Cactus Flower (10 page)

      
“There
you go again, disparaging us ladies.” Eulalie laughed a little and
peered at Nick to see how he reacted. From the glower on his face, she
gathered he hadn’t taken it well. Difficult man.

      
“I
had my fill of females when I was a boy. My daddy and I were the only
males in the whole family and, believe me, those women drove us like
a pair of mules. When my daddy died, I got out of there, and I’m not
going back.”

      
“I’m
sorry you had such a bad experience.”

      
“Yeah,
well, it’s over.” He hesitated for a moment. “What about you,
Miss Gibb? You got family somewhere? Besides your sister in Chicago,
I mean.”

      
“I
have an aunt and uncle and several cousins in New York City,” she
said, thinking wistfully of the company she’d had to leave when Patsy
was injured. “We were all part of an acting troupe.” She hadn’t
intended to divulge that bit of information, although she didn’t think
it would do any harm.

      
“That
so? That’s interesting. I don’t recall ever meeting a real actress
before.”

      
Eulalie
considered asking if he’d met any imaginary ones, but opted not to.
No sense in baiting a touchy man.

      
As
they clumped along the boardwalk, Eulalie had been taking in the sights
and sounds of Rio Peñasco. They were very unlike anything she was used
to. In New York and Chicago there had been oodles of traffic, most of
it in the nature of carriages and carts, and throngs of people, male,
female, young and old. Here most of the vehicles were rustic wagons
pulled by big, rangy horses. The foot traffic consisted primarily of
males in dusty trousers and jackets, with the occasional person whom
Eulalie assumed was what was known as a “cowboy” thrown in here
and there for color. So to speak.  Two women walking together on
the other side of the street wore drab morning dresses. She assumed
they were doing their marketing, or what passed for it in this remote
village.

      
The
softening influence of womankind on the place was depressingly absent.
No flower boxes graced windows. No school bells clanged. No music swelled
from church doors. For that matter, Eulalie didn’t see any churches.
A couple of the buildings had been adorned with false fronts, but they
only made Eulalie’s overall impression of Rio Peñasco that much more
melancholy. She couldn’t imagine Patsy being happy here. She couldn’t
imagine
herself
being happy here, if it came to that. She could
kill Gilbert Blankenship for forcing them to take this drastic step.

      
Suddenly
the dullness of the day was broken by the thunder of hoof beats. Turning,
Eulalie saw two men in bright blue coats riding down what seemed to
be the main thoroughfare, if such a meager road could be so called,
of Rio Peñasco. She stopped to squint at them—she was looking into
the sun.

      
“Oh,
my, Mr. Taggart, those men look like military fellows.”

      
“Yeah,”
said Nick gruffly. “Fort Sumner’s real close by.”

      
A
frontier fort! Imagine that. Eulalie’s heart leapt slightly. Or, if
it wasn’t precisely a leap, it was at least a lift. “My goodness!”

      
The
two men brought their horses to a spectacular stop in front of Nick
and Eulalie, bringing to Eulalie’s mind romantic notions of cavalry
charges and sabers and so forth until the cloud of dust thereby produced
made her sneeze.

      
“For
crying out loud, Fuller,” barked Nick. “Don’t you know better
than to show off in the middle of springtime?”

      
Eulalie
didn’t know which man Nick had spoken to. They both dismounted, smiling.
The taller of the two fellows bowed low before her, almost sweeping
the ground with his hat. “I’m mighty sorry, ma’am. Didn’t mean
to kick up so much dust.”

      
Beside
her, Nick grunted.

      
Sneezing
again into the handkerchief she’d hastily withdrawn from a pocket,
Eulalie couldn’t speak, but she tried to convey her acceptance of
his apology with a sweet smile. My, my, but he was a handsome fellow.
He looked magnificent in his uniform, too. So did the other man, but
the taller one outshone him in every particular. Both were ever so much
more elegant and civilized looking than Nick Taggart.

      
“Lieutenant
Gabriel Fuller, ma’am. At your service.”

      
“She
don’t need your service, Fuller,” said Nick in a menacing voice.
“She’s got mine.”

