Storing Up Trouble, стр. 6

“But why are you wearing plates of steel?”

“Thought they would come in handy to protect my research papers, the ones the train robbers really wanted, from any weather elements as I traveled back to Chicago.”

A second later, Beatrix was unbuttoning his vest, something he was grateful about since he was fond of this particular vest and didn’t want its buttons to go the way of the buttons of his jacket. Shoving open the vest after she’d gotten it completely unbuttoned, she let her gaze travel over the steel plate he’d secured around himself with a belt.

“Do you often encounter unexpected weather elements when you travel?” she finally asked.

“No, but that’s not to say I couldn’t have encountered unexpected weather, such as a torrential rainstorm, which could have ruined my papers.”

“But you were traveling on a train, not in an open carriage.”

“I’m not on a train now.”

“True, but it’s not raining.”

“True, but my papers could even now be getting a drenching from the blood I’m most certainly spilling because, if you’ve forgotten, you shot me.”

Her green eyes widened. “I did forget about that. Where do you think the bullet entered?”

Norman frowned. “Not sure.”

“Where’s the greatest pain?”

“My chest.”

That answer had her returning her attention to his chest, or rather to the belt that was keeping the steel plates in place. Divesting him of the belt and the top plate, she peeled away his research papers, then paused when she got to the second steel plate that was lying directly against his shirt. Leaning closer, she plucked the plate off him, turning that plate over and over again as she considered it.

“There’s no hole, and I don’t see any blood on your shirt” was all she said, tossing the plate aside before she picked up the first plate again, which she then brandished in front of him.

“Look, there’s a dent here that suggests the bullet might have ricocheted off this plate.” She tossed the plate to the ground and began patting his jacket down again, causing him to jump when her finger poked him in the side.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Looking for the bullet.” She bent over him, her hair tickling his nose as well as allowing him to get a whiff of her hair, which smelled like lemon mixed with a bit of lime.

“Got it,” she said cheerfully, taking the scent of her hair with her as she straightened, holding a small bullet in her hand. She turned a bright smile on him, drawing his attention to a freckle that rested directly next to her bottom lip. That lip, he realized, was once again moving, which meant she was speaking, although what she’d just said, he had no idea.

“I must be suffering from a blow to the head,” he muttered.

“Why didn’t you say something sooner?” she demanded, tossing the bullet aside and probing his head with her fingers. She lifted his head as she continued feeling around the back of his neck until his head was nestled directly against her bosom, not that she seemed to realize she’d placed him in a spot she probably didn’t want him lingering.

A different scent immediately captured his senses, one that smelled of lilies, sunshine, and . . .

He shook his head as he realized the scent was beginning to muddle thoughts that were unused to being muddled.

“You’re pulling my hair,” he murmured through the fabric his face was pressed up against, a less-than-truthful statement since she was being remarkably gentle with him, but it was the only thing he could think of to get her to release him, which would hopefully have his thoughts returning to fine working order.

She released him abruptly, causing his head to land with a thud against the hard ground and earning a grunt from him in return.

Beatrix winced. “Sorry about that, but you’ll be pleased to learn that your head seems to be fine, as does your chest.” She picked up one of the abandoned steel plates and nodded. “You must make sure to tell that scientist friend of yours that he’s on to something with this steel because it appears that his plate prevented the bullet from hitting your skin.”

“I suppose I should be relieved I’ve not actually been shot.”

“You have been shot, but you aren’t going to die from it.” She caught his eye. “Do know that I didn’t intentionally shoot you, although I didn’t actually shoot you, the ground did. With that said, though, I feel dreadful about the accident and am much relieved to know you’re going to live.”

“I’d feel much relieved if you’d agree to give me that pistol purse of yours so you won’t unintentionally shoot anyone else.”

“I’m not giving you my pistol purse. These are dangerous times for a lady traveling alone, and that pistol purse lends me a sense of security.”

“Your pistol purse lends me an ache in my chest where that bullet would have torn my skin if I’d not had the presence of mind to gird my chest with plates of steel to begin with.”

“If you’d not been so clumsy as to stumble into your horse, which then bumped into mine, I wouldn’t have tumbled to the ground, nor would I have dropped the pistol purse, which then caused it to fire—a rare occurrence I’m sure since I’ve not read any reports in the newspaper about this particular weapon firing at random.”

“You read?”

“I don’t believe I need to dignify that with an answer.” She rose to her feet and dusted off her hands.

“I’m not questioning whether you can read,” Norman clarified. “I was questioning the idea that you read newspapers.”

“Of course I read newspapers.”

“There’s no need to sound so indignant. You must know that electing to read newspapers is a peculiar choice for a woman. I can’t claim to know but three women who read the daily newsprints.”

“You must not be acquainted with many women.”

“I’m acquainted with lots of women, but again, they’ve never brought it to my attention that they read newspapers.”

She let