Cactus Flower (16 page)

      
“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 responsive 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.”