Mrs. Fletcher stepped nearer. “Word is Mr. Emerson wouldn’t budge from your side, good man.”
The door opened behind her. Attention diverted, Charlie offered up a silent prayer of thanks, only to cringe when Mrs. Fletcher greeted the new customer, “Good afternoon, Mrs. Fontanne. What can I get for you today?”
“Nothing today.” The old hag came up behind Charlie. “I just popped in to have a word with Miss Elliot.”
Goddamn it.
Turning, trying to keep her face polite, Charlie met the eyes of one of the meanest women on God’s green earth.
Mrs. Fontanne raised her chin. “I’ve been hoping to run into you for some time.”
Cocking a brow, Charlie straightened her shoulders and braced for whatever horrible thing was coming.
“It has been pointed out to me that I was not as courteous as I ought to have been.”
Holy shit the old woman was apologizing.
“I hope we can put it behind us.”
“Of course, Mrs. Fontanne.” Charlie lowered her brows, and smiled just enough. “And thank you for taking such good care of me when I was friendless and new in town.”
Unsure if the young woman was mocking her, Mrs. Fontanne offered a handshake. When Charlie took it, the woman turned her newly scarred wrist so she might see the damage, while asking the question every person milling about the general store was dying to know, “It true you shot those five men who broke in?”
An old gossip never changes her stripes. Monotone, Charlie answered, “Couldn’t say. I don’t remember a thing.”
Undaunted, Mrs. Fontanne pressed, “That must’a been one nasty wound.” She looked up to inspect Charlie’s neck for signs of the bruises, disappointed to find nothing more than fading yellow smears. “We all heard about Mr. Emerson carrying you into the hospital, man near to losing his mind. Heard tell, they had to pry your body out of his arms. That he threw a first rate fit when they wouldn’t let him come with you.”
“He’s gonna be my husband,” Charlie blurted out stupidly, uncomfortable with all the attention.
“He is powerful influential round here…” Old beady eyes narrowed, and Charlie realized Matthew was the reason for this new cordial behavior.
“I thank you for your concern, Mrs. Fontanne.” Speaking quickly, Charlotte pulled out her wallet and looked to the shopkeeper. “Mrs. Fletcher, I’d like a small bag of peppermints.”
The transaction was handled and Charlie hurried out the door, tired of being Monroe’s afternoon sideshow.
Back at Devil’s Hollow, she hardly made it inside the door before Eli rushed up to take the big basket of bread. “Sure does smell good. How’s my Ruth?”
“She’s doing fine. We had quite a laugh today.” She explained, taking off her coat, while Eli put the bread in the pantry.
Nathaniel, mid-swallow, heard her and choked.
A few sharp slaps between the shoulder blades seemed to set the red-faced drunk to rights. “You okay, Nathaniel?”
When he caught her eye, Charlie leaned in close, and could see it plain as day on his face. Ignoring where Matthew stood at the grill, certain he was giving his brother a death glare in the mirror, Charlie whispered, “Ruth thought it was pretty damn funny too.”
Nathaniel lost it, had to get up and walk out the back, laughing so hard it hurt the whole way.
“What the hell is wrong with him?” Eli asked, brushing flour off his hands.
Innocent, Charlie took her seat. “Who knows?” Looking at Matthew standing all large, she gave him a tiny wink and set the peppermints on the bar. “Seems Mrs. Fontanne is suddenly my new best friend. I wonder just what inspired that, Mr. Emerson?”
Glad he was off the hook for telling Nathaniel, and a little embarrassed she had obviously told Ruth, Matthew grunted, “I spoke with her husband.”
Charlie grew cheeky, trilling her nails against the bar. “A
wful sweet of you.”
Sliding a plate of lunch before his woman, Matthew leaned over, giving her a look that warned she best not argue over what he was about to say. “We have a run to make tonight, so I went to town this morning and booked you a room at the boarding house.”