Notorious in the West. Lisa Plumley

been hiding her nonbeautiful, less than prim, intellectual-stimulation-craving qualities for so long that she wasn’t even sure they existed anymore.

      In truth, that was why Olivia had turned down so many marriage proposals. That was why she dallied with answering them, the way she’d done with the poor bellman. She didn’t want to disappoint anyone...but she did want to be more than an ornamental wife to a beauty-loving husband. She wanted everyone to see her as more than a beauty on a bottle first...and a person last.

      The trouble was, Olivia didn’t know how. She didn’t know where to begin, or even if she could begin. And as she glanced from the bellman to the desk clerk, registering their expectant faces and alert postures, she understood that trying to change her life now was a fool’s errand. It was set already.

      “I’m sure this—” she peered at the scrawl in the guest register again, could not decrypt it and decided against using the heinous nicknames the hotel employees had used “—guest will be no trouble at all. In fact, he’s probably quite a gentleman.”

      With that, Olivia said her goodbyes and sailed upstairs to The Lorndorff’s seldom-used top floor, mentally preparing herself for another busy, stultifying day of needlework, ladies’ group meetings, afternoon teas and outings to perform good works. On the staircase landing, she sighed.

      Her dutiful daily routine was almost enough to make a lady wish for a dark, dangerous, seven-foot-tall, gun belt–wearing, train-commandeering, masculine mystery guest to come into her life and cause a stir—and a few pulse-pounding moments, too. But since that fanciful line of thinking would certainly go nowhere, Olivia would simply have to go on with living her own ordinary life...no matter how straitlaced and unsatisfying it might be.

      Chapter Four

      Olivia had stepped onto the hotel’s top-floor landing, headed for her living quarters in The Lorndorff’s cozy garret, when a rough male voice roared down the hallway.

      “I told you to get out!”

      Olivia froze, staring in the direction of that unexpected sound. Ordinarily, no one stayed in either of The Lorndorff’s optimistically named “luxury suites,” which were located on either side of the top floor hallway. In Morrow Creek, most people couldn’t afford such fancy accommodations. Her father had once muttered something about necessarily “reserving” one of those suites for his distant investors’ use, but Olivia hadn’t given much thought over the years to either those unknown investors or those suites. Those lavish, empty rooms were just doors she passed without noticing on her way to her own comfy rooms beneath the eaves at the far end of the hallway.

      A resounding crash interrupted her musings.

      Olivia looked up, saw what appeared to be a shattered vase of flowers lying in smithereens on the hall floor and hastened forward. As she did, someone backed out of one of the suites.

      Annie. Olivia’s best friend stumbled backward, both arms held up in a defensive posture of appeasement. Her gaze stayed fixed on someone in the suite she was exiting. Her upswept blond hair was disheveled, her uniform’s apron askew, and as Annie glanced down at the broken glass, crumpled flowers and spilled water at her feet, Olivia discerned that she was crying, too.

      “I said I didn’t want to be disturbed!” came that male voice again, its gravely ire twice as loud now. “Ever!”

      “I’m sorry, sir. It’s just that I...” Obviously at a loss to cope with the situation, Annie hesitated. “I was told to pay special attention to your room while you’re here, Mr.—”

      “Stop staring at me.”

      The sudden hush in that unknown guest’s voice was twice as chilling as his outright shouting had been. Feeling gooseflesh prickle on her arms, Olivia hurried forward to help her friend.

      “I wasn’t staring!” Annie protested, but a telltale redness stained her cheeks and made a lie of her words. So did the way she kept on staring, unblinking. “I only wanted to bring you—”

      The suite’s door slammed shut, cutting off her words.

      Booted footsteps stomped across the floorboards and then fell silent, muffled by wallboards and distance and the outraged pounding of Olivia’s heart as she contemplated the scene.

      She had not been raised by her compassionate, fair-minded father to stand by while someone else behaved unkindly! Swiftly, Olivia charged forward, ready to do battle...

      Only to reconsider as she caught closer sight of Annie. Her friend stared despairingly at the sodden flowers and broken vase at her feet. Her slumped shoulders and downturned mouth reminded Olivia that comforting her friend was more important than confronting a quarrelsome guest, however significant he might be to her father’s business interests. She could deal with Mr. Fancypants’s harrying behavior later. She would, too....

      With a sigh, Annie dropped to the floor, plainly intent on cleaning up the mess their guest had made.

      Oh, no. Not if Olivia arrived there first. She knelt, then began plunking glass shards into the single largest piece.

      “Olivia!” At the sight of her, Annie burst into fresh tears. Looking annoyed, she dashed her palms over her eyes. “Why must I cry when I’m most angry?” she wailed. “I want to bash that rude beast with the remnants of this vase, not bawl over him! That man is the most horrible, the most domineering—”

      “Don’t trouble yourself. I do the same thing.” Olivia gave Annie a comforting smile. She paused in her cleanup work long enough to squeeze her friend’s shoulder. “We’re women. We can’t help that the only acceptable means of expression available to us are crying, swooning and embroidering toss pillows.”

      “Well, sometimes those pillows are very inspiring,” Annie said, brightening as they cleaned. “Pithy, but rousing.”

      The suite’s door swung abruptly open, startling them both.

      A huge figure appeared in the doorway. He towered over them, wearing black clothes, black boots and a broad-brimmed black hat, somehow appearing both wild and noble at the same time. The mingled scents of whiskey and tobacco smoke emanated from him, as though he’d passed the predawn hours drinking, smoking and contemplating which vase to throw next from his room. Looking up at him, Olivia had a confused impression of costly masculine suit fabrics, uncompromising authority, and unexpected...vulnerability?...before he unleashed another barrage.

      He hurled something else. This time a covered tray of food. It clattered to the hallway floor in a fury of silver and cutlery and cold scrambled eggs. Then he glowered down at them.

      “I heard you.” His gaze raked across them. “In my hotel, there will be no gossiping about me right under my nose!”

      Olivia couldn’t move. She felt...mesmerized. Helpless. Also, vexed by her own peculiar reaction. She didn’t understand it.

      What had he meant by my hotel? This wasn’t his hotel.

      During the shocked silence that fell, Annie cast a fearful glance at the man’s face. A helpless chortle burst from her.

      Olivia would have sworn it grew fifteen degrees warmer in the hotel hallway. The wrath emanating from their guest felt palpable. And dangerous. Making matters worse, Olivia couldn’t help staring at him, too, just like Annie was doing.

      Because all at once, it was beyond obvious why Annie had felt compelled to laugh at this man’s terrible choice of words.

      There will be no gossiping about me right under my nose!

      His nose was, quite simply, huge and hooked and startlingly prominent. Olivia had never seen its like. She doubted anyone ever had. As she cast him a wary glance, she suddenly believed he’d chosen those words on purpose. He’d known full well their likely effect on Annie. As tests went, his was...casually cruel.

      Realizing her mistake, Annie widened her eyes. Too late.

      “I’ll see you dismissed