it in the bargain.
Webb was away from the newspaper office, as luck would have it, and Bonnie couldn’t wait for him. She finally waylaid a goggle-eyed messenger boy passing on the street and sent him to the Brass Eagle, with a hastily scrawled note for Forbes.
Instead of sending a reply, Forbes came in person, hisbrazen brown eyes humorously sympathetic as they took in Bonnie’s ruined clothes, smudged face and tangled hair. “Oh, Angel, you’ve got us all into a mess this time, haven’t you?”
Bonnie swallowed, cold and miserable and deeply shamed. Forbes’s opinion didn’t matter but, if she were to be honest with herself, she had to admit that Eli’s did. “I suppose I’m fired,” she said.
Forbes paused long enough to draw a cheroot from the inside pocket of his coat and, leaning against the jamb of Webb’s open door, he struck a wooden match against the sole of his boot. “Eli McKutchen is the one man I can’t afford to tangle with,” he said, with uncommon forthrightness. “On the other hand, nobody draws business into the Brass Eagle the way you do. And you’re not legally his wife, are you?”
Bonnie had divorced Eli rather impulsively, angry because he’d gone off to war and because her father’s store had fallen into such ruin. She shook off the regret that possessed her whenever she thought of her action and, lifting her smudged and rouge-stained chin, announced, “Eli McKutchen has no legal hold over me, Forbes. None whatsoever.”
“He has a few over me, Angel,” Forbes reflected, his eyes in the far distance now. “He has a few over me.”
“He isn’t going to approve of your management of the smelter,” Bonnie agreed. “It seems to me that since we’re both in trouble, we might as well stand our ground.”
Forbes chuckled. He was a rounder and every other sort of scoundrel, but Bonnie had to admire his spirit. “So you admit that you’re in trouble, too, do you?”
Bonnie lowered her head for a moment, and then nodded. She thought of her daughter and her store and her position as mayor, joke that it was, and felt a new determination surge through her. “I’m not going to let Eli bully me, Forbes. I have reasons to fight and, by God, fight I will!”
As if in wonder, Forbes shook his head. “Are you forgetting how powerful Eli is, Bonnie? We’re not dealing with a spurned pot-tender or a lumberjack, you know—your ex-husband is a man the likes of Vanderbilt, Rockefeller and Astor.”
“I’ve met them all,” Bonnie sniffed and in that moment, if she was forgetting anything, it was the ridiculous state of her appearance, “and they’re only men.”
Forbes’s perfect teeth were bared in an insufferable grin. “Well, Angel, if you’re game, so am I. We’ll beard the lion and all that.”
Despite everything, Bonnie laughed. With the demeanor of a queen, she swept past Forbes and started walking down the street toward the Brass Eagle Saloon and Ballroom. “Why didn’t you tell me you had a bathtub like that?” she demanded. “My word, it’s so luxurious as to be sinful, Forbes Durrant!”
Forbes looked unaccountably happy as he strode along beside her. “That’s the way I like my sin, Bonnie-my-sweet. Luxurious.”
A shiver crept up Bonnie’s spine, a shiver that had no connection whatsoever to her wet clothing. It was all very well to whistle in the dark, but the truth was just as Forbes had pointed out—Eli
was
one of the most powerful men in America. If his temper didn’t cool and his natural good nature failed to come to the fore, he might well crush not only Forbes, but Bonnie herself.
Dottie Thurston assessed Bonnie’s fresh dress and neat, if somewhat dewy, coiffure with slightly envious eyes. “Forbes never lets nobody else use his bathtub,” she complained in an undertone, as the ballroom began to fill with token-bearing miners, smelter workers and sheep farmers. Soon the orchestra would play, the dancing would begin, and Bonnie found
Webb was away from the newspaper office, as luck would have it, and Bonnie couldn’t wait for him. She finally waylaid a goggle-eyed messenger boy passing on the street and sent him to the Brass Eagle, with a hastily scrawled note for Forbes.
Instead of sending a reply, Forbes came in person, hisbrazen brown eyes humorously sympathetic as they took in Bonnie’s ruined clothes, smudged face and tangled hair. “Oh, Angel, you’ve got us all into a mess this time, haven’t you?”
Bonnie swallowed, cold and miserable and deeply shamed. Forbes’s opinion didn’t matter but, if she were to be honest with herself, she had to admit that Eli’s did. “I suppose I’m fired,” she said.
Forbes paused long enough to draw a cheroot from the inside pocket of his coat and, leaning against the jamb of Webb’s open door, he struck a wooden match against the sole of his boot. “Eli McKutchen is the one man I can’t afford to tangle with,” he said, with uncommon forthrightness. “On the other hand, nobody draws business into the Brass Eagle the way you do. And you’re not legally his wife, are you?”
Bonnie had divorced Eli rather impulsively, angry because he’d gone off to war and because her father’s store had fallen into such ruin. She shook off the regret that possessed her whenever she thought of her action and, lifting her smudged and rouge-stained chin, announced, “Eli McKutchen has no legal hold over me, Forbes. None whatsoever.”
“He has a few over me, Angel,” Forbes reflected, his eyes in the far distance now. “He has a few over me.”
“He isn’t going to approve of your management of the smelter,” Bonnie agreed. “It seems to me that since we’re both in trouble, we might as well stand our ground.”
Forbes chuckled. He was a rounder and every other sort of scoundrel, but Bonnie had to admire his spirit. “So you admit that you’re in trouble, too, do you?”
Bonnie lowered her head for a moment, and then nodded. She thought of her daughter and her store and her position as mayor, joke that it was, and felt a new determination surge through her. “I’m not going to let Eli bully me, Forbes. I have reasons to fight and, by God, fight I will!”
As if in wonder, Forbes shook his head. “Are you forgetting how powerful Eli is, Bonnie? We’re not dealing with a spurned pot-tender or a lumberjack, you know—your ex-husband is a man the likes of Vanderbilt, Rockefeller and Astor.”
“I’ve met them all,” Bonnie sniffed and in that moment, if she was forgetting anything, it was the ridiculous state of her appearance, “and they’re only men.”
Forbes’s perfect teeth were bared in an insufferable grin. “Well, Angel, if you’re game, so am I. We’ll beard the lion and all that.”
Despite everything, Bonnie laughed. With the demeanor of a queen, she swept past Forbes and started walking down the street toward the Brass Eagle Saloon and Ballroom. “Why didn’t you tell me you had a bathtub like that?” she demanded. “My word, it’s so luxurious as to be sinful, Forbes Durrant!”
Forbes looked unaccountably happy as he strode along beside her. “That’s the way I like my sin, Bonnie-my-sweet. Luxurious.”
A shiver crept up Bonnie’s spine, a shiver that had no connection whatsoever to her wet clothing. It was all very well to whistle in the dark, but the truth was just as Forbes had pointed out—Eli
was
one of the most powerful men in America. If his temper didn’t cool and his natural good nature failed to come to the fore, he might well crush not only Forbes, but Bonnie herself.
Dottie Thurston assessed Bonnie’s fresh dress and neat, if somewhat dewy, coiffure with slightly envious eyes. “Forbes never lets nobody else use his bathtub,” she complained in an undertone, as the ballroom began to fill with token-bearing miners, smelter workers and sheep farmers. Soon the orchestra would play, the dancing would begin, and Bonnie found
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