Cactus Flower

by Duncan, Alice

  “Did you just shoot somebody?” Nick roared. “Shit!”

  “He hit me!” Eulalie cried. “And don’t use bad language! There’s a child present.”

  “I’m not really a child anymore, Miss Gibb.” Charles’s voice was faint and a little mushy, but he sounded firm in conviction of his manhood.

  “He hit you?”

  Eulalie had never heard Nick sound so menacing.

  “She shot me!” a whiny voice came from Eulalie’s feet. “Damn it, she shot me!”

  Eulalie had endured quite a bit of unpleasantness this evening, and the realization that her attacker believed she had abused him was too much for her to endure. Her temper snapped. “And I’ll shoot you again if you don’t be quiet this second!”

  Gunshots weren’t unheard of in Rio Peñasco, but they weren’t as common as Eulalie had previously supposed, having read a good many yellow-backed novels in recent months. Therefore, at the sound of the shot the little village sprang to life. Doors opened, window sashes were thrown up, lamps were lit, and people cried out. Eulalie saw lanterns bouncing toward them, carried by folks whose faces she could not yet distinguish. The door to the Johnson home flew open, and Mrs. Johnson, followed by a swarm of children, hurried out to the scene of the action. William held a kerosene lantern to guide the way.

  Eulalie sighed heavily, wishing she could live a less public life. This was especially true since she was trying to hide.

  “Give me that lantern, Will,” growled Nick when the Johnson contingent arrived.

  The boy flinched but obeyed. “Sure, Uncle Nicky.”

  Nick held the lantern up so that he could see Eulalie, who shied away because the bright light hurt her eyes. “By damn, he did hit you!” He turned back to William. “Here, take this.” He shoved the lantern at the boy.

  William did, and Nick reached down and grabbed the man Eulalie had shot by the scruff of his collarless shirt. Heaving him to his feet, Nick drew back a lethal-looking fist and would have broken the man’s jaw had not Sheriff Wallace shouted, “Nick! No!”

  Three people, including his uncle Junius and Mrs. Johnson leaped upon Nick’s arm. Eulalie didn’t know why they were doing that; she believed the fiend who’d attacked and hit her deserved to be leveled by somebody, and Nick seemed like the best-qualified fellow to do it. By the flickering lamplight, Eulalie had seen another man on the ground, face up, and guessed he was the one who’d been struggling with Charles. She presumed Nick had dispatched him, thereby rendering him unfit to continue the fight. She believed the villain who’d hurt her deserved the same treatment.

  The attack on his arm forced Nick to let go of his prisoner, who dropped to the ground with a hard whump and mewed piteously.

  Nick bellowed, “Damn it, he hit her!”

  “Can’t kill a man for that, Nicky,” said Junius judiciously. “Leastways, not without a trial first.”

  Eulalie fingered her cheek and felt the inside of her mouth with her tongue. “I think he knocked a tooth loose. I’m going to be bruised for days.” And that, curse it, would probably interfere with her job.

  “She shot me,” whimpered the man she’d shot.

  “Oh, be quiet!” Eulalie had no sympathy for the lout.

  “Oh, my, will you just look at that cheek!” Mrs. Johnson cried suddenly. She let go of Nick, rushed to Eulalie and put an arm around her.

  The scene was vividly illuminated now, what with all the lanterns being held aloft as people gathered around the combatants. Nick took a better look at Eulalie’s cheek, his eyes grew wide, and he tried and failed to shake off his uncle and the sheriff and lunge at the wounded man, who still sat on the ground with a hand pressed to his thigh. Eulalie frowned. How in the name of mercy had she managed to hit him there? Of course, she hadn’t had time to aim. If she had, she’d have shot him a few inches to the left, and made a eunuch of him.

  Goodness, she never used to harbor vicious thoughts. The West did that to a person, she guessed. “It hurts,” she said to Mrs. Johnson, hugging her back and appreciating the warmth and comfort offered by another woman at that moment more than she could say.

  “I should say so. You’re going to have a terrible bruise and probably a black eye.”

