Cactus Flower

by Duncan, Alice

  A few other men sat at the counter. Nick took a table in a far corner where he had a view of the whole room. He wasn’t going to take any chances where Miss Eulalie Gibb was concerned. He pulled out a chair “Sit here, Miss Gibb. I’ll take the chair over there, with my back against the wall, so I can watch the front door and the room.”

  She sat. “Do you really think that’s necessary?”

  He glowered at her. “Yes. I do.”

  “Very well.” Meek as a kitten, she settled her bottom onto a chair.

  Nick had seen that lush bottom of hers in its skimpy costume, and he wished he could stop thinking about what he’d like to do with it. He sat, too, feeling abused and out of sorts, and set his hat on the chair next to him. Then he pulled out his revolver and laid it beside his knife and fork.

  Eulalie eyed it curiously. “Do you always do that, Mr. Taggart? Is Rio Peñasco really so rough a place?”

  He eyed her back, hard. “Not usually. Not in the daytime. And not when the boys haven’t been teased to busting their britches by a new saloon singer.”

  She blinked, evidently startled by his plain speaking. “Oh. I see. I shall keep that in mind.”

  “Do that.”

  Vernon came over to them in his dirty apron. Vern was a nice-enough fellow, but he didn’t bother to fix himself up much. He had a stubble on his chin that looked itchy to Nick, and he had a dirty dishtowel draped over his arm.

  “Howdy, Nick.” Vernon glanced at Eulalie Gibb with patent appreciation. That’s only because he didn’t know her yet, Nick thought bitterly.

  “Howdy, Vern. This here’s Miss Eulalie Gibb. Dooley’s hired her to sing at his place.”

  Vernon’s eyebrows lifted. “You? You’re the one everybody’s been talkin’ about?”

  Eulalie smiled up at the restaurateur as if she were a great lady and he one of her lackeys. “I didn’t know anyone had been talking.” Her voice was cultured and sweet and soft, and if Nick didn’t know better, he’d think she was nice. He did know better, though, and he thought she was being sneaky, cozying up to Vernon in this way.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Vernon told her. “They’re all talkin’ about how good you are. At singin’, I mean.”

  Eulalie graced him with another smile. Nick decided enough was enough and said, “We want some chow, Vern. What you got tonight? The usual?”

  His attention jerked away from Eulalie, Vernon turned to Nick, a blank expression on his face. “What?”

  Nick uttered a warning growl.

  Vernon snapped to attention. “Oh, yeah. Food. Sure, we got steak and beans and biscuits. I think there’s still some of the apple pie I bought off Miz Johnson this morning.”

  “We’ll take it,” Nick said, hoping to get rid of the man.

  Eulalie, it seemed, had other ideas. “Mrs. Johnson? Isn’t that the lady to whom you’re going to introduce me tomorrow, Mr. Taggart?”

  “That’s the one.”

  “You going to be staying at Miz Johnson’s place, Miss Gibb?” Vernon asked, sounding more than a bit interested.

  Nick eyed him narrowly. “Maybe she will, and maybe she won’t. That’s up to her and Mrs. Johnson, Vern, and we won’t know until tomorrow.”

  “That’ll mean you’re stayin’ right close to town, then, won’t it?” Vernon reached up and tugged at his collarless shirtfront.

  Nick wanted to holler at him. Then Eulalie fluttered her long eyelashes at Vern, and he itched to pick up his revolver and shoot the man dead. This was really bad. He had to get ahold of himself.

  “I’m not sure what lodging arrangements I’ll be making, Mr. Vernon.”

  “Call me Vern, ma’am. Everybody does. The back name’s Howell.”

  “Mr. Howell.”

  Eulalie was smiling up at him as if he were the most wonderful man on earth. Nick, who knew better—hell, Vern didn’t even bathe from one week to the next—interrupted the moment that seemed to be stretching between them. “Miss Gibb hasn’t eaten since early in the day, Vern. She says she’ll faint if she don’t get fed soon. You want to get a move on?”

  Vern started as if he’d been rudely awakened from a pleasant reverie. “What? Oh, yeah. Sure. I’ll get them steaks going.”

  Nick frowned after Vernon as he walked off toward the kitchen to cook the food. “What the hell are you trying to do here, anyway, Miss Gibb? Get every man in the town lusting after you?”

