Cactus Flower (7 page)

      
“Yes,
ma’am,” Vernon told her. “They’re all talkin’ about how good
you are. At singin’, I mean.”

      
Eulalie
graced him with another smile. Nick decided enough was enough and said,
“We want some chow, Vern. What you got tonight? The usual?”

      
His
attention jerked away from Eulalie, Vernon turned to Nick, a blank expression
on his face. “What?”

      
Nick
uttered a warning growl.

      
Vernon
snapped to attention. “Oh, yeah. Food. Sure, we got steak and beans
and biscuits. I think there’s still some of the apple pie I bought
off Miz Johnson this morning.”

      
“We’ll
take it,” Nick said, hoping to get rid of the man.

      
Eulalie,
it seemed, had other ideas. “Mrs. Johnson? Isn’t that the lady to
whom you’re going to introduce me tomorrow, Mr. Taggart?”

      
“That’s
the one.”

      
“You
going to be staying at Miz Johnson’s place, Miss Gibb?” Vernon asked,
sounding more than a bit interested.

      
Nick
eyed him narrowly. “Maybe she will, and maybe she won’t. That’s
up to her and Mrs. Johnson, Vern, and we won’t know until tomorrow.”

      
“That’ll
mean you’re stayin’ right close to town, then, won’t it?” Vernon
reached up and tugged at his collarless shirtfront.

      
Nick
wanted to holler at him. Then Eulalie fluttered her long eyelashes at
Vern, and he itched to pick up his revolver and shoot the man dead.
This was really bad. He had to get ahold of himself.

      
“I’m
not sure what lodging arrangements I’ll be making, Mr. Vernon.”

      
“Call
me Vern, ma’am. Everybody does. The back name’s Howell.”

      
“Mr.
Howell.”

      
Eulalie
was smiling up at him as if he were the most wonderful man on earth.
Nick, who knew better—hell, Vern didn’t even bathe from one week
to the next—interrupted the moment that seemed to be stretching between
them. “Miss Gibb hasn’t eaten since early in the day, Vern. She
says she’ll faint if she don’t get fed soon. You want to get a move
on?”

      
Vern
started as if he’d been rudely awakened from a pleasant reverie. “What?
Oh, yeah. Sure. I’ll get them steaks going.”

      
Nick
frowned after Vernon as he walked off toward the kitchen to cook the
food. “What the hell are you trying to do here, anyway, Miss Gibb?
Get every man in the town lusting after you?”

      
She
laughed. Her laugh was damned near as musical as her singing voice.
“Heavens, Mr. Taggart, you’re giving me much too much credit. I’m
sure most of the men in Rio Peñasco don’t know I exist and wouldn’t
care if they did.”

      
Squinting
over this blatant piece of disingenuousness, Nick muttered, “Don’t
press your luck, lady. Not all the men in town are as stupid as Vern
or as understanding as me. You’re apt to tease the wrong man one of
these days and find yourself in a lot of trouble.”

      
Eulalie
shut her eyes for a minute and looked pained. Her attitude puzzled Nick,
who figured she knew very well what she was doing and did it on purpose.
“Mr. Taggart, I don’t expect you to understand this, but my aim
is not to frustrate a town full of rugged frontiersmen. My one aim in
life is to earn enough money to send for my sister in Chicago.”

      
Well,
now, this was interesting. Nick wasn’t sure he believed it. “You
have a sister?”

      
She
nodded. “Patsy.”

      
“Why
does she want to leave Chicago?”

      
“That’s
our business.”

      
“Hmm.
Wouldn’t life be easier in Chicago for females on their own?” Nick
remembered the explanation Eulalie had given earlier in the day about
starting out in a singing career. “Oh, yeah. You said something about
jobs being easier to get out here.”

      
“Exactly.”

      
As
he pondered that one, Nick decided it didn’t make any sense. He also
sensed a withdrawal in his dining companion, however, as if she were
determined not to reveal other than surface details of her circumstances
to him. A trifle mysterious, Miss Eulalie Gibb. Nick wished she weren’t,
since mystery only added intellectual allure to her already potent physical
charms. Of course, her prickly personality counteracted a good deal
of that, thank God.

