The Gunfighter and the Heiress (8 page)

“Anna,”
Bart coaxed emphatically. “I'm offering lawyer confidentiality. Tell me your troubles. It's for your own
good that I have all the facts. Even better if Van has them, too.”

“But it might not be for
your
own good or Van's,” she said, provoking his wary frown. She waved him off with a breezy smile. “At any rate, I will be out of your hair very soon and your life will return to normal. I'll conclude my business with Crow and be on my way.”

“You saw what happened to me,” Bart said somberly. “It could happen to you. A woman alone in an unfamiliar part of the country is an invitation for trouble.”

“What could happen to Sunshine?” Van questioned as he suddenly appeared in the doorway.

Natalie sent Bart a silencing stare. “Nothing important. Did you put the bullies behind bars?”

Van's gaze bounced back and forth between her and Bart. “Yes. By the time Bart testifies against those goons, they will be back in the penitentiary for another long stint.”

Natalie rose to her feet. “I left my luggage in the alley. I better collect it.” And she should have done so earlier, considering the valuables she carried.

“I'll help,” Van volunteered.

“You don't trust me not to flit off into the darkness again, do you?” she asked as he followed closely at her heels.

“I've seen one of your disappearing acts, so no, I don't trust you. Do you trust me?”

“No,” she admitted, thinking of her conversation with Bart about her refusal to divulge her real name.

“Then there you go, sunshine. And why didn't you stay on the fire escape like I told you?” he demanded irritably.

“I must've forgotten what you said,” she said flippantly.

“And when I told you to wait in the hall outside Bart's room?” he challenged.

She tossed him a caustic smile. “Guess I didn't hear what you said.”

She stepped onto the landing, then scurried down the steps to retrieve her satchels. When Crow followed her back to her room, she rummaged through her luggage to fish into the hem of her yellow gown.

He arched a thick black brow while he watched her retrieve the money owed him. “Clever. Any other tricks up your sleeve…or hem…as the case happens to be?”

“No, just the one.” She counted out two thousand dollars and said, “I've decided not to take survival lessons because I want to be far away from here before my step-father and ex-fiancé locate me.”

“Too bad.” He pulled another thousand from her hand. “A deal is a deal. I don't give money-back guarantees in my line of work. Plus, I'm going with you, just until you get the hang of fending for yourself in the Texas badlands. You'll get a crash course and I will earn the fee we agreed upon.”

She pulled a face. “Fine. Keep the money but don't come with me.”

He shook his raven head as he loomed over her like a thundercloud. She could understand why he intimidated people. He could look exceptionally formidable when he felt like it. But Natalie conjured up the vivid memory of Crow tossing back his head and laughing. It prevented her from wilting beneath The Stare and quaking in her boots.

She decided to catch him off guard by looping her arms around his neck and pushing up on tiptoe to kiss him full on the mouth. “Our business is concluded, dear husband. Signed, sealed with a kiss and paid in full. Now go away and have a nice life.”

He studied her with those penetrating silver-blue eyes that could hypnotize if you stared into them too long.
“What are you hiding, sunshine? What is your real name? And who are your stepfather and ex-fiancé? Do they even exist? What is it that you don't want me to find out?”

“That I've fallen completely and madly in love with you and I want to leave before you break my heart in two.”

“All the more reason why you aren't leaving town without me. As it happens I'm crazy in love with you, too, sunshine,” he countered, mimicking her lovesick expression. “I can't let you go because it would break
my
heart in two.”

“Cute,” she muttered sarcastically.

He flashed a teasing grin. “Thanks. I thought so.” His expression hardened and he shook a lean finger in her face. “If you dare leave without me I promise to hunt you down. I will not be in a good mood when I catch up with you, either. Guaran-damn-teed. Thus far, you've seen only my good side. You do not want to get on my bad side.”

“Dear God, I was right. I
have
married a domineering martinet,” she complained.