  She laughed. Her laugh was damned near as musical as her singing voice. “Heavens, Mr. Taggart, you’re giving me much too much credit. I’m sure most of the men in Rio Peñasco don’t know I exist and wouldn’t care if they did.”

  Squinting over this blatant piece of disingenuousness, Nick muttered, “Don’t press your luck, lady. Not all the men in town are as stupid as Vern or as understanding as me. You’re apt to tease the wrong man one of these days and find yourself in a lot of trouble.”

  Eulalie shut her eyes for a minute and looked pained. Her attitude puzzled Nick, who figured she knew very well what she was doing and did it on purpose. “Mr. Taggart, I don’t expect you to understand this, but my aim is not to frustrate a town full of rugged frontiersmen. My one aim in life is to earn enough money to send for my sister in Chicago.”

  Well, now, this was interesting. Nick wasn’t sure he believed it. “You have a sister?”

  She nodded. “Patsy.”

  “Why does she want to leave Chicago?”

  “That’s our business.”

  “Hmm. Wouldn’t life be easier in Chicago for females on their own?” Nick remembered the explanation Eulalie had given earlier in the day about starting out in a singing career. “Oh, yeah. You said something about jobs being easier to get out here.”

  “Exactly.”

  As he pondered that one, Nick decided it didn’t make any sense. He also sensed a withdrawal in his dining companion, however, as if she were determined not to reveal other than surface details of her circumstances to him. A trifle mysterious, Miss Eulalie Gibb. Nick wished she weren’t, since mystery only added intellectual allure to her already potent physical charms. Of course, her prickly personality counteracted a good deal of that, thank God.

  A booming voice startled both of them. “Aha, I’ve found you, my lovely prairie rose.”

  Nick glanced up, peeved. He recognized that voice. “Aw, hell.”

  Eulalie looked up, too, and glanced over her shoulder to see who had entered the small restaurant and addressed her thus. A fat, florid fellow stood at the door, beaming at her. He wore a brown checked suit, a string tie, and a tall beaver hat. He carried a cane with a carved horse’s head handle.

  Without much enthusiasm, Nick said, “Miss Gibb, that there’s Bernie Benson.”

  Bernie strode over to Nick’s table, giving Nick a conspiratorial wink as he did so. “Indeed, I am Mr. Bernard Benson, Miss Gibb. At your service.” He gave her a flourishing bow, removing his beaver hat and damned near sweeping the floor with it. Nick shook his head and wondered sourly if Eulalie Gibb would have every man in Rio Peñasco acting like fools before she was through with them.

  “Bernie owns the newspaper, Miss Gibb.”

  “Indeed, I do, and I aim to write a most complimentary review of your splendid opening night performance, Miss Gibb. May I sit with you?”

  “There are only two chairs available,” Nick pointed out. He wasn’t about to remove his hat from the extra one for this tub of lard to sit in.

  He should have known better than to think he could thwart Bernie with such an obvious ruse. At once, the fat man pulled up a chair from another table. “That’s easily remedied.” He gave Nick another jovial wink.

  Nick, far from jovial himself, fingered his gun until he noticed Eulalie eyeing him in some alarm. He sighed and left his gun alone.

  “My dear Miss Gibb,” Bernie went on, ignoring Nick’s overt hostility, “I can’t tell you what a pleasure it is to see your delightful face and form and to hear your magnificent voice in Rio Peñasco. I’m astonished that such
a lovely thing as you should have lowered herself to grace our shabby home with your glorious presence.”

  “That means he’s happy to meet you,” Nick said. He usually took pleasure in whacking the garbage out of Bernie’s elaborate phrases, although tonight he wasn’t enjoying it much.

  Bernie laughed heartily. “Isn’t our Nick here a card? Don’t worry, though, Miss Gibb. He may look like a bumpkin, but he’s not as doltish as most of the uneducated rascals populating the territory.”

  A bumpkin? Not as doltish? Nick glared at Bernie and shifted in his chair. He guessed it wouldn’t be very nice to punch Bernie’s nose in, but he might just do it if the man didn’t quit trying to make Nick look like a yokel.

  “Mr. Taggart? My goodness, no, Mr. Benson. Mr. Taggart has been my good angel today.” Eulalie shot Nick one of her I’m-really-a-shy-and-oh-so-sweet-country-girl smiles. Nick frowned back at her, not believing it for a minute.

