Authors: Alice Duncan
“Ah.”
Nick nodded. Maybe that accounted for it. He didn’t expect a lady
from Chicago, Illinois, would know much about the kinds of saloons in
territorial villages like Rio Peñasco.
She
might have read his mind, because her gaze thinned and she scowled at
him some more. “I know the territory is rough, and I know I shall
probably meet many rugged men who don’t have any manners and who don’t
know how to behave. Your uncle is a prime example of that breed, I expect,
Mr. Taggart.”
“Aw,
Junius isn’t so bad. There are worse.” Nick wondered what her point
was.
“But,
as you saw for yourself, I was able to defend myself against him. And
I wasn’t even prepared for his assault. I imagine I’ll have to entertain
lewd comments and perhaps even unwelcome advances when I’m singing,
and I am fully prepared to fend off any number of men, even drunken
inebriates like the man singing in that room. I,” she concluded with
a firm nod, “am a very determined person.”
“Yeah,
I can tell.” She was beginning to annoy Nick, who didn’t like boastful
people. Nick was pretty determined himself, but he didn’t go around
telling everyone he met about it.
“I
don’t know, Miss Gibb,” Sheriff Wallace said, scratching his chin.
“The Opera House is kind of a hard joint.”
“I’m
sure it couldn’t be otherwise in this awful place.”
Nick
didn’t like people who walked into a new town, especially one in which
he lived, and disparaged it, either. “So why’d you come out here
if you don’t like it?” he asked sharply.
She
paused just long enough to make Nick wonder if she was going to lie.
Then she turned on her chair and skewered him with the shiveriest blue
gaze he’d ever seen. “Some people,” she said slowly and deliberately,
“may not understand this, but I have to make my own way in the world,
and I
won’t
—” she placed special emphasize on the won’t—
“be at the mercy of men.”
It
didn’t sound like a lie.
Nick
continued to watch her, still vaguely wondering if she had a point.
She didn’t continue, so he reckoned maybe she thought she’d made
it. “So you’re going to take up working as a saloon singer? That
doesn’t sound like a very good way to stay away from men, if you ask
me.”
“I
didn’t ask you. However, I am a singer, Mr. Taggart. The opportunities
for singers in Chicago aren’t bright because it, unlike the territory,
is a civilized place where many, many talented people are vying for
the positions available. I applied for the job in Rio Peñasco because
I figured the competition wouldn’t be as stiff for someone starting
out in a career, as I am.
“Oh,”
said Nick.
“Oh,”
said Sheriff Wallace.
She
stood abruptly. “I’ve decided against filing charges, however. I
presume that man isn’t vicious and was merely overcome by injudicious
consumption of spirituous liquors. Therefore, I shall leave him in your
capable hands, sheriff.” She smiled at Sheriff Wallace, whose Adam’s
apple bobbed up and down when he swallowed. “I shall repair to the
Opera House and talk to Mr. Chivers.” Doolittle Chivers owned and
ran the saloon. “I told him to expect me around this time.”
Again,
Nick and Sheriff Wallace exchanged a glance. Dooley Chivers wasn’t
going to be pleased when this innocent young thing showed up to take
the job he had open for a singer. Nick knew good and well Dooley had
been expecting another sporting girl, one young and pretty enough and
with a good enough voice to enable him to charge a high price for her
other services. Nick hadn’t met Eulalie Gibb before today, but he
already knew she didn’t fill that bill.
“Uh,
maybe I should escort you over there, ma’am.” Sheriff Wallace rose
from his chair and tugged at his vest. “I don’t think it’s a good
idea for a lady to walk into the Opera House all by herself.”
She
looked down her nose at him, even though she was shorter than he by
at least a foot. “I intend to work there, Sheriff. I shall have to
learn to walk alone among the patrons. I may as well begin as I intend
to go on.”
The
sheriff appeared nonplused, which seemed a sensible reaction to Nick,
who really didn’t like this testy little thing at all. “Let her
go, Mike, if that’s the way she wants it. She doesn’t want your
help.”
