He only shook his head, imagining how horrid it must have been, and wondering when it would be suitable to ask Eulalie if he could spend the night. He didn’t expect she’d appreciate the question right now, since she was still plainly recalling the tragedies of the past. He sighed deeply, wishing he knew more about good women. Until he met Eulalie, he hadn’t been sure such an animal existed, but he’d almost changed his mind.
“Um, Nick?”
“Yeah.”
“Would you like to come inside with me?”
The question so startled him, he nearly fell out of his chair. Because he didn’t want to demonstrate too plainly how thrilled he was that she’d asked, he paused for a heartbeat to catch his breath before he slipped up and hollered yes at the top of his lungs. Damn. He had it bad. He was acting like a schoolboy, for God’s sake. Feeling like one, too, if it came to that.
“Sure,” he said, hoping he didn’t sound as eager as he felt. “Don’t mind if I do.”
So he carried the chairs back into the kitchen, and the two of them retired to Eulalie’s bedroom, which he’d been careful to build an entire hallway away from Patsy’s.
She came to him sweetly and passionately and with total abandon, and before the night was over, Nick had come to the melancholy realization that he loved Eulalie Gibb. What’s more, he was pretty sure he wouldn’t survive if she ever decided to move back to Chicago again.
He was also sure she’d laugh at him if he told her about his condition.
Pitiful. He was totally pitiful.
Chapter Thirteen
Eulalie was delighted that Patsy fit into what passed for society in Rio Peñasco without any trouble at all. Her sister was a beautiful person inside and out, and as warm and generous and openhearted as a woman could be, so it wasn’t surprising that the citizens of the town loved her. It was more of a surprise to Eulalie that Patsy seemed to overcome her embarrassment about her facial scars with relative ease, although Eulalie knew how much it cost Patsy to appear in public without her veil.
“I can’t hide forever,” said Patsy when Eulalie squeezed her hand one day as she left the house to do the marketing.
“You’re being very brave,” Eulalie told her.
Patsy shook her head. “I’m being practical. It’s too hot here for veils.”
And she smiled. Eulalie could only imagine the pain behind her façade, but she honored her for her grit and determination.
Gabriel Fuller helped. Although she’d never admit it aloud, Eulalie hadn’t honestly expected the handsome lieutenant to be so gallant. She’d pegged him for a man who wouldn’t appreciate a woman with defects of beauty, and had rather expected him to disappear once he saw Patsy’s scarring. Perhaps she’d become too cynical during her life on the stage, but she’d noticed more than once that men didn’t much care about a woman’s character as long as she looked good.
But Fuller surprised her, and she was mightily gratified. As often as he could, he rode into town, and he always visited Patsy, even taking her for rides to explore the desert and the surrounding countryside. In fact, it seemed to Eulalie as if the two might be forming some kind of attachment. She prayed that Patsy wouldn’t be hurt again.
“Lieutenant Fuller seems to have taken a shine to Patsy,” she observed one day as she and Nick ate lunch in her kitchen. He had just finished whitewashing the fence and laying rocks out back so that she and Eulalie would have something akin to a veranda on which to place chairs and watch the sun set in the evenings. Patsy had proved herself to be an admirable cook, and this day Eulalie and Nick were feasting on sandwiches made with chicken left over from supper the night before. What’s more, the sandwiches were made with bread Patsy had kneaded and baked her very own self. Eulalie, who had always assumed bread came from bakeries until she moved west, was impressed with how well Patsy had taken to their new life.
As soon as she’d asked her question, it occurred to her that she and Nick were becoming as comfortable together as a pair of old shoes, and she acknowledged that he had become necessary to her emotional well being. Was it wise to have allowed herself the luxury of loving him? She chided herself for her astounding stupidity. Of course it wasn’t wise.
But what had wisdom ever to do with love? Not a blessed thing, and she knew it. How discouraging.
“Yeah? Well, I guess he’s not a bad fellow,” said Nick.
She eyed him closely as she chewed and swallowed a bite of sandwich. “I thought you thought he was an ass.”
“He is an ass. But he’s not a bad sort of an ass.”
“You’re silly, Nick Taggart.”
