The Gunfighter and the Heiress

chapter Three



Natalie slumped back on the sofa and nearly sloshed her drink down the front of her dress. Her cheeks felt flushed and her thoughts swirled in disarray. Whether from too much liquor or the intimate topic of conversation, she couldn’t say for certain.

She shot Crow a sideways glance, wondering if this hard-edged man knew how to be tender with a woman who had no intimate experience whatsoever. He didn’t look the least bit gentle. Which was another necessary qualification for this assignment. If Avery and Thurston confronted him, they would think twice about battling a man with a dangerous reputation and exceptional skills.

More likely, she mused, they would hire an assassin to shoot him while he was unaware.

Damn, then she would have his death on her conscience!

Natalie winced at the unpleasant prospect. She tried to tell herself that Crow was in the business of risking life and limb for exorbitant fees. It’s what he did. Nevertheless, she didn’t want him injured—or worse—because of her.

She, however, didn’t feel charitable toward Avery and Thurston. They could go straight to hell—and stay there—as far as she was concerned.

When Natalie took another sip of whiskey, the room spun around her. She was exhausted from her long journey and from three months of diligent planning to escape. Plus, she’d had entirely too many drinks. Darkness closed in and she tilted sideways, unable to muster the strength to push herself upright. Her head drooped against Crow’s broad shoulder and she savored his solid strength beside her. For the first time in months, she felt safe. “Sunshine?”

Crow’s deep, resonant voice echoed from what seemed to be a long, winding tunnel. Natalie thought she heard him call to her again as her glass slipped from her fingertips and she tried unsuccessfully to grab it.

Then the world went dark and silent.



Van snatched the whiskey glass from Natalie’s fingertips before it sloshed on both of them. He looked down at her exquisite face resting against his shoulder. Her long black lashes lay against her cheeks like delicate butterflies. Her lush lips parted slightly, as if awaiting his kiss.

A jolt of awareness sizzled through him and he yielded to the impossible temptation. Van kissed her, just as he’d wanted to do since the moment she planted one on him in front of a captive audience at the bar. It had taken all the self-control he’d spent a lifetime cultivating not to respond to her in front of all those eagle-eyed men at the Road To Ruin Saloon. He hadn’t dared to show the slightest weakness for this mere wisp of a woman. That might place her in jeopardy and put him at a disadvantage.

Ruthless men, after all, used every vulnerability at their disposal when they came gunning for him.

Now that no one was watching, he cupped his hand beneath her chin and tipped her head back. He kissed her softly, enjoying the feel of her plump pink lips. He savored the enticing fragrance of her perfume—it had been tormenting his acute senses since she’d ventured close to him in the saloon.

He reached up to pull the pins from her hair and the glorious strands of dark flames tumbled over his shoulder. He looked down at the creamy swells of her breasts then involuntarily skimmed his forefinger over the satiny flesh pressed against the scooped neckline of her gown.

Desire hit him like a runaway locomotive. He became hard and aching in two seconds flat. Yep, he definitely needed a woman if Sunshine could bring him to his knees after one kiss and caress. And never mind that he had trouble maintaining a professional detachment when she insisted that she had handpicked him and he was perfect for her. It was impossible not to be flattered. What man wouldn’t be?

“Well, hell,” Van muttered. Natalie was out cold and he doubted substituting a harlot for her would satisfy him. He needed to get her out of his reach but he couldn’t take her to her room because he didn’t know where it was. He did not intend to troop downstairs to ask the busybody clerk. That would invite too many questions and speculations.

“No other choice,” Van told himself as he rose from the settee then scooped her up in his arms.

Her head tilted backward, sending a waterfall of curly hair cascading over his arm. She was dead weight and she didn’t stir for even a moment while he carried her into the adjoining room.

Van stood indecisively at the foot of the bed. He hesitated at stuffing her beneath the quilt and wrinkle her gown. He really liked that yellow dress but he figured he’d like it even better if she were out of it.

“Why me?” he asked no one in particular as he contemplated how he could undress her without reacting to the sight of her partially clad body. Then he shrugged. “Why not me? I should get something from this upcoming marriage, shouldn’t I?”

His staunch insistence there would be no wedding had fizzled out sometime during their negotiations over drinks—far too many drinks, as it turned out.