Eulalie
Gibb glanced at Nick. “That’s right. And I don’t want yours, either.”
Nick
held up both hands. “I wasn’t offering it to you, ma’am.”
She
sniffed again, gave him one last mean look, turned, and walked out the
door, her back as straight as a board. Nick shook his head.
“Hell,
she isn’t what Dooley’s expecting, or I’ll eat my hat,” Sheriff
Wallace said.
Nick
suspected the sheriff’s hat was safe. He also experienced a strong
desire to see the woman put in her place—which wasn’t singing in
a saloon. Damned snippy thing. Through the sheriff’s dirty window,
he watched her walk across the street, her bottom switching, thinking
of all sorts of scenarios that might transpire in that saloon in which
she’d get her comeuppance. He’d like to see it happen. He stood
and stretched.
“Reckon
I’ll go over there and watch the fun.”
She’d
almost made it to the saloon. Nick experienced a funny sensation in
his chest that felt a lot like worry, although he was sure it wasn’t.
He’d gotten over worrying about women years ago.
“Good
idea,” said Wallace. “Reckon I’ll join you.”
That
made Nick feel a little better. It was, after all, the sheriff’s duty
to see to the safety of women in Rio Peñasco. Not that Nick’s intention
was to see to Miss Gibb’s safety. Hell, he didn’t care what happened
to her. Still and all, he felt better knowing the sheriff would be there.
“And
she said Toodle-oo as she pulled off her shoe …” rendered in Uncle
Junius’s rich if alightly off-key bass voice, followed them out of
the sheriff’s office.
* * * * *
Eulalie
Gibb wasn’t nearly as fearless as she pretended to be. In fact, she
approached the battered batwing doors of the Peñasco Opera House with
a good deal of trepidation and inner apprehension. Since, however, she
also approached it with a Colt Lightning revolver in her handbag, a
small Colt Ladysmith in her pocket, several long, sturdy, and extremely
sharp pins in her hat, and a ten-inch Bowie knife in a scabbard strapped
to her thigh, she figured she was up to it. She’d better be, since
she was all the hope she and Patsy had left in this life. The thought
of her sister waiting in Chicago for Eulalie to send for her stiffened
her resolve. She thrust the doors open and stepped inside with resolution.
Her
resolution suffered a setback when she walked straight into a thick,
almost palpable cloud of smelly cigar smoke only a second before she
bumped into the thick, definitely palpable, back of someone Eulalie
assumed was no gentleman. He turned around and grinned down at her while
Eulalie was still sneezing.
“Well,
look here, Petey. What do we have here?”
“Ain’t
you never seen no female before, Lloyd? That there’s a gal.”
Eulalie
wiped her nose on a handkerchief hastily yanked from a pocket and frowned
at the two men discussing her. They were excessively rude, but Eulalie
had prepared herself for rudeness as well as lascivious suggestions
and even physical assaults. She opted not to reach for her Ladysmith
yet, but asked coldly, “Is Mr. Doolittle Chivers here?” Lord, she
was going to have a time of it trying to sing in all this smoke. She
hoped she could persuade Mr. Chivers at least to open a window or two
when she performed.
“Dooley?
I reckon he’s around here somewhere,” the man she’d bumped into
said. “What you want with him, honey? I’m nicer’n Dooley any old
day.”
She
wrinkled her nose. “What a dreadful thought. Where might Mr. Chivers
be, my good man?”
Lloyd
thumped Petey’s shoulder. “Did ya hear that, Petey? She already
knows I’m good. How about that?”
Eulalie
huffed and gave up trying to get assistance from these two louts. She
turned away from them and had begun to stalk across the smoky saloon
in search of more helpful folks when she felt a beefy hand on her arm.
She tried to snatch her arm away, but sausage-like fingers closed around
it, squeezing into her flesh and hurting. With a sigh, Eulalie turned
around to discover it was Lloyd who’d grabbed her. No surprise there.
