Free The Rocky Mountain Heiress Collection by Kathleen Y' Barbo

contrast to the formal hat perched atop gray curls. Were he not seated next to the driver in a coach of some expense, Gennie might have pegged Elias Howe for one without a home or means of his own.
    As if he felt her gaze on him, Elias Howe swiveled in his seat. “This here’s Lawrence Street, Miss McTaggart,” he said. “It’s not New York City, but we’ve got plenty of modern conveniences.”
    Gennie noted such illustrious establishments as the Denver Fur Company and Joslin’s Dry Goods wedged among the numerous storefronts of the mud-filled thoroughfare. “Are those telegraph poles?” She resisted the urge to point. “And there, are those streetlights?”
    Mr. Howe chuckled. “You sound surprised we have such a thing.” He winked. “Been ten years almost since that was news.”
    “I see.”
    Before her was a scene that could have taken place in any city. A solid-looking bank dominated the block, competing for space among the other surprisingly civilized establishments. Women and men wearing clothing that could have come from the better stores in Manhattan strolled along sidewalks and picked their way across the wide street. Coming and going on both sides of the street were horse-drawn streetcars filled to capacity with well-dressed city folk.
    Mae Winslow would stick out like a sore thumb on these civilized streets. It was terribly disheartening.
    “Won’t be long now,” Elias said over his shoulder. “I reckon you’ll find Mr. Beck’s place comfortable enough.”
    Gennie bit back a quip about how short her stay would be and settled for a curt nod. Soon the true nanny would arrive and she’d be free to roam the wilderness, such as it was. Surely someone could offer insight into how she might find whatever remained of Mae Winslow’s Wild West before Gennie had to board the train for her return trip to New York.
    “You smell funny.”
    She looked down to see the child staring up from beneath the brim of her hat, two grimy fingers pinching her nose. Gennie likely did smell, given that she’d donned this outfit in the privacy of her dressing room back in Manhattan.
    The girl awaited her response, but Gennie decided to let the moment pass. Correcting the child would be best left to the poor woman who would take on the permanent job of raising her.
    The carriage veered to the right, and the commercial buildings gave way to broad lawns tucked behind tall iron fences. Homes of the latest fashion sat among gardens that rivaled anything she’d seen in her travels. The driver pulled at the reins, and the carriage slowed in front of an oversized Italianate villa.
    Gennie shook her head. This wasn’t the Wild West at all.
    “Deep in thought, miss?”
    She looked up to find Elias Howe watching her.
    “We’re here,” he said with a sweep of his hand. “This is the home of Mr. Beck and Charlotte.”
    Gennie held tight to the side of the carriage as it turned through the massive gates and headed toward the Beck mansion. Elias and the girl piled out, but Gennie waited for the groomsman to assist her from the carriage. Before her feet could touch the ground, the child was tugging her coattails.
    “I told my papa I didn’t need a governess, and I surely don’t want you.”
    “Enough of that,” Elias said as he stepped behind the girl and tugged on her hat. “You’ll apologize at once, Charlotte Beck, or I’ll know the reason why.”
    As the hat came off, golden curls fell about the child’s shoulders. In an instant, the urchin became quite a fetching girl. Except for the scowl, which left Gennie wondering whether it might be a permanent fixture on an otherwise lovely face.
    When she refused to speak, Elias placed his hands on the girl’s shoulders and turned her toward what appeared to be a back entrance to the home. “ To your room, Charlotte Beck. And you’ll stay there until you can tell Miss McTaggart you’re sorry.” He glanced up at Gennie. “Forgive the child’s inhospitable nature. She