Focused on his task, Van angled her unresponsive body over his shoulder, then unfastened the buttons on the back of her gown. He pulled down the fluffy sleeves to her elbows. Then he doubled over to lay her on her stomach on his bed. Taking care not to rip any seams, Van pulled the gown past her waist, hips and feet.

She stirred slightly and her eyes opened to half-mast. Van took advantage of her dazed state and asked, “What’s your stepfather and fiancé’s name, sunshine?”

“Thurston and Avery,” she mumbled before she collapsed.

When Van gently turned her onto her back, he found himself staring at the lacy neckline of her chemise that barely concealed her breasts. He groaned aloud. This was pure visual torment. Grumbling in frustration, he tugged off her petticoats, then shook out her dress and hung it in the wardrobe closet.

When he turned back to his bed, his gaze settled on the long expanse of her legs and the high-riding chemise that barely concealed her hips. While he tugged off her kid boots he kept his eyes on the task, for fear his betraying gaze would drift up to sneak a peek at whatever undergarment—if any—lay beneath that skimpy chemise.

Hungry need hammered at him while he played handmaiden. But Van accomplished his task, then drew the sheet over her curvaceous body. He wanted to crawl into bed with her, if only to sleep off the effects of exhaustion and a tad too much whiskey. It was his bed, after all, and the settee was too short to accommodate him. His only option was bunking on the floor—which he’d done too damn often the past few weeks during his last assignment.

His thoughts flittered off when he heard the distinct knock on the door. Wheeling about, Van made a beeline through the sitting room to whip open the door.

Bart craned his neck around Van’s shoulder. “What did you do to her? And what does she want?”

He shut the door after Bart burst inside. “Do come in,” he smirked. “Now which question should I answer first?”

“Let’s start with what you did to her,” Bart said in an accusing tone.

“I put her to bed.”

Bart blinked owlishly from behind his wire-rimmed spectacles. “Yours?”

Van ambled over to pick up his glass, hoping the shot of whiskey would cool the hot, unappeased desire clamoring below his belt buckle. It didn’t.

“Yes, my bed. I don’t know which room is hers and I sure as hell didn’t plan to cart her unconscious body door to door to check availability or consult the nosy clerk.”

“I see your point.” Bart retrieved the spare glass from the table and poured himself a drink. He stared speculatively at Van. “So what is it that she really wants from you?”

Van took a sip, thankful Natalie was asleep and he and Bart could speak freely. “She proposed a no-strings-attached marriage that will give her independence and control of her modest inheritance. I am to receive a generous fee for signing my name on the license.”

“You are kidding,” said Bart. He stared toward the door of the adjoining room. “She’s an extremely appealing and intelligent woman. Why isn’t she interested in what most women want? Marriage, security and family?”

“Sunshine isn’t most women,” Van clarified.

“Yes, yes, I can see that, but what do you think motivated this rash scheme of hers?”

“Supposedly, her greedy stepfather arranged her wedding for his financial benefit to her unfaithful fiancé…if her story is to be believed,” Van summarized.

He’d heard of shady dealings such as this before. The thought of Natalie Whoever-She-Was suffering a similar fate angered him. He admired her for being assertive and taking charge of her destiny. She had devised a way to have her freedom. Just as he had faced the unknown to avoid confinement on the reservation.

“She explained her situation and I got her to name names, though I doubt she’ll remember what she told me since I ensured she drank enough to loosen her tongue,” Van continued. “She let it slip that she’s from New Orleans and her first name is Natalie. Or so she said. She might have more than one alias.” He stared intently at Bart. “I don’t intend to call her by that name until she confides in me, however. See what you can find out about someone named Thurston or Avery. I don’t know if those are first or last names. Also, check those newspapers you subscribe to about a recent runaway bride. I want to know exactly who we are dealing with and if she’s telling me the truth.”

Bart gaped at him, then shifted his astonished gaze to the bedroom door. “You are seriously considering taking this assignment of marriage?”

Yes, although I don’t trust her completely. But I understand how precious independence and freedom are, he mused. Instead, he said, “Why not? She claims it’s the easiest money I’ll ever earn. I have the extra added benefit of not having to track anyone down or risk being shot at.”

“Unless this supposedly enraged stepfather and bitter fiancé show up to make her a widow shortly after she becomes your bride,” Bart pointed out.

“I considered that possibility.”

“They might even bring along gun-toting reinforcements.” Bart stared grimly at Van. “You’re good at what you do, my friend, but even a handful of sharp-shooting Texans at the Alamo couldn’t hold off Santa Anna and his Mexican army.”

