Wanton Angel (34 page)

“Of course, you would.”

“Are you telling me that he was lying?”

Forbes lifted the lid of one of the candy jars and helped himself to a stick of red licorice. “Far from it, Angel. Eli truly didn’t know.”

“Then what exactly are you getting at?”

Forbes gave a long sigh and then took a bite of his licorice, chewing it in a contemplative fashion. Wagons rattled past on the road, and upstairs Katie was singing, Rose was bellowing, and Webb was whining for Susan to come and straighten his pillows. A decade seemed to pass before Forbes replied, “Your father owed me money, Bonnie. A great deal of money. When he ran out on the debt, I took over the store to try and recoup some of my losses.”

Bonnie’s throat constricted and there was a queer sensation in the pit of her stomach. “How could my father have owed you money?”

Forbes’s elegantly clad shoulders moved in a shrug. “It pains me to speak of such indelicate pursuits, especially to a lady like yourself,” he said in polite mockery, “but nevertheless a debt is a debt. Jack Fitzpatrick drank a lot, Bonnie, and he liked his women. Even more, he liked to gamble. He ran up a sizable tab at the Brass Eagle after you’d gone off to New York with your handsome new husband. Out of the goodness of my heart, I trusted your dear papa to meet his obligations like a gentleman.”

“Out of the goodness of your heart?” Bonnie repeated skeptically. “Come now, Forbes—if you granted my father any grace at all, it was because of his ties to the McKutchen family.”

Again Forbes shrugged. He was enjoying this immensely, Bonnie thought, and she longed to crown him with her cash register. If only she could have lifted it.

“As you like, Angel,” the saloonkeeper conceded, with a charitable sigh. “In any case, I recovered some of my money by taking over this mercantile. There is still, however, the matter of an outstanding balance.”

“You can’t hold me responsible for my father’s debts!” Bonnie realized that she’d shouted and made a conscious effort to control her tone of voice. “Besides,” she went on in an acid whisper, “how do I know that you aren’t lying?”

Forbes finished off his licorice and purloined another piece before answering. “Umm,” he said, chewing, “I’ve got papers here somewhere. Signed markers.” He explored both pockets of his tailored coat and then the one inside. With great fanfare, he presented a packet of folded documents.

Bonnie was sure he’d known just where the markers were the whole time. She reached for them with a slightly tremulous hand. “I have the deed to this store,” she said, after scanning the papers and seeing her father’s familiar mark at the bottom of each. “I have a clear deed.”

“Actually the deed is in Mr. Fitzpatrick’s name, isn’t it?”

Bonnie didn’t need to answer. The complete dearth of color in her face—she felt it seeping away—answered for her.

“As I thought,” said Forbes, going through his pockets again and finally laying a shiny copper penny on the counter to pay for the licorice he’d consumed. “You did notice,
didn’t you, that the markers clearly state that this establishment has been put up as legal collateral against any debts Jack Fitzpatrick incurred at the Brass Eagle?”

“Why did you wait until now to tell me all this?” Bonnie countered.

“Two reasons,” Forbes replied blithely. “Number one, you didn’t have the money to pay me. Number two, this place wasn’t a paying proposition—at least, the way you were managing it it wasn’t—and therefore it wasn’t worth the bother of foreclosing.”

Bonnie’s frustration was great, but her self-control was greater. “Aren’t you afraid of losing your job as manager of the smelter works over this, Forbes?”

Forbes laughed. “Angel, I’m surprised at you. One thing has little enough to do with the other. Of course, if you were still married to Eli, I would probably have approached him instead.”

Eli’s name sent Bonnie’s tottering spirit plummeting. Ever since their return to Northridge, following the flood, he had been avoiding her. He still resided at the rooming house down the hill, and there were rumors to the effect that he had taken Webb’s place in Earline Kalb’s heart. Not to mention her bed.

“I don’t want Eli to know anything about this!” Bonnie said quickly.

Forbes arched one patrician eyebrow. He needed a shave, but on him the hint of a beard was somehow attractive. “Was I right in guessing that your former husband didn’t exactly approve of your father, Angel?”

“Stop calling me Angel. And, yes, you were right!”
Damn you,
Bonnie added silently.

Forbes took the time to revel in his victory and then shuffled thoughtfully through the sheaf of markers again. His lips moved as he calculated the extent of the damage. “In round figures, Bonnie, you owe me five thousand dollars,” he said cheerfully.

