“I doubt that’s the answer,” he grumbled.
That was enough for Eulalie. “And exactly why do you think that is, Mr. Nicholas Taggart?” she demanded. “You claim that the women in your family—all women, according to you—are sly, manipulative creatures who, through evil means, make men do what they want them to do. Well, what do you expect from an entire population that’s rendered helpless, both socially and politically? How else can women achieve justice in this ridiculous world except through men. We can’t vote. We can’t hold office. We can’t be police officers. We can’t own property in some states and territories. We can’t even keep our children if the men in our families turn out to be brutal drunkards and we try to escape! If the women in your family discovered that the only way they could survive in the world was to get you to do things for them, can you blame them?”
Her vehemence must have startled Nick, because he looked at her as if he’d never seen her before. Naturally, this reaction on his part fueled Eulalie’s ire.
“Don’t look at me that way! It’s the truth! Do you know that if a man stalks a woman, like prey, and then brutally attacks her, he’ll get a slap on the wrist from the authorities? Did you know that if a woman complains to the authorities because a man is threatening her, she’ll be treated as if she were the crazy party or, worse, as if she encouraged the monster? Do you realize that—” She broke off suddenly, worried that she’d said too much.
His brow creased as he frowned. “Is that what happened to you, Eulalie? Did your husband hit you?”
Honestly startled that anyone, even someone who, like Nick, had never met her late husband, Eulalie said, “Edward? Good heavens, no! Why, Edward was the gentlest creature alive.” In fact, although she didn’t say so, if he’d been alive when Patsy had her trouble, he probably wouldn’t have been a whole lot of help. Even thinking such a thing seemed disloyal, so she ruthlessly shoved the notion aside.
“But you sound as if you’re speaking from experience. This couldn’t have anything to do with the accident you told me about, could it?”
“I … prefer not to discuss it.” Silently, Eulalie cursed her too-ready tongue.
“Hmm.”
Neither of them said any more until Nick had driven the gig into an area of the countryside Eulalie wouldn’t have known existed if he’d not taken her there. Short, sheer cliffs rose here and there, sheltering green and serene pools of water. Wildflowers boomed on their banks, and to Eulalie, who was accustomed to the lakes and rivers of her eastern roots, the beauty of the scene seemed not so much tranquil, but rather a rest from the savagery that was so much a part of the rest of this out-of-the-way area of the continent.
“Say,” said Nick, breaking the silence that would have seemed eerie to Eulalie if she’d been alone. “Look there.” He pointed, and Eulalie saw several big birds circling lazily in the sky over a lake. “Sure sign of spring.”
“Really? What kinds of birds are they?”
“Buzzards.”
Eulalie turned to stare at him. “You’re joking, aren’t you?”
His grin was wicked. “Nope. You can always tell when the weather’s changed when the buzzards come back.”
“Good heavens.” Eulalie’s voice was weak.
“Rough country.”
“I should say so.” She’d have to write Patsy about this.
It would be the last letter she’d be able to write because Patsy would be here before another communication from Eulalie could reach her. The notion made her heart leap with happiness. She’d have her family back again! Or at least part of it. And Eulalie was sure, now that she’d made arrangements with Nick Taggart, that Patsy would be safe. For that alone, Eulalie would like to kiss Nick.
A sensation low in her belly surprised her. Good heavens, she hadn’t felt that … that sense of excitement since Edward died. Did that mean she was a hussy?
Nonsense, Eulalie Gibb. It means you’re human.
That was another thing women missed out on: access to their own sexuality. Eulalie, who possessed a passionate nature, although she tried to hide it so as not to give her audience the idea that she was easy, decided this was one of the most unfair of life’s many inequities.
She was, however, anticipating her union with Nick Taggart with a good deal of pleasure.
Chapter Nine
Dearest Patsy,
By the time you receive this letter, I should be residing in a brand-new home, with a bedroom especially designed for you. Actually, both bedrooms will be a trifle crude compared to what you are used to, dear, but I know we can be happy here.
The two Mister Taggarts have agreed to build the house for us, and Mr. Taggart (the younger) has agreed to watch over and protect the two of us after you arrive in Rio Peñasco. The price is one I am happy to pay.
