The Gunfighter and the Heiress

chapter Ten



“How much farther to this godforsaken town?” Thurston Kimball grumbled as he shifted uncomfortably on the hard stagecoach seat. A cloud of dust swirled through the windows, coating his expensive jacket. He rolled his eyes in disgust as he batted away the dirt with his monogrammed kerchief.

“We should be in Taloga Springs by nightfall,” Avery Marsh replied. He sneezed when the breeze delivered a snout full of dust. He definitely wasn’t cut out for the climate in Panhandle Texas, he decided. Moreover, he’d see that troublesome witch pay for his inconvenience when he finally caught up with her. And it damned well better be soon!

Avery glanced at the two burly henchmen enclosed within the coach. Jenson and Green would deal severely with Natalie, he’d make certain of it. It didn’t matter that she had tried to outsmart him by marrying the legendary gunfighter. That half-breed would be no match for Avery’s henchmen. Crow would never see the bullet coming. His widow would marry Kimball—and live just long enough to transfer her fortune to her husband and stepfather.

Avery covered the lower portion of his face with his own monogrammed kerchief, then settled himself against the uncomfortable seat. All that kept him from complaining to the same extremes as Kimball was focusing on delivering revenge on Natalie. Then he would have complete control of the Robedeaux-Blair fortune once and for all.

On that satisfying thought, Avery closed his eyes and tried to catch a nap. It was impossible. The rough road left him bouncing around so he anchored his hands on the window frame and reminded himself this miserable trip was Natalie’s fault. And oh how he was going to make her regret it!



“Damn it to hell!” Van growled when Bart placed the New Orleans newspaper on the table in his suite and tapped his forefinger on the front-page article. Van read the story in its entirety and spewed pithy curses. “Modest inheritance, my ass! She’s a Blair? The Blair heiress?”

“I’m not certain about that yet,” Bart said. “We don’t have a physical description of Natalie Blair. The Natalie we know might have disposed of the real heiress and assumed her identity. She might be the paid companion named Anna Jones. Or she could be a con artist who stole all the money and fled. Then there is the possibility she was in cahoots with the supposedly wicked stepfather and fiancé, then double-crossed them and took off with everyone’s share of the fortune.”

Van’s mind whirled like a carousel. Once again, he recalled the conversation with the Rangers about a woman named Natalie being abducted. At the time, Van had chosen to think the best of the woman who insisted on marrying him.

He thought the absolute worst about her now.

“So the money she paid me in large denominations for this assignment, and the fortune in jewelry I found in the secret compartment of her ragged carpetbag, were stolen. She conspired with this Avery Marsh character, double-crossed him and took off with his cut of the fortune. And that’s why she believes he might be hot on her trail.”

“Back up a minute,” Bart said, frowning curiously. “You found jewelry? That added motive raises more suspicion. I’ve seen cases like this before, especially back East where vast fortunes are involved. You’ve worked cases with elaborate schemes in your day, too, Van.”

“Yes, and I could be the victim of this one.” Van’s fingers curled, wishing he could strangle Natalie for deceiving him, for using him and preying on his emotions. “I want a divorce.”

“Divorce is frowned upon, you know—”

Van flapped his arm dismissively. “I don’t give a damn. Just take care of the paperwork as soon as possible, Bart.”

He nodded somberly. “This sounds bad, but you need to ask for your wife’s version of this story before you act,” he advised—sounding like a damn lawyer instead of a trusted friend. “You’ve never been one to jump to conclusions. No sense starting now. Besides, I’d like to see if Nat can talk her way out of this entanglement.”

“Then you go listen to her poison lies,” Van muttered as he paced the confines of the suite. “I’m not interested.”

Bart appraised him all too carefully. “You’re taking this rather personally. Mind telling me why? This assignment was supposed to be a clear-cut business arrangement.”

“I’m taking it personally because I despise being played for a fool. Let’s leave it at that.”

Bart crossed his arms over his chest while Van wore a rut in the rug. “You care for her, don’t you?”

He rounded on his friend. “I care that she betrayed my trust and lied to me. I hate being wrong.”

“Who doesn’t?” Bart inserted.

“I should turn her over to the city marshal and let her rot in jail with those two stagecoach bandits we brought in with us.”

