The Gunfighter and the Heiress

chapter Fifteen



Feeling somewhat refreshed, Natalie donned the bright yellow gown Van favored. She smiled wryly, wondering if he would dispense with the remainder of his tongue-lashing if she wore his favorite dress. She doubted it, though she still hadn’t figured out why he’d been so upset. Things had turned out splendidly, after all. Marsh and his goons were in jail and she would be out of Crow’s hair for good by morning when the stagecoach raced off to Dodge City, the next destination for her exciting adventure.

Despite the prospect of seeing new sights, she knew she was going to miss Crow something fierce. “Think about the adventure ahead of you,” she encouraged herself as she stood in front of the cheval glass, surveying her reflection.

She had acquired a bit of a tan from hours spent outdoors. The red-gold highlights in her hair had become more pronounced, she noted. Aside from a few bumps, scrapes and bruises, she had emerged from her perilous ordeal with Marsh and his death brigade in one piece. Thurston Kimball III hadn’t been so fortunate. He had become Marsh’s disposable pawn after he’d served his purpose.

Natalie retrieved the two-shot derringer she had reloaded, tucked it in one garter, then stashed the dagger Crow had given her in the other. Now that she had grown accustomed to wearing a shirt and breeches, she found the gown and petticoats confining. Well, she would continue her new fashion trend of breeches and boots once she set out to see the sights in Kansas and Colorado…without Crow.

Before the depressing thought took root, Natalie inhaled a restorative breath, then spun toward the door. She was determined to find out what had become of the three unidentified men she had seen hovering around Marsh and the other henchmen the previous day.

She sincerely hoped the men had cut their losses and left when news of Marsh’s arrest circulated around town. Nevertheless, she planned to alert Marshal Dawson to be on the lookout for them. She didn’t want them to break Marsh out of his jail cell, before he could swing from the tallest tree in Texas.

The moment Natalie emerged from the hotel lobby, she surveyed the dark street. Music from a piano and harmonica drifted from Rattlesnake Saloon, along with a customary cloud of smoke. Her stomach growled, reminding her that the dried pemmican she’d had for lunch on the trail had worn off. She was tempted to detour into a café, but decided to head directly to the marshal’s office. She wasn’t going to risk leaving any loose ends that pertained to Marsh.

If there was one thing she had learned about her heartless, conniving stepfather it was never to underestimate him. Then again, he had underestimated her ability of self-defense this morning and look where it got him.

Natalie swept down the boardwalk, ignoring the wolfish whistles of drunken cowboys that were wandering back and forth between the Rattlesnake and Lookout saloons. She entered the marshal’s office but Bart and Crow were nowhere to be seen.

Well, so much for softening up her hard-edged husband by wearing the bright yellow dress.

“Marshal Dawson?” she called out.

“Back here,” he answered from the other side of the door leading to the cells.

Natalie strode through the doorway, pleased to note how good Marsh and his goons looked in a cage framed with metal bars. The only vulnerable place was the barred window that overlooked the alley. But there would be no escape attempt through the alley, not if she could help it.

She walked up to glare at Marsh who sat on a rickety stool, staring at the brick floor. “Where are the men I saw you conspiring with after you left Rattlesnake Saloon yesterday?” she asked without preamble.

“Go to hell,” Marsh growled without looking up.

“You first,” she countered caustically.

Marshal Dawson’s thick brows furrowed over his eyes as he tugged up his sagging trousers. “What’s this about other men?”

“I saw Marsh, Kimball, Green and Jenson exit the saloon yesterday with three scraggly haired, burly-looking men,” she reported then stared deliberately at Marsh. “I wanted to make certain they didn’t attempt to break Marsh out of jail.”

“Three, you say? Not two?” Dawson questioned with sudden interest. “As I told Crow, there are two stagecoach robbers lurking in the area and a report of three stolen horses from a nearby ranch. I sent word to the Rangers a few days back, but they haven’t arrived yet.”

“There were definitely three men, but I only saw them from a distance. They were dressed like cowboys in tattered shirts and breeches. They wore red bandanas around their necks. I couldn’t see their faces clearly.”

Dawson frowned pensively. “I better check this out. I have a description of the thieves and their stolen horses. Their mounts might be tethered to hitching posts or stabled at the livery.”

Natalie cast one last glance at Marsh who looked nothing like the cocky man who had married her mother five years earlier. She liked the looks of Marsh behind bars so much better and she chose to remember him as such…if she decided to think about him at all in the future.