“Too late now.” He wheeled around and strode across the room in quick economical strides that reminded her of a panther's gait. She figured he could pounce like one, too, if need be. Then he paused at the door to smile devilishly at her. “I forgot to ask if you changed your mind and decided to spend the night with me. It
is
our wedding night.”

“Thank you, but no.” She faked a smile. “You have done enough already.”

His expression sobered in the blink of an eye. “I meant what I said,
Anna Jones.
Do not leave without me.”

She blew out her breath in exasperation. “All right. We will ride out after we check on Bart and have breakfast.”

She wasn't sure he believed her, but he left nonetheless.

 

Van paced restlessly in Bart's suite, unsure he trusted Natalie to stay put. He checked the hallway at regular intervals, expecting to see her exit quietly from her room.

“You plan on doing this all night?” Bart asked as he dipped the cloth in the basin of cold water Natalie left on the end table, then applied the compress to his puffy eye. “You're making me dizzy with your pacing and I have enough problems as it is.”

Van jerked to a halt, unaware that he'd been wearing a rut in the carpet. “I expect her to leave, clinging to the ridiculous notion that
I'll
come to harm if I go with her. If, indeed, that's the real reason my secretive wife wants to skip town without me. Damn it, why won't she confide in us? It makes me suspicious as hell.”

“Me, too,” Bart remarked, then gestured toward his injured arm. “Are you going to replace the bandage? Or am I supposed to do it while you pace and fret like a mother hen?”

Van glared at him. “I'm not fretting. I never fret.”

“Seems to me that it would require less energy to bunk down inside her door. You are married to the woman, after all. Propriety is hardly in question here.”

Van lurched around to place a fresh bandage on Bart's upper arm. “For all I know, she fed me a crock of lies and there is no greedy stepfather or ex-fiancé trying to find her. Maybe she shot someone or swindled somebody out of the money she stashed in her clothing. The fact that she counted out large denomination bank notes to pay me arouses more doubt and suspicions.”

Bart's brows shot up in surprise and Van nodded. “She has money up her sleeves and in the hem of her gowns. She is also very aware of where her satchels are at all times.
It has to mean something. Plus, she won't let me see the license after she signed her name.”

“She is as tight-lipped as a clam,” Bart agreed, then winced when Van touched a tender section of the wound unintentionally. “I tried to cajole her into confiding in me, but she refused, claiming it was for your own good and mine.”

“I tried to intimidate her into confiding in me, too, but she sassed me,” Van grumbled. “Damn woman. She's as stubborn as she is independent.” He suddenly bounded to his feet and lurched toward the sitting room. “I'm going to check on her. I think I'll take your advice and camp out at her door. Maybe I can get some sleep.”

“You do that. Meanwhile, I'll be here nursing a wounded arm, black eye and split lip. As for you, you married an elusive woman harboring only God knows how many dangerous secrets that might recoil and bite us in the ass. Oh, and congratulations to you for marrying trouble, Van. It keeps life interesting, to say the least.”

Van poked his head around the bedroom door, glared at Bart and said, “You are not as funny as you think you are. And, thus far, I see nothing to recommend married life.”

Bart snickered as he settled himself comfortably in bed. “You should have married a pushover. If you'd have had a traditional wedding night, you'd be in better spirits.”

Van walked away, scowling.

Exotic fantasies tormented him while he tried to sleep outside her door—his pistol at the ready, in case trouble showed up. Luckily, no one wandered by to wonder if he had been kicked out on his wedding night.

Even though Van didn't trust his mysterious, secretive wife, he wanted her. Only her. That bothered him. He'd never been particular when it came to scratching an itch
and easing male needs. He told himself that he was partial to Natalie—or whoever she was—because she was his lawfully wedded wife. But he was afraid his feelings went deeper. She teased him, she amused him. She frustrated him and intrigued him. She aroused him with the slightest kiss and the lightest touch of her body brushing against his.

Van was suffering from a severe case of lust and it was wearing his disposition thin. Plus, his inner battle between doubt and desire was maddening.