“You aren’t being completely honest with yourself,” Bart challenged. “I understand that your pride is smarting, but you wouldn’t be this upset if you didn’t care about Nat to some degree, at least.”

Van halted in midstep, then blew out his breath. He didn’t want to admit to Bart or himself that he’d broken his hard-and-fast rule and had developed a sentimental attachment for that infuriating wife of his. He had felt responsible for her and had allowed the arrangement to become personal when she seduced him…

Had she planned that, too, to gain his loyalty?

More angry thoughts and conflicting emotions swirled inside him like a churning tornado. He needed answers. He wanted the truth but he wasn’t sure he could get a straight answer from that quick-witted, dark-eyed beauty who had cast a wicked spell over him.

Bart grabbed the newspaper from the table and headed for the door. “Let’s see what Nat has to say for herself. Might as well get this over with so you won’t be so upset.”

“I’m not upset,” he all but yelled at Bart.

“Right. What was I thinking?”



While Crow had stuffed the outlaws in jail, Natalie had purchased more clothing for her journey to Dodge City. Then she hurried back to her room to soak in the brass tub. After washing off the trail dust, she applied poultice to the scrapes she had sustained during her wild tumble down the side of the canyon.

Considering the cold-shoulder treatment Crow had given her since early this morning, she was surprised he had handed over the healing salve when they rented their rooms. The fact that he had placed her in a private room indicated he had used her body to appease his needs, had quickly tired of her and was ready to move on.

No doubt, her inexperience showed and Crow preferred women who could please a man a dozen different ways.

Damn him, he hadn’t meant a single word he’d said last night. His empty words were meant to flatter and manipulate. She should have recognized the technique because the strutting dandies in New Orleans had spouted meaningless flattery at her for years.

If she hadn’t been so upset by the possibility of her mother being deliberately poisoned, she wouldn’t have run to Crow for comfort. Not to mention feeling sentimental about parting company with Crow and falling victim to her reckless desire for him.

It was glaringly apparent that his interest in her was purely physical. His male needs appeased, he was anxious to walk away without a backward glance. Sweet mercy, what a fool she had been!

“You have what you wanted,” she lectured her reflection in the mirror, then dabbed poultice on her skinned chin. She had a husband with a legendary reputation and a no-strings-attached marriage that allowed her to outrun Marsh and Kimball. She had her long-awaited freedom and her inheritance. Very soon, Marsh would have to take up a new residence in New Orleans thanks to her—

Her thoughts scattered when someone rapped on the door with enough force to rattle the hinges. “Who is it?”

“Van.”

Didn’t he sound pleasant? She expected him to bite her head off when she opened the door. Surprisingly, he had his mouth clamped shut and a muscle ticked in his rigid jaw. He flashed her The Stare he was famous for. Then he stalked over to slam down the newspaper on the small table in the corner.

“Explain this and make it fast, sunshine,” he snarled.

With a nagging sense of dread, she met Crow’s glittering silver-blue glower that practically burned a hole in her chest. She glanced back to see Bart enter the room. He sent her a clipped nod of greeting, then went to stand beside Crow.

Natalie’s stomach dropped to her ankles when she read the newspaper article detailing the alleged abduction of Natalie Blair and the theft of the jewels and money.

“Damn that man,” she muttered angrily.

“I assume you’re referring to Avery Marsh?” Crow hurled harshly. “So who is he really, sunshine? Your partner in crime? The one you double-crossed? Are you the personal maid impersonating the heiress? And what did you do to her?”

She sucked in her breath at his angry tone and the realization that he had searched her private belongings. “Which will offend you more, Crow? Discovering that I’m filthy rich and failed to mention it to you? Or that I conspired with Avery Marsh to dispose of the poor, defenseless heiress, then gathered all the money and jewelry I could carry without looking like a Wells Fargo railroad car?”

He practically stood on top of her and growled, “Don’t sass me, damn it. I want the truth and I want it now!”

As intimidation went, Donovan Crow was a master. Nevertheless, Natalie quickly conjured up the memory of him tossing back his raven head and bursting out in laughter. Not that she would ever witness his amusement again. Fortunately, the vision did help her hold her ground when the fire-breathing dragon loomed over her.

Natalie had vowed never to cower and never to be at the mercy of any man ever again. That included her formidable husband. He had been an incredibly tender lover the previous night, but what a difference a day made! Now he was spitting flames. This was why he had been so distant all day, she realized. He’d immediately presumed the worst and convinced himself that she’d stolen jewelry and the cash she’d paid him.

