Storing Up Trouble, стр. 3
“It would not have been my first time firing a pistol.”
“And while I’m skeptical about that, allow us to put this absurd conversation aside because we have more pressing matters to attend to.”
Beatrix had certainly encountered her fair share of gentlemen who believed ladies were, in essence, useless and expected to leave troubling situations to the discretion of men. But because she was Beatrix Waterbury, one of the great American heiresses, she was quite unaccustomed to anyone speaking in such a condescending manner to her.
The gentlemen of her acquaintance were always unerringly considerate of her and her “delicate feminine sensibilities,” as they liked to call them, and none of them would have ever contemplated speaking so rudely to her.
Realizing, though, that now was hardly the time to deliver a blistering lecture, Beatrix swallowed the words that were on the very tip of her tongue. She then gave a jerk of her head toward the man lying in the aisle. “Shall I assume that pressing matter revolves around getting this man secured?”
“You should assume nothing of the sort. The pressing matter I mentioned revolves around us—as in you and me—getting off this train.”
“I have no intention of departing this train with you, Mr. . . . ?”
“Nesbit. Norman Nesbit, and you are?”
“Beatrix Waterbury, but I can’t get off the train with you because it would hardly be proper. And, besides, you could very well be a madman out to murder me, quite like the madmen I read about in the gothic novels I enjoy. And I have to believe any danger has vanished because you knocked out the man who was threatening us.”
For the briefest of seconds, Mr. Norman Nesbit considered Beatrix, a flash of curiosity flickering through his eyes, but then he stepped over the man lying on the floor and took hold of her arm.
“I’m not a madman.”
“I imagine that’s a proclamation most madmen make before they do in their victims.”
A vein began throbbing on Norman’s forehead as his lips thinned. “An interesting theory, but one I have no time to debate with you because we have to get off this train.”
“No.”
“Did you not hear what the man disclosed to you before I rendered him senseless?”
“He disclosed he was a thief, intent on relieving me of my possessions.”
“Not that, the part where he said, and I quote, ‘We’d hardly be successful robbin’ a train at a station.’”
Beatrix frowned. “Are you of the belief he’s not acting alone?”
“Of course he’s not acting alone, and because the man charged directly for me when he entered this car, something you missed when you made a trip to the retiring room, I’m convinced I was the main target of this train heist. Robbing the other passengers was only a ploy to distract from the real reason behind this particular train being held up.”
“How did you know I’d gone off to the retiring room?”
“I’m very observant. I’m also very rational, which is why I feel it’s prudent for me to get off this train in order to avoid bodily harm done to my person.”
“And you feel it’s prudent for me to go with you?”
He nodded. “Indeed.” He gestured to the unconscious man. “There’s little hope that when this man comes to he’ll be feeling charitable toward you, what with you threatening to shoot him.” Norman gestured to Beatrix’s hair. “And because red hair is uncommonly rare, what with how scientists believe it’s only seen in a small percentage of the world’s population, some believing it’s as small as one percent, it’s highly likely this man will recognize you again and likely he’ll be able to give a credible description to his fellow train robbers when they . . .”
“When they what?” Beatrix prodded when Norman stopped talking, narrowed his eyes on something behind her, then snatched up the leather satchel the train robber had dropped.
“We’re running out of time” was all Norman said as he hustled her toward the door, shoved it open, and all but dragged Beatrix through it.
Chapter 2
Tripping over the hem of her traveling gown as she followed Norman off the train, Beatrix regained her balance and looked up, frowning when she saw the clear dose of annoyance in his eyes.
“Why are you regarding me in such an unpleasant fashion?” she asked.
“I was planning on assisting you.”
“I’m perfectly capable of getting off a train by myself,” she said shortly as Norman began tugging her toward a grove of trees located a few yards away from the tracks.
“Are you always so argumentative?” he asked.
“I’m rarely argumentative.” She squinted as she caught sight of three horses tied to a tree and immediately tried to angle toward them, which had Norman slowing his pace.
“Is there some part of ‘we’re soon to be set upon by other robbers’ that you’re not comprehending?” he asked.
She nodded toward the horses. “I imagine those are the robbers’ horses. We need to take them.”
“I’m not a horse thief.”
“I hardly think taking horses that don’t belong to us from robbers who most assuredly want to deprive us of our possessions—if not our very lives—makes us horse thieves. Besides, taking their horses will make it all but impossible for them to catch us.”
Shrugging out of Norman’s hold, Beatrix raced toward the horses, untying two of them swiftly and leaping into the saddle of a large chestnut with ease. Taking a second to adjust her skirt to make riding astride more efficient, she shoved her pistol purse into her bag, gathered the reins into a practiced hand, then leaned forward to snag the reins of the horse closest to her, kneeing her horse forward and bringing it to a stop in front of Norman. That man, annoyingly enough, was still standing exactly where she’d left him, shaking his head as his gaze traveled over