Bonnie closed her eyes for a moment, mentally seeing the numbers in her bankbook dwindle away to nothing. When she looked at Forbes again, he was still smiling. “You’re enjoying this,” she accused.

“Oh, indeed I am, Bonnie. Indeed I am.”

“Why?”

“Because I loved you so hopelessly for so long. Ever since you were in pigtails.”

Bonnie’s gaze dropped to the scarred countertop. “And this is your revenge.”

“Hardly. This is business. Making you dance to my tune in the Brass Eagle was my revenge.” He drew a long, audible breath and let it out with a resigned whoosh. “Tell me, Angel. Are you going to give me the store or the money?”

Bonnie swallowed. “The money. I’ll have my banker draw up a draft this afternoon.”

“Good,” Forbes said. And then he took two peppermint sticks from their jar, plopped down another penny and swaggered out.

Bonnie rested her elbows on the counter and dropped her head into her hands. All her delightful profits had just gone winging into Forbes Durrant’s pockets. Through her fingers she saw two copper pennies lying on the countertop. At least he’d left her that much.

At one o’clock that afternoon Bonnie put Katie in charge of the store and went out. Northridge’s one and only bank was well down the street, toward the smelter works.

Mr. Swendenborg, the president, gave her an embarrassing lecture when she asked for her funds, but Bonnie stood her ground. When she left the bank, the draft was neatly folded and resting in her handbag.

She walked down the hill, passing Earline’s rooming house on her right and the undertaker’s establishment on her left. A vivid memory of the day of the flood made her shiver.

“Cold?” a masculine voice called.

Bonnie turned, shading her eyes from the sun with one hand, and looked up to see Eli leaning out of an upstairs window of the rooming house. Was that Earline’s room? She found herself hoping that he would fall and crack his hard, miserable skull. “On a day like this?” she replied guilelessly.

Eli frowned. “Is the store closed?” He actually consulted his pocket watch. “It’s the middle of the day.”

Bonnie longed to rankle him. “Some of us can’t afford to languish in our beds the whole day through,” she replied.
“But to answer your question, the store is open. Katie is minding it while I pay a call on Forbes.”

To Bonnie’s enormous satisfaction, Eli bumped his head against the window sash. A string of muffled curses rent the air.

“What business could you possibly have with that—that rounder?” Eli demanded, once he’d finished swearing.

“I thought I might ask for my job back,” Bonnie answered, without missing a beat. “I rather miss dancing the hurdy-gurdy.” Having said this, the Angel went merrily on about her business.

“Bonnie!” the devil yelled after her from the second-story window. “Damn it, come back here!”

Bonnie walked faster.

The famous warped billiard tables were about to be replaced with new ones, Bonnie noted, as she walked boldly into the Brass Eagle Saloon and approached the bar. Indeed, she was probably paying for the set being carried in through the side doors by four red-faced and puffing laborers.

Forbes was supervising, but he turned away when he saw Bonnie, an insolent grin stretching across his face.

“You brought my money,” he stated happily.

Bonnie hated handing over her hard-earned profits, and at that moment she hated Forbes, too. And her irresponsible father. “You’re not getting a dime until you hand over those markers,” she answered. “Furthermore, I want your written promise that there are no more debts.”

Forbes offered a gentlemanly arm. “Shall we discuss this in my office?” he asked.

Bonnie’s chin jutted out, but she took Forbes’s arm and allowed him to escort her up the stairs and into his office. On the second floor there was very little evidence of flood damage. Forbes was a man who liked his personal comforts, and this part of the building had undoubtedly been repaired first.

There was laughter behind the doors they passed; it seemed that the Brass Eagle was doing brisk business in areas besides dancing, gambling and liquor.

“Human lust never ceases to amaze me,” Forbes remarked, as he opened one of the double doors leading into his office.

“Or fatten your wallet,” Bonnie added. She swept inside ahead of her escort, unable to resist a little revenge. “There are rumors that you and Lizbeth Simmons are fond of each other, you know. Of course, I don’t believe a word of it.”

Forbes actually flushed, but he was quick to hide his discomfort by setting his back to Bonnie and striding toward his desk. “Why don’t you believe it?” he couldn’t resist asking.