  A black eye. Wonderful. Eulalie didn’t have time to appreciate the full horror of her facial disfiguration because another roar rent the air. She and Mrs. Johnson both levitated a foot or so in the air before they realized the roar had come from Nick, who evidently didn’t appreciate the news about Eulalie’s impending black eye any more than she herself did. He tore himself away from his uncle and the sheriff and leaped on the man on the ground, who tried to escape, crab-fashion, but failed. Nick lifted him in the air until his feet were dangling. Eulalie was impressed, as the fellow wasn’t small by any stretch of the imagination.

  The wounded man screamed, “Help me!” a second before Nick punched him in the jaw, sending him over backwards. He dropped like a felled oak, and the ground beneath Eulalie’s feet trembled. It occurred to her that she’d never had a man defend her—not, of course, that dear Edward wouldn’t have tried to if the occasion had ever arisen, which it hadn’t. She couldn’t imagine Edward being quite so effective in the execution, however. God help her, she liked it.

  She also hated the notion that a fifteen-year-old boy, to wit, Charles Johnson, had actually engaged in fisticuffs in order to protect her. Who knew how often something like this would occur? Certainly not Eulalie, but she didn’t expect the rough men who populated this rough-edged place would change any time soon.

  “That’s enough, Nick.” Sheriff Wallace grabbed Nick around the waist to prevent him from lifting the man off the ground and socking him again. “This is a job for the law to handle.”

  “He hit her,” Nick said. “Let me at him.”

  Junius joined the sheriff. It was a struggle, but between them and a couple of other hardy souls who braved Nick’s wrath, they subdued him enough to assure that Eulalie’s attacker would probably live to attend his trial, should one occur. Eulalie hadn’t noticed much in the way of trials since she’d moved to Rio Peñasco, but she’d heard of a circuit judge who came around once in a while. She was more worried about her job than the law.

  “Calm down, son,” Junius said soothingly. “Everything will be all right. The sheriff will lock the fellow up and the doc will tend him, and Miss Eulalie will be fine.” Glancing at Eulalie and wincing, Junius added a qualifying sentence, “She’ll be fine pretty soon.”

  “He doesn’t deserve to go to trial. He deserves to die! He hit her!” Nick said indignantly.

  Eulalie made a decision. She reached out and placed a hand on Nick’s arm. His muscles were tense with his fury, and he felt as if he’d been hewn out of granite underneath the rough cotton shirt he wore. Yes, indeed. Nick Taggart was the one, all right. “Please, Mr. Taggart. I appreciate your efforts on my behalf, but I don’t want you to get into trouble.”

  Nick glowered at her. “He hit you!”

  This recurring theme made Eulalie grimace and press her fingers to her tender cheek. She said, “Yes, he did. And his partner hurt Charles.”

  The other unconscious man groaned at that moment, and Junius put a boot on his chest to keep him down. Eulalie mused about how very effective extemporaneous frontier peacekeeping could be.

  “Nick, we’ll take care of these fellows,” Sheriff Wallace said.

  To Eulalie, it sounded as if he were attempting to placate a wild beast with soft words. Eyeing Nick, she allowed as how the sheriff might have the right idea. Therefore, she attempted a smile, discovered her face hurt too much to create a successful one, and used her voice instead. “Thank you so much, Mr. Taggart and—Mr. Taggart.” Hmm. She wished Nick and Junius didn’t share the same last name. “I really appreciate your coming to my rescue.” Thinking about the oldest Johnson boy, she turned to Charles. “And you, Charles, how brave and strong you are!”

  The dozen or so kerosene lanterns lighting the scene didn’t render
the night as bright as day, but Eulalie saw Charles’s cheeks turn bright and glowing red. She turned to Mrs. Johnson. “I’m terribly sorry to have brought this trouble on you, Louise. You and your family have been so good to me.”

  “Pish tosh,” said Mrs. Johnson. “‘Twarn’t nothin’ a Christian woman wouldn’t do.”

  Eulalie could have disabused her of that naïve notion, but didn’t. “Well, you’ve been wonderful. However, I don’t want your children to have to defend my honor. It’s not fair to you or to them.” And she aimed to do something about it, too, if she possibly could.

  “I don’t mind,” Charles said stoutly, if a little indistinctly. The poor boy’s jaw was the size of a watermelon already. Eulalie cringed, feeling guilty.

  “But where will you go?” asked Mrs. Johnson.

  With a sideways glance at Nick, Eulalie said, “Um … perhaps Mr. Taggart and I ought to discuss the matter.” This time Eulalie threw caution to the wind and batted her eyelashes at Nick.