“Doctor Purcell will be back around later to check your wounds,” Dawson told his injured prisoners as he walked Natalie out.

Natalie waited while the marshal locked the outside door. “No deputy?” she asked uneasily.

Dawson shook his dark head then hiked up his breeches. “My deputy was shot last week while trying to arrest a drunken cowboy fresh off a cattle drive. No one offered to take his place. This is a rough town, you know.”

She nodded in agreement, then veered left while the marshal veered right to check the horses lining the street.

“Do you know where Collier and Crow are?” she called after him.

He turned back to her and shrugged. “Not for sure. Maybe they stopped at one of the saloons for a drink,” he said, then continued on his way to check on the three men and their horses.

Natalie pulled a face. If she never had another swallow of whiskey, it would be fine with her. She still remembered feeling ill, befuddled and miserable after she’d had too many drinks during her business negotiations with Crow.

Lifting the hem of her skirt to hike quickly down the boardwalk, Natalie contemplated her choices of eating establishments. She had tried the Caprock Café the previous afternoon and wasn’t impressed. She decided to sample the fare at Canyon Café.

As she passed the corner by the gunsmith shop and headed for the restaurant, someone leaped from the shadows of the side alley to grab her. She didn’t have time to shout for help because a man’s grimy hand clamped over the lower half of her face. She bit down on a chubby finger and the man yelped in pain. Unfortunately, another hand—holding a smelly kerchief—replaced the first one. She didn’t have the chance to scream at the top of her lungs.

“Hold her down, damn it,” someone growled while she wormed, squirmed and kicked in vain to gain release.

Sickening dread flooded over her when she realized that three men had accosted her. They wore kerchiefs for masks, but their long scraggly hair stuck out from the rim of their hats and dangled around their disguised faces.

These were Marsh’s mysterious cohorts!

Natalie fought even harder for freedom, but she couldn’t lash out effectively with her feet and legs because of the confining gown. Worse, her assailants had come prepared. They jerked her arms behind her back and tied her wrists together so she couldn’t claw or take swings at them.

“Now get her legs,” one man ordered hurriedly.

She tried desperately to counter the attempt to bind her ankles, but she was encumbered by the dress and hopelessly outnumbered. To her fear and frustration, she found herself bound, gagged and tossed over one broad shoulder. Her captors carted her through the side alley to reach the four horses tethered behind the general store.

Her breath came out in a grunt when they dumped her on the ground, then rolled her up in a smelly tarp. One of the men carelessly tossed her over a horse, leaving her in a jackknifed position while he lashed her feet to the stirrups. Blood ran to her head, making her dizzy. She tried to rear up and throw herself backward but one of her abductors shoved the heel of his hand between her shoulder blades and mashed her chest against the horse’s ribs. Another man tied a noose around her neck and secured the rope to the saddle.

She cursed herself mightily for not paying attention to her surroundings. Crow would have lectured her sternly for letting her guard down, even though she was in town. Fool that she was, she had presumed she was safe.

Safe in Hell’s Fringe? What had she been thinking? Now she was practically hanging upside down, chewing on a foul-tasting handkerchief for supper and wondering if the three goons planned to hold her for ransom or for bargaining power to facilitate Marsh’s release.

Natalie muttered at the very idea of Marsh escaping those iron bars that suited him so perfectly.

Her thoughts trailed off when one of her captors chuckled triumphantly. “That was easy enough.”

“Wish I could be here to see the look on that half-breed bastard’s face when he finds out we kidnapped his wife,” the second captor sniggered.

Natalie snapped to attention—as best she could, considering she was draped over the horse like a feed sack. What did Crow have to do with these three? The thought exploded through her mind and sickening dread intensified. Surely these three men weren’t the Harper brothers that had sent threatening messages to Crow.

She didn’t know where she presumed the Harper Gang was hiding out, but certainly not in Taloga Springs, which was only one of several hellholes on the Texas frontier.

Good God, what rotten luck!

The third captor chuckled wickedly. “After we leave Crow another message and he walks into our trap to rescue his wife, he’ll regret killing Robbie.”

“Eye for an eye.”

“Revenge is gonna be sweet.”

“It’ll be even sweeter when Crow is dead and we take our turns with his widow.”

Natalie swore beneath her gag. For the second time in as many days, she worried that she might become the cause of Crow’s death. She’d never forgive herself. Her future—or lack thereof—didn’t look promising, either. While her captors led her down the alley in the darkness she hoped and prayed Crow had the good sense not to come looking for her. It wouldn’t do either of them any good.



