Cactus Flower

by Duncan, Alice

  Cactus Flower

  By

  Alice Duncan

  Dedication

  For my Rebel sisters. I don't know what I'd do without you.

  Chapter One

  As soon as he heard the first whoop, Nicholas Taggart knew his uncle Junius was on a spree again.

  “Aw, shit.”

  “What is it, darlin’?” a sleepy voice whispered as Nick swung his legs over the side of the bed.

  Nick growled, “Uncle Junius,” as he fumbled for his boots.

  “Oh. I expect you gotta go get him?” Violet Watson, the sweet-natured, obliging sporting girl with whom Nick had spent the last agreeable hour, sounded disappointed.

  “I better. If the sheriff gets ahold of him, he might lock him up. He was pretty sore the last time Junius went wild.”

  Before his uncle cut loose, Nick had been peacefully recovering from his tumble with Violet, relaxing against the pillows and listening to the warm spring wind howl outside her window. Springtime on the high plains bore little resemblance to the pretty word pictures novelists painted of springtimes in other, gentler parts of the world. Out in the territory, spring was marked by forty-mile-an-hour winds, dust storms, and dry-as-an-old-bone weather for months on end. Nick liked it pretty well, although he preferred summer, when the thunderstorms came and things turned green. His uncle Junius, on the other hand, always went a little crazy with spring fever. Nick guessed he should have watched him more closely today.

  “Yee-haw!” came, muffled, through the window. “Whooee! Ain’t you a purty little thang!”

  “Damn!” Nick grabbed his shirt, flung it on, and stuffed the tail into his trousers.

  “Jeez, Nick, do you suppose he’s captured himself another gal?”

  “Sounds like it.” Nick deposited a quick kiss on Violet’s naked bosom and ran for the door, still fighting with his trouser buttons.

  “Y’all come back again soon, honey,” Violet called after him.

  “Yeah,” said Nick. “Right.” If he didn’t get Uncle Junius off the street, Nick feared the sheriff wouldn’t let him come back at all, much less soon. In fact, the sheriff had threatened to run both Taggarts out of town the last time this happened. Nick ripped down the stairs, tore through the smoky room, and thrust open the batwing doors. He barreled out of the saloon and came to a screeching halt on the scarred boardwalk, blinking into the sunshine. “What the hell …?”

  Ah, damn. Junius was dancing with the poor girl, who was a stranger, and who looked like she was about to faint or scream or both. She was small and kind of thin—certainly no match for Junius—and at present was pressing a flowered hat to her head with one hand and had a wicker valise clutched in the other. Junius held her around the waist and was doing a polka without any help from her. A crowd had gathered to watch the fun, some cheering Junius, some on the girl’s side.

  “Put that girl down, Junius!” Nick made his voice stern. Sometimes Junius responded to sternness.

  Not this time. “Hell, Nicky, let an old man have his fun!”

  “Stop him!” the girl screeched. “Somebody stop him!”

  Nick didn’t blame her for screeching. Junius wasn’t the sort of fellow to melt a fair maiden’s heart at the best of times, with his long white whiskers and elaborate paunch. When he’d imbibed a gut full of rye, he could be downright frightening if you didn’t know him. Hell, he could be frightening even if you did know him. Bearing that in mind, Nick moved carefully when he approached his happy uncle, not fancying a bullet in the head or any other portion of his anatomy.

  “I swear, Nick Taggart, if you can’t keep that man under control, I’m going to lock him up.”

  Nick’s heart fell. He’d been hoping to disengage Junius from the girl before the sheriff came out of his office. Too late now. Sheriff Wallace glared at the scene being enacted on the main street of his town and didn’t look happy. Nick wasn’t happy, either.

  “Stop that!” the girl shouted. “Stop it, you brute!”

  “I’m trying to stop him, honey,” Nick said in a soothing voice.

  She clearly didn’t want to be soothed. “Don’t you honey me!”

  “Whooee!” cried Junius, happy as a lark. “Yee-haw!”

  “Come on now, Junius, let the girl go. You’ve had your fun, and she don’t look like she’s enjoying the dance.” Nick smiled at his uncle, who didn’t look at him. The girl did, and he could tell she was mad enough to spit horseshoe nails. At least she wasn’t crying. Nick hated it when females cried during one of his uncle’s toots. “Junius!” he shouted.