      
A
booming voice startled both of them. “Aha, I’ve found you, my lovely
prairie rose.”

      
Nick
glanced up, peeved. He recognized that voice. “Aw, hell.”

      
Eulalie
looked up, too, and glanced over her shoulder to see who had entered
the small restaurant and addressed her thus. A fat, florid fellow stood
at the door, beaming at her. He wore a brown checked suit, a string
tie, and a tall beaver hat. He carried a cane with a carved horse’s
head handle.

      
Without
much enthusiasm, Nick said, “Miss Gibb, that there’s Bernie Benson.”

      
Bernie
strode over to Nick’s table, giving Nick a conspiratorial wink as
he did so. “Indeed, I am Mr. Bernard Benson, Miss Gibb. At your service.”
He gave her a flourishing bow, removing his beaver hat and damned near
sweeping the floor with it. Nick shook his head and wondered sourly
if Eulalie Gibb would have every man in Rio Peñasco acting like fools
before she was through with them.

      
“Bernie
owns the newspaper, Miss Gibb.”

      
“Indeed,
I do, and I aim to write a most complimentary review of your splendid
opening night performance, Miss Gibb. May I sit with you?”

      
“There
are only two chairs available,” Nick pointed out. He wasn’t about
to remove his hat from the extra one for this tub of lard to sit in.

      
He
should have known better than to think he could thwart Bernie with such
an obvious ruse. At once, the fat man pulled up a chair from another
table. “That’s easily remedied.” He gave Nick another jovial wink.

      
Nick,
far from jovial himself, fingered his gun until he noticed Eulalie eyeing
him in some alarm. He sighed and left his gun alone.

      
“My
dear Miss Gibb,” Bernie went on, ignoring Nick’s overt hostility,
“I can’t tell you what a pleasure it is to see your delightful face
and form and to hear your magnificent voice in Rio Peñasco. I’m astonished
that such a lovely thing as you should have lowered herself to grace
our shabby home with your glorious presence.”

      
“That
means he’s happy to meet you,” Nick said. He usually took pleasure
in whacking the garbage out of Bernie’s elaborate phrases, although
tonight he wasn’t enjoying it much.

      
Bernie
laughed heartily. “Isn’t our Nick here a card? Don’t worry, though,
Miss Gibb. He may look like a bumpkin, but he’s not as doltish as
most of the uneducated rascals populating the territory.”

      
A
bumpkin? Not as doltish? Nick glared at Bernie and shifted in his chair.
He guessed it wouldn’t be very nice to punch Bernie’s nose in, but
he might just do it if the man didn’t quit trying to make Nick look
like a yokel.

      
“Mr.
Taggart? My goodness, no, Mr. Benson. Mr. Taggart has been my good angel
today.” Eulalie shot Nick one of her I’m-really-a-shy-and-oh-so-
sweet-country-girl
smiles. Nick frowned back at her, not believing it for a minute.

      
“A
good angel, is he?” Bernie slapped Nick on the back, quite a bit harder
than was necessary.

      
“That’s
me, Bernie.” Nick slapped Bernie’s back, too, and almost sent him
tumbling over, chair and all. He followed up his slap with a warning
look.

      
Bernie
understood. He gave up trying to dislodge Nick by force or guile. They
both knew he couldn’t do it. “Well, well, well, I suppose wonders
will never cease. Does Miss Violet know you’re dining with Miss Gibb,
Nick?” Bernie’s piggy eyes squinted in Nick’s direction.

      
Hell,
the old fart was trying to make Eulalie jealous. As if such a thing
were possible. She’d have to care about him first, and Nick knew good
and well she didn’t. “I expect Violet’s got her hands full tonight,
Bernie.” Nick smiled another warning at Bernie, who again caught on.

      
He
cleared his throat. “Ah, I see. Well, isn’t that fine.” He leaned
toward Eulalie, who drew back slightly. Nick considered that a good
omen. “Miss Gibb, it would be my great pleasure to conduct an interview
with you for the
Rio Peñasco Piper
, our weekly newspaper. I
can see the headlines now.” Bernie spread his fat hands out over the
table and half closed his eyes, as if he were picturing a pile of gold
in his mind’s eye. “Prairie Rose Comes to Town.”