Van took a sip of his whiskey, then grimaced at the fiery taste burning his throat. He glanced accusingly at the bald-headed bartender in Lookout Saloon. “You doctored this tarantula juice with one-hundred-proof alcohol, didn’t you?”

The rail-thin proprietor tried out his wide-eyed innocent look, but Van scoffed as he replaced his glass on the bar. “Try it again, friend. And do it right this time.” He set Bart’s glass beside his. “For me and Collier.”

The bartender puffed up with irritation until Bart said, “Thanks, Crow. I’d like a real whiskey myself, not this throat-scorching, foul-tasting rotgut.”

Alternately grumbling then eyeing Van warily, the man reached beneath the bar for a fresh bottle of whiskey. He filled both glasses to the brim. “On the house.”

“You are too kind,” Van muttered as he lifted the glass in a mocking toast. “We already paid for the drinks we couldn’t choke down.”

He sipped slowly, knowing he was procrastinating in his return to the hotel. He wanted to read Natalie several more lines and paragraphs of the riot act, but he didn’t trust himself not to grab hold of her and kiss the breath out of her instead. That would only make the situation more painful for him. He knew she planned to leave on the stagecoach in the morning, headed on to the next leg of her grand adventure.

He stared into the contents of his glass and contemplated what his life was going to be like without that obsidian-eyed hellion underfoot. Damn it, he’d already forgotten what his days and nights had been like before he met her.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m ready for a meal, a bath and a soft bed.” Bart polished off his drink, then pivoted toward the door. “Are we inviting Nat to dine with us?”

“Yes, we’ll feed her before I finish raking her over live coals for defying Marsh and his goons this morning.”

Van guzzled the last of his drink, then followed Bart out the door. He frowned curiously when he saw Marshal Dawson halt behind the string of horses tethered in front of the gunsmith’s shop. Then Dawson strolled over to scrutinize the horses standing in front of Lookout Saloon.

“Something wrong, Dawson?” Van asked.

Dawson hiked up his sagging breeches as he stepped onto the boardwalk. “Your wife came by earlier looking like sunshine in a pretty yellow gown.” He grinned and added, “You’re a lucky man, Crow. You know that, don’t you?”

“Yes, I do.” He remembered thinking the same thing about Nat when he first saw her in that very dress. “Did she stop by to tell Marsh where he could go and what he could do with himself when he got there?”

Dawson removed his hat and raked his beefy fingers through the coarse black hair. “Mostly she wanted to know about the three unidentified men she had seen with Marsh yesterday.”

Van started, his senses on high alert. “Three? When did she see them?”

“She said there were three men in addition to Marsh’s crew standing outside Rattlesnake Saloon in the afternoon. She thought maybe the threesome might be planning a jail-break and she wanted to stop it before it started. I decided to look for the horses described from last week’s stagecoach robbery. Doubt there’s a connection, but you never know. Maybe the two thieves had another man standing watch even if the stagecoach driver and guard didn’t see him. Should have thought of that earlier.”

Van muttered under his breath. Had Natalie seen the men while she was prowling around, trying to figure out who threw the rock through her window? Why hadn’t she mentioned the men to him before? She should have…and he’d tell her so the moment he returned to the suite.

“Did she describe the men to you?” Bart questioned the marshal.

Dawson crammed the hat on his head then nodded. “Big-boned, wearing ragtag cowboy-looking clothes. Scraggly hair and red bandannas around their necks.”

“What!” Van gasped in disbelief.

“Oh hell, you don’t suppose it’s the Harper Gang that hooked up with Marsh?” Bart croaked as he glanced up and down the boardwalk. “Could we be that lucky to apprehend them in the same town with Natalie’s tormentor?”

Van sorely wished the threesome would lumber out of one of the saloons so he could pounce and be done with them.

“We better check Rattlesnake Saloon,” Bart advised.

“Might try the brothels, too,” Dawson suggested. “Or that fleabag hotel by the red-light district. They might be passed out and sleeping off a hangover.”

Dawson’s voice trailed off when he noticed three riders approaching. He grabbed his gun and pointed it at the men in ragtag clothing.

“Put away your gun, marshal. That’s your long-awaited Rangers,” Van smirked then stared down Montgomery, Bristow and Phelps. “I hope you delivered my two friends to the reservation unharmed and filed complaints about Lieutenant Suggs at Fort Sill.”

The Rangers—all sporting several days’ growth of whiskers and a layer of dust—dismounted.

“The Indian Agent is checking into the situation,” Phelps reported.