“By the time the two bastards discover where she is, she will be long gone and so will I.”

Bart sipped his drink and frowned. “I suppose. But still…”

Van flicked his wrist dismissively. “I’ll worry about the details tomorrow. Right now I’m tired and I need sleep.”

“I keep telling you that the devil is in the details,” Bart didn’t hesitate to remind him. “I can’t believe you’re actually considering a marriage the day after tomorrow. And what if she’s a fraud and you don’t find out until it’s too late? And where, might I ask, do you intend to sleep tonight?”

Van shepherded his friend across the room, took the glass from his hand and opened the door. “She might very well be a fraud, but I can handle her.”

“Maybe so, but I—”

Van closed the door before Bart voiced more objections. He doubted Bart would complain if Little Miss Sunshine had asked him to be the groom. Van’s wry smile fizzled out when he reminded himself that he’d be sleeping on the floor tonight…or not…

Hell, it wasn’t as if Natalie Whoever-She-Was would know where he slept. She’d be conked out for hours. Van set aside his drink and doused the lantern. It was his bed and by damn, he was going to sleep in it!



“Oh…my…gawd…” Natalie groaned miserably.

The room swirled around her and her stomach pitched and rolled like a storm-tossed ship in a hurricane. She was afraid to open her eyes for fear it would make her more nauseous.

Holding her throbbing head in one hand, she levered herself onto a wobbly elbow and tried to remember what she’d said and done last night—besides ingest too much whiskey. Nothing came to mind. Not recalling her actions troubled her to no end. She pried open one eye and then grimaced when glaring sunshine blazed through the window of her room…

“No, that isn’t right,” she mumbled hoarsely. “This isn’t my room.”

An uneasy sensation battled the queasy feelings that assailed her as she glanced sideways to survey the spacious, elaborately furnished room closely. To her shock and dismay, she realized she was in Crow’s bed. A yellow rose lay in the indentation in the other pillow beside hers. Also, she noticed her chemise was twisted around her like a maypole, exposing one breast and a bare hip.

“Sweet merciful heavens!” she wheezed as the shocking possibility registered in her liquor-saturated brain.

Natalie collapsed on the bed, gulping for breath. Donovan Crow must have taken advantage of her while she was too far into her cups to protest. Anger and resentment boiled inside her. How dare he…! she thought, and then gulped hard, wondering if she had seduced Crow into agreeing to marry her while her inhibitions were drowning in liquor. Dear God!

Natalie gathered her frazzled composure and frowned consideringly. Not knowing the intimate details of their encounter spared her awkward embarrassment and whatever pain might have accompanied the act. Well, that was one less thing to fret about, she told herself. Now, if she could recover from the nausea and hellish headache she could set the hasty wedding plans in motion and be done with it.

Her gaze drifted to the yellow rose again. She plucked it up, noting Crow had removed the thorns from the stem. So he did have a tad of tender sensitivity buried beneath that hard exterior, did he? She had wondered about that.

Rising—carefully, in case her stomach flip-flopped—she wobbled across the expensive carpet to find her gown hanging in the wardrobe. Another thoughtful gesture she hadn’t expected from Crow. Thurston Kimball III wouldn’t have bothered with any such thing. The

philanderer was too self-absorbed to be considerate of a woman. It was a tremendous relief that she didn’t have to marry that bastard.

Natalie poured water from the pitcher into the basin, then splashed the refreshing liquid on her face. It helped somewhat. When she had dressed, she returned to her own room to change her clothes and brush the tangles from her hair that had escaped the pins.

As if she couldn’t guess how that had happened.

The thought provoked a blush, but she strengthened her resolve. The deed was done. Crow said he would marry her…or did he? Last night was a complete blur, she was sorry to say.

Natalie retrieved several bank notes that she had stitched into the hem of three of her gowns, then double-checked to make certain her family’s heirloom jewelry was still stashed in the secret compartment in the ratty-looking carpetbag she’d brought with her. Then she headed to the hotel restaurant to purchase breakfast.

Bart Collier lounged against the café doorway and he appraised her carefully as she descended the steps. “Van asked me to inform you that he will return shortly. In the meantime, I’m to escort you to breakfast. We can have a cup of coffee while we’re waiting.”

“I’d love coffee.” She rubbed her throbbing temples. “Did you lace that whiskey with a sedative?”