      
Eulalie
ignored Nick. Holding out her daintily gloved hand to Lieutenant Fuller,
she assessed what she saw. He was a handsome man, if not quite so rugged
as Nick Taggart, with blond hair that looked as if it had been bleached
by the sun, a flowing cavalry mustache, and a tanned face. “Eulalie
Gibb, Lieutenant Fuller. So happy to meet you.” Turning to the other
uniformed man, she said, “And this is?”

      
“Lieutenant
Willoughby Nash, ma’am,” the other man said, stammering a little,
and blushing up a storm. Eulalie thought he was adorable, in a cuddly
sort of way. While she appreciated cuddliness and had an uncle who was
likewise endowed with the charming trait, she didn’t need it at the
moment. She needed spirit, grit, strength, and ruthlessness. While she
didn’t want to leap to conclusions, she sensed she’d still be better
off with Nick Taggart than with either of these uniformed gents. Besides,
they were soldiers and owed their first allegiance to the United States
Army. If she decided to enlist the aid of a male, she wanted someone
who’d be around when she needed him.

      
“I’m
taking Miss Gibb to Mrs. Johnson’s place,” Nick said, his voice
hard. “We don’t have time to stand here in the heat and gab.”

      
“Of
course, of course. We’ll just tag along, then,” said Fuller, fairly
oozing charm.

      
Eulalie
didn’t need charm any more than she did cuddliness, although she thought
it was rather sweet of the fellow to be so blatant in his pursuit of
her. Perhaps “sweet” wasn’t the word she was looking for, come
to think of it, especially if the lieutenant was laboring under the
same conclusion most of the other men in town had made about her.

      
That
being the case, and because she wanted to nip that sort of thing in
the bud, she said, “Thank you, Lieutenant, but there’s no need to
interrupt your busy day. Mr. Taggart is doing a fine job of taking care
of me.”

      
Fuller
stepped back a pace and eyed Nick with disfavor. “He is, is he?”

      
“Yeah,”
said Nick. “I am. Go on about your business, Fuller. Don’t you have
duties or something?”

      
The
lieutenant didn’t answer, but swept Eulalie another bow. “I’m
sure we’ll be seeing each other again, Miss Gibb. And I, for one,
am looking forward to catching your show tonight. The men from the fort
who saw it last night said you were a truly gifted artist.”

      
“Thank
you.” Eulalie demurely dropped her gaze. Good Lord, she had a reputation
already. She’d heard that word spread fast in a small town, but she’d
never performed in one before, so this was the first opportunity she’d
had to test the adage. It was, clearly, true.

      
She
watched as Lieutenant Fuller and Lieutenant Nash led their horses away
from her and Nick.

      
Nick
said, “Fools.”

      
Lifting
her chin, Eulalie said, “They were both very polite.”

      
“Yeah,
they’re polite, all right. But what’s that Fuller said about you
being an artist? You draw too? I thought you only sang and danced.”

      
“Singing
and dancing are considered arts, Mr. Taggart. A fine dancer is an artist,
as is a fine singer.”

      
“Oh.
Well, it sounded funny, the way he said it. But that’s no more than
I’d expect from that Fuller fellow. Always showing off.”

      
Eulalie
had the impression he felt foolish, and she wished she hadn’t had
to give him the lesson. She didn’t want to antagonize him any more
than was inevitable. “They seem like nice young men.”

      
He
eyed her, frowning. “You sound like you’re a hundred years old,
Miss Gibb. I’m sure they’re both older than you are.”

      
With
dismay, Eulalie realized he was right. She had sounded like a little
old lady. She felt a hundred, too. She sighed. “Please take me to
Mrs. Johnson’s house, Mr. Taggart.”

      
“Yes,
ma’am.” And with her arm still attached to his, Nick stomped down
the boardwalk. Eulalie had to hustle to keep up with him.

Damn Gabriel Fuller and every
other damned officer stationed at Fort Sumner. Show-offs. They were
all a bunch of show-offs. Nick knew good and well that Fuller had put
on that spectacular rearing stop in order to impress Eulalie Gibb. And
he’d succeeded, too, damn his eyes.