  The coy gesture didn’t garner quite the reaction she’d intended. While Nick lost the maddened-bear-on-the-attack demeanor that had prompted the sheriff and his uncle to keep him securely held between them, the expression on his face changed to one of wary alertness. His gaze thinned, and he squinted at her as if he didn’t trust her. This evidence of suspicion vexed Eulalie, but she wasn’t able to pursue the matter because Mr. Bernie Benson barged up to the group.

  “What’s this I hear about someone attacking our precious cactus flower?” Bernie bellowed.

  Eulalie noticed that his concern for her welfare hadn’t prevented him from grabbing a notebook and pencil before he sought out the scene of the crime. She wasn’t altogether fond of being referred to as a cactus flower, either.

  “I’m fine, Mr. Benson,” she assured him. She’d stopped trying to smile, since the endeavor was painful and didn’t seem worth the effort.

  “And she don’t need you,” added Nick, back to sounding like an irritated bear.

  “Tut tut, this is news!” cried Bernie with a flourish of his pencil. “Mr. Chivers is hot on my heels. Jerry Ballinger is at the Opera House right this minute, rousting him out of bed. When I heard our own beloved cactus flower had been injured by a couple of ravening beasts, I had to report on the story!”

  “Ravening beasts?” said the man Junius had his boot on, lifting his head and trying to see. “Who you callin’ a beast?”

  Eulalie snapped, “You!” and the man subsided onto the ground again.

  “What’s this I hear about you shooting one of the villains, Miss Gibb?”

  “For God’s sake, don’t write that!” said Nick. He reached for Bernie’s notebook, but Bernie, for all his bulk, could move quickly when he wanted to, and he danced backwards, eluding him.

  “It’s news!” he said in an injured tone.

  “It’s all right, Mr. Taggart. I suppose Mr. Benson is right. This might be considered news.” Eulalie heaved a long sigh. “But I’m not feeling awfully well at the moment, Mr. Benson. May I make an appointment to speak to you tomorrow?”

  Bernie looked hurt. “But it’s news! I have to be on top of the news. Besides, you’ll be pleased to know, Miss Gibb, that I’ve been sending copies of the Piper all over the United States. I’ve even sent copies to Chicago!”

  Eulalie almost cried out in her dismay. This was terrible! Curse all newspapermen for all eternity. If anything was needed to make her life complete, it was knowing that news of her stay in Rio Peñasco might reach Gilbert Blankenship. She only prayed he was still in prison.

  “So you see,” went on Bernie, “I have a wider readership than the town itself. And it’s imperative that I gather the news as it happens.”

  “Nuts, Bernie,” said Nick. “The damned paper comes out once a week. Nobody’s going to scoop you.”

  Good point. Eulalie wished she’d thought of it. At the moment, she wasn’t thinking of anything except how to stop Bernie Bensen from sending any more newspapers to his horde of eastern friends. The fleeting notion that, if she shot him dead he wouldn’t be able to do so, entertained her for only a second. She rejected it as being too drastic, although it still held some appeal.

  It was Bernie’s turn to sigh. “Very well. I’ll visit you at noon, if that’s agreeable with you, Miss Gibb.”

  “Fine,” said Eulalie, and hoped everybody would go away now. She had some heavy thinking to do.

  Stuffing his pencil and notebook into a pocket, Bernie eyed the two men on the ground. “Which one’s the one she shot, Sheriff?”

  Wallace pointed. “That one.”

  “He dead?” Bernie didn’t sound at all distressed that the man might have been shot dead by Eulalie Gibb.

  “Naw. Nick socked him.”

  Bernie said, “Ow.”

  “Want me to help you get these two galoots to the jail, Sheriff?” Junius offered.

  “Yeah. Thanks, Junius. Then maybe you can go fetch the doc.” Mr. Wallace turned to Eulalie and belatedly removed his hat. None of the other men standing around had bothered. “You need help, Miss Gibb? You want me to send the doc to see to your cheek?”

  “Thank you very much, Sheriff, but I don’t think that will be necessary. But I do appreciate everyone’s help.” While she couldn’t smile, she could still appear gracious, and Eulalie gave it all she had as she swept a glance at her audience. The sound of shuffling feet and several “Aw, shuckses” greeted this display of her womanly charms, and she was satisfied she’d performed as well as might have been expected, under the circumstances. She wanted to get Nick Taggart alone, curse it.

