Cimarron Rose. Nicole FosterЧитать онлайн книгу.

      Just stopping herself from glaring at him, Katlyn pasted on a bright smile. As Case introduced her as Penelope Rose, she tried not to cringe at the name or to think about how she looked after a morning of bathing in dust.

      “Oh, Miss Rose, it’s such a pleasure,” one of the gentlemen said as he took her hand. He peered at her through small, round spectacles, his withered hand pumping hers in pleasure. “I heard you sing once, oh, many years ago, when I was visiting a niece in St. Louis. I told my wife then, I had never heard such a beautiful voice. You’re the reason we decided to stop here on our way down to Santa Fe. When I heard you were here at the St. Martin, I insisted we come.”

      “Thank you. Perhaps you’ll come and hear me sing again tonight then,” Katlyn said, fervently wishing he would do anything but.

      Unfortunately, the man bobbed his head in enthusiasm. “I shall, we all shall. You know, my dear…” He took off his spectacles and polished them on a large handkerchief. Then, putting them back on, he squinted at her again. “You look as young and lovely as you did then. Why it seems you haven’t changed a bit in all these years.”