Wanton Angel (20 page)

“Nothing is going to happen to me, Webb. I can look after myself.”

“All the same, I wonder if you and Rose would be safe out at the house, all alone. Bonnie, I think it might be better if we put the wedding off for a few weeks—just until things calm down a little. Until those new cabins are built and the strike is over.”

Inwardly Bonnie sighed with relief. There being no need to hurt Webb now, she could put off dashing his hopes. “Earline Kalb came by to see me today,” she said, with a mischievous smile.

Webb dropped his coffee cup.

S
TANDING AT THE
liquor cabinet in his office, Forbes poured brandy for himself and McKutchen. A light rain was spattering the windows and the river was rising; there had been a great deal of snow during the winter just past, and Forbes could picture the stuff melting off the high peaks of the Canadian Cascades, swelling all the streams that poured into the Columbia. Fleetingly he wished that he’d built the Brass Eagle on higher ground.

He handed McKutchen his glass and sat down in the chair behind his desk. He wondered what it was that Eli wanted of him. A woman? Information about Bonnie? What? He waited.

McKutchen looked fit, though there were burns and small blisters on his hands. Even in his working clothes he had an air of authority. “I need your help, Durrant,” he said, after staring into his brandy snifter for some seconds.

Forbes settled back in his chair, his brandy in one hand, and smiled to himself. “In what way?” he asked moderately.

The look McKutchen gave him was sharp enough to pin anybody to the wall. “I want you to manage the smelter again.”

So the job was too tough for McKutchen, was it? Forbes
knew better than to say this aloud; he let the silence say it for him.

McKutchen tossed back his brandy and set the snifter down on Forbes’s desk with a thump. “Well? Will you take the job or not?”

Forbes pretended to consider. In truth he needed the income that management of the smelter works would provide. He could live well on what the Brass Eagle Saloon and Ballroom brought in, of course, but he had certain financial goals that could only be met if he continued to invest and for that he required the sizable monthly bank draft from McKutchen Enterprises. “What changed your mind?” he stalled. “I got the definite impression that you didn’t care for my management methods.”

“I didn’t and I don’t, but Seth doesn’t have time for a job like this and neither do I. It might be months before I can bring in someone else, so I’m giving you a second chance—at a higher salary—if you want it.”

Forbes was galled. “Why should I help you, McKutchen, if you’re planning to replace me when you can?”

Josiah McKutchen’s grandson smiled. “I won’t bring in anybody else if you can do the job, Durrant. This time, just do it correctly. I’ll be looking over your shoulder, and so will Seth. You might want to keep in mind that I’m being generous here—considering some of the discrepancies Seth found in your bookkeeping system. A few of them were just blatant enough to land you in prison.”

Prison. Forbes swallowed hard. He was too good-looking for prison.

McKutchen spread his hands. “I’m willing to overlook past transgressions, Durrant—we can start fresh.”

The offer now seemed more than generous. Why, it was downright bighearted. “What do you want me to do first?”

“Call another meeting. Make it clear that every worker is welcome, whether he’s still doing his job or out on strike. In the meantime, I want you to have some bills printed and passed out, saying that from now on, there will be three shifts at the smelter, instead of two. Each man will work eight hours, instead of twelve, for the same wages he’s getting now.”

Forbes’s mouth dropped open for a moment. “That’s financial suicide!” he protested.

McKutchen rose from his chair. “I hardly think so, Forbes. The profits we’ve been making in the past five years were enormous. We can well afford to give something back to the men. What we can’t survive is a prolonged strike.”

“Then you’ll give in to the union’s demands?”

McKutchen sighed. “If the men want a union, I won’t try to stop them from having one. But I won’t subsidize the organization, either. Make sure the workers understand that any dues they dole out to the union boys will come out of their own pockets, not mine.”

“You won’t raise wages.”

“I’ve decided to make other concessions instead—I’m providing those cabins free of charge. I’m cutting back hours. For now, that’s all I’m willing to do.”

Privately Forbes thought the company was conceding too much. After all, they could have hired Chinamen to replace the workers that were out on strike and made greater profits than ever. In the final analysis, however, he was certainly in no position to argue. “Very well,” he said with a shake of his head.

