Cactus Flower (13 page)

      
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!”