      
Nick
wasn’t sure why that annoyed him so much, but it did. Yeah, it was
true that Fuller was a good horseman, and yeah, Nick was too big for
most horses, but that didn’t matter, did it? Hell, Nick had other
talents that Fuller completely lacked. He couldn’t think of any of
them offhand, but he knew he had them.

      
Anyhow,
it was nothing to him if Miss Eulalie Gibb fell under the handsome officer’s
spell. Hell, the two of them could run off and get married and it would
be nothing to him. He experienced a sharp pain in his chest and slammed
his hand over it, wondering if he had indigestion. He doubted it. Not
only had he not eaten anything since last night, but he never had indigestion.

      
His
notion to have Eulalie Gibb stay with the Johnsons was a good one, and
he was proud of himself for thinking of it. Mrs. Johnson was one of
the few respectable women in Rio Peñasco, and she’d spiffed up her
place with sunflowers and a vegetable garden and lots of civilized things
like that.

      
And
that was another thing. Until Eulalie Gibb came to town, Nick hadn’t
considered his little town lacking in any particular. Sure, it was kind
of far away from any big cities, if you had a hankering for that sort
of thing, but Nick didn’t. He’d had his fill of big-city ways when
he was a boy. His stepmother had cured him of any hankering he might
once have had for high society. Not that the society available in Galveston,
Texas, was all that high, but his stepmother had sure scratched and
clawed to get to the top of the heap of what there was of it. And she’d
yanked his poor father along behind her in her quest to conquer the
societal mountain. Even thinking about those bad old days made Nick
shudder.

      
He
rapped more sharply on Mrs. Johnson’s door than he’d intended, startling
a squeak out of the poor woman, who must have been standing right in
front of the door, because it opened a second later.

      
“Nick
Taggart, you like to scare me to death!” A small woman with a face
like a slightly worse-for-wear cherub, clad in a faded calico dress
and men’s heavy shoes, beamed at him from the open door. Her graying
hair had been secured into a haphazard knot at the top of her head,
and she looked as if she’d been scrubbing something, because she wore
an apron and carried a scrub brush.

      
“Sorry,
Mrs. Johnson,” Nick said sheepishly, regretting that he’d allowed
himself to show any sign of upset in front of Eulalie Gibb.

      
Before
he could state the purpose of his unexpected arrival at Mrs. Johnson’s
door, several shrieks emanated from inside the house.

      
“Uncle
Nicky! Uncle Nicky!”

      
And
before he could warn Eulalie, an entire herd of excited children raced
past their mother and leaped upon Nick. Damn. He liked the Johnson kids
all right, but he’d sort of hoped he’d be able to preserve his air
of dominant masculinity around Eulalie Gibb, at least for a little while.
That was difficult to do with a bunch of kids crawling all over him.

      
“Charles!
Clarence, William, Sarah, and Penelope! Stop bothering Mr. Taggart right
this minute,” their mother commanded.

      
As
was usually the case with the Johnson children, they subsided almost
at once, with William, the youngest boy, slowest to obey. Little Penelope,
who had turned five-years-old the week before, clung to Nick’s big
hand. “Did we hurt you, Uncle Nicky?” she asked in her sweet, piping
voice.

      
“It
would take more than a little mite like you to hurt me, Miss Penny,”
Nick assured her.

      
Mrs.
Johnson had been taking stock of Eulalie while she was disciplining
her children. Now she turned to her and held out her hand. “I’m
mighty sorry for the ruckus, ma’am. I’m Louise Johnson—Mrs. Ezekiel
Johnson, who’s gone on to his maker, God rest his soul—and these
here are my children. They act like a pack of wolves, but they’re
not so bad once you get to know them.”

      
Wide-eyed
and staring, Eulalie gave a small start, as if she’d been transfixed
by the swarm of children and suddenly jerked out of her trance. “Oh!
Oh, yes. I mean no, I’m sure they’re not. Bad, I mean.” Eulalie
flushed and took the other woman’s hand. Then she flashed one of her
patented, knock-’em-dead smiles. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Johnson. I just
didn’t anticipate them. I’m really quite fond of children. My name
is Miss Eulalie Gibb.”