He blew out an agitated breath when her door opened silently and her shadowed form—with a suitcase clutched in each hand—hovered above him.

“Going somewhere again, sunshine? Over my dead body.”

She glared at him and said, “Don't tempt me.” Then she slammed the door.

N
atalie swore under her breath when Crow opened the door she had slammed in his face. “I thought I made it clear that just because you're my husband doesn't mean you are entitled to boss me around.”

“I must have forgotten.” He tossed her a sarcastic smile. “Sort of like you did when I told you to stand guard by Bart's door and you barged in while I confronted the three hooligans who planned to finish off Bart tonight.”

He had her there, she admitted. She had thumbed her nose at his commands, determined to aid Bart and Crow if they encountered trouble. Which they certainly had.

Her thoughts went up in smoke when Crow dragged his pillow and pallet into her room to place it in front of her door. She glowered at him for blocking her escape route again.

“Are you inviting me to your bed instead?” he challenged.

She considered it for a half second then said, “Yes.”

That must have surprised him for his thick brows nearly shot off his forehead. “So what's the catch, sunshine?”

She wasn't about to tell him that she thought she might stand a better chance of escaping if he fell asleep in her bed rather than having to step over him while he was sprawled in front of her door. And curse it, she should have gone out the window earlier. Unfortunately, the route was precarious and she hadn't wanted to break an arm or leg because she had a long ride ahead of her.

“There is no catch. I was just thinking of your comfort.”

“Your concern is touching,” he scoffed, and locked her door.

When he shed his dark shirt, exposing the washboard muscles of his belly and his powerful shoulders, Natalie lost her train of thought. Confound it, she was far too aware of the brawny warrior who was now her husband. Counting the battle scars on his arms, ribs and shoulders wasn't helping to ease her attraction to him. Instead, she felt compelled to kiss away any remembered pain he'd suffered.

Then she wanted to make a deliberate study of the rest of him…
Never mind what else you're tempted to do with him,
she scolded herself harshly. Her problem was that she'd become caught up in the fact that Crow was her husband and she was entitled to certain wifely rights to appease her feminine curiosity.

“Sunshine, are you coming to bed?”

She snapped to attention when she noticed that he'd sprawled on the bedspread and cushioned his head on his linked fingers. He was a fine male specimen. She couldn't take her eyes off those rippling muscles and corded ten-dons on his chest and abdomen.

Without removing her clothing, Natalie stretched out beside him. After all, she still planned to sneak out the instant he dozed off. To her frustration, he rolled to his side and draped his arm over her waist, then angled his
bent leg over her knees, effectively pinning in her place without applying pressure.

Her irritation with him fizzled out when he pressed the most incredibly tender kiss to her lips. Sensual awareness sizzled through her when his hand drifted dangerously close to the underside of her breast, then settled on her belly. Her body burned with unappeased need when he nudged his chin against the curve of her neck, then relaxed beside her.

Three hours later, she awoke to make her escape, only to find the sneaky rascal had tied her ankle to his.

“Making sure my captives don't escape me is one of the things I do best,” he whispered in her ear.

Goose bumps pebbled her skin, despite her irritation with the clever rascal. “I'm really beginning to hate you, Crow.”

“I'm starting to hate you, too, wife,” he said in a husky voice that sent another pleasurable sensation curling through her body. “Get some sleep. We have a long ride ahead of us tomorrow.”

 

Avery Marsh swore vehemently as he searched the mansion for the dozenth time, looking for the Robedeaux-Blair jewels and the stash of money his deceased wife tried to hide from him. No doubt, that sassy little bitch he'd tried to marry off to Kimball, in exchange for a cut of the fortune, had taken the money and valuables when she skipped town.

His angry thoughts trailed off when Thurston Kimball III strutted into the parlor, puffing on his pipe. “The two mercenaries we hired to run Natalie to ground haven't been successful.” He blew a lopsided smoke ring around his blond head, then struck a haughty pose.

