Too Rich for a Bride Read Online Free PDF
Author: Mona Hodgson
solid ground couldn’t claim her soon enough. A week’s worth of breathing in the acrid stench of burning coal presented enough of a challenge to her senses. The past several minutes, body odor and alcohol had mixed with it to create a repulsive combination.
The man’s snores and snorts provided an offbeat to the clickety-clack of the train wheels and the staccato huffing of the locomotive. But the man’s snores or smell wasn’t what troubled her most. The narrowing of her small space had her teeth clenched and her blood about to boil. She returned the magazine page to the envelope and began fanning herself with it.
She needed to keep her mind occupied. Her future in business was sure to do the trick.
Twisting the latch on her reticule, she opened it and pulled out the wire from Mollie O’Bryan, then stuffed the Harper’s Bazar packet back into its proper place.
Ida unfolded the note she’d received at Aunt Alma’s home in Portland the day before she’d boarded the train. The Cripple Creek businesswoman’s message instantly redirected her attention.
Received your telegram stop
Could use competent help stop
You look good on paper stop
We can talk stop
My office Wednesday thirty September stop
Three pm stop
She wouldn’t have looked so good on paper if Mr. Alan Merton, her former boss, had his way. But she did, thanks to some fast talking and the director’s concern she would spread “her exaggerations” about the guest lecturer and cause “undue harm” to the school. While their compromise wasn’t fully fair to her, she had found it acceptable. He had awarded her the certificate as if she’d completed the last two weeks of the course and written a letter of recommendation based upon her attendance record and work up until the day Mr. Ditmer tried to have his way with her.
As the train snaked around a mountain, Ida’s neighbor slumped against her shoulder, fanning the flames of her headache. The wire in her hand fluttered to the floor.
“Sir.” Ida raised her arm, pushing against his.
The man only snuffled, his hibernation undisturbed.
She’d paid for a whole seat. This was unacceptable. Bracing herself against the window with one hand, she shoved him, letting his arm fall to his lap. “Mister!”
The man jerked and flailed his arms, and then stared at her, his wide eyes looking like a map with a route penciled in red. “Huh?” He pointed his unsteady finger at her. “You, madam, are one pushy broad.”
Ida huffed. “Pushy? You haven’t seen pushy yet.” She paused, taking in a breath of stale air. “You, sir, are—”
“Changing seats.”
The understated male voice quieted Ida, and she looked up. A dark figure had appeared in the aisle. Surely a brawny angel had come to her rescue, as she hadn’t heard anyone approaching.
The gentleman laid one hand on the drunk’s shoulder. With the other, he pushed back the bowler on his head and smiled. “Ma’am.”
She raised her chin. “You’re relocating this man?”
He nodded, his hazel eyes full of understanding and compassion.
“Thank you.” Not that she needed to be rescued, exactly, but she’d endured quite enough distress this day and gladly welcomed the man’s help—though she kept a careful watch for any strings attached to his consideration.
Her incorrigible neighbor gazed at the other man, blinking as if he could send a message by Morse code. “You, sir, need to strike a deal and calm these waters.”
“I’ll see about that, Baxter. But first, I’m moving you to a window seat with less turbulence. Where you’ll be able to sleep undisturbed.” Her knight in a pinstripe suit grinned at her, and then helped the man he’d referred to as Baxter to his feet and guided him up the aisle, away from her.
Already, the ache in her head began to subside. Ida glanced at the floor where the telegram lay. She extended her leg and drew the paper back with the toe of her boot. She’d bent forward to retrieve Miss
The man’s snores and snorts provided an offbeat to the clickety-clack of the train wheels and the staccato huffing of the locomotive. But the man’s snores or smell wasn’t what troubled her most. The narrowing of her small space had her teeth clenched and her blood about to boil. She returned the magazine page to the envelope and began fanning herself with it.
She needed to keep her mind occupied. Her future in business was sure to do the trick.
Twisting the latch on her reticule, she opened it and pulled out the wire from Mollie O’Bryan, then stuffed the Harper’s Bazar packet back into its proper place.
Ida unfolded the note she’d received at Aunt Alma’s home in Portland the day before she’d boarded the train. The Cripple Creek businesswoman’s message instantly redirected her attention.
Received your telegram stop
Could use competent help stop
You look good on paper stop
We can talk stop
My office Wednesday thirty September stop
Three pm stop
She wouldn’t have looked so good on paper if Mr. Alan Merton, her former boss, had his way. But she did, thanks to some fast talking and the director’s concern she would spread “her exaggerations” about the guest lecturer and cause “undue harm” to the school. While their compromise wasn’t fully fair to her, she had found it acceptable. He had awarded her the certificate as if she’d completed the last two weeks of the course and written a letter of recommendation based upon her attendance record and work up until the day Mr. Ditmer tried to have his way with her.
As the train snaked around a mountain, Ida’s neighbor slumped against her shoulder, fanning the flames of her headache. The wire in her hand fluttered to the floor.
“Sir.” Ida raised her arm, pushing against his.
The man only snuffled, his hibernation undisturbed.
She’d paid for a whole seat. This was unacceptable. Bracing herself against the window with one hand, she shoved him, letting his arm fall to his lap. “Mister!”
The man jerked and flailed his arms, and then stared at her, his wide eyes looking like a map with a route penciled in red. “Huh?” He pointed his unsteady finger at her. “You, madam, are one pushy broad.”
Ida huffed. “Pushy? You haven’t seen pushy yet.” She paused, taking in a breath of stale air. “You, sir, are—”
“Changing seats.”
The understated male voice quieted Ida, and she looked up. A dark figure had appeared in the aisle. Surely a brawny angel had come to her rescue, as she hadn’t heard anyone approaching.
The gentleman laid one hand on the drunk’s shoulder. With the other, he pushed back the bowler on his head and smiled. “Ma’am.”
She raised her chin. “You’re relocating this man?”
He nodded, his hazel eyes full of understanding and compassion.
“Thank you.” Not that she needed to be rescued, exactly, but she’d endured quite enough distress this day and gladly welcomed the man’s help—though she kept a careful watch for any strings attached to his consideration.
Her incorrigible neighbor gazed at the other man, blinking as if he could send a message by Morse code. “You, sir, need to strike a deal and calm these waters.”
“I’ll see about that, Baxter. But first, I’m moving you to a window seat with less turbulence. Where you’ll be able to sleep undisturbed.” Her knight in a pinstripe suit grinned at her, and then helped the man he’d referred to as Baxter to his feet and guided him up the aisle, away from her.
Already, the ache in her head began to subside. Ida glanced at the floor where the telegram lay. She extended her leg and drew the paper back with the toe of her boot. She’d bent forward to retrieve Miss