Van scoffed cynically. “He might be in on the scheme. It wouldn’t be the first time a corrupt agent cheated tribes.”

Montgomery slapped his dusty hat against his hip then brushed off the shoulders of his shirt. “We’re planning to stay on top of the situation.”

“You do that, Monty, and so will I when I head that direction in the morning.”

“We’d still be there but we received word about a stagecoach robbery in no-man’s-land and horse thieves north of Taloga Springs,” Bristow interjected as he stared deliberately at Van. “We need more Rangers to police this area and deal with a wide assortment of problems. Know where we could find a capable volunteer?”

“Don’t look at me,” Van said. “I have my own problems. The Harper Gang, minus their little brother I had to kill in self-defense, is in town. The brothers are out for my blood.”

Phelps perked up. “If we capture them and collect the rewards on their heads, maybe we can twist their arms a few dozen ways to find out where they hid the money from their bank robberies.” He stared directly at Van. “We were told we worked cheaper than you, so you recommended that we track down the outlaws that escaped from jail.”

Van was in no mood to rub that comment in the Rangers’ faces. He wanted to find the Harpers. Now.

“I’ll check the other hotels and give descriptions of the Harpers,” Bart offered, then wheeled away.

“I’ll check Rattlesnake Saloon,” Monty volunteered. “I could use a drink anyway.”

“I’ll be at the livery stable looking for the horses stolen from one of the nearby ranches,” the marshal said, then hurried off.

“Well, hell,” said Van. That left him to check the red-light district. He wondered what Nat would say—or think—if she saw him enter the bordellos. Would she care? He reminded himself that, come tomorrow, they would part company. He had served his purpose for her. With her staggering fortune, she could buy new friends, new beaus and anything else her heart desired.

The thought put a scowl on his face as he strode toward the brothels on the west side of town.

Ten minutes later, he had questioned the harlots at the first house of ill repute, then entered the second. Madam Sadie sauntered toward him, flashing a come-hither smile.

“You’re the one called Crow,” she purred. “I heard you were in town and that you brought in prisoners. Perhaps you would like to unwind and relax now that you’re off duty.”

Van glanced down at the bosomy redhead, dressed in an off-the-shoulder red velvet gown. She flashed him a seductive smile, then rubbed provocatively against his arm. He predicted he was destined to spend the next six months—probably longer—comparing potential lovers to Natalie and finding them sadly lacking in every way imaginable.

“Thanks for the offer, but I’m looking for three men with scraggly brown hair and plain facial features. They are brothers and one is as unremarkable looking as the next.”

Madam Sadie frowned distastefully. “They were here late this afternoon. One of my girls complained that the oldest one was exceptionally drunk, loud and abusive. We were glad when they left, I can tell you for sure.”

“Do you know where they are staying?” Van asked urgently.

Sadie’s bare shoulder lifted in a shrug. “Didn’t ask. Don’t care, as long as they don’t come back here. They shortchanged all three of my girls before they staggered off.”

Van mumbled a hasty goodbye, then exited. Knowing where the Harper brothers had been, not where they were now was doing no good whatsoever. He hoped the other men had better luck tracking the outlaws.

Ten minutes later, the men congregated in the middle of Main Street. No one reported any sightings of the bandits.

“Maybe they decided to ride out when they heard you were in town,” Marshal Dawson speculated.

“Doubt it,” Van said. “They promised retribution. The Harpers are around here somewhere.”

“Just to be on the safe side, we better tell Natalie who those men are,” Bart advised. “Knowing her, she’ll decide to arrest them herself.”

Van glanced up at the second story of the hotel, three windows from the left. Unease skittered down his spine when he noticed the curtains were open but no light flickered from a lantern. Then he glanced into the window of the single room on the other side of the hotel. No light glowed there, either.

“Marshal, how long ago did you say my wife stopped at your office?”

Dawson rubbed his chin pensively. “Must’ve been at least three quarters of an hour. She was going to grab a bite to eat.”

Van sagged in relief. “Good. Since the hotel suite looks dark, that must mean she’s still at one of the cafés. For a moment there I was wondering if the Harpers might have used her to bait a trap for me.”

“That’s one way to draw out a man without facing his deadly pistol,” Monty remarked. “Better go find your pretty wife and keep track of her until we run the Harpers to ground.” He glanced at the marshal. “Afterward we’ll see what we can do about the two stagecoach robbers and horse thieves preying on this area.”

“I’ll check Canyon Café,” Van said. “You Rangers can check Caprock Café.”