In Avery's opinion, Kimball had little practical use,
except that he was desperate for money to pay his gambling debts, so he readily agreed to Avery's scheme to marry Natalie in exchange for money.

“I received a message after you placed that cleverly worded article in the newspaper and mentioned the supposed maid you invented for us to throw suspicion on.” Kimball puffed on his pipe. “Several witnesses remembered seeing a woman enter the train depot, wearing widow's garb. She was the only passenger traveling alone to Fort Worth. It must have been Natalie.” Kimball frowned in distaste. “Good God, why would she flit off to an outpost on the very edge of civilization and leave New Orleans behind?” He shuddered at the thought.

“Because she thinks it's the last place we might look for her,” Avery predicted. “That chit has always been too smart for her own good, too defiant. No matter how I played up to her, I swear she could see through me.”

“I doubt she saw through my pretend interest in her,” Kimball commented. “I've fooled countless women in my time.” Avery doubted
that,
but he needed this swaggering cock's help if he was going to lay claim to the Blair fortune.

“We are leaving for Fort Worth on the next train,” Avery declared.

Kimball gaped at him in astonishment. “You are joking.”

Avery bore down on him. “I'm dead serious and you might find yourself left for dead—or worse—if you don't come along. We made a deal, and the sooner we overtake my belligerent stepdaughter and get the two of you married the sooner we can dispose of her.” He smiled nastily. “Since I led the press to believe she has been abducted by
a money-hungry maid there is no reason to let that wily little snip live to tell
her
side of the story.”

Mumbling and grumbling, Kimball pivoted on his well-shod heels to gather his luggage for the unwanted trip. “We damn well better find her fast. This is the height of the social season in New Orleans. I do not intend to miss it. There are too many innocent maids ripe for the plucking.”

Avery headed upstairs to pack his luggage. He intended to be on the next train headed to Texas. He made a mental note to insist his henchmen, Jenson and Green, accompany him. He had contracted both men specifically because they were short on scruples.

Whatever Natalie was up to, Avery and his hired gunmen would hunt her down. He had spent more than three years slowly but surely poisoning his wife so no one would suspect his involvement in her long-term illness before he took control of the fortune.

“I should have poisoned Natalie instead,” he groused as he grabbed a suitcase to fill with clothing. “She is more trouble than her mother ever was.”

 

Two days after Van and Natalie left Wolf Ridge, headed for Nine Mile Station and then to Taloga Springs, Bart lounged on the settee, sipping coffee and recuperating from his injuries. Opal Higgins, the middle-aged female attendant whom Van had hired to run errands for Bart, rapped at the door.

“I brought your newspapers and the mail arrived.”

Bart clutched the pistol resting beside his hip. After the goons had attacked him, he had vowed to be more cautious. No telling who might have coerced Opal. Bart wasn't about to let his guard down and be pounced upon again.

“Come in.”

Bart relaxed when Opal, the large-boned, square-faced farmer's wife who had been eager to take the temporary job to earn extra money, waddled inside. She set the stack of newspapers and correspondence on the coffee table.

“Will that be all, Mr. Collier?”

The poor woman had the personality of a potted plant, Bart noted. She was the exact opposite of Natalie, who was bewitching, mysterious, intelligent and amazingly difficult for even Van to handle. That amused and disturbed Bart simultaneously. He liked seeing his friend challenged in ways that didn't involve cross-country chases and deadly gunfights. But Natalie's secrecy still bothered him.

“Thank you, Opal. That will be all for today.”

Without another word she trooped off, taking his empty breakfast tray with her. Bart checked the mail for possible assignments for Van. Not that Van would accept any for more than a week, since he'd decided to escort his new wife to Taloga Springs and teach her to become self-reliant in the process.

He muttered under his breath when he received a second letter from the Harper Brothers that said, We're coming for you, half-breed. Your days are numbered. It was signed The Harper Brothers.

