Cactus Flower

by Duncan, Alice

  But that was nonsensical. How could such a tiny, small-town paper ever reach the evil hands of Gilbert Blankenship? It couldn’t. She hoped.

  Finally Nick spoke. “I don’t know, Miss Gibb …”

  To her horror, Eulalie felt tears sting her eyes. She didn’t want to cry in front of this man! She wanted him to think she was strong and indomitable and that she was only asking his help for her sister’s sake. She didn’t want him to think she was a conniving harpy like the other women in his life evidently had been. She clutched his shirtsleeve. “Please, Mr. Taggart. I don’t know what else to do.”

  He huffed. “Yeah. Right.”

  “It’s true! I can shoot any man who bothers me, but my sister can’t. She’s delicate. She’s been horribly injured. She’s fragile.”

  “Yeah, you’ve said that before.”

  Well, it looked as if Nick wasn’t going to oblige her. Eulalie was surprised by how disappointed she was. Worse, she feared her reaction had more to do with his rejection of her as a woman than his refusal to act as Patsy’s bodyguard.

  And she still needed a bodyguard for Patsy. Drat it! She’d never be able to find anyone as suited to the task as Nick Taggart; she knew it in her bones.

  Drawing her brisk, no-nonsense demeanor about her like a protective shield, she said, “Well, if you won’t oblige me, I shall just have to look elsewhere.”

  “Hold on a minute. I didn’t say I wouldn’t do it.”

  “Oh?” She decided to hold off becoming happy until he clarified his position. His frown worried her a little bit.

  “Let me make sure what’s expected of me.”

  “Of course.”

  “You want me to find a place for you and your sister to live in Rio Peñasco.”

  She nodded and sighed heavily. They’d already covered this ground. “Yes.

  “You want me to protect you and your sister from evildoers.”

  “Well, that’s a little dramatic, but yes. That’s exactly what I want you to do.”

  “And in exchange for doing those things, I get to sneak in your back door at night and, uh, partake of your favors.”

  “Yes.” He had a way of saying things that put them in the worst possible light. Eulalie didn’t like it.

  “And you don’t expect me to marry you or bring you flowers or presents or cut your wood or wash your horse or do your shopping or—”

  “I don’t even have a horse,” Eulalie cried, irked. “You’re being silly, Mr. Taggart! All I want you to do is guard my sister and me and make sure nothing horrid happens to either one of us. We’re two ladies alone in the world, and one of us is very weak, and the other one has to work and leave the weak one home alone at night! Is it so hard to understand that I might feel safer if I knew you were protecting us?”

  “I guess not. But I want you to understand that I’m not at your command. I’ll protect you, but I won’t court you.”

  “Fine. That’s fine with me.” Again, Eulalie couldn’t account for the slight pang that assailed her. She was only tired and bruised. That must be it. She’d steeled herself for all contingencies before she’d moved to this hellhole. The fact that a rough bumpkin didn’t want to court her meant absolutely, positively nothing to her. Nothing. Zero.

  “All right then, you have yourself a bargain, Miss Gibb. Only I wish you’d call me Nick. Every time anybody calls me Mr. Taggart, I look around for my father, poor man.”

  “Fine. And you may call me Eulalie.”

  “Eulalie. Pretty name.”

  “You really think so? I’ve always disliked it, but I was named for my favorite aunt, so I don’t mind it too much.”

  “Hmm. Well, I reckon you’d best get to bed now. I’ll talk to my uncle Junius, and we’ll figure out some place for you and your sister to stay. What’s her name again?”

  “Patricia Anne. We’ve always called her Patsy.”

  “Patsy. All right.”

  “Thank you, Mr. … I mean Nick. I really appreciate this.”

  He grinned. “You’ll be paying me, ma’am.”

  She sighed. “Yes. I will.”

  Nick looked her up and down, as if assessing his part of their bargain. “I’d take a little on account, but I expect you don’t feel up to it.”

  Pressing a no-longer-cool cloth to her cheek, Eulalie said, “No. I don’t.”

  “Too bad.”

  Men. They were all alike.

  Except for Edward, of course.

