Cactus Flower (30 page)

      
“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.

      
“Hmm.”

      
“In
fact, I think you’re kind of skinny.”

      
“Here
we go,” said Patsy cheerfully, placing two mugs of steaming cocoa
on the kitchen table. After setting a thick slab of pound cake and a
fork before Nick, she got another mug of cocoa and took her own place
at the table, smiling brightly at Nick and Eulalie.

      
As
much as she loved her sister, Eulalie could have wished Patsy had stayed
at the stove a minute longer. Eyeing Nick closely, she tried to determine
if he was fibbing or being honest about her state of skinniness. She
couldn’t. With a sigh, she said, “Thank you, Patsy.”

      
“Yeah,”
said Nick. “This looks good.” He forked up a morsel of cake and
chewed blissfully.

      
Eulalie
took a sip of cocoa and wished she’d taken a piece of cake, too. “Delicious
cocoa, Patsy.”

      
“Thank
you.”

      
“Why
don’t you two have some cake?” Nick asked after he’d swallowed
his second bite of cake. “It’s really good, and you both need a
few more pounds on you.” He squinted at Eulalie. “And if you can’t
fit into those costumes, I say that’s a good thing.”

      
Eulalie
stared at him, astonished. “A
good
thing? How could that be
a good thing? I’d lose my job!”

      
Nick
ate another bite of cake before he responded. “Yeah. I guess.”

      
He
didn’t sound as if he considered the loss of her job anything to be
worried about, and his attitude irritated Eulalie. “For your information,
Nicholas Taggart, I
need
my job.”

      
Patsy
patted her hand, which was gripping the table hard. Glancing at her,
Eulalie realized she shouldn’t continue the argument, for Patsy’s
sake. Drat!

      
Nick
said, “Huh.” How typical.

* * * * *

      
As
Nick polished off his second slice of pound cake, he realized with dismay
that he didn’t want to leave Eulalie alone with her sister. He wanted
to go back to bed with her and hold her in case she had another nightmare.
Damn it, it was his job to protect her, and that included saving her
from hideous terrors in the nighttime.

      
The
trouble was, he didn’t know how to ask her if he could stay. If there
was one thing he didn’t want, it was to know that she didn’t care
to have him hanging around. And if he asked to stay and she told him
to leave, he’d feel like a kicked dog.

      
This
agreement they had was all well and good as far as it went but, Nick
thought bitterly, it didn’t go far enough. True, most of the people
in town had figured out that the two of them were together and, therefore,
the likelihood that any of the men in town would dare accost her was
slight; still, their arrangement felt too damned … temporary. It was
an extremely odd fact, but for the first time in his life when contemplating
a female, he didn’t like the notion of a brief interlude of passion.
Strange as it seemed, and as much as it worried him, he craved more
than a temporary alliance with Eulalie Gibb.

      
He
figured he’d get over it, given enough time—which was the whole
point, damn it.

      
Well,
he guessed it wouldn’t hurt to put the matter to Eulalie. He could
turn the matter over to her. Make it seem as if he were doing her a
big favor. That was better than having her think he was a lovesick puppy.