Grumbling, Bart set aside the intimidating note then picked up the Kansas City newspaper, then one from Houston. He was thumbing through the
Louisiana Gazette
when one particular article leaped out at him.

“Oh damn!” he muttered as his gaze zeroed on the first name that demanded his attention.

Cursing, Bart half-collapsed against the back of the couch. “Shipping heiress Natalie
Blair?
” he croaked.

The irony of Donovan Crow married to the heiress who had more money than God left Bart stunned to the bone. It took a full minute to wrap his mind around the prospect. Then an uneasy sensation trickled down his spine and knotted in his belly. What if the supposed Natalie Blair wasn't the real Natalie Blair at all! Damn it, what if she had concocted her sad tale of being victimized by her stepfather and fiancé to gain Van's assistance? What if she was the
maid
who had stolen the money, disposed of the heiress and had assumed her identity? What if she had married Van under false pretenses? What if…?

All sorts of unpleasant scenarios bounced around Bart's brain. He tried to tell himself that he was leaping to wild conclusions because he was fiercely protective of Van. It outraged him to think Natalie—or whoever she really was—had duped him and Van and had played them both for gullible fools.

“She damned well better be who she says she is,” he muttered as he shot to his feet. “If not, Van married a cunning criminal who disposed of a wealthy heiress, stole her identity and her money and conned
him.
”

With his injured arm cradled in a sling, Bart stalked off to gather his belongings. He was bound for the stage depot at Nine Mile Station and on to Taloga Springs, hoping to intercept Van and warn him to beware.

He wasn't sure how fast Van was traveling by horseback
but if Bart sent a telegram ahead to the city marshal, Van would receive it, he predicted confidently.

Suitcase in hand, Bart took the steps two at a time to reach the lobby. He sent a telegram warning Van of the deceit and informing him of Bart's pending arrival. A half hour later, the morning stagecoach left town—and Bart was on it.

 

“It's time for our nightly lessons,” Van announced after he and Natalie had made camp in an isolated area away from the stage road. “The attack is coming from behind you this time. Use what I showed you last night.”

He pounced on her and hooked his arm around her neck. He was pleased to note she was becoming less mechanical in her techniques of blocking him with one hip while doubling over to toss him off balance.

“Again,” he insisted. “And don't take it easy on me this time. Pretend this is an honest-to-goodness attack that threatens your life.”

“I don't intend to injure my mentor,” she said, glancing over her shoulder at him. “What use would you be in your line of work if I broke your arm?”

“What use will you be if you don't survive an attack?” he countered. “Now pretend I'm one of the bastards you despise for manipulating your life.”

Van watched with satisfaction when the usual twinkle in her dark onyx eyes became a hard glint. “That's better.”

He attacked her without giving her the chance to brace herself. Yet she exploded into action and thrust her hip into him—a little too close to his crotch. His breath came out in a grunt when she lowered her shoulder and toppled him forward. Van hit the ground with a jolting thud that knocked the air out of him.

As he had instructed—repeatedly, each night after they
made camp and practiced self-defense techniques—she snatched his pistol from his holster and held the shiny gun barrel right between his eyes to make certain she had his undivided attention.

When she smiled triumphantly, he knocked aside the pistol, grabbed her by the hair of her head and yanked her down on top of him. He crushed his mouth against hers in a rough assault as he rolled her to her back and sprawled atop her. She squawked beneath his devouring kiss.

“Now what are you going to do, sunshine?” he growled threateningly after finishing the kiss. “You became too cocky after you got the drop on me. Now look where you are. What did I tell you about playing your ace in the hole by hitting a man where he can be hurt the worst? You waited too long to react.”

She raised her head and stared up at him with a strange expression on her face.

“Next time don't hesitate,” he snapped gruffly.

He was annoyed with her for not reacting effectively, annoyed with himself for being aroused by the feel of her lush body pressed suggestively to his.

“You won't get a second chance if a man decides to molest you. Always expect the worst,” he lectured, “and you'll never be caught with your guard down…”