  “Hell, boy, I’m just dancin’ with the lady,” Junius shouted back. He dipped her, Nick presumed to demonstrate his skill on the dance floor, even though they weren’t on one, but rather on a dusty road running through Rio Peñasco, New Mexico Territory.

  What happened next took Junius by surprise. It surprised Nick, too, as well as everyone else who was watching. It made the sheriff smile, so that was a good thing. Maybe he wouldn’t lock Junius up for too long.

  The girl lifted her wicker valise and bashed Junius over the head with it. From the fragile looks of her, Nick hadn’t expected her to do anything so aggressive. Shocked, Junius let her go and staggered backward. Nick rushed up and grabbed him around the middle before Junius could draw his gun and shoot the girl’s valise. Sheriff Wallace ran up, too, and managed to wrestle Junius’s sidearm out of his holster while Nick pinned his arms at his sides.

  Thank God, Nick thought. Thank God. Eccentricity was far from an unusual characteristic out here in the western territories, but every now and then Nick’s uncle Junius carried it to extremes.

  “Haul him over to the jail, Nick,” Sheriff Wallace said as Junius continued to struggle. He didn’t sound angry, which was damned near a miracle to Nick’s mind. “I’m gonna lock him up until he sleeps it off.”

  “Hell, I only wanted to kick up a little lark,” Junius said, sounding disheartened. He was strong as an ox, an attribute that came in handy at the black-smithing and farrier shop he and Nick ran, but it was a distinct hindrance to Nick at the moment. Fortunately, Nick was strong as an ox himself, as well as several inches taller and a few decades younger than Junius, and he didn’t lose his grip.

  “He isn’t going to sleep for a while yet, Sheriff,” Nick told him, mostly because he didn’t want the sheriff to get mad when Junius sang for the next two or three hours.

  “I know it. But I’m not going to have him running loose on the streets and bothering no more ladies, either.” For a young man, Wallace had always been kind of a stuffed shirt, more’s the pity.

  “I want to press charges,” the woman announced.

  Even though he was having a time subduing his uncle, Nick stared at her in surprise. She stuck her little chin in the air and repeated herself. “I want to press charges. That man assaulted me on a public thoroughfare.”

  Well, Nick guessed she had a right to do what she pleased, but he did think pressing charges was kind of mean, considering all Junius had been doing with her was the polka. He didn’t argue, because he needed his strength to handle his uncle.

  “Come on to the office with us, ma’am, and we can discuss the matter.”

  Nick recognized Sheriff Wallace’s voice as the one he used when he was trying to impress a woman. Nick would have grinned if he weren’t otherwise occupied. It took some doing, but he finally managed to muscle Junius over to the sheriff’s office. Once they were all inside, Sheriff Wallace unlocked the single cell in the back room, and Nick shoved Junius into it. He was exhausted by that time, and sank into a chair in the front room as soon as he was sure Sheriff Wallace could get the cell door locked. He popped up again when he saw Junius’s dancing partner frowning down at him.

  “Sorry, ma
’am.” Nick removed his hat and gestured at the chair. “Won’t you please have a chair?” He was hoping she’d soften in her attitude toward Junius if he was polite to her. When she sniffed and sat, his hopes died.

  Junius had been hollering. Now he began to sing. Since he only sang bawdy songs when he was drunk, Nick shook his head and took to wishing they’d stayed home today. The girl stiffened in her chair like a pointer eyeing a duck. Sheriff Wallace shut the door, although the flimsy wood didn’t appreciably muffle Junius’s voice.

  “Try to ignore him, ma’am,” Sheriff Wallace advised, taking the chair behind his desk, which he generally did when trying to look official. He hauled out a red bandanna and wiped the sweat from his brow. “He isn’t dangerous most of the time.”

  The girl huffed indignantly and followed it up with a furious, “I never!”

  Nick thought that summarized the situation pretty well.

  “Now, ma’am,” Sheriff Wallace continued. “You say you want to press charges? Want a drink of water, first? You’ve had a shock.”

  “I should say I have. I’ve never been mauled like that in my life. And no, I wouldn’t care for water. Thank you.”