Eulalie thought about that last sentence and decided to leave it in.
I can hardly wait to see you again, Patsy. Please take care of yourself, do exactly as the doctor orders, and prepare yourself. Rio Peñasco is like nothing you have ever experienced! I actually enjoy it here, and I pray you will, too. At the very least, you will have peace and security.
All my love,
Eulalie
Two weeks and a couple of days after Nick took Eulalie to the Bottomless Lakes for a picnic luncheon, Eulalie’s cheek had healed and Nick and Junius finished building a small adobe house—with two bedrooms—for the Gibb sisters. Not only did everyone in Rio Peñasco understand that this was a declaration of Eulalie’s status as Nick Taggart’s special lady friend, but Dooley Chivers opened a betting book at the Opera House on whether or not Eulalie would ever trap Nick into marrying her.
“Wouldn’t surprise me none,” said Lloyd Grady on a cool Saturday night in May with the wind howling like a banshee outside the saloon. “She’s small, but she’s mighty determined.” He rubbed his hand on his coat in memory of the time Eulalie had walloped his knuckles with her Colt Ladysmith.
“I dunno,” said Joshua Pratt, caressing his bandaged thigh. “I can’t see Nicky marrying any female that’d shoot a man for admiring her.”
“Hell,” said Lloyd, “you should oughta learned from what she done to me not to mess with her. She’s a scary female.”
“She only wants respect, gentlemen,” said Lieutenant Gabriel Fuller. “She doesn’t like to be manhandled.” He didn’t exhibit any particular happiness about the arrangement between Nick and Eulalie, though.
“Respect,” muttered Lloyd, as if he wasn’t sure what the word meant.
“Huh,” said Joshua.
Nick strolled through the batwing doors of the Opera House at that moment and conversation stopped abruptly. He paused at the doorway to let his eyes adjust to the darkness indoors, then walked to the bar where Cletus Bagwell, who’d been bartending for Dooley Chivers ever since the Opera House opened, reigned.
“Sarsaparilla, Cletus,” said Nick.
“Beg pardon?” said Cletus, blinking at Nick as if he wanted to make sure to whom he was speaking.
“You heard me. Give me a sarsaparilla.”
“Sure thing, Nick.” Cletus filled Nick’s order. When he shoved the glass at him, he asked, “You give up drinkin’ or something?”
“Nope. Just want a sarsaparilla is all,” said Nick, sipping his drink. He didn’t think anyone needed to know that he aimed to collect his first payment from Miss Eulalie Gibb after she got off work that evening. He guessed she’d have to have some supper first. But then … He closed his eyes. He’d been dreaming about this for more than two weeks, and he was ready. More than ready. About to bust, in actual fact.
He leaned against the bar, watching the men who would soon be watching Eulalie, and he felt a touch—only a touch—of irritation. For some inexplicable reason, he didn’t fancy all these men getting a look at so much of her. Odd. He never minded when Violet shared her favors—for a price—with other gents in town. Why should he have this feeling of annoyance when he thought about Eulalie displaying herself i
n front of them?
His reaction made no sense to him. He decided he didn’t want to think about it.
“So, Nick, you won, didn’t you?”
Lifting his head from his contemplation of the floor in front of him, Nick saw Lieutenant Gabriel Fuller standing before him, and his heart lightened. “How do, Lieutenant.” He tried to look innocent. “Won what?”
Fuller heaved a deep sigh. “Don’t be coy, my man. I understand the fair Eulalie is now under your protection.” He knocked on the bar and said, “Rye,” to Cletus, who promptly filled the order.
That sounded mighty fine to Nick. He said, “Yeah. I reckon you might say so.”
“Too bad.”
Fuller’s sidekick, Lieutenant Nash, also knocked on the bar, to no avail.
“For you, maybe,” said Nick.
Nash said, “Cletus?”
“Indeed,” said Fuller with another sigh. He took a slug of his whiskey.
Nash said, “Hey, Cletus!”
“She’s got a sister,” Nick told Fuller. “She’s going to be arriving here in a couple of days. Maybe she’ll take to you more than Eulalie did.” He snickered.
Nash said, “Dammit, Cletus!”