That was the rub—she didn’t trust him and Crow sure as the devil didn’t trust her. He’d found her guilty without hearing her side of the story. And Bart, damn him, was Crow’s true-blue friend. He had come running with newspaper in hand to protect Crow and accuse her of crimes she hadn’t committed.

She thought dejectedly about how no one cared what happened to her and she had no family left to verify who she was. No one would protect her from Marsh’s manipulative lies and insinuations. She was on her own.

“Well?” Crow snapped impatiently. “Are you planning to concoct a few more lies to explain the abduction and theft? I have places to go, sunshine. I’ve wasted too much time on this assignment already. But I’ll be damned if I’m going to be charged with abetting a wily criminal posing as an heiress!”

His booming voice ricocheted off the walls and came at her from all directions at once. Natalie squared her shoulders and mustered her composure. “You want the truth? Will you even believe the truth if I give it to you?”

“Let’s hear it,” he barked sharply. “Start talking before I’m tempted to shake it out of you. And by the way, I want a divorce. Bart will draw up the document and you will sign it, just as readily as I scratched my name on the marriage license. Where is the damn thing? I want to see it.”

Tears threatened to cloud her eyes while Crow glared at her like the Most Wanted Criminal in the West. Bart watched her every move—as if he intended to turn each gesture and comment against her in a court of law.

“Don’t waste your time trying to milk my sympathy with those crocodile tears. I don’t have any,” Crow growled. “Let’s hear your version of the story.”

His condemning tone fueled her temper and slashed her pride. Natalie elevated her skinned chin to a defiant angle and faced down both doubting Thomases.

Whirling around, she fished the marriage license that was rolled in her unmentionables at the bottom of her satchel. Then she waved it under Crow’s nose.

“My real name is Natalie Francoise Robedeaux-Blair,” she informed them. “I was named after my maternal great grandmother. Francoise’s family sailed from France when the king’s and queen’s heads rolled during the revolution.”

She struck a sophisticated pose that would have done her noble family proud. “The family lost their vast land holdings but they relocated their lucrative shipping business to New Orleans.”

She couldn’t tell if either man believed her. Their expressions never changed. Especially Crow’s. His facial features looked as if they were chiseled in granite.

“My family prospered but my mother was the only surviving child to live to adolescence. Her parents, entrenched in European tradition, arranged her marriage to Edwin Blair, whose titled English family became involved in banking. It wasn’t a love match, but my parents honored their obligations to merge two wealthy families. Things were fine until my father died in an accident on the wharf.”

“So you claim you are the abducted heiress mentioned in the newspaper article?” Crow interjected in a skeptical tone. “Not the conniving servant who disposed of the real Natalie Blair so you could steal her identity, jewelry and money?”

His cynical tone made her want to go for his throat. And she would have—if she thought she could get away with it. Instead, she nodded her curly wet head and stuck her nose in the air. “I haven’t had a maid since I was sixteen and I have a pedigree longer than my arm. And yes, I enjoyed a pampered lifestyle. My mother lived alone for several years, filling her days and nights by attending charity events and soirees. Then Marsh convinced her that he had his own fortune and was hopelessly enamored with her,” she added resentfully.

“You considered him a shyster from the onset of the courtship?” Bart asked.

“I didn’t know him well enough at the time but I never liked him. He seemed too pretentious to me, but he complained to Mother that I was jealous of her affection for him and I didn’t give him a chance.

“When Mother became ill, he was the picture of devotion.” She glanced bleakly at Crow. “Marsh sent me off to boarding school in Natchez where I later became a teacher. He claimed he was sparing me the anguish of watching Mother wither away from a mysterious disease that even the best doctors in the city couldn’t name or treat.”

“And it didn’t occur to you until yesterday when I warned you against gathering poisonous plants that your mother might have been poisoned and left to die from one dose after another?” Crow questioned intently.

“No,” she murmured, swallowing hard. “I was young, naive and too far from home to realize what might have happened. I was wrapped up in my own grief about being alone in the world if my mother didn’t survive. By the time I returned home six months ago my mother was…” She inhaled a steadying breath and continued, “practically skin and bone.”

“You didn’t become suspicious of your stepfather’s intent until he arranged your betrothal to your unwanted fiancé?” Bart asked.

