Cactus Flower (9 page)

      
He
eyed her coldly. “Well, now, ma’am, I don’t know. Seems to me
you haven’t been awfully civil to me. Until now. I wonder why that
is.”

      
“It’s
because I didn’t realize you were a gentleman until you proved yourself
to be one,” she said, lifting her chin and thinking she sounded like
an elderly matron from the Upper West Side in New York City.

      
“Huh.
You don’t believe in giving people the benefit of the doubt, in other
words.”

      
Lord,
no
. Giving people the benefit of the doubt had been her and Patsy’s
downfall. What she said was, “I’ve discovered it to be prudent to
withhold judgment.”

      
“That’s
crap.”

      
They’d
been going down the uncarpeted staircase. Eulalie had just hit the bottom
step when that comment smote her ear. She whirled around and scowled
at him. “Well,
really
!”

      
Nick
got to the bottom right after her. “You know I’m right.”

      
“I
do not!”

      
He
towered over her, and he was an exceptionally large man. Eulalie wasn’t
accustomed to feeling little and fragile, and she didn’t like it.
Well, she
did
like it, but she didn’t like it that she liked
it.

      
“That’s
crap. You didn’t like me from the moment you saw me—and I was trying
to help you at the time, too.”

      
Eulalie
couldn’t bear being loomed over like this. She feared for her self-control.
Turning so that she wouldn’t succumb to the temptation to leap upon
Nick Taggart and beg him to take care of her, which she knew to be a
foolhardy urge if she’d ever had one, she sniffed, whirled around,
marched toward the door and said, “If you will recall the circumstances,
I don’t believe you can fault me for my leap to judgment.”

      
“Huh.
I guess I can understand why you might not take to Uncle Junius, although
he’s a good fellow once you get to know him, but that was no reason
to be mean to me.”

      
She
felt him there, huge, beside her as she stamped across the scarred wooden
floorboards of the Peñasco Opera House, and she spared a moment to
be grateful that he was a good influence rather than an evil one. It
was difficult enough having an enemy as physically unimpressive as Gilbert
Blankenship after one. If Nick wasn’t precisely a friend, at least
he wasn’t an enemy.

      
The
outer door to the Opera House had been shut and bolted sometime during
the night, although Eulalie couldn’t imagine when. She knew for a
fact, having looked at her bedside clock, that people were still roaming
freely after three o’clock in the morning. She paused at the door,
glaring at it, wondering how to open it, when Nick pushed past her.
He lifted the bolt and shoved, and daylight streamed into the dim interior
of the Opera House. Blinking into the sunshine, Eulalie took a deep
breath and said, “Thank you, Mr. Taggart.”

      
“You’re
welcome.”

      
He
pushed one side of the batwings and Eulalie sailed past him out into
a new day that she knew from experience would be fraught with fear and
frustration. Every now and then she succumbed to the temptation to bemoan
her fate. That she did so on this occasion she chalked up to exhaustion.

      
Squinting,
she hesitated on the wooden boardwalk that had been built along the
street on either side, and gazed around her at her new domain. Some
domain. The whole place was a study in beige and brown, with the occasional
splash of red or blue being worn by a pedestrian. There wasn’t a tree
in sight, and the only bushes she saw were grayish green weeds of one
sort or another. Eulalie presumed they were examples of some species
of the hardy specimens that grew in inhospitable climes. Offhand, she
couldn’t recall seeing anyplace quite as inhospitable as Rio Peñasco,
although she’d spent most of her days back East, so she had little
first-hand experience upon which to draw. She heaved a sigh before she
could stop herself.

      
“Not
what you’re used to,” Nick observed.

      
“Um
…” Eulalie contemplated lying and decided against it. As she’d
observed earlier, Nick wasn’t stupid. He’d surely catch her in the
lie, and being the person he was, he’d probably call her on it. These
Westerners. So brash. “No, it isn’t. It does have a certain …
um … appeal, however.”

      
“Yeah?”