  * * * * *

  When she finally got to her room that night and undressed, she tried to recall Edward’s image to her mind’s eye. It wouldn’t come. She kept picturing Nick Taggart.

  Annoyed with herself, Eulalie opened the top drawer of her dresser and dug under her underwear until she found the locket she kept hidden there. Snapping it open, she gazed at the miniature painting of Edward she cherished so greatly.

  He’d been so handsome—in a pale, Lord-Byronish way. He certainly wasn’t massive, like Nick Taggart. Edward had been fine-boned and delicate. And his dark hair had always been a little long; poetically long, Eulalie had always thought. Looking at the picture tonight, in her state of pain and exhaustion, Eulalie thought dear Edward look just the slightest bit … affected? Good heavens, no. Not her beloved Edward.

  Why, he’d been a gem among men. A loving, gentle man. A dear, really.

  Anyhow, he’d been an actor, for heaven’s sake, so he had to adopt roles. And if he played up his poetic good looks, that didn’t mean he was affected! It meant he’d been a fine actor.

  Of course, if he’d had Nick’s deep, powerful voice, her father might have given him better parts, but that wasn’t Edward’s fault. Eulalie shed her demure blue dress—covered in dust and dirt now, thanks to those two louts who’d tried to waylay her—removed her undergarments, and pulled her nightgown over her head. She stared at Edward’s image as she sank onto her bed. The mattress rustled, having been made of corn shucks, according to Mrs. Johnson, but it wasn’t uncomfortable.

  Edward would have scorned such a bed. Eulalie sighed deeply. Dear Edward. He never could have imagined living in such a place as Rio Peñasco. He would be horrified to know she was here now.

  But however much she disliked herself for it, Eulalie was rather glad she didn’t have to depend on Edward in this present crisis. As much as she had loved him and would continue to cherish his memory, she had to acknowledge that Nick Taggart was going to be ever so much more effective as a bodyguard than Edward.

  As she sank onto her pillow—on her right side, since her left cheek was so sore—Eulalie acknowledged grimly that life just wasn’t fair. And, no matter how much she disapproved, there wasn’t a blamed thing she could do about it.

  Chapter Eight

  My darling Eulalie,

  Dr. Longworth tells me that I will be fit to travel in another week or so. I can’t wait to see you again. The Hollands are such wonderful friends, and, of course, the family is a comfort to me, but I miss you terribly. I will feel much safer when we are both a couple of thousand miles away from the threat posed by Mr. Blankenship.

  The scarring is terrible, Eulalie, as I feared it would be. Therefore, I have adopted the practice of wearing hats with heavy veils. I’ve almost stopped crying about my disfigurement, darling, except when I have to put on one of those awful hats.

  I’m glad to know that Rio Peñasco isn’t as ghastly as we feared it would be. I look forward to the day I can join you. I can hardly wait to meet all the people you’ve written to me about. Lovingly, your sister,

  Patsy

  Nick Taggart awoke the morning after his altercation with Eulalie’s attackers feeling better than he had for several weeks. He couldn’t account for his good mood until he recalled his conversation with Eulalie the night before.

  He’d won! By damn, he’d won! He was going to get to enjoy that spectacular body, and he wasn’t going to have to pay with his life, the way his father and so many other poor dumb clucks had. He hoped Eulalie would be respo
nsive to him. He didn’t like a cold woman. Hell, if he wanted coldness, he’d get married.

  Leaping out of bed, he hollered, “Junius! We got us a house to build!”

  Junius had been in the kitchen of the small house they shared behind the smithy, making coffee. Nick sniffed appreciatively and decided his uncle had been cooking bacon, too. Good. Nick was hungry as a bear.

  “What’s that you said, Nicky?” Junius appeared in Nick’s doorway, holding a mug of coffee out to his nephew. “Here’s some brew.”

  “Thanks, Junius. You’re a good cook.”

  Junius grunted and said, “Hell, what this place needs is a good woman.”

  “There is no such thing,” growled Nick.

  “Nuts. You can’t judge all females by the witch your daddy married, son, and those daughters of hers. I think Miss Gibb is the right sort.”

  “That’s who we have to build the house for.”

  “Oh?” Junius cocked a furry eyebrow. “You settin’ up housekeeping with the woman?”

