Aspen Gold by Janet Dailey

tapings, then back home to memorize ten to thirty pages of dialogue for the next day and off to bed early so you don't have bags under your eyes. Becoming involved with someone on the set is infinitely practical."
    "It may be practical," Kit conceded. "But I'm not emotionally equipped to handle a casual affair. And I'm not sure John is offering more than that."
    "Casual affairs are often best--especially in our business."
    "Maybe for some, but not for me." Moving away from the terrace doors, Kit crossed to the set of soft-sided luggage lined up in a neat row inside the door. "Have you unpacked already?"
    "Carla offered to do it and I accepted ...
    readily." Paula rose from the chaise with unhurried grace. "I think I'll pamper myself with a long, luscious soak. Let me know when the manicurist arrives."
    "I will." Kit hauled the garment bag to the bed.
    "Tell me something, Kit," Paula said from the doorway, her tone unusually thoughtful and serious,
    "do you think Chip is good enough to direct this picture?"
    She was stunned that such a question would be asked by her.
    It was almost traitorous. "I think Chip is the best person to direct it. John couldn't have made a better choice. Why would you ask that?"
    "Curious." She made to leave.
    "Paula." It was her turn to be curious.
    "Are you serious about Chip?"
    Paula thrust a half-amused glance at Kit. It was a complete answer that didn't need any added definition. But in the hall, she paused and swung her shoulders slantingly at Kit.
    "How can you discourage a schnauzer?"
    "That's cruel. Chip is nice."
    Paula's face was utterly smooth, but her green eyes held a reluctant
    sadness. "The day will come when you'll be just as cruel, Kit. More cruel than I am now--because you're going higher than I can ever go."

    Twilight flowed across the mountain valley as sunset's rosy hues gave way to indigo ripples, deepening the shadows of the ranch buildings. Somewhere from the depths of the mountains, a coyote's howl floated across the gathering stillness.
    Leaving the barn and pole corral, Bannon headed across the ranch yard, traveling in the slow, swivel-hipped walk of a man who'd spent a lot of time in the saddle. The herd was scattered over the winter pasture, settling down for the night to browse on the rich, dry grass. The evening chores were done, the horses turned loose in the corral, enjoying a good roll in the dust. The satisfaction of a day's work done and another autumn drive complete eased his tiredness.
    "It doesn't seem the same without Clint being here," Old Tom said. "About now he'd be slapping one of us on the back, giving us a big grin, and demanding to know when we were going to break out the beer." He paused and expelled a fragment of a chuckle. "Remember that time--what was it?
    Fifteen years ago, I think--we'd just started bringing the cattle down and the skies opened up.
    Poured, it rained so hard you couldn't hardly see the cattle. By the time we got back here to the house I was so full of water I was afraid to go near the fire for fear I'd warp clean out of shape. But there was that Clint--that big laugh of his just booming out, and Kit right along with him. It didn't faze either of them one bit." He shook his head. "Those were good times."
    "They were that," Bannon nodded.
    "Growing old isn't a simple thing, Bannon," Old Tom declared. "This contemporary scene is for the young. It's your world, not mine. Old men like me live in the bright past when we cut a high, wide trail. We're nothing but spectators now, pushed aside by fellows like you. It's lonesome business to see old friends die.
    I guess a little bit of me gets burned out with each one--and pushes my world farther back in the mist."
    "You're gloomy as hell,"
    Bannon joshed with a good-natured smile.
    "Comes from getting old. The men and women of my time were big-hearted and wide-handed people. We had a lot of fun out of living." Old Tom turned a searching, sideways glance on him. "More, I think, than your