  “A good angel, is he?” Bernie slapped Nick on the back, quite a bit harder than was necessary.

  “That’s me, Bernie.” Nick slapped Bernie’s back, too, and almost sent him tumbling over, chair and all. He followed up his slap with a warning look.

  Bernie understood. He gave up trying to dislodge Nick by force or guile. They both knew he couldn’t do it. “Well, well, well, I suppose wonders will never cease. Does Miss Violet know you’re dining with Miss Gibb, Nick?” Bernie’s piggy eyes squinted in Nick’s direction.

  Hell, the old fart was trying to make Eulalie jealous. As if such a thing were possible. She’d have to care about him first, and Nick knew good and well she didn’t. “I expect Violet’s got her hands full tonight, Bernie.” Nick smiled another warning at Bernie, who again caught on.

  He cleared his throat. “Ah, I see. Well, isn’t that fine.” He leaned toward Eulalie, who drew back slightly. Nick considered that a good omen. “Miss Gibb, it would be my great pleasure to conduct an interview with you for the Rio Peñasco Piper, our weekly newspaper. I can see the headlines now.” Bernie spread his fat hands out over the table and half closed his eyes, as if he were picturing a pile of gold in his mind’s eye. “Prairie Rose Comes to Town.”

  “Prairie Rose?” Nick guffawed rudely. “She’s more like a prickly pear, if you ask me.”

  Eulalie kicked him under the table. Nick frowned at her. She frowned back.

  Bernie’s fleshy face, however, took on a thoughtful cast. “That’s good, Nick.”

  “It is?” Nick stared at Bernie.

  “It is?” So did Eulalie.

  “New headline,” Bernie announced, once again beaming. “A Rare and Precious Cactus Flower Blooms in Rio Peñasco.”

  Eulalie said nothing, but continued staring at Bernie.

  Nick rolled his eyes.

  Vernon came up to the table at that moment, and plopped plates down in front of Eulalie and Nick. “You eatin’ tonight, Bernie, or you just takin’ up space?”

  Unable to avoid the hint, Bernie rose reluctantly. “Alas, I’ve already eaten.”

  Nick stared deliberately at Bernie’s broad belly. “That don’t usually stop you.”

  Bernie didn’t dignify Nick’s pointed remark with an answer. Instead, he bowed low before Eulalie once more. “It’s been a great pleasure, Miss Gibb.”

  “Likewise,” Eulalie said. Nick got the feeling she didn’t mean it. When she held out her hand for Bernie to shake, the bastard lifted it to his thick lips and kissed it. Then, with one last wink, he was off.

  Eulalie, Nick, and Vernon stared after him.

  “What an unusual man,” Eulalie murmured before attacking her steak.

  “He’s unusual, all right,” muttered Vernon.

  “He’s an ass,” said Nick. Then he, too, dove into his meal.

  Chapter Four

  Eulalie did not spend a peaceful night. For one thing, a lot of noise filtered up from the floor below, not to mention cigar smoke. For another, men in big, heavy boots walked back and forth past her room all night long, she presumed on their way to and from Miss Violet or one of the other girls for sale at the Opera House. In the back of her mind, too, was the ever-present reality of her situation in life—and that of Patsy. Eulalie never allowed herself to forget why she’d traveled all this way and was now trying to sleep above a noisy—and noisome—frontier saloon.

  Far, far away, in the deep recesses of her mind, Eulalie recalled older, more peaceful days; days when she and Edward had been young and in love and Patsy had been safe, and their family had been together and happy. Life certainly had a way of kicking the foundations out from under one’s feet and leaving one floundering. Eulalie did not appreciate this habit on life’s part, and not merely because those faraway, wistful memories made it difficult for her to sleep, as if the noise and smoke weren’t enough.

  Then there was Nick Taggart, who was stationed right outside her door. The mere thought of him sent strange hot flashes through Eulalie. She couldn’t chalk up these sensations to hunger, since she’d eaten heavily, if not well, at Vernon’s chophouse.

  She was not pleased, either with herself or her circumstances, although she could tolerate the circumstances. She and Patsy had both decided to put up with the discomforts of the Wild West, and the relative lack of civilization prevailing there. But, at the ripe old age of twenty-five, with a good deal of experience, both pleasant and unpleasant, upon which to draw, Eulalie had believed herself long past the season when a woman mooned about a man.