“Huh.” Fuller downed the rest of his drink, knocked on the bar once more, and Cletus appeared, as if by magic. “Hit me again, Cletus.”
Cletus obliged and would have vanished, but Nash grabbed his sleeve. “Hey, Cletus, gimme a rye, too, willya?”
Blinking at the smaller man, Cletus said, “Oh. Sure, Lieutenant. You want something?”
Nash, whose face was red and whose ears steamed, said, “Yes. A drink.”
Cletus obliged.
With a sigh, Nash turned, leaned against the bar, and watched Nick and Fuller.
“So what’s her sister’s name?” asked Fuller, sounding bored.
“Patsy. She’s coming from Chicago, and Eulalie says she’s an actress, too.”
“Oh?” Fuller appeared slightly more interested.
Nick nodded and sipped his sarsaparilla. “Yup. Whole family’s in the business.”
“Really.” Sipping thoughtfully, Fuller eyed Nick through slitted eyes. “But you have no interest in this sister of hers, right?”
Nick eyed him back, wondering what the man was up to. “Right.” But if this upstart army bastard thought he could waltz in and sweep her off her feet, he had another think coming. Nick had made a deal with Eulalie, and he intended to honor it. He decided not to say so at the moment. For all Nick knew, Fuller’s intentions were absolutely honorable.
In a pig’s eye. However, that was neither here nor there. Griswold Puckett, the piano player, played a loud chord on the tinkly piano upon which Violet sat, looking pretty as a picture—and arousing no more than a brotherly sense of affection in Nick’s bosom. Strange how that had happened so fast.
The room quieted for approximately ten seconds, and then a cacophony of applause broke loose. Everyone who’d been in Rio Peñasco for more than a day knew what that piano chord meant: Miss Eulalie Gibb, Rio Peñasco’s very own Cactus Flower, was about to take the stage. As was usual, Dooley Chivers strolled out from behind the red velvet curtain and held up his arms for silence, which was achieved, more or less.
“All right, gents. Time to shut your yappers, ‘cause the biggest sensation to come our way in a month of Sundays is about to perform for our delectation and enjoyment!”
Amid the whoops that followed this speech, Nash muttered, “Talks big, don’t he?”
Nick looked down upon the lieutenant’s curly head and said, “It means you’re going to like it.”
“I figured that out on my own,” grumbled Nash.
Dooley said, “And now, gentlemen, here she is. Miss Eulalie Gibb!”
The curtain opened to the sounds of clapping, cheers, and stomping, and the kerosene lamps set on the stage illuminated Eulalie in all her glory. Tonight she wore her bright red outfit with the dyed-to-match ostrich feathers sticking out the back of it and making her look like a red peacock. She’d stuck another couple of red ostrich feathers in her hair, and she looked kind of like a lobster to Nick, who wanted to eat her up. It annoyed the hell out of him that so many other men did, too, although he couldn’t think of anything he could do about it. Eulalie had flatly refused his offer to support her when he’d made it in a moment of weakness.
“Good heavens, Mr. Taggart!” She always called him Mr. Taggart when she was mad at him. “I’m not going to give up my means of livelihood!”
“But I’d be supporting you,” said Nick, already regretting his rash impulse.
“Fiddlesticks. You’ve made your opinion of permanent relationships quite clear, and I’ll not give up my independence for less. Than a permanent relationship, I mean.”
“In other words, marriage,” Nick growled.
Eulalie had only shrugged.
At the time Nick had told himself he was glad she’d saved him from suffering the consequences of his folly. Tonight, eyeing her audience as they lusted and slavered over her, he wasn’t so sure.
But it was all right, he reminded himself. These lusty fellows might pant after her, but Nick Taggart was the one who had her.
Dammit, he wished he’d had her already; he’d feel more secure about this protection-for-favors thing. He supposed that, until they consummated the bargain, she still might be tempted to allow somebody else to protect her and her sister. He slanted a glance at Gabriel Fuller.
But no. Eulalie was too smart to fall for a blue uniform and a cavalry mustache.
The piano played the opening notes of Champagne Charley, and Eulalie started to sing and dance, and Nick forgot to think. Instead he, like every other male in the room, riveted his attention upon Miss Eulalie Gibb, who had the most magnificent voice and the lushest figure west of the Hudson River. East of it, too, probably, although Nick had never been back East, so he couldn’t say for sure.
