Free Whispers on the Wind (A Prairie Hearts Novel Book 5) by Caroline Fyffe Page B

church to Main Street. Halfway there she noticed Bao Ling come out the back door of the laundry. The poor woman, large and past her sixth month, lumbered toward the clothesline with a basket of linens in her arms.
    Violet hurried over. “Give me that! Ya gonna hurt the peanut.”
    Bao resisted, but Violet wrested the clothes away. She might be old, and in pain, but she was still stronger than most women she knew.
    Bao blinked several times. “Mrs. Holly hock ,” she breathed out on a sigh. “Let me have back.”
    Violet marched to the taut rope strung between two medium-sized oaks and set the load on the ground, pushing back the groan in her throat. “After I hang these, I’m gonna have a word with that man a’ yours. He can’t be expectin’ you ta do the things ya did afore you was with child.” She took a sheet from the basket and snapped it out. She stuck a few clothespins in her mouth, then went down the line fastening on the sheet. Bao hurried to get the other end.
    When she went for another sheet, Bao stopped her with a hand to her forearm. She looked into her face. “Please, no do that.”
    “But ya need help, honey. Think of the little one.”
    Bao’s face clouded over and she glanced away. Violet was sure it was to hide her tears.
    “We get by.”
    Maybe now they got by. But in another month, all the hours over the boiling pots would take their toll. Violet had seen it before. She didn’t want to see this sweet woman lose her baby.
    “Ya gots ta hire some help.” Surely they could. They were the only laundry business in town, and were always washing. “Just for a few months. Until the babe is born.”
    She shook her head, sending her long braid swishing back and forth. “Can’t afford.”
    Lan, her young daughter, stepped out the back door. When she saw Violet, she stopped and slowly stepped back in. That was strange for the friendly child. Turning, Violet fetched a nearby chair and set it by the basket.
    “Sit yerself down. Jist for a minute while I string these up. Your face is redder than any beet from my garden.” When the shy woman tried to resist, Violet narrowed her eyes. Bao sat.
    “That’s better.” An expert after many years of hanging her own laundry, Violet was finished in ten minutes. “What other heavy work ya got planned fer the day?”
    “That’s all.”
    Violet lifted a brow.
    Bao smiled. “I promise.”
    “That better be the truth.” Once the wet garments were dry, they would be much easier to remove from the line. “I’ll be by tomorrow ta handle your sheets.”
    “No. Sunday. You have service.”
    “And you have work. I seen ya. You and Mr. Ling work seven days a week. I can’t say as I understand that, but I won’t harp.” When Bao began to object once more, Violet pointed a finger in her face. “God put you protector over that little one. You have ta think of him or her first.”
    Bao dropped her eyes. “Thank you,” she whispered.
    Violet patted her arm. “I’ll be on my way now, but look for me around this time tomorrow. I’ll be here.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

    W hisk broom in hand, Hunter brushed the shards of glass strewn over the Bright Nugget’s bar onto a tray, wondering how much it would cost to replace the broken glassware. A pretty penny, he was sure. Sheriff Preston had warned him that the saloon could get rowdy, but Hunter had thought the lawman had been exaggerating, since Logan Meadows wasn’t the largest of places. Boy, had he been wrong. His first night working the bar had been an eye-opener.
    A door opened upstairs. Hunter didn’t even look up. Kendall was still giving him the cold shoulder. He guessed he’d feel much the same if someone horned in claiming half of his territory.
    Footsteps clomped down the stairs.
    From the corner of his eye, Hunter saw Kendall pull his suspenders up over his shoulders as he passed Hunter without saying a word. The man continued behind the bar where he poured himself a short drink and tossed it