Cactus Flower (32 page)

      
Dooley
subsided against the bar with a satisfied sigh. “Miss Eulalie’s
got us another packed house for her show tonight,” he observed happily.
“She’s the best thing that’s ever happened to the Opera House.”

      
“Yeah,”
said Nick, taking another long pull at his sarsaparilla and wishing
it was whiskey. She was the best thing that had ever happened to him,
too, and he didn’t know what to do about it.

      
Marry
her?

      
Nick
waited for the involuntary shudder of revulsion that inevitably attacked
him whenever he thought about the married state. He waited some more.

      
Then
he downed more sarsaparilla and decided he was in even worse shape than
he’d supposed. The shudder never came.

* * * * *

      
Eulalie
gave herself one last look in the mirror, adjusted a shimmering blue
feather, dabbed a tiny bit more rouge on her left cheek, picked up the
parasol that went with this particular costume, and removed her spectacles.
She looked absolutely shameful and, therefore, perfect for her job.
“This is it, Eulalie Gibb. Give ‘em hell.”

      
She
always tried to encourage herself before venturing forth onto the stage
of the Opera House. While she’d been performing for her entire life,
beginning as a five-year-old child when she danced to wild applause
in Vaudeville with her mother and father and aunts and uncles, and progressing
through both dramatic and comedic plays in various venues, the Opera
House was an entirely different kettle of fish. It didn’t frighten
her so much any longer, now that she had Nick Taggart guarding her,
but she still felt a degree of nervousness before her nightly performances.

      
She
tripped down the back steps that led to the stage and stood aside, waiting
for Griswold Puckett to play the opening chord of “The Man Who Broke
the Bank at Monte Carlo.” She and Griswold always lined up a week’s
worth of opening numbers on Saturday mornings so that Eulalie didn’t
have to spend any more time at the Opera House than she had to. Not
that she didn’t appreciate both her job and Dooley Chivers. Still,
the atmosphere in the Opera House induced a degree of melancholy in
Eulalie that she tried to avoid. Her life, while it had eased a good
deal since Patsy’s arrival, was still a trifle precarious. She didn’t
want to add dampened spirits into the already volatile mix of influences
with which she was struggling.

      
There
wasn’t any time to think about it now, however. Dooley announced her
name, the audience cheered, and Eulalie could scarcely hear Griswold’s
chord through the din. Nevertheless, as she was a consummate professional,
no matter what the venue, she took her place onstage, the curtain opened,
and she burst into song.

      
The
first person she always looked for in an evening was Nick. As Eulalie
had expected, he’d stationed himself by the bar, in back of most of
her audience, so that he could keep an eye on everyone. Eulalie’s
heart throbbed for an instant when he winked at her. Damned stupid heart.

      
Knowing
she was an idiot didn’t slow her down. With a high kick and a twirl
of her lacy blue parasol, Eulalie paraded before the crowd, listening
for any abatement of their enthusiasm. She didn’t perceive any. Good.
Her job was secure for another while, anyway.

      
After
her first number, Griswold played the introductory chords of “Lorena,”
a solid old tearjerker that never failed to elicit strong emotions from
the drunken patrons of the Opera House. Eulalie doubted whether any
were veterans of the Civil War, during which the tune had been introduced,
but they all loved it anyway. Eulalie always made sure to put an extra
dollop of pathos into the song. It amused her to see how many of her
audience had to dab their eyes with the big red bandannas most of these
men used as handkerchiefs. She’d never yet been able to make Nick
cry with her dramatic renderings of certain songs, but she kept trying.

      
“Lorena”
passed by without Nick batting an eyelash, and she launched into “The
Man on the Flying Trapeze,” a number to which she did several energetic
kicks and dance steps. Her audience loved it, although Eulalie noticed
that Nick apparently did not. She judged this reaction by the scowl
on his face and the hand he kept on his firearm. Well, she thought bitterly,
she couldn’t help it if he didn’t like what she had to do for a
living. If he wanted her to quit singing and dancing in front of a bunch
of half-drunken cowboys and worse, clad in scandalous costumes, he could
jolly well marry her.

