—they all let me go.”
She spoke so softly that he could hardly hear her although his ear was only inches from her lips. “I’m sorry, Freddy.”
“Do you know what it’s like to want something with all your heart, but know that you aren’t any good at it?”
He had hoped she didn’t know. Hearing her confide that she did hurt him inside. “Maybe the Maestros didn’t recognize good acting when they saw it.”
Leaning, she kissed him, then sat up and gazed into the darkness. “I’m good enough to act scenes for Peach and Drinkwater and the rest. But I’ll never be good enough to perform for a real paying audience.” She paused and her head dropped. “I wanted it so bad. I loved the applause, and I pretended it was for me. But it never was. It was for the other actors.”
There was something so dejected and vulnerable in the naked curve of her spine that his chest ached just to look at her.
“Riding night watch gives a person a lot of time to think,” she said, tugging at the prairie grass. “I’ve been fooling myself. Reading scripts and practicing scenes. I’m never going to be a great actress.” Her shoulders collapsed, and she sat very still for a moment before she reached for her shirt. “The best I can hope is that we win and I can build a theater house. That way, at least I’d be close to the stage and greatness. I don’t know what I’ll do if we lose.”
“You could come to Montana,” he said lightly, touching the back of her neck.
She arched her throat and leaned back against his hand. “I saw snow once. I didn’t like it much. I think Montana is for you rough, tough cowboy types, not for failed actresses.” She didn’t look at him. “Have you ever thought of trying your luck in a place like San Francisco?”
“What would a man like me do in a big city? All I know is cattle and ranching.” Gently, he turned her to face him. “Freddy, I’ve listened to you recite around the campfire, and I think you’re a fine actress,” he lied. “Owning a theater is a good second choice, but maybe you’re giving up the dream too soon.”
“Liar,” she said softly, but he saw a glisten of gratitude in her moist eyes. “The worst of it was I shamed my family, hurt my pa, ruined my reputation and destroyed my future, all for something I’m no good at.” A bitter smile curved her lips. “I wouldn’t admit it, even to myself. But this…” She waved a hand to include the land, the steers, the campfires, and the people around them. “It’s all so real. There’s no room for pretense out here. You can’t hide in a role. The drive scrapes people down to their core and makes them take a hard look at what’s inside.”
He put his arms around her and held her close. “What’s inside you is good, Freddy Roark. You don’t have to pretend to be anyone else.” Staring toward the range over her shoulder, he ground his teeth together and silently swore he would get two thousand cattle to Abilene if it killed him. She would have her grand theater in San Francisco.
It wasn’t going to be easy. Last year, a party of Cheyenne had stampeded a herd of longhorns in the Indian Territory and made off with all of them. Later it came out that the trail boss had refused to give any beeves to the Indians who came into camp begging for meat. The raid had occurred in retaliation. The lesson? When begging Indians appeared, give them a steer. The next three weeks were going to seem endless.
So many steers were footsore that Dal announced they would rest the herd for two days beside the flooding Washita River and wait for the high water to subside. No one wanted a repeat of the Red River catastrophe. Fine tall grass swayed in a light breeze flowing down the Washita Valley. The water was clear and sweet, good for drinking, bathing, and washing clothes.
Freddy draped a wet shirt over the willows lining the red-clay banks, humming under her breath. It was amazing how a bath and clean clothing could improve a person’s spirits.