      
Catching
a hint of amusement in the one word, Eulalie tilted her head and peered
up at him. She wished she hadn’t when she caught the full glory of
his green eyes glinting at her from under the brim of his broad hat.

      
Before
he could ask her to point out the charms of Rio Peñasco, which she
wouldn’t be able to do because it had none, she hurried to forestall
him. “Well, I mean, this landscape has such a vastness about it.”
That much was true. The fact that she’d prefer her vastness broken
here and there by stands of pretty green trees, a little grass, and
the occasional bubbling brook, she didn’t let on. “I’ve never
seen so much … sky.”

      
She
felt, rather than heard, his chuckle. It was like a low vibration in
the sweltering morning air. “Yeah. We’ve got lots of sky, all right.”

      
“Yes.”
A fit of candor grabbed her by the tonsils and made her say, “And
… honestly, Mr. Taggart, I’ve never been anywhere quite like this.
It might take some getting used to.”

      
“Yeah,
I’m sure it will.”

      
He
took her arm, making her jump. She hadn’t meant to do that. When she
peeked up at Nick again, she was distressed to see that he was frowning.

      
“I
won’t bite, dang it, Miss Gibb,” he growled.

      
“I
know that,” she said meekly. “I’m only … adjusting to my new
circumstances.”

      
“Yeah.
Well, if you don’t mind my saying so—”

      
Eulalie
suppressed the urge to inform him that she undoubtedly would mind him
saying so.

      
“—it
don’t seem to me as to how you planned this jaunt of yours very well.”

      
“You
have no idea how much preparation went into my decision to come here.”

      
“True,
but you obviously didn’t expect what you found when you got here.”

      
“That’s
not so. I had anticipated Rio Peñasco to be rough, Mr. Taggart. I hadn’t
expected to be attacked almost the moment I got off the stagecoach,
and I hadn’t realized exactly how …” Eulalie searched her brain
for words other than
bleak, barren
and
godforsaken
. “…
how … devoid of plant life the landscape would be.” Or how the wind
blew constantly, carrying with it fine grains of grit that sanded the
paint off buildings and the skin from delicate eastern cheeks.

      
“Yeah,
well, people are beginning to plant stuff. Trees and the like. We even
have us a few fruit groves close to town.” He sounded a trifle defensive.

      
Eulalie
seized an idea that had suddenly popped into her head, rather like a
gun blast. “Yes! I’m sure that’s so. And when more women move
here, I’m sure Rio Peñasco will begin to bloom. Why, I’ve heard
that women civilized San Francisco after the Gold Rush a few years ago.
I’m sure the same thing will happen here.”

      
Silence
ensued. Glancing at Nick, she was surprised to see that his nose had
wrinkled and he was frowning again. Oh, dear. And here she’d thought
her notion so brilliant, too. It was becoming increasingly clear to
her that Nick Taggart was unlike any other man she’d ever met, and
the realization irked her.

      
“Well,
Mr. Taggart? I’m sure you can appreciate the civilizing nature of
the female of the species. Or are you one of those men who dislike women?”
Discouraging thought, especially if she had to enlist his aid.

      
“I
don’t dislike all women. But I can live without a female’s notion
of civilization.”

      
Hmm.
Interesting. There was probably a story there, although Eulalie knew
this wasn’t the time to pursue it. Feeling a slight tug of desperation,
she asked, “What about Mrs. Johnson? You like her, don’t you?”

      
“Sure,
I like Mrs. Johnson. But she’s a widow lady with lots of kids to take
care of.”

      
“How
does that make her different from the rest of womankind?”

      
He
shrugged. “She don’t want anything from me, is all.”

      
She
stared at him, nonplussed, but didn’t get the opportunity to question
him further because at that moment she caught sight of his uncle Junius,
and she stiffened, lifted her furled parasol, and prepared to fend him
off with it if it became necessary.