      
Good
God! Eulalie almost fainted when that thought crossed her mind. She
instantly shoved it out again and concentrated on her performance.

      
To
thunderous applause, “The Man on the Flying Trapeze” ended, and
Griswold immediately played the opening chords of a number that always
made everyone laugh, “The Cat Came Back.” Eulalie was halfway through
the song, and was creeping across the stage in her best imitation of
a cat and tipping a wink at her audience—something she did every time
she sang this particular number—when she stopped dead in her tracks,
stood up straight, and very nearly died on the spot.

      
Eulalie
screeched, “
You
!” Absolute terror engulfed her.

      
Confusion
ensued.

      
Gilbert
Blankenship smiled at her from the second table from the back of the
saloon.

* * * * *

      
Nick’s
heart almost stopped when Eulalie screamed and ran off the stage. Pandemonium
broke out among her audience, with people hollering and whispering,
leaping to their feet, looking around, drawing weapons and obviously
worried. Since Nick had seen the man to whom Eulalie had reacted so
violently, he kept his gaze fixed on him as he drew his Colt out of
its holster and fired off one round into the floorboards of the poor,
abused Peñasco Opera House.

      
Instantly,
every man in the audience save one hit the floor.

      
“Christ,
Taggart,” muttered Dooley Chivers.

      
Nick
ignored him. “Quiet, everybody!” He pinned the one man who hadn’t
had sense enough to flatten himself on the floor—the one who’d frightened
Eulalie—with the most vicious stare in his repertoire. He moved toward
him, stepping over and around the bodies that were the inevitable result
of gunshots in the saloon, keeping his Colt aimed at the bastard’s
chest. “Who the hell are you?”

      
The
man’s eyes opened wide, and he appeared a trifle worried. It was a
sensible response, since Nick had every intention of killing him. Nobody
frightened Eulalie Gibb and got away with it. Holding his hands up in
a gesture of surrender, the fellow said, “Name’s Gilbert Blankenship,
and I didn’t do anything!”

      
That
would probably have been the end of everything right then, given Nick’s
intentions, except that Sheriff Wallace shoved through the bodies at
that moment and put his hand on Nick’s arm. “That’s enough, Nick.
I’ll take it from here.”

      
“Now
listen here, Sheriff—”

      
“I’ll
handle
it, Nick.” Then, in an instant of unexpected brilliance,
Sheriff Wallace added, “You ought to go see to Miss Gibb.”

      
Nick
was torn. He really, really wanted to kill this Gilbert Blankenship
fellow. But he also knew that Eulalie needed him. He said, “Aw, shit,”
jammed his gun back into its holster, and turned to find Eulalie.

      
His
feeling of alarm and dread intensified as he took the stairs three at
a time, and he was running by the time he thundered to a halt before
Eulalie’s door. It was locked. “Eulalie!” he hollered. “Eulalie,
damn it, let me in!”

      
“Are
you alone?”

      
Sweet
Jesus, was that her? The Eulalie Gibb that Nick had known to be as prickly
as a cactus ever since she arrived in Rio Peñasco? That squeaky little
voice sounded like that of a frightened mouse. “It’s me, and I’m
alone,” he said, attempting to soften his tone, a difficult task,
since he still labored under murderous impulses.

      
“Are
you sure?”

      
What
the hell was going on here? “Of course, I’m sure, dammit! Now open
the damned door!”

      
He
heard what sounded like someone tiptoeing to the door, and the bolt
being drawn back. Then, very slowly, the door opened a scant half-inch,
and he saw one of Eulalie’s gorgeous blue eyes, huge and wary, peek
out at him. “It
is
you,” she whispered, sounding relieved.
“Thank God.” And she swung the door wide and threw herself at him.

      
Nick
never minded having Eulalie in his arms, but at the moment he wanted
answers even more than he wanted her. He carried her into her room and
set her gently on her feet. Still clinging to him, she glanced at the
door. “Lock it. Please lock it, Nick.”