  Nick watched her through slitted eyes. He wouldn’t mind mauling her some himself. She was a ripe little thing, with a curvy figure, a fair complexion, and lots of dark reddish-brown hair. Her eyes were deep blue, not unlike a territorial sky when you could see it through the dust. Nick liked blue-eyed females. He couldn’t fault his uncle’s taste, even if Junius’s approach lacked subtlety.

  “I know, ma’am. It’s a shame, but Mr. Taggart’s uncle Junius can be a handful.” The sheriff gestured at Nick to let her know who Mr. Taggart was.

  “He’s more than a handful. I believe the man is mad.” She shot Nick a hateful glance, which Nick didn’t appreciate. Hell, it wasn’t his fault Junius couldn’t handle his liquor. Nick had tried to rescue her, and it also wasn’t his fault she’d rescued herself before he’d had the chance.

  Sheriff Wallace eyed her doubtfully. “He didn’t look mad to me, ma’am. He looked like he was enjoin’ himself.”

  “Mad, in this instance, Sheriff, means insane,” the girl informed Wallace.

  “He’s not insane,” Nick muttered. “He just gets a shade lively sometimes.”

  “Lively!” The woman snorted. Hatefully.

  “Yes, well, it’s over now, ma’am. Is there anything I can do for you? You’re new in Rio Peñasco, aren’t you?”

  After his speech, Sheriff Wallace smoothed his mustache in a gesture Nick recognized. The sheriff made a play for any pretty female who happened through Rio Peñasco. This one was pretty, but she wasn’t real friendly. Nick preferred his females friendly, quiet, and compliant. No matter what a female looked like, every single one of them had the same equipment, and that’s the only thing Nick cared about. If he wanted to look at something pretty, all he had to do was watch the sunset. If he wanted to talk, he could talk to Junius. Nick never wanted to argue, which was one of the main reasons he didn’t cotton to proper females. Nick had never yet met a respectable woman who couldn’t argue the leg off a lawyer.

  “Yes, I just arrived a moment or two before that bear of a man grabbed me.” She spoke in a cold voice. “My name is Miss Eulalie Gibb, and I have been hired to sing at the Peñasco Opera House.”

  The sheriff shot a look at Nick, who shot one back. This woman had been hired to sing at the Opera House? The very same disorderly house from which Nick had exited in order to save her from his uncle? Nick eyed her more closely. Maybe she was more his type than he’d first thought.

  “Uh,” said Sheriff Wallace, “did you say the Opera House, ma’am?”

  “Yes.” She sounded indignant, as if she thought Sheriff Wallace should pay closer attention to her than he seemed to be doing.

  “Er, ma’am, did you know the Opera House isn’t a real opera house? It’s more of a saloon, if you know what I mean.”

  There went her chin again. “Yes. I know exactly what you mean. But a girl has to work somewhere.”

  “Where are you from, ma’am?” Nick asked, suddenly curious about this newcomer.

  The look she gave him was one of the iciest Nick had ever received from a woman. “I,” she said grandly, “am from Chicago, Illinois.”

  “Ah.” Nick nodded. Maybe that accounted for it. He didn’t expect a lady from Chicago, Illinois, would know much about the kinds of saloons in territorial villages like Rio Peñasco.

  She might have read his mind, because her gaze thinned and she scowled at him some more. “I know the territory is rough, and I know I shall probably meet many rugged men who don’t have any manners and who don’t know how to behave. Your uncle is a prime example of that breed, I expect, Mr. Taggart.”

  “Aw, Junius isn’t so bad. There are worse.” Nick wondered what her point was.

  “But, as you saw for yourself, I was able to defend myself against him. And I wasn’t even prepared for his assault. I imagine I’ll have to entertain lewd comments and perhaps even unwelcome advances when I’m singing, and I am fully prepared to fend off any number of men, even drunken inebriates like the man singing in that room. I,” she concluded with a firm nod, “am a very determined person.”

  “Yeah, I can tell.” She was beginning to annoy Nick, who didn’t like boastful people. Nick was pretty determined himself, but he didn’t go around telling everyone he met about it.

  “I don’t know, Miss Gibb,” Sheriff Wallace said, scratching his chin. “The Opera House is kind of a hard joint.”

