Wanton Angel (33 page)

Eli might have said a lot of things, might even have reminded Bonnie that it hadn’t been Webb she’d been making love with less than twenty-four hours before, but he only sighed again.

Bonnie turned to face him, but she wasn’t quite able to meet his eyes. “I guess we’d better go,” she said.

They had left the hotel, walked back to the depot and boarded the train before Eli spoke.

“That day in the store,” he began, his gaze fixed on the clouds of steam rolling past the train windows.

Bonnie knew what day he meant, and she sat up very straight in her seat, her hands folded in her lap. “The day you were going to beat me?”

“I wasn’t going to lay a hand on you, Bonnie. I was only bluffing.”

Bonnie had discerned that at the time, by the twinkle in his eyes, but she didn’t let on that that was so. “I see.”

Eli turned from the window then, his full attention on Bonnie. “Doesn’t it bother you that Hutcheson would strike you, whatever the provocation?”

Perhaps it was the lovemaking, or the joy of being on her way home, bathed and dressed in clean clothes. Bonnie didn’t know what it was that made her answer so directly. “It changes everything,” she said. “It isn’t that I haven’t forgiven Webb—after all, I did contribute to the problem, you know—but I think it was wrong for the simple reason that he’s so much stronger than I am.”

“It does seem like an unfair advantage.”

Bonnie bit her lower lip and then repeated, “But I did—”

“I know, I know. You started the whole thing,” Eli filled in, sounding exasperated.

The train tooted its whistle and began chugging toward Northridge, and Bonnie blushed because she was remembering another trip aboard this train, when she and Eli had had the passenger car all to themselves. “What would you have done?” she asked, looking down at her hands.

Eli laughed. “I don’t think I would have slapped Hutcheson across the face,” he replied. “I tend to prefer a right cross.”

Bonnie was irritated. “That wasn’t what I meant and you know it! I was asking what you would have done in Webb’s place.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Bonnie saw that Eli no longer looked amused.

“To be honest,” he admitted, after a long time, “I don’t know. I’d like to tell you that I would have been chivalrous and discussed our differences in a civilized fashion, but that might not be the truth.”

Bonnie sighed. “I guess it doesn’t really matter what you would have done, does it?”

“I guess not,” Eli answered, and then they were silent again, each wandering in thought.

Ezra Kinder had been at least partially right; the train could go no farther than the old spur of track five miles south of Northridge, where there had once been a sawmill.

Through the window, Bonnie saw that there were wagons waiting to take on freight and passengers—there were several other people riding in the car that day—and the faces of their drivers were solemn indeed.

Eli got out of his seat without a word, and Bonnie followed him mutely down the aisle and off the train. There was a six-inch layer of mud on the ground, and Bonnie promptly sank to her ankles. She was about to swear when Genoa’s voice rang out over the general gloom.

“Eli! Bonnie! Over here!”

Bonnie’s spirits lifted as she looked up and saw Genoa’s carriage waiting among the wagons, the lady herself bending halfway out the window and waving.

Eli chuckled affectionately and took Bonnie’s hand,
wrenching her free of the mud. When she immediately sank into it again, he simply lifted her into his arms, without ceremony, and carried her to Genoa’s carriage.

Bonnie was embarrassed—it would give the population of Northridge one more thing to talk about—but she was too glad to see her friend to protest. Eli deposited her inside the carriage, favored his teary-eyed sister with a grin, and climbed up into the box, beside the driver.

Genoa, seated across from Bonnie, clapped her hands together. “Tell me all about your grand adventure!” she cried.

It wasn’t grand, Bonnie started to protest, but then she remembered how she’d felt in Eli’s arms and stopped herself. In its way, the experience had been grand indeed. Quietly Bonnie explained how she’d slipped off the porch at the rooming house—she wasn’t prepared to decide whether she’d actually slipped or Earline had pushed her—and then been carried away by the river. She told of clinging to the log with Eli’s help, of being washed ashore in the driving rain. But she didn’t mention the old wagon that had served as a lean-to; instead, she led Genoa to believe that she and Eli had been put up by the Kinders.