      
“Prairie
Rose?” Nick guffawed rudely. “She’s more like a prickly pear,
if you ask me.”

      
Eulalie
kicked him under the table. Nick frowned at her. She frowned back.

      
Bernie’s
fleshy face, however, took on a thoughtful cast. “That’s good, Nick.”

      
“It
is?” Nick stared at Bernie.

      
“It
is?” So did Eulalie.

      
“New
headline,” Bernie announced, once again beaming. “A Rare and Precious
Cactus Flower Blooms in Rio Peñasco.”

      
Eulalie
said nothing, but continued staring at Bernie.

      
Nick
rolled his eyes.

      
Vernon
came up to the table at that moment, and plopped plates down in front
of Eulalie and Nick. “You eatin’ tonight, Bernie, or you just takin’
up space?”

      
Unable
to avoid the hint, Bernie rose reluctantly. “Alas, I’ve already
eaten.”

      
Nick
stared deliberately at Bernie’s broad belly. “That don’t usually
stop you.”

      
Bernie
didn’t dignify Nick’s pointed remark with an answer. Instead, he
bowed low before Eulalie once more. “It’s been a great pleasure,
Miss Gibb.”

      
“Likewise,”
Eulalie said. Nick got the feeling she didn’t mean it. When she held
out her hand for Bernie to shake, the bastard lifted it to his thick
lips and kissed it. Then, with one last wink, he was off.

      
Eulalie,
Nick, and Vernon stared after him.

      
“What
an unusual man,” Eulalie murmured before attacking her steak.

      
“He’s
unusual, all right,” muttered Vernon.

      
“He’s
an ass,” said Nick. Then he, too, dove into his meal.

Eulalie did not spend a peaceful
night. For one thing, a lot of noise filtered up from the floor below,
not to mention cigar smoke. For another, men in big, heavy boots walked
back and forth past her room all night long, she presumed on their way
to and from Miss Violet or one of the other girls for sale at the Opera
House. In the back of her mind, too, was the ever-present reality of
her situation in life—and that of Patsy. Eulalie never allowed herself
to forget why she’d traveled all this way and was now trying to sleep
above a noisy—and noisome—frontier saloon.

      
Far,
far away, in the deep recesses of her mind, Eulalie recalled older,
more peaceful days; days when she and Edward had been young and in love
and Patsy had been safe, and their family had been together and happy.
Life certainly had a way of kicking the foundations out from under one’s
feet and leaving one floundering. Eulalie did not appreciate this habit
on life’s part, and not merely because those faraway, wistful memories
made it difficult for her to sleep, as if the noise and smoke weren’t
enough.

      
Then
there was Nick Taggart, who was stationed right outside her door. The
mere thought of him sent strange hot flashes through Eulalie. She couldn’t
chalk up these sensations to hunger, since she’d eaten heavily, if
not well, at Vernon’s chophouse.

      
She
was not pleased, either with herself or her circumstances, although
she could tolerate the circumstances. She and Patsy had both decided
to put up with the discomforts of the Wild West, and the relative lack
of civilization prevailing there. But, at the ripe old age of twenty-five,
with a good deal of experience, both pleasant and unpleasant, upon which
to draw, Eulalie had believed herself long past the season when a woman
mooned about a man.

      
Not,
of course, that she was
mooning
about Nick Taggart, precisely.
It was only that every now and then she experienced a compelling urge
to open her door, reach out, grab Nick by the belt, and drag him into
her room. Unfortunately, the mental images didn’t stop there, but
Eulalie did her best to drive them out.

      
She
was helped in this effort by the occasional scuffle in the hallway.
She assumed these episodes occurred when a man more drunk than his fellows
attempted to get into her room past Nick, who wouldn’t let him. Although
Eulalie was as sure as anything that Nick Taggart wasn’t a man with
whom it would be wise to become involved, she appreciated his bulldog
attitude regarding her safety. Not to mention his redoubtable physical
attributes, which she wished she’d never noticed. Drat the man.