She ought to have expected as much.
“Release
me, sir, if you please.”
He
leered down at her. “What if I don’t please, yer majesty?”
He
obviously thought his assessment of her demeanor was hilarious, because
he roared with laughter.
Eulalie
was not amused. She reached into her pocket and withdrew her Ladysmith.
“If you don’t please, then I suppose I shall have to shoot you.”
Lloyd
looked stunned, an expression Eulalie neither understood nor appreciated.
As far as she was concerned, a man as uncouth and obnoxious as Lloyd
should expect any number of distasteful things to happen to him before
someone killed him.
“Hey,”
he said. “You don’t have to shoot me.”
She
glanced pointedly at his fingers, which were still wrapped around her
arm.
“Let
her go, Lloyd,” said a voice from the saloon’s door.
It
was a voice Eulalie recognized. She was, therefore, not alarmed when
she and Lloyd turned to see who had spoken, and Nicholas Taggart stood
there, looking like a large gray ghost wavering through the cigar smoke.
She was somewhat surprised he’d come, however, since she’d received
the impression from their first meeting that he didn’t like her much.
On the other hand, he’d probably merely come to the saloon for a drink.
He looked the type; it must run in the family.
“Hell,
Nick, I’m just havin’ me a little fun,” Lloyd said.
He
still didn’t release her arm, and Eulalie was growing peeved about
it. His fingers were not only large and painful, gripping her that way,
but they were undoubtedly dirty as well. Eulalie didn’t care to have
the sleeve of her traveling coat smudged.
“I
don’t think the lady’s having any fun, Lloyd,” Nick said calmly.
“She’s the new singer Dooley just hired. You don’t want to damage
the hired help now, do you?”
“I
ain’t damaging her,” Lloyd protested.
“Really!”
Eulalie said, incensed. “This is too much to bear.”
And
with that, she whacked Lloyd’s fingers with the butt of her Ladysmith
as hard as she could, which was pretty hard since she was a strong woman.
Lloyd
bellowed and leaped away from her. Eulalie did not repocket her gun
because she didn’t trust him. In fact, she didn’t trust any of these
rough men. Because of this mistrust, she positioned herself so that
her back was against the bar. She didn’t aim to have anyone attack
her from behind again.
“Why’d
you hit me?”
“You’d
rather I shot you?”
“Naw,
but why’d you hit me?” Lloyd sounded as if he might cry.
“Because
I do not care to be manhandled,” Eulalie said tartly. “I won’t
stand for it.”
She
noticed Nick Taggart looked surprised, too. He’d drawn his gun, but
held it at his side. The sheriff stood behind him. He hadn’t drawn
his gun at all, a circumstance she considered odd. She had assumed,
before her arrival in this hellhole of a town, that if guns were drawn,
they’d be drawn by the law and/or by outlaws, although she didn’t
really know much about how life went on out here in the territory.
A
glance around the room showed her that everyone else in the saloon,
except those men who seemed to be sleeping at various tables, had slid
to the floor and flattened themselves out. That must have been the shuffling
noise she’d heard right after she’d thumped Lloyd. Interesting.
She’d keep this reaction to drawn guns in mind if she ever needed
to clear a room in a hurry.
“What’s
going on in here?” a new voice said. When Eulalie turned to look,
she beheld a large, solid man with a handlebar mustache, fluffy salt-and-pepper
side-whiskers, and a florid face, standing at the door to a back room.
“This
is your new singer, Dooley.”
It
was Nick Taggart who’d spoken. When Eulalie looked from Mr. Chivers
to him, she saw him slipping his firearm back into its leather holster.
She wasn’t sure she should turn her back on Lloyd, but decided he
probably wouldn’t do anything as long as Nick Taggart and the sheriff
were there. Besides, Mr. Chivers owned the place. People would probably
behave themselves around him if they wanted to continue imbibing in
his establishment. She stepped away from the long, polished bar, and
put her Ladysmith back into her pocket.