DAN PIERCE.
Martha came into the hall while he was reading it. She had an apron on over her dress, having just come from the kitchen.
"Lunch is about ready," she said.
He handed her the telegram.
"Dan Pierce has a picture deal for me."
"They must be in trouble," she said quietly. "Why else would they call you after all these years?"
He shrugged his shoulders, pretending a casualness he didn't feel.
"It doesn't have to be that," he said.
"Jonas ain't like Bernie Norman.
Maybe things have changed since he took over the studio."
"I hope so," she said. Her voice took on a little spirit. "I just don't want them using you again." She turned and went back into the kitchen.
He stared after her for a moment.
That was what he liked about her. She was solid and dependable.
She was for him and nobody else, not even herself.
Somehow, he had known it would be like that when they were married two years ago.
Charlie Dobbs's widow was the kind of woman he should have married a long time ago.
He followed her into the kitchen.
"I’ve got to go up to Los Angeles, to see the bank about the thousand acres I’m buying from Murchison," he said.
"It wouldn't do any harm to drop by and see what Dan has on his mind."
"No, it wouldn't," she said, putting the coffeepot on the table.
He straddled a chair and filled his cup.
"Tell yuh what," he said suddenly. "We'll drive up there. We'll stay at the Ambassador an' have ourselves a high old time."
She turned to look at him.
There was a sparkling excitement hidden deep in his eyes.
It was then she knew he'd go back if there was anything for him.
It wasn't that they needed the money.
Nevada was a rich man now by any standards.
Everything was paying off – the Wild-West show, which still used his name; the dude ranch in Reno in which he and her late husband had been partners; and the cattle ranch here in Texas, where they were living.
No, it wasn't the money.
He'd turned down an offer of a million dollars' down payment against royalties for the mineral rights to the north quarter.
Oil had been found on the land adjoining it.
But he wanted to keep the range the way it was, didn't want oil derricks lousing up his land. It was the excitement, the recognition that came when he walked down the street.
The kids clamoring and shouting after him. But they had other heroes now. That was what he missed.
That – and Jonas.
In the end, it was probably Jonas.
Jonas was the son he'd never had.
Everything else was a substitute – even herself.
For a moment, she felt sorry for him.
"How about it?" he asked, looking up at her.
A feeling of tenderness welled up inside her.
It had always been like that. Even years ago, when they'd been very young and he'd come up from Texas to the ranch in Reno where she and Charlie had settled.
Weary and beaten and hiding from the law, he'd had a haunted, lonely look in his eyes.
Even then she'd felt the essential goodness in him.
She smiled.
"I think that would be real nice," she said, almost shyly.
"It's a rat race," Dan said. "We don't make pictures any more. We're a factory. We have to grind out a quota of film each month."
Nevada slid back in his chair and smiled.
"It seems to agree with you, Dan. You don't look none the worse for it."
"The responsibilities are killin' me. But it's a job."
Nevada looked at him shrewdly.