      
Mrs.
Johnson nodded. “I heard all about you, Miss Gibb. But here, there’s
no need to stand out in the sun. Come on indoors, and have a sit-down.
It’s not elegant, but it serves us all right.”

      
She
ushered Nick and Eulalie into her house, which boasted a total of five
rooms and a sun porch. The children slept on the sun porch in the spring
and summer. Nick didn’t know where they slept in the wintertime, but
he began to question his wits in bringing Eulalie here. It was true
that Mrs. Johnson had the kindest heart in the territory, and it was
also true she needed money, but her comment about lack of elegance struck
Nick where it hurt.

      
As
he gazed around the shabby little house, he understood for the first
time since he’d proposed the idea that Miss Eulalie Gibb, actress,
from Chicago, Illinois, was probably accustomed to grander surroundings
than this. She might not be thrilled to rent one of the only five rooms
in this house, especially since the house came equipped not only with
bedrooms and a kitchen, but a pack of unruly kids. Damn. Where had his
wits gone begging?

      
“Have
a seat, you two,” said Mrs. Johnson happily, waving them toward a
faded sofa that sagged in the middle. An obvious effort had been made
to perk it up with homemade throw pillows and an afghan no doubt crocheted
or knitted by Mrs. Johnson or one of the girls. “I’d offer you a
cold drink, Miss Gibb, but I’m afraid there’s no such thing to be
had in this little town of ours. But I will take my apron off and put
up my scrub brush.” Taking the apron off and sinking into a chair
that was as faded and saggy as the sofa, she called, “Charles! Come
here and take this to the kitchen.”

      
Charles
Johnson, fifteen years old and excessively sober for so young a lad,
probably because after his father’s death he’d been designated as
“man of the family”—a position that Nick had held, too, once upon
a time—appeared in the parlor. All the Johnson children had reddish
hair and freckles, and Charles looked particularly small and vulnerable
to Nick, who’d always been big for his age.

      
Because,
in spite of himself, he had a lot of sympathy for Charles, Nick smiled
at the boy, who smiled back, shyly. “How’re you doing, Charles?”

      
“Fine,
Uncle Nick. Thank you.” His gaze shifted from his mother, who had
taken a chair, to Eulalie, who sat on the edge of a sofa cushion, as
if to assess their willingness to put up with a kid. Nick’s heart
twanged.

      
“What
projects you got going, Charles? Need any help?”

      
Another
glance at his mother, who smiled indulgently, prompted Charles, clutching
the apron and scrub brush to his breast, to blurt out, “Oh, Uncle
Nick, if you could help Bill and me, we’re building a tree house,
only there’s no trees, so we’re going to have to stick it somewhere
else. And Clarence,” he added belatedly. Nick understood. Being the
youngest boy, Clarence was kind of a pest. Nick figured that was only
because he didn’t get enough attention from his siblings because he
couldn’t do as much as they. Again his heart twanged. He wished like
thunder it would stop doing that.

      
“I
reckon I can do that,” said Nick.

      
“Thank
you, Uncle Nick!” And Charles fled the room, still clutching the apron
and scrub brush, a huge smile on his face.

      
Nick
flashed Eulalie a quick peek to see if she was sneering at his softhearted
attitude toward the boy. To his surprise, he saw that her face had lost
its set expression, and she appeared almost pleased with him.

      
He
was probably imagining it.

      
After
clearing his throat, Nick got to the point. “Say, Mrs. Johnson, Miss
Gibb is going to need a place to stay while she’s singing at the Opera
House. As you can imagine, the Opera House isn’t … um …”

      
“You
don’t have to explain it to me, Nicky.” Mrs. Johnson smiled at Eulalie.
“We’d be right proud to have you stay with us, Miss Gibb.”

      
“Naturally,
I’ll pay you for room and board, Mrs. Johnson,” Eulalie said.

      
“I
reckon you will, sweetie. I’m a charitable woman, when I’ve got
it to give, but I expect you’ll be earning enough to pay something.”