  “What happened?” a new voice said breathlessly.

  Eulalie sighed again. Dooley Chivers. Her boss. Wonderful. He was going to take one look at her face, which was probably swollen and bruised by this time, and she was going to lose her job. Since she didn’t believe in postponing unpleasantness, and since she figured she could use her considerable powers of persuasion on the softhearted Dooley, she turned and gave him the full glory of what she expected was a hideous sight.

  Dooley skidded to a stop, churning up a cloud of dust. He stared at her, horrified. “My God, who did that to you?”

  “That man on the ground,” said Eulalie, indicating the still unconscious, formerly ravening beast. “I shot him.”

  “You did what?” Dooley blinked at the man and then at Eulalie.

  “I shot him. And I’ll shoot anyone else who dares to attack me, too.” There. Let Bernie Benson make a story out of that.

  “Christ,” muttered Nick under his breath.

  Dooley had seen her cheek. He goggled. “Good God, you can’t sing like that!”

  Bridling slightly, Eulalie said, “Please give me a chance, Mr. Chivers. I’m sure it won’t take more than a day or two for the swelling to go down.”

  “What about the bruising?”

  “Makeup,” said Eulalie stoutly. “I’m an expert with makeup, don’t forget.”

  “Hmm.” Chivers appeared unconvinced.

  She clasped her hands to her bosom, a gesture she’d learned at her mother’s knee, and pleaded with him. “Please, Mr. Chivers. Don’t allow this unfortunate incident to affect my employment. I really need my job.”

  “You can’t fire her,” Nick declared. “It wasn’t her fault these two idiots attacked her.”

  “Well … I reckon that’s true.”

  “And she’s good, Dooley,” said Nick. “You know she’s the biggest draw you’ve ever had in the Opera House.”

  “Yeah, I guess that’s true.” He eyed Eulalie again and winced visibly. “But, Nicky, look at her.”

  “It’s not her fault,” Nick repeated in a measured and rather menacing voice. “Give her a couple of days off, and she’ll be good as new.”

  “Exactly,” said Eulalie, gratified to have received such staunch support from a man whose friendship she’d rather doubted until now.

  “Well …”

  “Dammit, Dooley, you know she’s the best thing that
’s ever happened to your Opera House. Stop pretending you don’t need her.”

  Dooley heaved a heavy sigh. “Well, I reckon you’re right, Nick.” He grimaced when he glanced at Eulalie again. “How long do you think you’ll need, Miss Gibb? Before you’re … you know.”

  “Now how in hell can she tell you that?” Nick barked before Eulalie could give an estimate of how much time her cheek would take to regain its normal size. “She don’t know, and neither do you. I’ll take her to Doc Canning tomorrow, and maybe he’ll be able to tell her.”

  Defeated, Dooley said, “Reckon you’re right, Nick. All right, Miss Gibb. I’m real sorry this happened.”

  “She is, too,” growled Nick. “And don’t forget, it’s your damned Opera House that gave those sons of bitches the idea she was … available. And you sold ‘em the liquor, too. You ought to post a sign or something.”

  “I made an announcement,” said Dooley with something of a whine.

  “Yeah, well, you’d better make it louder. Miss Gibb’s a lady, dammit.”

  Eulalie could have kissed him. In fact …

  She placed her hand on Nick’s arm. He was no longer enraged, but his muscles were still hard as iron. Her heart began beating faster as she prepared to meet her fate—or what she hoped would be her fate, and that of her sister. “Mr. Taggart, I really need to speak with you.”

  He eyed her with misgiving. “Yeah? Well, go ahead. Speak.”

  Aggravating man! She lowered her voice, and made sure it throbbed just a bit. “Privately.”

  Nick said, “Uh-oh.”

  Chapter Seven

  “There’s no need to take that tone with me, Mr. Nick Taggart,” Eulalie said when they were alone at last. Their surroundings weren’t exactly conducive to the conversation Eulalie planned to have with him, and she’d have preferred it if she looked her best, but one had to make do when necessity arose. In this case necessity dictated they speak to each other in Mrs. Johnson’s kitchen garden, as far away from the house as they could get.