“Maybe. I don’t like it when he goes to the Opera House and drools over you.”
The statement startled Eulalie. “He doesn’t drool over me!”
“He does, too. They all do.”
“Nonsense. Anyway, I suppose that’s part of the act. I’m supposed to look good on stage. Otherwise, what’s the point?”
Nick squinted at her. “Huh.”
Eulalie rolled her eyes. “Would you like a piece of peach pie?”
“Yeah, thanks.”
So Eulalie brought him a piece of peach pie. She decided not to have one herself, since she’d eaten one last evening after supper, and she was attempting to regain her self-control regarding food. It was a difficult thing to do, Patsy being such a good cook and all, but she didn’t want to get fat and have to get new costumes.
Oh, whom was she trying to fool? She didn’t want to get fat, because it would break her heart if Nick decided he didn’t want her any longer because she was a tub of lard and eschewed her company for that of Violet or one of the other girls at the Opera House.
She was absolutely pathetic.
The ubiquitous Bernie Benson helped Patsy to fit in, too, although both sisters wished he’d desist. He not only wrote about her arrival in town, but started writing about both sisters as if they were a team or something. He sent articles entitled Sisters in Beauty Grace the West and Cactus Flower and Prairie Rose Bloom in the Territory and Delightful Duet Dare Desert, and after Eulalie and Patsy sang a duet in church, Songbirds Soar on Sunday. Eulalie couldn’t think of a way to still his pen, short of murder, so she only prayed that Bernie’s prolixity wouldn’t ever get anywhere near Gilbert Blankenship.
One day Patsy, looking up from the article she’d been reading, said, “I wish he’d stop writing these articles.”
Eulalie heaved a big sigh. “I’ve thought about telling him why we’d rather he didn’t, but …”
She got no further. Patsy paled visibly and whispered, “No!”
Reaching out and patting her sister’s hand, Eulalie said, “I won’t.” And she despaired.
Three weeks after Patsy’s arrival, the sisters received a communication from back East that delighted them both. They’d gone to the Loveladys’ mercantile and dry goods store, which also served as Rio Peñasco’s post office, to retrieve their mail and pick up supplies Patsy needed in the kitchen. Eulalie took one look at the envelope in her hand and felt her spirits soar.
“It’s from Uncle Harry!” she cried to Patsy, who was eyeing some bolts of fabric.
Patsy instantly turned her attention away from tablecloth material and hurried over to her sister. “Oh, good! He writes the most entertaining letters.”
“Glad you’re happy about it,” said Mrs. Lovelady.
Eulalie, who knew how people were in this out-of-the-way corner of the territory, smiled at her. “Oh, our uncle Harry makes everyone happy. He’s such a charmer.” Because she knew western etiquette by this time, she opened the envelope then and there, so that Mrs. Lovelady wouldn’t be left to speculate about the contents of Harry’s letter.
She was glad she’d done it when she read the first paragraph. “Oh, my! He and Aunt Florence and the cousins are going to visit us!”
“They are?” Patsy’s eyes went as round as saucers, then filled with tears. She hastily yanked a handkerchief out of her pocket, mopped at her eyes, and whis
pered, “How wonderful.”
Eulalie felt a little bit like crying herself, although she didn’t. She’d missed her family so much. “I wish we had a hotel in Rio Peñasco.” Then she smiled at Mrs. Lovelady so that good woman wouldn’t think she was belittling her town.
“Funny you should say that,” said Mrs. Lovelady. “‘Cause the mayor and the sheriff are talkin’ about building us a hotel in town, right across the street.”
“Really?” The news came as a huge surprise to Eulalie, who couldn’t imagine why anyone would do such a thing in so small a community.
“Yep. Seems as to how the railroad’s coming to town, and pretty soon we’re going to be having us a lot more business.”
“The railroad?” This news came as rather a shock. Eulalie had expected Rio Peñasco to have remained isolated from the rest of the United States for a good deal longer than this. “That’s … er … wonderful. When is it expected to be built?”
“Hear tell they’re going to start next month. They’re hopin’ to get the tracks laid before next summer. It’s not a long stretch they have to lay down. Only about forty or so miles between here and Roswell.”