      
“Of
course. I’ll be happy to give you a deposit.”

      
Nick
didn’t want to offend either lady, but he felt compelled to intervene.
“Are you sure you’ll be all right here, Miss Gibb?”

      
“Good
question, Nicky,” Mrs. Johnson said with a grin. “I’ll warrant
this isn’t what you’re used to, Miss Gibb. We’re a little rugged
out here in the territory.”

      
With
perfect graciousness, which Nick ought to have anticipated but hadn’t,
Eulalie said, “Don’t be silly, Mrs. Johnson. I assure you that I
knew what I was getting in to when I chose to move to the West.” She
shot Nick a glance. “Well, for the most part. I must say I hadn’t
anticipated some aspects of the New Mexico Territory.”

      
Nick
gave her a cold eye. “She’s talking about Uncle Junius. I expect
you heard that story.”

      
With
a hearty laugh, Mrs. Johnson said, “I do declare, Nicky, your uncle
is a caution!”

      
“I
don’t think Miss Gibb thought so,” grumbled Nick.

      
“As
I said, while I was prepared for many … ah … circumstances that
are not what I’m used to, I was unprepared for Mr. Junius Taggart.”
Eulalie lifted her chin in a gesture Nick was beginning to recognize
as one she used when she was irritated.

      
“Why
don’t you go collect Miss Gibb’s traps, Nicky, and I’ll set the
boys to cleanin’ out the back room. Reckon Sarah and Penelope can
share a room with me.”

      
Eulalie’s
eyes opened wide. “Oh! I had no idea you’d have to oust your children,
Mrs. Johnson. Please. I’m sure I can find another place to stay. I
don’t want to be a pest.”

      
Both
Mrs. Johnson and Nick looked at her in a way that made Eulalie’s cheeks
get pink. Mrs. Johnson said, “You’re not a pest, believe me. It’ll
be a plumb pleasure to have another woman to talk to. There aren’t
a whole lot of us here yet. And as for finding another place to stay
… well, I reckon I’ve heard folks talk about building a hotel here
in Rio Peñasco, but it’s not built yet. I expect we’ll have to
get a speck more popular with drummers and the like before a hotel could
be considered profitable. I think I’m your best bet unless Nicky decides
to build you a house.” She winked at Nick, who didn’t appreciate
it.

      
“Build
me a house?” Eulalie said blankly.

      
Again
Mrs. Johnson laughed. “He’s a mighty handy fellow, our Nick. And
he’s got the biggest heart in the world. I reckon if you asked politely,
he’d build you a house, houses out here being on the small side and
easy to build out of adobe bricks.”

      
Peeved,
Nick stood and said, “She’s joshing you, Miss Gibb. I’ll go get
your bag.”

      
Eulalie
said, “Thank you,” and steeled herself for the coming ordeal—being
left alone to fend for herself with Mrs. Johnson.

      
Not
that Mrs. Johnson didn’t seem like a perfectly nice woman. But the
notion that Eulalie was driving two little girls out of their bedroom
made her feel just terrible. She didn’t want the children to hate
her. Life was already hard enough.

      
Eulalie
wasn’t a snob. She’d come from a theatrical family and was accustomed
to making do. But these territorial residences were … different from
what she was used to. Most of the places she’d stayed in back east
had been hotels or rooming houses of one sort or another.

      
With
a sigh, Mrs. Johnson rose from the chair on which she’d been sitting,
picked up a squashed throw pillow and endeavored to fluff it into life.
“While Nicky’s getting your things, why don’t I show you where
you’ll be staying, Miss Gibb? It’s not elegant, as I said, but it’s
safe. I reckon, what with your job and all, you might have to endure
a few misunderstandings before Nick sets all the men in town straight.”

      
The
older woman’s candor made Eulalie’s cheeks get hot. She got up from
the sofa and prepared to take the tour. She didn’t anticipate that
it would take long. “Thank you, Mrs. Johnson. Um … I assure you
that I really am a singer. I don’t do … anything else.”

      
“Oh,
my goodness, you don’t have to tell me that, sweetie. Nicky wouldn’t
have brought you here if you were anything but a lady.”