  Nick had been stepping into his trousers. He looked up, horrified. “No!” His shudder was involuntary. “Shit, Junius, I’ll never do that in this lifetime. You ought to know me better than that by this time.”

  “Reckon I do, son. But I still maintain not all women are evil.”

  “Maybe not, but by the time you figure out which ones are and which ones aren’t, it’s usually too late.”

  “My Pauline was a great woman, Nick. Too bad you never met her. Might have softened your opinion of females.”

  “Maybe.” Nick had no doubt in his mind that his late aunt Pauline was a better person than his stepmother, but that didn’t make her anybody Nick himself would want to live with.

  His uncle chuckled and let the matter drop. “You aimin’ to fix up a little adobe place for Miss Gibb?”

  “Yeah, and there have to be two bedrooms, because her sister’s coming to stay with her.”

  “Yeah? Interesting. She aiming on bringing the whole family out here eventually? We might could use us some entertainment in Rio Peñasco.”

  Nick shrugged. “Didn’t sound like it to me. Just her sister. Her name is Patsy.”

  “Hmm.” Junius didn’t seem awfully interested in Patsy Gibb. “Come on in to breakfast. I have some eggs scrambled, and there’s bacon. Joe Cameron’s bringing his wagon in to the smithy today. Got to fix the axle.”

  “Thanks. Don’t mind if I do. What’s Joe done now?” Joe Cameron seemed to have accidents in his wagon on a regular basis. Last week he’d driven it into a dry arroyo and damaged a wheel rim.

  “Drove it off a cliff, is what he said.”

  “A cliff? Where’d he find a cliff to drive it off of?”

  “Mescalero ridge, I think he said.”

  Nick shook his head. “That takes some kind of talent.”

  Junius only chuckled.

  It occurred to Nick, as he ate the breakfast his uncle had prepared, that since Miss Gibb wouldn’t be able to work for a day or two, he might take her out to see the sights around Rio Peñasco. True, there weren’t many of them, but there was a swampy area not far off where you could see lots of different kinds of birds. And there were the lakes said to be bottomless sitting among some pretty rocky hills. This time of year they were fairly dry, but the scenery was still kind of pretty to Nick’s mind. He wasn’t sure how a lady from New York City and Chicago might take them.

  Hell. It was probably a stupid idea.

  Nevertheless, he decided to pay a call on Miss Gibb. Just to reassure her that he and Junius would be building her a little house. Not because he wanted to see her or anything.

  “You’re twitchin’ your shoulders and frowning, son. Got something on your mind?”

  Junius’s mild question startled Nick. He glanced up from his coffee cup. “Nope. Just thinking where to get wood to build the frame.”

  “We might could go up near Capitan.”

  “That’s a fair hike.”

  Junius shrugged. “We could make it in a day if we don’t mind traveling some in the dark. We could aim for a full moon, and that’s only a few days off.” He eyed his nephew with what Nick could only call a sly smile. “You might want to take Miss Gibb with us. Show her that not everything in these parts is desert. She ain’t going to be singing for a day or two, is she?”

  Nick frowned, praying that he appeared only to be thinking over his uncle’s suggestion. As for himself, Nick wouldn’t mind being out under the full moon with Eulalie Gibb, as long as she kept her mouth shut. Or, if not shut, as long as she didn’t talk with it. But Nick couldn’t cut enough wood for the frame of a house by himself, which meant Junius would have to go with them, and that would rule out any amorous activities.

  “I don’t know, Junius. It might be a little tiring on a lady.”

  Junius shrugged. “You could ask her.”

  “I reckon.”

  But when Nick slapped his hat on his head and set out to Mrs. Johnson’s house, he’d decided against taking Eulalie to the mountains. If he and Junius trekked to Capitan, it would be to work and work hard, and they’d both get hot and sweaty and would stink by the time they headed back home. Somehow, Nick didn’t fancy the notion of Eulalie crammed into a wagon next to two smelly men, one of whom was he. Maybe after her sister got here, Nick would take them both to the mountains for a day trip or something. That might be nice, and it might give Miss Gibb—Miss Eulalie Gibb, that is—a softer opinion of him.

  Not that he cared, of course.