“Yes, he was too insistent in making the arrangements quickly, while I was upset about losing my mother. I overheard a few conversations that sounded like whispered conspiracies to contract my family’s fortune.” She looked directly at Crow and said, “You have no idea how difficult it is to tell if someone actually cares about the person you are on the inside when so much wealth is at stake. Some people will do and say anything to attach themselves to fortunes. Which is why I have so little faith in men and why I withheld my name from you.”

“So you made arrangements to leave New Orleans without Marsh knowing your intent,” Bart presumed.

Natalie nodded. “I have no doubt that I would have died shortly after my forced wedding to Kimball. It would have been too easy for Marsh to claim that I suffered from the same mysterious disease that befell my mother.”

She walked over to replace the marriage license in her satchel. If Crow pushed through the divorce, the document would do her no good whatsoever as protection against Avery Marsh.

“Before I left town, I contacted my own lawyer and paid him generously to remain loyal to my interests. I instructed him to serve an eviction notice to my treacherous stepfather two weeks after I left town. Also, I asked him to buy up Kimball’s gambling debts from his creditors and demand that he pay the IOUs immediately.”

“If what you’re telling us is true, I recommend that you send a telegram to your lawyer so he won’t believe this newspaper article,” Bart counseled.

“I intend to. In addition, I will alert him that, in the event of my premature death, Marsh and Kimball should be considered primary suspects.”

Natalie stared determinedly at Bart. “After you draw up the divorce papers Crow requested, I would like to hire you to bring formal charges against Marsh for the deliberate poisoning of my mother. Also, I would like you to conduct an audit of the shipping company’s accounts to see how much money that swindling bastard has embezzled the past four years.”

Bart didn’t reply immediately, but eventually he nodded.

Crow glared at him. “Now you believe her?” he muttered. “You’re the one who buzzed up here by stagecoach to wave that newspaper article in my face.”

Bart studied Natalie critically for a long moment. She lifted her skinned chin and met his gaze squarely. She refused to beg or plead to be believed. If Bart turned against her, too, then she would sneak off in the middle of the night and take her chances with marauding outlaws. She wasn’t waiting around for Crow to accuse her of theft so Bart could file formal charges. Crow was now a closed chapter of her life.

“I’ll check into the suspicions of murder,” Bart agreed. When Crow snorted in annoyance, he tossed him a somber glance. “I think she really is Natalie Blair, heiress to the New Orleans shipping fortune. I will, however, make a few contacts to verify her claim.”

Natalie’s shoulders sagged in relief. “Thank you.”

“I’m not completely convinced,” Crow said, and scowled. “I want more proof—”

His voice evaporated when the windowpane shattered and a rock bounced across the floor.

“Ooofff!” Natalie’s breath came out in a pained whoosh when Crow shoved her down to the carpet and sprawled on top of her. She hadn’t noticed that he’d drawn his pistol until she raised her head to see the barrel aimed at the broken window.

“It’s only a rock,” she panted as she squirmed beneath his heavy weight. “You should have let it hit me in the head. I’m sure that would have pleased you to no end.”

“Maybe not as much as you might think,” he muttered, still focused intently on the window.

“If it had killed me you would have the Robedeaux-Blair fortune all to yourself,” she reminded him.

“I don’t want your money.” He crawled onto his hands and knees, then inched cautiously toward the window.

“Why not? Everyone else does. They’re willing to kill to get it.”

He swiveled his head around to stare at her with those unnerving silver-blue eyes that once burned with passion and now sizzled with distaste. “All I want is a divorce because you lied to me.”

“So you only want half of what I own, do you?” she smarted off. “Fine, you can have it then I will sic Marsh and Kimball on you. But I don’t advise you to eat or drink anything my stepfather serves because I’m convinced the main ingredient will be poison.”

“Children, please,” Bart mocked while he crouched on the opposite side of the window, his pistol at the ready. “We’ll haggle over the devil’s details later. First, let’s figure out who pitched the rock. Anyone going to volunteer to stand up, look outside and take the sniper’s first bullet?”

“I nominate Crow,” Natalie said with a smirk. “Stub-born as he is, the bullets will bounce right off him.”

The comment earned her Crow’s frosty glare. Not to be outdone, she flashed him a smile that dripped icicles.