* * * * *
Eulalie could scarcely wait to get out of her costume. She was perishing from being so tightly bound. “It’s those huge steaks,” she muttered, struggling with her corset hooks behind the screen in her dressing room. “It’s a good thing Patsy’s coming the day after tomorrow. She’ll cook for us, and I’ll lose some weight.”
“Don’t lose too much,” requested Nick, who liked his ladies with a little meat on their bones.
“I doubt that will be a problem,” said Eulalie, who’d always had a tendency to gain weight when she didn’t watch herself like a hawk. Of course, in Rio Peñasco, until the advent of her sister, she didn’t have much of a choice. Mrs. Johnson, who fixed her breakfast and dinner—Eulalie had learned to call her three daily meals breakfast, dinner and supper in deference to prevailing custom—fussed at her if she didn’t finish every morsel on her plate. And, since dinner came at midday, Eulalie ended up eating two dinners: Mrs. Johnson’s and Vernon’s. Small wonder she was getting fat. She’d end up like her aunt Florence if she wasn’t careful.
“I’ll help you work some of it off,” Nick offered.
Eulalie peeked out from behind the screen to see him grinning at her. Hmm.
She’d been as nervous as a cat in a room full of coyotes—another bow to her new home—all day long, in anticipation of the night to come. She’d been to the local mercantile with Mrs. Johnson, who approved of the choices Eulalie had made regarding fabrics for kitchen, bedroom and parlor curtains. And she’d purchased everything she could think of—and that could come by in this out-of-the-way place—that two ladies living alone might need for their home, including sheets and pillowcases, cooking pots and dinnerware. Nick and Junius had made them a couple of sturdy bed frames in the blacksmith shop, and Mrs. Johnson and her daughters had stuffed some mattresses and pillows for her.
Eulalie, who appreciated the help of her friends more than she could say, had also used the Sears and Roebuck catalogue at the Loveladys’ mercantile emporium to order regular pillows and mattresses. Not that the corn-shuck mattresses were uncomfor
table, but poor Patsy would probably be driven crazy by the crackling noises they made. Ever since the incident, she’d been very jumpy.
Mrs. Sullivan, another local matron whose children went to school with Mrs. Johnson’s, had agreed to sew up the curtains for Eulalie at a price that was much lower than Eulalie had expected. She still couldn’t account for the way everyone in town seemed to accept her as just another woman making her way in the world.
“For heaven’s sake, Louise, I sing in a saloon,” she said as she and Mrs. Johnson left Mrs. Sullivan’s little house, which sat on the edge of town where it garnered more than its fair share of wind-whipped dust and looked, as a result, even more derelict than most of the houses in Rio Peñasco.
“Pooh,” said Mrs. Johnson. “Everybody out here knows what it’s like for a woman trying to earn her own living. Some of us take in boarders. Some of us sew up curtains for other folks.”
“Doesn’t Mrs. Sullivan have a husband?”
“Ptaw,” said Mrs. Johnson in disgust. “Her Hubert is about as useless as tits on a boar hog, if you don’t mind the indelicacy.”
“Not at all,” murmured Eulalie, blinking in astonishment.
“Y’get to know people when you need ‘em, like we do out here,” Mrs. Johnson continued. “And Hubert Sullivan is stupid. He makes enough money, I reckon, but he also spends a lot on his drinkin’. Just because a woman’s married, doesn’t mean the man she’s married to is worth a hill of beans. It’s all in a person’s character. For instance, I know you’re a fine woman, Eulalie. So’s Miss Violet at the saloon, but don’t go tellin’ the preacher I said so.”
“Oh,” said Eulalie, flabbergasted, although she, too, believed Violet was a fine woman, in spite of her profession. “No. I won’t.”
“Not that the preacher isn’t as much a man as any other man in town, no matter how much he pretends he’s holier than anybody else.”
Egad. Eulalie wasn’t accustomed to such plain speaking from members of her gender. Most of the women she knew had completely succumbed to the myth that females were helpless. Then again, most women she knew back east could afford to pretend they were helpless. These rugged westerners were another matter entirely.
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