McKutchen paused at the door. “That woman who came in here the other night—the one who runs the rooming house—”

“Earline?”

“Yes. What’s her claim on Webb Hutcheson?”

Forbes shrugged. “She’s his landlady and probably his mistress.”

“I’m surprised Bonnie was willing to overlook a mistress, considering that Hutcheson is supposed to be her husband.”

Forbes laughed then. “I’ve heard the rumor, but the Angel isn’t married to Hutcheson and never has been. For one thing, Webb wouldn’t have permitted any wife of his to dance the hurdy-gurdy—I guarantee you that.”

“I see,” McKutchen replied, with a half-smile on his lips. At that, he opened the door and left.

The rainy weather might have put a damper on Bonnie’s spirits if it hadn’t been for the pages and pages of neatly
printed merchandise orders Seth brought to the store. Even considering past-due accounts and shipping costs, Bonnie’s own profits would be huge. To save time, she decided to travel to Spokane and meet with her suppliers in person, rather than trusting her orders to the mails. She would go that very day, and she said as much.

Seth nodded distractedly. “I’ve done my best to anticipate what goods will be needed,” he said, in businesslike tones, as he watched Bonnie scan and rescan the lists. “However, there are always variables in any undertaking of this magnitude, so we’ll probably require the odd item, here and there.”

Bonnie set down the papers she’d been devouring with her eyes and tried to be calm, though inwardly she felt like jumping into the air and kicking her heels together for glee. “Of course,” she said. “I’ve been wondering, though—where are you going to get workers for this project?”

“Some of them will have to be brought in from outside, I suppose,” Seth answered confidently, “but since Mr. McKutchen is cutting back the shift hours at the smelter from twelve to eight, I daresay some of the men will be glad of an opportunity to use those four free hours to earn some spare money.”

Bonnie was sure that that was the case, and she hoped that some of the families would bring their store accounts up to date on the proceeds. Perhaps business would pick up, too, and the mercantile would become a paying proposition for once. “That is a wonderful idea, Seth,” she said.

“Well, yes. Yes, indeed,” Seth sputtered, gripping the lapels of his coat in his hands. “You will be attending the public meeting on Sunday afternoon, I presume?”

“Public meeting?”

“Mr. McKutchen has hired the Pompeii Playhouse for the purpose.”

Bonnie squared her shoulders. “Of course I’ll attend. After all, I’m the mayor of this town.”

Seth blushed at the reminder; it was as though Bonnie had told him some silly and intimate secret. “Yes, well—good day, Mrs. McKutchen.”

“Good day, Mr. Callahan.”

The moment Seth had gone, Bonnie rushed to put a
CLOSED
sign in the front window and lock the door. “Katie!” she called.

Katie came cautiously down the stairs. “Yes, ma’am? What is it?”

“I’m going to Spokane on business. I would like you and Rose Marie to stay with Genoa until my return.”

Katie loved visiting Genoa’s grand house, and she beamed at the prospect. “How long will you be away, ma’am?”

“Two or three days at the most—I must be back by this Sunday.”

“What about the store? Don’t you want me to keep it open and all?”

“There would be absolutely no point in that, but I’ll leave a note in the window, telling people where to find you in case someone needs medicine or something.”

Katie nodded and scurried upstairs to pack for herself and Rose Marie. Meanwhile, Bonnie stuffed dresses and clean underthings into a satchel and tried to figure how much money she would need for food and lodging while in Spokane. Seth had given her a large bank draft as a deposit on the goods ordered, but that, of course, would go to the suppliers.

Downstairs, she checked the till and found that she had seven dollars and fourteen cents to her name. She would have to eat sparingly and take a room in the cheapest hotel to be found, for a round-trip railroad ticket would take fully half her money, but Bonnie was undaunted. This was her big chance and, if she had to, she would go hungry and sleep sitting up in the railroad station rather than let such an opportunity pass her by.

As it happened, Genoa guessed the situation when the reason for the trip was explained to her. Not only was she willing to take Katie and Rose Marie under her wing while Bonnie was away, but she had the carriage brought around and rode with Bonnie to the depot. Just before Bonnie boarded the afternoon train, Genoa pressed a twenty-dollar bill into her hand.

