Free Anna Finch and the Hired Gun by Kathleen Y'Barbo

wall and leaned against it, closing her eyes until the swirling stopped. She opened her eyes expecting to find the mountain man gone.
    He was not.
    He leaned over her, his palms flat against the wall on either side of her head. Whether out of concern or some other reason, he studied her intently. If anyone happened upon them, they might suppose she and this unkempt fellow sought privacy for more pleasant reasons.
    Anna ducked out of his almost-embrace and positioned herself between the mountain man and the curtain. “Truly, I owe you an—”
    “You naughty girl!” Mr. Mitchell called. “I see where you’rehiding, and I’ll have your attention or know the reason why.” He threw open the curtain.
    Anna fought the urge to scream as she whirled to face the menace with a pen.
    “Go away.”
    Of course, he did not. “I only sought to return this lovely chapeau.” His gaze slid down to her toes then back to her face. “Did I see yet another attempt to pair up the poor girl with someone?”
    “You are truly insufferable.”
    “You’ve had quite a string of gentlemen today. The first one looked a bit old for you,” he continued, “and the other seemed to be suffering from some sort of ailment, though I completely understand that in your position you might have to compromise in certain areas. The good health and extended life span of the groom, for instance. As for your latest attempt …”
    The columnist looked past her and his face fell. Anna glanced behind her and found the mountain man was gone. He must have slipped out through the other end of the corridor.
    Unless he’d been a figment of her overactive imagination. But the glee of Winston Mitchell told her otherwise.
    “What a slippery fellow! Oh well.”
    Anna pushed past Mr. Mitchell and the curtain, searching the expanse of the lobby for the man with the smoky eyes and telltale scar.
    “So which is the lucky man, little bird? The older man? The invalid? Or is your intended the fellow who looked as if he’d not seen a woman since the dawn of time? Nor a barber, for that matter.”He chuckled. “Quite an interesting exchange between the two of you before he swept you off behind the curtains.”
    Though her temper once again threatened to spark, Anna only contemplated her response for a moment. “As another apology from you would likely not be sincere either,” she said slowly, “I suggest you cease speaking at once and do not take up the habit again until you are well away from me. Far, far away.” Anna punctuated the statement with a direct stare at the columnist. “Unless you’re more intelligent than I think and you’re willing to just leave me alone.”
    “You wound me, Miss Finch.”
    “If only that were possible, Mr. Mitchell.” She turned on her heel and stormed toward the door.
    “So?” Mitchell pressed. “Who’s the lucky man?”
    “You’re the reporter, Mr. Mitchell,” she said when he’d caught up to her. “Figure it out.”
    “Here’s what I’d like to figure.” He moved between Anna and the sidewalk, blocking her path. “Has your father resorted to importing foreigners? Or perhaps it would be more accurate to ask if he has taken to exporting daughters.”
    She shook her head and stepped around the vile man, waving to McMinn. When the traffic on Eighteenth came to a lull, Anna hurried across.
    “Want me to make him disappear, Miss Finch?” McMinn asked, nodding toward Mitchell. Strong words from a man whose job was to drive the family, not protect them. Anna wasn’t completely opposed to someone pummeling the journalist on her behalf; after all, what woman didn’t relish a little jousting in her honor, even if it did come from a paid employee?
    She allowed Mr. McMinn to help her into the buggy. “Thank you, but it truly wouldn’t be worth the effort.”
    Nor did she intend to allow the thought of extracting revenge on the columnist to slow her trip home. As the buggy picked up speed and slipped onto Eighteenth