  Charles answered Nick’s knock at the Johnsons’ door. “Holy cow, Charles! Your cheek looks like one of those eggplants your mama grows.”

  Tenderly touching his cheek, Charles tried to grin. “Yeah. It doth. Hurth, too.”

  “I bet it does. Sorry you got knocked around, Charles, but you did a danged good job of slowing those two galoots down.”

  Charles blushed, thereby providing a colorful background for his eggplant cheek. “Thankth, Uncle Nicky.”

  “Sure thing, Charles. You aren’t in school today?”

  Charles looked displeased. “Ma wouldn’t let me go. I wanted to.”

  Nick grinned. He was sure of it. Charles would be a damned hero. He probably wanted to parade his injuries in front of his friends. “Mothers can sure be a pain in the neck, can’t they?”

  “Nicky Taggart, don’t you be putting ideas in my boy’s head!” came the words, loud, from the kitchen.

  The two males exchanged a meaningful glance, as if to agree that Mrs. Johnson had just proved Nick’s point.

  “You wanna thee Mith Gibb?”

  “If she’s up and about. I need to tell her something.”

  “Thure thing, Uncle Nicky.”

  And, as Nick paced the Johnsons’ small front parlor, Charles went to fetch Eulalie.

  He grimaced when she walked into the room. “Shoot, Miss Eulalie, that cheek looks sore.”

  She sighed. “It is. I could probably cover the bruise with makeup, but until the swelling goes down, I suppose Mr. Chivers won’t want me to appear in front of an audience.”

  Nick wasn’t so sure about that. Dooley was a nice enough fellow, but he wasn’t exactly overflowing with the milk of human kindness. As long as Eulalie looked good in her costumes—and she did, damn it—he wouldn’t give a hang if her cheek was a little chubby. However, he didn’t want Eulalie to know that. The longer she stayed away from all those slathering, lust-crazed men, the better Nick would like it. He particularly didn’t like it when Lieutenant Fuller in his damned snappy uniform showed up, because Eulalie always fawned over him, a spectacle Nick would sooner live without.

  Although, he thought with a sense of satisfaction washing through him, pretty soon he wouldn’t have to worry about things like that. Any man who got too close to Eulalie, including that damned encroaching lieutenant, would have to deal with Nick Taggart. The notion made his juices run a little too freely, and he cursed inwardly and hoped like fire that Eulalie wouldn’t glance below his belt.
To disguise his condition, he held his hat in front of him.

  “Please, Mr. Taggart, sit down,” said Eulalie graciously. “I’m interested in hearing what you have to tell me.”

  So he sat and put his hat in his lap. It was getting painful, hanging around with Eulalie. He’d sure be glad when he could assuage his condition—which meant that he and Junius had to get her house built pronto. “Junius and I are going to take a trip up to the mountains to get some logs, and we can begin building your house on Saturday.”

  It gave Nick a warm feeling in his chest when Eulalie seemed to brighten. “That soon?”

  He nodded. “Yeah. It won’t take us long once we get the frame up.”

  “How handy you and your uncle are.”

  She sounded as if she was honestly grateful, but Nick had learned long ago not to trust a female. He squinted suspiciously and said, “That’s us, all right. We’re a couple of handy fellows.”

  “Thank you very much. Patsy wrote to say she would be able to travel in a week or so. Since she wrote the letter two weeks ago, I suspect she’s ready now. I can hardly wait to see her again.”

  “You two close, are you?”

  “Very. I was afraid I was going to lose her a few months ago.”

  “After the accident.”

  She hesitated for only a second or two. “Yes. After the accident.”

  He probably shouldn’t ask—and anyhow, he didn’t really care—but he did anyway. “What kind of accident was it?”

  Again, Eulalie hesitated. Nick felt his eyebrows draw together and endeavored to stop them. But this wavering on Eulalie’s part seemed curious to him. Accidents generally didn’t take a whole lot of thought to describe. He couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to Eulalie Gibb and her story than she’d let on.

  “She was badly cut.”

  The nature of the injuries startled Nick. “Cut? Shoot, I’m sorry. How’d that happen?”

  She drew in an audible breath and said, “Really, Mr. Taggart, it pains me to talk about it.”