“No sense bothering with Panhandle Café,” Dawson said, shuddering. “You have to have a cast-iron belly to eat there. That’s usually where I pick up meals for my prisoners. I figure they deserve it.”

Van wished he’d thought to warn Natalie away from Panhandle Café when they arrived in town. Most cowboys were well into their cups when they staggered in there to eat.

“I’m ready to grab a bite,” Bart insisted as he kept up with Van’s swift strides. “I hope we find Nat along the way.”

Bart glanced curiously at Van. “Do you still want that divorce you’ve been ranting about for two days?”

“Not unless Sunshine does. Hers is the only offer I’ll probably ever get.” Van stepped onto the boardwalk, then opened the door. He scanned the patrons at the tables but Natalie wasn’t one of them. If she were here, he would have spotted that bright yellow gown in nothing flat.

“I wonder where she could be if she isn’t here or in her room,” Bart mused aloud.

Concern furrowed Van’s brow as he reversed direction. “Maybe she decided to lie down before eating. She’s had a hard day, after all.”

“Could be,” Bart agreed as he veered back to the café. “I’ll grab something for all of us and bring it to the hotel.”

Van nodded, distracted. Every minute that he couldn’t account for Natalie’s whereabouts intensified his concern. Not only were the Harpers lurking about, wanting Van’s head served up on a silver platter, but rowdy cowboys were always causing trouble around here, too, blowing off steam before returning to their duties with the traveling cattle herds. Natalie didn’t need to be roughed up again. She had been knocked around too many times this morning.

Van halted at the hotel desk to check with the clerk, who was certain he had seen Natalie leave, wearing the stunning yellow gown. He admitted that he had stepped out for a few minutes so he couldn’t say for sure if she had returned.

“Damn it,” Van muttered as he bounded up the steps. He hated this feeling of fear that gnawed at him. He tried to tell himself that the Harpers couldn’t have grabbed Natalie. She had learned to defend herself. But what if…?

He clenched his teeth when several grim scenarios leaped to center stage of his mind. If Natalie managed to escape Marsh and his henchmen, only to meet disaster as a pawn used to lure him in, he would never forgive himself.

He unlocked the door to the suite, then called out in the darkness. Even if he awakened her from much-needed sleep he wouldn’t apologize because he needed to know she was safe.

“Sunshine? Are you here?”

He lit the bedroom lantern only to see the bed hadn’t been slept in and her satchel lay beside the end table. Van whirled around and hurried off to check the single room with the new glass window. Natalie hadn’t been thrilled with the prospect of another long-winded lecture from him. Maybe she had gone to her own room to avoid him.

Van hammered on the door. “Natalie!”

He was met with silence. Another ripple of distress slithered down his backbone.

“Mr. Crow?”

Van whipped around to see one of the lanky teenage boys who had delivered bathwater earlier in the day.

The boy extended his hand, palm up. “I was told to give this to you tonight.”

Van unfolded the note and felt his breath freeze in his chest.

Eye for an eye. One of yours for one of ours. We will tell you where to meet us in the morning. Sleep well, Crow.

In the morning? Van swore silently. He’d never last that long. The suspense of not knowing if Natalie was being abused like the harlot Madam Sadie mentioned would kill him before midnight.

And that was the idea. He was supposed to suffer all the torments of the damned, wondering where Natalie was and whether she had come to harm.

After the teenager walked away, Van slammed his right fist into his left hand, wishing he could bash in all three of the Harpers’ plain-looking faces. “Damn them to hell!”

“Van?”

He lurched around to see Bart at the head of the steps, carrying a basket of food in his uninjured arm. “I picked up three supper specials. There’s plenty of food… What’s wrong?”

“Everything,” Van growled furiously as he waved the note in the air. “The Harpers have Natalie. I’m supposed to wait until morning to find out where to meet them.”

Bart glanced down at the food basket. “Suddenly I don’t feel a damn bit hungry.”

“I don’t want food. I want to kill somebody. Starting and ending with those goddamn Harper brothers!” he raged.

“I’m sorry,” Bart mumbled inadequately. “I’d gladly exchange places with her if I could.”

“I will change places with her,” Van vowed as he stormed to his suite. He halted to glance grimly at his trusted friend. “Get her out alive, Bartholomew. No matter what else happens tomorrow, promise me that she’ll have the chance to enjoy the grand adventure she’s dreamed about.”

He didn’t have to add that he would gladly become the sacrifice needed to ensure Natalie’s safety.

Bart understood exactly what he meant.