“A year,” Eulalie mused. And what would she and Patsy do then? Move on? The notion made her heart ache. How strange. When she’d first arrived in Rio Peñasco, she’d believed herself to have landed in the closest thing to hell she could imagine. And now she didn’t want to leave. Of course, a good deal of that reluctance sprang from her relationship with Nick Taggart, unfortunately.
Life just kept playing tricks on her. Cursed life.
However, in a way, that would make moving on easier. Since wherever she went, she’d go with a broken heart, she didn’t suppose it made much difference where it was.
Unless, of course, Patsy and Lieutenant Fuller got married. That notion came to her out of the ether and stunned her for a moment before Patsy nudged her and said, “What else does he say? When are they coming?”
Startled out of her gloomy contemplations, Eulalie cleared her throat and scanned the missive in her hands. “They’re coming the first week in October. That gives us a couple of months to prepare for them.”
“I’m so glad they’re coming.” Patsy clasped he hands to her bosom. “I miss everyone so much.”
“Yes,” said Eulalie. “So do I.” She turned and gave Mrs. Lovelady one of her most spectacular smiles. This smile wasn’t the kind she aimed at men, but the kind she leveled at women to let them know that she valued their friendship. “Thank you so much, Mrs. Lovelady. I guess Patsy and I will have to figure out where to stash everybody.”
“Oh, la, a couple of ‘em can stay here,” she said, flushing a little under the influence of Eulalie’s smile. “We’ve got room since the girls got married, moved to Roswell.”
“Really?” Patsy impulsively reached across the counter and took Mrs. Lovelady’s hand. “Thank you so much, Mrs. Lovelady!” Her eyes began to drip once more. Releasing the other woman’s hand, she again applied her hanky to her eyes. “Everyone here is so kind. So very kind.”
“Yes,” said Eulalie, still smiling at Mrs. Lovelady. “They certainly are.”
And Eulalie went back to reading the mail while Patsy again perused the bolts of fabric. There was a letter from Mr. and Mrs. Holland, the couple who had let Patsy stay with them in Chicago until she was well enough to travel to Rio Peñasco, as well. This letter contained news of a different nature, and which made Eulalie feel a little sick.
According to John Dearborn, Mr. Blankenship was released from prison on July 10, my dear. I’m sure he no longer poses a threat to you or your sister, but I felt it would be wise to let you know. I don’t know what the police are thinking to allow such a monster out on the streets.
Eulalie didn’t, either, but she was very grateful to John Dearborn, an actor friend in New York City, and Mrs. Holland, for the information about Blankenship. She prayed harder that none of Bernie Benson’s articles about the Gibb sisters would find their way into Blankenship’s evil hands.
But perhaps his obsession with Eulalie had faded during the six months he’d spent in prison. If he were sane, it undoubtedly would have; she understood prison had that effect on most people. Unfortunately, Eulalie placed little confidence in Gilbert Blankenship’s sanity. A sane man wouldn’t have done what he’d done to Patsy. A shiver ran up her spine.
That night after her performance, Nick saw her home. Eulalie was especially thankful she’d made her arrangement with Nick as she curled up after making sweet love with him. He stroked her body with his big, work-roughened hand, and she thought she’d never felt so safe and protected.
Feeling the need to tell him how much she honored him, but not wanting to admit her love for fear of frightening him away, she murmured, “Thanks for helping so much, Nick.”
“Hell, it’s nothing,” he whispered into her hair. And he squeezed her more tightly. “I get paid well.”
She heard the smile in his voice and knew he didn’t mean his words to sting, but they did. She was such a fool. She chose not to say anything more, but shut her eyes and drifted off to sleep.
And she saw Gilbert Blankenship. And that knife. And Patsy on the floor. And she saw herself pick up the cast-iron skillet from the stove, and she saw herself bash Gilbert Blankenship over the head with it. As he fell, the knife skidded across the floor, and Eulalie ran for it and picked it up. It dripped with blood. Patsy’s blood. And she screamed. And screamed. And screamed.
“Eulalie, what the hell?”