      
So
he locked it, Eulalie never letting go of his arm, even though he knew
a well-placed kick would shatter the frame. But that didn’t matter,
since he had his Colt with him. And so, he noticed, glancing at the
array of weapons Eulalie had set out on her dressing table, did she.

      
Picking
her up and sitting on a chair in the corner and settling her on his
lap, Nick said sternly, “All right now, Eulalie Gibb, what the hell’s
going on?”

      
“Oh,
Nick, I’m so frightened!”

      
“Yeah,
I can tell you are. Why?”

      
Suddenly
Eulalie jumped from his lap. “Oh, Lord! I can’t wait around here!
I have to get home and warn Patsy! My God, I should have done that first!
I was just so scared.”

      
Without
even bothering to step behind her screen, Eulalie ripped her costume
off and threw it on the floor. “What’s the matter with me? I shouldn’t
have panicked like that!” She halted, holding her street dress in
front of her.

      
Nick,
who would have enjoyed the show under any other circumstances, frowned.
“Calm down, Eulalie, and tell me what’s going on.”

      
“Help
me, Nick,” she pleaded. “Go warn Patsy. Please! She has to be warned!”

      
“
Damnation
!”

      
His
roar stopped Eulalie in mid-panic. She jumped six inches and dropped
her dress.

      
Heaving
himself out of his chair, Nick picked it up for her and plopped it over
her head. “If it’s that Blankenship fellow you’re worried about,
he’s not going anywhere. The sheriff has him.”

      
Eulalie
heaved the most gigantic sigh Nick had ever heard and seemed to wilt
as he buttoned her dress up the back. “Thank God,” she whispered.

      
And
then she turned in his arms and burst into tears. Nick, who had come
to expect damned near anything from Eulalie except normal female vapors,
was appalled. “Hell, Eulalie, don’t do that.”

      
She
shoved herself away from him, swiping madly at her wet cheeks. “Sorry.
You’re right. I can’t cave in now. I have to get to Patsy. Help
me, please, Nick. Get my stockings and shoes while I take down my hair.”

      
He
did as she asked, and noticed that her fingers trembled as they fumbled
with the gewgaws in her hair. She seemed unable to control them and
ended up yanking feathers, pins, and hair with abandon. He hated to
see her beautiful hair treated so disrespectfully, so he caught her
hands in his. “Hey, slow down. Why don’t you put on your shoes and
stockings, and I’ll take your hair down.”

      
“Thank
you.”

      
Her
eyes still dripped, he noticed. This wasn’t good. In point of fact,
it was very, very bad. Eulalie was having a fit about that man downstairs,
and for the first time since he’d met her, was acting like one of
his step-relations.

      
A
knock sounded at the door, and Eulalie let out a small shriek.

      
“It’s
only me, Miss Gibb.” Nick recognized Dooley Chivers’ voice. “Are
you all right? You durned near give us all a heart spasm when you screamed
like that.”

      
Eulalie
sucked in a shaky breath. Before she could use it, Nick said, “She’s
all right, Dooley, but I’m going to take her home now. Is the sheriff
still with that Blankenship fellow?”

      
“Is
that the man’s name? Yeah, Wallace took him over to his office.”

      
“Thank
God,” whispered Eulalie, pressing a hand to her heart.

      
Eyeing
her, Nick made a decision. He still didn’t know what the hell was
going on or who Gilbert Blankenship was in relation to Eulalie Gibb,
but he wasn’t going to allow the man to bother either Gibb sister
if he could help it. And he could. “Say, Dooley, will you send somebody
to fetch Junius? Ask him to meet Eulalie and me at her house.”

      
“Junius?”
Eulalie said dazedly.

      
“Sure
thing, Nick. Take care of yourself, Miss Gibb.”

      
Nick
felt Eulalie swallow before she said, “Thank you, Mr. Chivers.”
Her voice sounded better. Stronger, although still somewhat strained.

      
“I’ll
take care of her,” Nick growled. He didn’t know if Dooley heard
him, but Eulalie did. She reached up and squeezed his hand.