“I’ve been looking after Katie and Rose,” Genoa said, when the tale had ended, and if she thought there had been gaps in the telling she didn’t mention them. “And Susan Farley took care of Webb. I hope you don’t mind her staying in your place, Bonnie—we couldn’t move him and there are so many needing attention and care.”

Bonnie braced herself. “How many were lost, Genoa? Does anyone know?”

“My Mr. Callahan and the marshal have been leading searches. They’ve found seven bodies,” Genoa paused, lowering her head. “There are nine people missing, as far as anyone can tell. We thought there were eleven until Eli’s wire came.” The spinster produced a handkerchief from inside her sleeve and dabbed at her eyes. “Oh, Bonnie, I was so frightened, thinking that you were both lost, that poor little Rose was an orphan—”

Bonnie reached over and squeezed Genoa’s hand. “I’m sorry that you were worried.”

Genoa rallied herself and tucked her handkerchief back in its place. “There is much to be done, Bonnie. There is so much to be done. Northridge is a shambles.”

“Has the water receded?”

Genoa sighed. “Not entirely, but I think the worst is over.”

They were passing the site of the new cabins now, the carriage rolling and lurching in the mud, and Bonnie looked out to see the houses. They were merely framework, but they were surprisingly large. And there were tents, and people milling about between them, actually smiling and talking.

How resilient people are,
Bonnie thought to herself, and she felt her own spirits rise. “Wherever did they get so many tents?” she asked.

Genoa smiled. “From our good neighbors to the north, in Canada. They heard of our plight over the wire, of course, and sent tents and provisions by wagon.”

The carriage lumbered on, making its awkward way toward Northridge, which was indeed a shambles, at least below the hill. Before a turn in the road cut off Bonnie’s view of the lower part of the town, she saw the devastation. Webb’s newspaper office and Patch Town were entirely gone, while at least four feet of standing water lapped at the walls of the railroad depot and Forbes’s establishment. There was no trace of the ferry or its landings.

“Forbes is devastated,” Genoa said with a surprisingly wry expression curving her lips and dancing in her eyes. “He’s depending rather heavily on our Lizbeth for the strength to carry on.”

Despite the wreckage Bonnie had just seen, she was amused to think of Forbes Durrant falling in love with a schoolmarm. And it did sound as though he had fallen in love. “How does Lizbeth feel about the matter?”

Genoa’s thin shoulders moved in a shrug, but there was still a mischievous light in her eyes. “Who can tell? Forbes is a very good-looking man, you know.”

“He’s also a scoundrel and a rogue,” Bonnie pointed out, though not unkindly.

“They say men of that stripe make the best husbands”
was Genoa’s observation. “Provided they’re reformed, that is.”

“I can’t imagine Forbes being reformed.”

Genoa laughed. “Nor can I, but love works miracles, doesn’t it?”

Seth—hadn’t Genoa referred to him as “my Mr. Callahan” just moments before—popped into Bonnie’s mind. “Perhaps,” she agreed in a reflective tone of voice. “Yes, perhaps it does.”

Genoa said nothing in reply.

The days to come were busy ones for Bonnie and, indeed, for everyone else in Northridge as well.

As the water receded, the railroad authorities sent workers to repair the tracks and rebuild the depot. Supplies came by the wagonload for Bonnie’s store, and she sold merchandise of every sort almost as fast as it arrived.

Webb remained in Bonnie’s bed, and he proved to be an irascible patient, constantly shouting for one thing or another. Fortunately Bonnie didn’t have to wait on him, at least during store hours, because Susan Farley, the young widow Genoa had so staunchly befriended, came every day to look after him. Her patience astounded Bonnie.

Susan’s baby was thriving, and it was Katie who changed his diapers and took him to his mother when he needed feeding. Rose was fascinated by the infant and demanded little attention for herself, seeming content to bask in reflected glory.