      
“It’s
all right,” said Nick, evidently aware of her preparations. “He
won’t hurt you. He’s sober this morning. Hell, he wouldn’t have
hurt you yesterday. He only wanted to dance a little.”

      
Eulalie
was not amused—if his comment had been intended to amuse. She didn’t
let down her guard.

      
“Nicky!”
Junius’ voice boomed through the momentarily still air.

      
“Hey,
Junius. You feelin’ all right?” Nick didn’t leave Eulalie’s
side, but he smiled broadly at his uncle, who appeared a little worse
for wear this morning.

      
Junius
rolled to a stop in front of Nick and Eulalie and whipped off his hat.
“Headache is all. Don’t handle my liquor like I used to.” Junius,
who was a huge man like his nephew, only a little heavier and with a
belly on him, peered at Eulalie, whose every sense was alert. “Is
this the young gal I danced with yesterday?”

      
“It
is.” Nick still grinned.

      
She
jumped a yard in the air when Junius suddenly stuck out his hand at
her. She stared at it for a few seconds, unnerved.

      
“I’m
mighty sorry, ma’am. I get a snootful and then I feel like dancin’.
I didn’t mean to scare you none.”

      
It
was an apology, however inelegantly presented, and Eulalie was touched.
Her nerves still twanging, she took the hand Junius offered. It was
a huge hand, and gnarled and tough, with gigantic calluses. Eulalie
felt rather as if she were gripping old leather.

      
“This
here is Miss Gibb, Uncle Junius. Miss Gibb, my uncle. Junius Taggart.”

      
“How
do you do, Mr. Taggart?”

      
“I’m
right lively, ma’am, and I hope you don’t mind my saying that you’re
the purtiest thang to visit these parts in a month of Sundays.”

      
For
once, Eulalie truly
didn’t
mind one of the Taggarts saying
nice things to her. This was probably because Junius, now that he wasn’t
reeling from having consumed a wholly indelicate amount of intoxicating
liquors, possessed an innocent and childlike air about him. It was an
air his nephew didn’t share, but Eulalie found it charming, in a rough
and rugged sort of way.

      
“Thank
you, Mr. Taggart.” She gave him one of the gracious smiles her mother
had trained her to deliver to her audience. “You’re very kind.”

      
“Only
bein’ honest, ma’am.” Junius clapped his hat back onto his head.
“Reckon I’ll get to the smithy, Nicky. No sense wastin’ the day.”

      
“I’m
going to take Miss Gibb to Mrs. Johnson’s place, Junius. See if she
can rent a room there.”

      
“Good
idea. Mrs. Johnson, she’s a fine lady.” Junius executed an astonishing
bow, considering his mien and the location, said, “See ya later, ma’am,”
and lunged off.

      
“Your
uncle seems to be an … er … enthusiastic individual, Mr. Taggart.”

      
“You
got that right. Uncle Junius, he enjoys life.”

      
Eulalie
recalled that she’d once enjoyed life, too. The ability to do so seemed
to have slipped away during the past couple of years. That wasn’t
surprising, she supposed, but she hadn’t noticed it slipping away,
it had happened so subtly. She sighed.

      
“You
all right, ma’am?” asked Nick. They’d resumed walking on the dusty
boardwalk.

      
“Yes.
Just … remembering things.”

      
“Don’t
appear to be happy thoughts.”

      
“Some
of them are.” Especially memories of her family. And Edward. Dear
Edward. Curious, she asked, “Do you have any family other than your
uncle, Mr. Taggart?”

      
“None
close by.”

      
She
sensed, although he didn’t say so, that he’d have liked to add a
thank God
to that sentence. “Oh? Where does the rest of your family
live?”

      
“Got
a stepmother and a bunch of stepsisters in Texas. Reckon there’s more
family around there. I haven’t been back to see ‘em, and I don’t
aim to.”

      
“Oh?
Don’t you care for your family, Mr. Taggart?”

      
“Well,
now, I don’t know that I don’t
care
for them. I just seem
to get along better with my uncle than with a bunch of females.”