  “I’m sure it couldn’t be otherwise in this awful place.”

  Nick didn’t like people who walked into a new town, especially one in which he lived, and disparaged it, either. “So why’d you come out here if you don’t like it?” he asked sharply.

  She paused just long enough to make Nick wonder if she was going to lie. Then she turned on her chair and skewered him with the shiveriest blue gaze he’d ever seen. “Some people,” she said slowly and deliberately, “may not understand this, but I have to make my own way in the world, and I won’t—” she placed special emphasize on the won’t— “be at the mercy of men.”

  It didn’t sound like a lie.

  Nick continued to watch her, still vaguely wondering if she had a point. She didn’t continue, so he reckoned maybe she thought she’d made it. “So you’re going to take up working as a saloon singer? That doesn’t sound like a very good way to stay away from men, if you ask me.”

  “I didn’t ask you. However, I am a singer, Mr. Taggart. The opportunities for singers in Chicago aren’t bright because it, unlike the territory, is a civilized place where many, many talented people are vying for the positions available. I applied for the job in Rio Peñasco because I figured the competition wouldn’t be as stiff for someone starting out in a career, as I am.

  “Oh,” said Nick.

  “Oh,” said Sheriff Wallace.

  She stood abruptly. “I’ve decided against filing charges, however. I presume that man isn’t vicious and was merely overcome by injudicious consumption of spirituous liquors. Therefore, I shall leave him in your capable hands, sheriff.” She smiled at Sheriff Wallace, whose Adam’s apple bobbed up and down when he swallowed. “I shall repair to the Opera House and talk to Mr. Chivers.” Doolittle Chivers owned and ran the saloon. “I told him to expect me around this time.”

  Again, Nick and Sheriff Wallace exchanged a glance. Dooley Chivers wasn’t going to be pleased when this innocent young thing showed up to take the job he had open for a singer. Nick knew good and well Dooley had been expecting another sporting girl, one young and pretty enough and with a good enough voice to enable him to charge a high price for her other services. Nick hadn’t met Eulalie Gibb before today, but he already knew she didn’t fill that bill.

  “Uh, maybe I should escort you over there, ma’am.” Sheriff Wallace rose from his chair and tugged at his vest. “I don’t think it’s a good idea for a lady to walk into the Opera H
ouse all by herself.”

  She looked down her nose at him, even though she was shorter than he by at least a foot. “I intend to work there, Sheriff. I shall have to learn to walk alone among the patrons. I may as well begin as I intend to go on.”

  The sheriff appeared nonplused, which seemed a sensible reaction to Nick, who really didn’t like this testy little thing at all. “Let her go, Mike, if that’s the way she wants it. She doesn’t want your help.”

  Eulalie Gibb glanced at Nick. “That’s right. And I don’t want yours, either.”

  Nick held up both hands. “I wasn’t offering it to you, ma’am.”

  She sniffed again, gave him one last mean look, turned, and walked out the door, her back as straight as a board. Nick shook his head.

  “Hell, she isn’t what Dooley’s expecting, or I’ll eat my hat,” Sheriff Wallace said.

  Nick suspected the sheriff’s hat was safe. He also experienced a strong desire to see the woman put in her place—which wasn’t singing in a saloon. Damned snippy thing. Through the sheriff’s dirty window, he watched her walk across the street, her bottom switching, thinking of all sorts of scenarios that might transpire in that saloon in which she’d get her comeuppance. He’d like to see it happen. He stood and stretched.

  “Reckon I’ll go over there and watch the fun.”

  She’d almost made it to the saloon. Nick experienced a funny sensation in his chest that felt a lot like worry, although he was sure it wasn’t. He’d gotten over worrying about women years ago.

  “Good idea,” said Wallace. “Reckon I’ll join you.”

  That made Nick feel a little better. It was, after all, the sheriff’s duty to see to the safety of women in Rio Peñasco. Not that Nick’s intention was to see to Miss Gibb’s safety. Hell, he didn’t care what happened to her. Still and all, he felt better knowing the sheriff would be there.

  “And she said Toodle-oo as she pulled off her shoe …” rendered in Uncle Junius’s rich if alightly off-key bass voice, followed them out of the sheriff’s office.