Work in the smelter went on as usual, and the cabins south of town slowly sprouted roofs and windows and stoops. To the rumored annoyance of Lizbeth Simmons, Forbes reopened the Brass Eagle Saloon and Ballroom before the floors were dry. The warped billiard tables and undulating ballroom floor became local points of interest, drawing thrill seekers from every quarter of town.

Even Genoa made a pilgrimage to see the oddities. Bonnie had been too busy to go anywhere, between running the store during the daytime and coddling Webb Hutcheson at night.

She was tired of sleeping on the settee in her parlor and even wearier of plumping pillows and listening to long
accountings of her patient’s aches and pains. She was, in fact, very glad that she hadn’t married Webb Hutcheson.

“I’m ruined,” he said one night, with appropriate melodrama, when they had been discussing the flood.

Bonnie shoved a spoonful of medicine into his mouth. “Nonsense. If Forbes can start over, you can, too.”

Webb looked like a little boy and, for a moment, Bonnie’s heart softened. Only for a moment, for he fixed her with a petulant glare and said tragically, “Susan understands what it means to a man to lose everything he has, Bonnie.”

Susan, Susan, Susan,
Bonnie thought.
I’m sick to death of hearing about Susan.
“And I
don’t
understand, is that it?”

“My presses are gone!” Webb thundered. “Hell, my whole damned building is gone! At least Forbes has walls and a floor to work with!”

“Hush,” Bonnie said. “You’ll wake Rose and Katie.”

Cautiously, Webb reached out and took her hand. “I’m sorry, Bonnie. You’ve been so good to me, even giving up your bed, and here I am raising my voice to you.”

Bonnie smiled to show that she forgave him, and subtly withdrew her hand from his. “Good night, Webb,” she said, and then she blew out the lamp and left the room.

“Y
OU SEEM
TO be making a success of this place,” a masculine voice observed, just as Bonnie was stretching to set a pair of new work boots on a high shelf. “At last.”

Bonnie’s ladder jiggled a little as she climbed down. In deference to the warm, sunny June weather, she’d left the mercantile’s door open to let in fresh air. Along with the breeze and a few buzzing flies, she’d admitted Forbes Durrant.

“At last?” she echoed, smoothing the skirts of her pink and gray calico dress. “Forbes, are you complimenting me, in your own backhanded way?”

Forbes grinned, leaning indolently against the counter. As usual he was well-dressed, clad in britches of some soft, clinging fabric, high, shining black boots, a linen shirt, and a tailored jacket of lightweight wool. “I assure you that my compliment was made in all sincerity, Angel. I couldn’t be more pleased to see you prospering.”

Despite the warmth of the day, Bonnie felt a shiver move up her spine. Mingling with the scents of summer wafting through the open door was another smell, worse than the faint twinge of horse dung from the road. It was the smell of trouble.

Bonnie managed a businesslike smile, hiding her misgivings
behind it. “How may I help you?” she asked, taking her customary place on the opposite side of the counter.

Forbes grinned, his brazen eyes taking Bonnie’s measure with the same leisurely appreciation as they always had. “No doubt you’re aware that your dear father left Northridge in something of a hurry a few years back? A mere two or three months before you graced us with your presence, as it happened.”

Bonnie didn’t bother to hide either her unease or her curiosity. If Forbes knew something important about her father’s flight from this town, why hadn’t he mentioned it sooner? “I’m listening, Forbes,” she prompted.

“If you will remember, I was running this—store—under the auspices of McKutchen Enterprises at the time.”

Bonnie felt her blood heating, rising to simmer over her cheekbones. “I remember,” she said.

“You never asked why, though,” Forbes went on idly, pretending an interest in the jars of colorful penny candy arrayed along the countertop. “You simply assumed that your once beloved Eli had ordered the place absorbed into his company.”

“That is not exactly accurate, Forbes,” Bonnie answered evenly. “Eli denied any knowledge of what had happened, and I believed him.”