The Rocky Mountain Heiress Collection by Kathleen Y' Barbo Read Free Book Online Page B

bay.
    Somewhere beyond this thoroughly modern train station was a wilderness waiting to be tamed by the likes of Mae Winslow. A giggle bubbled up, and Gennie covered her lips to keep from laughing aloud.
    Now to search the milling throng for Daniel Beck. Having forgotten to ask for a description, she quickly realized any one of the men openly staring at her were likely candidates. Gennie took a step forward.
    Someone bumped her, and Gennie stumbled. A man of middle age and poor taste in suits caught her and, with a modicum of movement, righted her.
    “I’m terribly sorry,” she said as she adjusted the ribbon on her hat.
    He offered neither a response nor a moment more of his time. He merely tipped his tattered cap and disappeared into the crowd. A moment later, she realized her reticule had gone with him.
    Shrieking like a banshee did not come naturally to Gennie, butshriek she did as she pressed through the crowd in the direction of the thief. The crisp air burned her lungs, as did the unaccustomed shouting, but the noise did its job as travelers parted to allow her a wide berth.
    Spotting the tattered cap ahead, Gennie did the unthinkable and lifted her skirts to give chase. The wide berth became wider, and stunned faces gave way to a few smiles. And then she saw him, the scalawag who dared rob her of the last thing she’d brought from New York other than herself.
    The fellow had the audacity to turn on his heels and face her. For a brief moment, Gennie thought he might have found his conscience, but then he laughed and darted away.
    “You there,” she called, her temper as fiery as the burning in her lungs, “I’ll not lose my reticule to a thief !”
    At the word
thief
, things around her changed.
    A menacing fellow of larger-than-average size caught up to her. “Did you say ‘thief’?”
    She nodded and pointed, another breach of her mother’s strict rules of politeness. “Him,” she managed as the last of the air escaped her lungs.
    “Get ’im, boys,” Gennie heard as spots danced before her eyes.
    Just like a scene from one of Mae Winslow’s adventures, a collection of buckskin-clad men with weapons slung over broad shoulders swarmed the man in the tattered hat. Before she could blink twice, the criminal hung between two sets of strong arms and was being carried toward the street.
    A third man, oddly dressed in some sort of jumbled military costume, parted company with them to present her with the reticule. “This yours?” he asked.
    Gennie snatched it from his outstretched arms, her breath returning in gasps as she doubled over. “Thank you,” she managed as she held the bag to her chest.
    “The air’s a mite thin here,” the man said, “so take care that you don’t become winded. And guard your personal items. There are scoundrels about.”
    Gennie peered up, intent on a sarcastic retort, until she saw his sincere expression. “Thank you,” she repeated. A lad sidled up to the old man. “Well, hello there,” Gennie said.
    The boy eyed her from beneath his tweed cap, then skittered behind the uniform-clad man.
    “Charlie’s a bit shy,” the man offered, “and also in trouble for not staying in the buggy.”
    Gennie suppressed a smile when Charlie, who couldn’t have been a day over eleven, peered around the man’s coattails, eyes wide.
    “That’s a lovely bag, miss.”
    She smiled down at the little fellow. “Why, thank you.”
    “Might I have a look at it?”
    With a nod, Gennie complied, then turned her attention to the elderly soldier. “Perhaps you might assist me,” she said. “I’ve a fellow to find by the name of—”
    “Here, miss.”
    The lad thrust the reticule toward her. Gennie accepted it with a smile. “Thank you.” She tightened the sash and slipped it over her wrist.
    “Interruptin’ your elders is rude,” the old soldier said, pointing at the lad. “Apologize.”
    The boy turned wide eyes toward the older man.
    “Don’t try that face on me. It