Nick’s croaky voice finally penetrated the blood-red horror in Eulalie’s sleep-fogged brain. She awoke with a start and with another scream poised on the tip of her tongue. Petrified with terror, she threw her arms around Nick and sobbed onto his broad, warm shoulder.
A timid tap came at the door of Eulalie’s bedroom. “Eulalie? Eulalie, are you all right? Mr. Taggart, is my sister all right?”
“Reckon she had a nightmare, Miss Patsy.”
Eulalie felt, rather than heard, the rumble of Nick’s voice, as her ear was pressed to his massive chest by this time.
“Um … should I fix some hot cocoa?” asked Patsy tentatively.
His arms still wrapped securely around Eulalie, Nick said, “Reckon it couldn’t hurt.” As Patsy’s footsteps faded, he leaned over and whispered in Eulalie’s ear, “Eulalie?”
Her panic subsiding, Eulalie swallowed hard and nodded. Embarrassment had started overtaking her fright. Damn Gilbert Blankenship! Bad enough he’d scarred her sister for life; now he was invading Eulalie’s own dreams. “Sorry I was so stupid.”
“Didn’t sound stupid to me,” muttered Nick. “Sounded like you were scared to death.”
“N-nightmare,” said Eulalie shakily. “I don’t usually have them.”
“Reckon that one was a whopper.”
She pulled back a little, but Nick didn’t release her. She looked up into his face. The room was dark, and she could only see his eyes shining down at her. She loved him so much in that moment, she hurt with it. Worse, she wanted to tell him the whole story—but it wasn’t hers to tell.
“I feel like an idiot,” she said after another moment or two.
“Nuts,” said Nick.
And she loved him a little more for that.
At last, feeling strong enough to let him go, Eulalie said, “I’d better find a handkerchief and wipe my face. Can you get the lamp?”
“Sure.” Nick lit the bedside lamp, and Eulalie allowed herself one last view of his magnificent torso before she reached for her wrapper and pulled it on. Then she went to the dresser and withdrew a clean hanky, which she used to good purpose.
A minute later, Patsy again knocked softly on Eulalie’s door. “Hot cocoa is ready.”
“Thank you, Patsy.”
By that time, Nick had arisen and donned his clothes. Eulalie knew he’d go home after drinking his cocoa, and she wished he wouldn’t. She wished he could stay with her forever.
That, however, wasn’t
part of their bargain.
They trooped out to the kitchen to find Patsy stirring the pot of hot cocoa. As soon as she saw Eulalie, she laid her spoon aside and came over to hug her. “What happened, Eulalie? I’ve never heard you scream like that.”
“Nightmare,” said Eulalie. “I can’t remember ever having such a horrid dream.”
“I’m so sorry. What was it about?”
Eulalie hadn’t told Patsy about the letter from Mrs. Howell, and she didn’t feel like confessing now, in front of Nick. “I … can’t really remember. All I remember is being frightened nearly to death.” A quick glance at Nick told her he didn’t believe her.
Patsy, thank God, was more gullible. “I’m so sorry.” And she gave her another squeeze and rushed over to the stove to save the cocoa from boiling over. “You two sit at the table, and I’ll serve you some of this. Would you like a slice of pound cake to go with it, Nick?”
“Yeah. Thanks. That sounds good.”
“Eulalie?”
“No, thank you. I’d better not.”
“Why not?” Nick lifted an eyebrow at her.
Eulalie sighed and patted her tummy. “If I keep eating so much of Patsy’s good cooking, I won’t be able to fit into my costumes.”
Nick opened his mouth, presumably to say something, then shut it without doing so. He said merely, “Huh.”
Frowning, Eulalie wondered if he’d been going to say something about her weight. All things considered, Eulalie was in considerably better shape than the other women who worked at the Opera House, and she resented Nick’s assessment of her overall chubbiness. “I’m not fat, Nick Taggart, and you’d better not tell me I am,” she said firmly. She might love a man who didn’t love her, but she wouldn’t allow him to insult her, even silently.
“Huh?” Nick looked at her with a puzzled expression.
“Don’t ‘huh’ me,” Eulalie said, feeling a little ridiculous.
“I don’t think you’re fat,” said Nick.
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