Bonnie tried to protest, but Genoa would have none of that. “You can pay me back when you’re rich and successful,”
she insisted, fairly shoving Bonnie up the steps of the one passenger car the train boasted.

Her vision blurred by a sheen of grateful tears, Bonnie did not notice the solitary passenger at the back of the car until Northridge was far behind.

He was cowering behind the current issue of the
Northridge News,
but Bonnie recognized him all the same. She would know those strong, gold-dusted hands anywhere.

“Are you following me?” she demanded, once the conductor had taken up tickets and disappeared into another car.

Slowly, the newspaper descended, revealing a familiar face. Eli smiled broadly. “How could I have known that you would be on this train?” he countered reasonably.

“I think it’s entirely possible that Genoa sent word to you at the hotel!”

Eli smiled and gave his newspaper an insolent snap. “You flatter yourself, Bonnie. It so happens that I have business in Spokane. Business that has nothing whatsoever to do with you.”

It would be fruitless to argue with the man. Biting her lower lip, Bonnie turned in her seat and forceably fixed her attention on the trees and the river slipping past her window. The rain had relented a little, but it was still coming down steadily, and the river looked higher and wilder than ever before. To keep from thinking about Eli, Bonnie fretted over the residents of Patch Town. They were too near the water, too vulnerable to it, and so were a number of other people. Webb, for one; his newspaper office would be swept away if the river rose to flood stage.

Bonnie shivered and, just as she did, Eli sat down in the seat beside hers. She did not turn to look at him, even when he said her name. Perhaps, if she ignored him, he would go back to his seat at the rear of the car and leave her alone.

There was a long silence, then Eli made a sound like a sigh of exasperation.

“I lied,” he said.

Bonnie was so surprised by his confession that she turned to face him, completely forgetting her earlier decision to ignore Eli McKutchen no matter what he did or said. “What?”

“I have no business in Spokane.”

Bonnie didn’t know how to respond to that. She felt just like the first time she’d ever come face-to-face with Eli; she had a sense of sweet alarm and a queer feeling in the pit of her stomach. “Genoa did send word, then.”

“No. You told Seth and Seth told me.”

Bonnie could not find it within herself to be angry with Seth, not after he’d saved her business from certain failure. She bit her lower lip again and dropped her eyes. “Don’t spoil this for me, Eli,” she said softly. “Please.”

“I don’t want to spoil anything. I merely want a chance to talk to you without Seth or Genoa or Webb Hutcheson hanging around. And then there’s Forbes. Are you aware that he almost always knows where you are and what you’re doing?”

Bonnie remembered a certain night, when she’d tried to take a simple bath in her kitchen, and blushed. She wouldn’t want Forbes or anyone else to know about that. “Forbes and I grew up together,” she said. “Other boys liked to collect spiders or play marbles, but Forbes had a different hobby. Watching me.”

“I can’t say I blame him for that,” Eli muttered, though from his tone it sounded as though he did after all blame Forbes. “You’d think he would have taken up another interest by now, though, wouldn’t you?”

Bonnie smiled in spite of herself. “Yes,” she replied. “But there is no explaining Forbes.”

There must have been something in Bonnie’s smile or tone that Eli didn’t like, for he frowned. “You know, I think that bastard wants you for himself.”

“Forbes might have entertained a notion or two along those lines at one time, but he’s long since accepted the fact that he and I aren’t destined to be together.”

“Unlike you and Webb, you mean.”

Bonnie felt color rising in her face. “I declare, Eli McKutchen, if you start ragging me about that again, I’ll get off this train at the very next stop!”

“You’re not really married to Hutcheson, are you?” Eli persisted, and there was no trace of insult in his voice, only a certain vulnerability.

Bonnie sighed. She had never been a very good liar and
this particular falsehood was just too cumbersome to manage. “No. I’m not married to Webb.”

Eli’s look of smug relief was irritating.

“But that doesn’t mean I
won’t
marry Webb,” Bonnie pointed out quickly. “He has asked for my hand in marriage, and I may say yes.”

“Why?”

“Why?” Bonnie echoed, annoyed. “Because Webb Hutcheson is a very good man. A very gentle and honest man. He could give Rose and me a real home.”