  Not, of course, that she was mooning about Nick Taggart, precisely. It was only that every now and then she experienced a compelling urge to open her door, reach out, grab Nick by the belt, and drag him into her room. Unfortunately, the mental images didn’t stop there, but Eulalie did her best to drive them out.

  She was helped in this effort by the occasional scuffle in the hallway. She assumed these episodes occurred when a man more drunk than his fellows attempted to get into her room past Nick, who wouldn’t let him. Although Eulalie was as sure as anything that Nick Taggart wasn’t a man with whom it would be wise to become involved, she appreciated his bulldog attitude regarding her safety. Not to mention his redoubtable physical attributes, which she wished she’d never noticed. Drat the man.

  After what seemed like hours of wakefulness, which Eulalie spent alternately praying for her safety, praying for Patsy’s safety, trying to remember Edward’s sweet face—which had an unfortunate tendency to waver and dissolve into the face of Nick Taggart—and wishing she had Nick Taggart with her in bed, Eulalie finally fell asleep. The blissful condition lasted until a particularly loud noise from the hallway jerked her awake.

  Sitting up and hugging the sheet to her modestly covered bosom, her heart slamming against her ribcage like waves at the Jersey shore, Eulalie tried to shake leftover strands of sleep out of her brain. Another loud noise made her start. This one sounded like a dozen bowling balls falling down several flights of stairs. Understanding that this was unlikely, but also quite curious, Eulalie glanced at the clock on her bedside table, saw that it was after three in the morning, and deduced that it might be safe to investigate the source of those unsettling sounds. Probably all the men who’d been drinking in the saloon downstairs had either drunk themselves into a stupor or gone home by that time.

  She waited what seemed a prudent interval after the last loud noise before she crawled out of bed, grabbed the robe she’d thrown down at its foot, put it on, went to the door, unlatched it, opened it six inches, and peeked outside. She’d taken the precaution of putting on her spectacles since she didn’t care to be surprised if anything untoward lurked in the hallway.

  It was dark out there. She couldn’t see a thing. Eulalie cleared her throat softly. “Mr. Taggart?”

  Nick Taggart’s voice came to her out of the gloom. “Yeah?”

  He sounded grumpy. Oh, dear. “Um … I heard a big noise. It … ah … woke me up.”

  “Yeah? You’re lucky you were able to get to sleep at all.”

  She hoped
he wasn’t going to be fussy about having to stay up all night in the hallway to protect her. It had been his suggestion, after all. Eulalie determined it would be better not to remind him. “Yes. I suppose so. Um … is everything all right?”

  “Sure. Everything’s fine and dandy. I just threw Gus Nichols down the stairs.”

  Aha. So that was it. She gulped. “Oh.”

  “Gus is an all right sort of fellow, but he don’t take hints.”

  “Oh.”

  After a pause, Nick said, “You probably better go back to bed now.”

  “Yes. Thank you.” Although she wasn’t certain why she was being so cautious, Eulalie moved as softly and quietly as she could when she closed her door and latched it. She hadn’t bothered to light a candle before she left her bed, so she had to feel her way back to it.

  Sporadic scuffles continued to filter through the door to her ears, and it occurred to Eulalie that, while she and Patsy had read everything they could about the West and the people dwelling therein, they might possibly have underestimated the perils the West contained for youngish, single females. This might be especially true for females who were perceived as belonging to a profession not generally considered respectable. She took a few moments to decry the unfairness of life, but knew they were wasted. Whether it was fair or not, life was life, and it had to be dealt with.

  Therefore, she pondered the man stationed outside her door and allowed as to how she might possibly have made a mistake with him. Not that she knew at the time that Nick Taggart would prove to be a big, lusty male with protective instincts. For all she’d known when they’d first encountered one another, he might have been as mad as his uncle.

  She knew better now, or thought she did. One could never be absolutely certain about these things, and he still might prove himself to be a brute. Until she knew for sure, it might be worthwhile to mend a couple of fences as regarded Mr. Taggart. If it became necessary for Eulalie and Patsy to seek more protection than their weapons and wits could give them, it looked to her as though Nick Taggart was at the top of the list of candidates.