One Pink Rose; One White Rose; One Red Rose Read Free

plague.
    They hadn’t even gotten out of town before Travis was punched, kicked, tripped, and shot at, but not by anyone from Pritchard. No, it was Miss Emily Finnegan who tried to do him in, and even though she swore on her sainted mother’s grave that it had all been a terrible misunderstanding, Travis didn’t believe her. Why would he? He had it on good authority from his friends the Cohens that Miss Emily’s mother was still alive and probably dancing an Irish jig with Mr. Finnegan back in Boston, now that the two of them had unloaded their ungrateful daughter on a poor, unsuspecting stranger living in Golden Crest.
    Admittedly, Miss Emily was a pretty little thing. She had hair the color of sable that curled softly around her ears, and big hazel eyes that were brown one minute and gold the next. She had a real nice mouth too, until she opened it, which, Travis was quick to notice, was most of the time. The woman had an opinion about everything and felt compelled to share it with him so that there wouldn’t be any future misunderstandings.
    She wasn’t a know-it-all, but she sure came close. He formed his opinion just five painful minutes after he’d met her.
    It had been suggested by Olsen, the hotel proprietor, that they meet in front of the stage coach station. Travis spotted her from way down the street. She was standing directly behind the hitching post, holding a black umbrella in one hand and a pair of white gloves in the other. There were at least six satchels lined up in a neat row in front of her on the boardwalk, entirely too many to drag up the side of a mountain.
    Miss Finnegan was dressed to perfection from head to toe in white linen. He assumed she hadn’t had time to change out of her Sunday best church clothes. Then he remembered it was Thursday.
    They didn’t exactly start out on the right foot. She was standing at attention with her shoulders back and her head held high, watching the commotion across the street. Although it was still early in the morning, a rowdy crowd had already gathered in Lou’s Tavern and were making quite a ruckus. Perhaps that was why she didn’t hear him come up behind her.
    He made the mistake of tapping her lightly on her shoulder to get her attention so that he could tip his hat to her and introduce himself. That’s when she shot at him. It happened so fast, he barely had enough time to get out of the way. The little derringer she had concealed under her gloves went off when she whirled around. The bullet would have gotten him smack in his middle if he hadn’t spotted the gleaming barrel and leapt to the side in the nick of time.
    He was pretty certain the gun housed only one chamber, but he wasn’t taking any chances. In a flash, he grabbed hold of her wrist and twisted her arm up so that her weapon was aimed toward the sky. Only then did he move close so he could give her a piece of his mind.
    And that’s when she whacked him with her umbrella and kicked him hard in his left kneecap. It was apparent that she was aiming for his groin, and when she missed her mark the first time, she had the gall to try again.
    He made up his mind then that Miss Emily Finnegan was crazy.
    â€œUnhand me, you miscreant.”
    â€œMiscreant? What in thunder’s a miscreant?”
    She didn’t have the faintest idea. She was so taken aback by the question she almost shrugged in response. Granted, she didn’t know what a “miscreant” was, but she did know that her sister, Barbara, used the word whenever she wanted to discourage an overzealous admirer, and it had always been very effective. What worked for her conniving sister was going to start working for her. Emily had made that vow on the train from Boston.
    â€œYou only need to know that it’s an insult,” she said. “Now, let go of me.”
    â€œI’ll let go of you after you promise to stop trying to kill me. I’m your escort to Golden