Bonnie sighed dramatically, as she had seen many a road-show heroine do. “A teacher has—well, you know—a certain standing in any community. Certainly Lizbeth wouldn’t be foolish enough to involve herself with a—with a—”

Forbes was red in the face, and this time he was making no effort to hide the fact. His brown eyes snapped and Bonnie noted that his hands, resting on top of his desk, had closed into fists. “With a what?” he demanded.

Bonnie could not have been more delighted. It was almost worth five thousand dollars to see Forbes lose his legendary composure. “Why, with a saloonkeeper,” she answered in sunny tones. “A procurer, if you will.”

“I am not a procurer!” Forbes roared.

Bonnie pretended to be startled and stepped back, one hand to her throat. The dramatics did not extend to her voice, however. She spoke bluntly. “What is your word for it, Forbes?” Bonnie gestured toward the hallway. “Aren’t there women behind those doors, being paid to please men?”

For once Forbes was at a complete loss. He sank into his chair and sat glaring at Bonnie, as though he’d like to see her hanged or even burned at the stake.

Bonnie opened her handbag and took out the bank draft, which represented nearly every cent she had. “The markers, if you will,” she said, approaching Forbes’s desk. “Along with your disclaimer, of course.”

Forbes sat back in his chair, his fingers making a steeple beneath his stubbly chin. Even when the bank draft was within grasping distance, he didn’t reach for it, and his brown eyes were pensive. “Lizbeth would probably never agree to marry me,” he reflected, and Bonnie was taken aback. She even felt a measure of sympathy.

She recovered quickly enough. After all, she was about to turn over nearly everything she had. “You’re probably right,” she said. “What decent woman would want to wed herself to a whoremonger?”

Forbes’s eyes shot coffee-colored fire as they climbed over Bonnie’s bosom to her face. “My God, we’ve gotten selfrighteous in recent weeks, haven’t we? May I remind you, Mrs. McKutchen, that you used to be one of the biggest draws this place had?”

“I merely danced,” Bonnie said airily.

“Yes, you ‘merely danced.’ With any man who could pay the price.”

Bonnie blushed. If she lived to be nine hundred and ninety-nine, she would probably never hear the end of her stint as a hurdy-gurdy. “I needed the money, Forbes.”

Incredibly Forbes smiled, but his eyes were still dark with annoyance. “And you still do, don’t you?” The smile broadened measurably. “I’ll tell you what I’ll do, Angel. If you’ll come back to the Brass Eagle and dance, I’ll agree to discharge the bills your father ran up.”

Coldly furious, she slapped the draft down on Forbes’s blotter. “I wouldn’t do that to save ten thousand dollars, or a hundred thousand, or a million!” she said, hoping that she would never have to eat those lofty words.

Forbes produced the markers from a desk drawer, along with paper and pen. “You’ve made your point, Angel,” he said with a ragged sigh. “You’ve made your point.”

Five minutes later Bonnie left the Brass Eagle Saloon minus five thousand dollars, but she still had her pride and her self-respect, and she had Forbes’s written word that her father’s debts had been paid. In no mood to deal with any more males, she passed Earline’s place on the far side of the street.

When Bonnie entered the store, Eli was waiting for her. He was pretending to examine a display of sheet music, which of course didn’t fool Bonnie in the least. The man couldn’t carry a tune, let alone play an instrument.

“What do you want?” she demanded, snatching off her straw hat and flinging it away. It sailed over the counter and landed with a plop on the floor behind it.

Wide-eyed, Katie gathered up a fussing Rose and vanished up the stairs.

“Is that the way you greet all your customers, Mrs. McKutchen?” Eli asked, smiling.

Bonnie realized that she’d given him the upper hand and could have kicked herself for it. She yanked her white apron from its peg and slipped it on, tying the sash with wrenching motions of her hands. “Do you always waste entire days lolling about your bedroom?” she countered. Oddly enough she was more irate over Eli’s place of residence than over having to pay five thousand dollars for her father’s drunken pleasures.

Just then Webb bellowed something upstairs, and the sound of running feet—probably Susan’s—clattered overhead.

“Speaking of lolling about in bedrooms,” Eli said and, though his smile was still in place, his eyes looked distinctly angry, “how is Hutcheson?”

“He’s almost fully recovered,” Bonnie answered, bending her head to hide the smile that was suddenly pulling at the corners of her mouth. So that was it, she thought. Eli was staying at Earline’s and stirring up as much gossip as he could because he was jealous of Webb’s position in Bonnie’s home.