Free Wanton Angel by Linda Lael Miller Page B

of that cough medicine—”
    Bonnie took a sizable bottle of the concoction from the shelf behind the counter and extended it without a word. The fact that Menelda had appeared in the store in broad daylight, and after the events of the day before at that, was an accurate measure of her desperation.
    Menelda clasped the medicine in both hands and swallowed, her eyes averted, but there was angry color in her cheeks, too. “You’d think my Jim would take care with his money—they say there’s a strike coming and our Zoë is so poorly—but he spends half a day’s pay to dance with a fancy woman.”
    The barbed words snagged Bonnie’s spirit, just as they were meant to, but she couldn’t very well protest Menelda’s remark when there was so much truth in it. It was wrong for Jim Sneeder to spend his wages in such a way, and it was wrong for Bonnie to profit by his foolishness.
    She didn’t bother to say good-bye when Menelda turned and hurried out of the store.
    Almost simultaneously Webb Hutcheson appeared, handsome in his neat broadcloth suit, his round-brimmed hat and manly mustache. He removed the hat and glanced at the window, taking note of Menelda’s swift leave-taking, then turning his attention back to Bonnie.
    “I hear I missed a major battle in front of the Brass Eagle yesterday afternoon.”
    “Some newspaper man you are, Webb Hutcheson,” Bonnie answered, pretending to be busy aligning bottles of laudanum and vegetable tonic on a shelf.
    All the same she knew that Webb was very near, probably leaning against the other side of the counter. “I’ve also heard that your husband is in town.”
    Bonnie stiffened and then went purposefully on arranging and rearranging. “My
former
husband,” she corrected.
    Webb gave a patient sigh. If there was one hallmark of the man’s character, it was patience. “Aren’t you going to write down whatever it was Menelda Sneeder just bought on credit?”
    The senseless moving and clinking of bottles stopped abruptly; Bonnie’s shoulders stooped and she lowered her head slightly. “I’ll thank you not to meddle in my business, Mr. Hutcheson. Menelda needed that medicine and she didn’t have money to pay for it.”
    “Of course,” Webb replied evenly, “just yesterday she was ready to chop you to bits with a hatchet.”
    Bonnie whirled to face Webb then, her eyes full of tears. “She might have had the money if her husband hadn’t danced with me.”
    Webb, who had indeed been leaning against the counter, straightened and backed away a step. “We’ve had this conversation before, Bonnie. I have sympathy for you, but you know I can’t tell you that dancing the hurdy-gurdy is right.”
    Rose was fond of Webb, who paid her proper court on almost every occasion, and she began to bounce in her highchair, plump arms extended. Her chortling laugh deepened Bonnie’s guilt, for she couldn’t help thinking of Menelda’s little girl. Zoë was sickly, and she needed the medicine her father couldn’t afford because he spent so much at the Brass Eagle every night, when his shift at the smelter was over.
    Webb laughed at Rose’s antics and deftly freed her from her chair, lifting her high above his head. Shrieking with delight, she spread her chubby arms out like the wings of a bird and, fate being what it is, Eli walked in at exactly that moment.
    His golden eyes darkened to deep amber as he watched,and Bonnie saw his jaw tighten, but before Eli could speak, Rose Marie surprised everyone by whooping, “Papa! Papa!”
    Instantly the strain in Eli’s face was gone, replaced by a blinding grin. “Hello, princess,” he said, holding out his arms.
    Webb surrendered the child without speaking, and the stricken look in his blue eyes compounded Bonnie’s miseries. He’d made it clear enough that he hoped to marry Bonnie and raise Rose Marie as his own, and this sudden encounter with Eli was an understandable shock to him.
    After a moment of struggle, Bonnie found her