“No, ma’am, that tarantula juice they serve at Road To Ruin Saloon is dangerous all by itself.”

It had certainly been the road to her ruin, she mused. But she wasn’t complaining. Better bedded by Donovan Crow than Thurston Kimball III, the philandering bastard she despised.

When they were seated, Bart handed her the morning newspaper and pointed out the front-page article announcing tomorrow’s upcoming wedding and town-wide reception she’d promised. Natalie inwardly winced. She might have gone a bit too far with that public declaration. But as in all things, what was done was done. She would arrange for the ceremony and refreshments as she had promised.

She discarded the mental list of upcoming errands and focused her concentration on the studious-looking man who handled Crow’s business affairs. She sipped her coffee and wondered if she was supposed to negotiate the fee with Bart.

Later, she decided. Right now, she was curious about the connection between two men who seemed as different as night and day.

“Just how did you and Crow enter into this partnership?”

Bart smiled faintly, then called her attention to his broken nose. “Eight years ago, three drunken saddle tramps roughed me up for sport one night while I was locking up my recently opened law office. They called me ‘Sissy Breeches’ because I’m from Boston. Then their derogatory comments went downhill rapidly from there.”

Natalie waited curiously while Bart took a sip of coffee.

“The drunken goons broke my nose and planned to break the rest of me, but Van arrived to hammer them over the back of their heads with the butt of his pistol. Then he landed a few punishing blows with his fists…. He’s very good at what he does, you know.”

“So the circulating legends claim,” she remarked and silently said grace over the strong black coffee she ingested. She almost felt human again. Except for the headache pounding against her sensitive skull like a sledgehammer.

“I offered to pay Van for saving my life, but he asked me to repay him by passing along my knowledge of books and white man’s social practices. He wanted to function effectively in his father’s world. In return, he taught me valuable self-defense techniques that he’d learned from the Comanche and Kiowa tribes while he trained to become a warrior.”

She smiled wryly. “Essentially you became his project and he became yours. You taught Crow to fit into white society and he taught you to deal effectively with thugs who have no use for educated men.”

“Yes, in addition, I had the distinct pleasure of pressing charges and testifying in court against the thugs who served time in the penitentiary for assault and cattle rustling. They were released a few months ago. I hope they learned their lesson and I’m the last person they assault.”

“Ah, if only men learned from their mistakes,” she murmured under her breath.

“Nowadays I collect the telegrams and correspondences and manage Van’s financial affairs while he’s away. I also arrange quarterly deliveries of food and supplies to the Kiowa and Comanche reservation in Indian Territory.”

She frowned pensively. “I’ve heard disturbing stories of soldiers and civilians intercepting the goods and selling them for profit instead of doling them out to the Indians.”

Bart stared at her pointedly. “If you knew the goods came directly from Donovan Crow and you answered for them personally, would you steal from him when you knew he made unannounced visits to the reservation?”

“I suppose not, but the world is full of arrogant fools, Bart. I’m surprised someone hasn’t tried to swindle him.”

“They’ve tried. Two in fact.”

“What happened to them?”

“One’s in jail. The other is in hell where he belongs.”

Crow’s voice rumbled from so close behind her that Natalie spilled her hot coffee. She shook the sting from her hand as she glanced over her shoulder at him. Her eyes widened in surprise while she, and the other patrons, stared at Crow in astonishment.

Clean-shaven, he was even more ruggedly handsome. He’d clipped his raven hair and he was wearing a stylish three-piece black suit. He looked amazing, and not the slightest bit hung over after ingesting the same rotgut she’d consumed last night.

“Please excuse me, Miss Jones,” Bart said politely, then climbed to his feet. “I have business to conduct. You two can hammer out the details of your…er…arrangement without me.”

It occurred to her that Crow purposely sat down with his back to the wall at their corner table. No doubt, it was his custom to keep watch, in case trouble came calling. She would have to remember that when she embarked on her journey through the wilderness…

She snapped to attention when she recalled her conversation with Bart. Of course! Survival training! It’s what she needed before she set off to find excitement and adventure on the frontier. It had worked for Bart and it could serve her well, too.

Aware that all eyes were upon them in the café, Natalie smiled at Crow in greeting. Then she reached over to place her hand on his. That should convince the onlookers that she had deep feelings for Crow and this was more than a business arrangement. To add reinforcement to the presumption, she leaned sideways to place a playful peck on his bronzed cheek.

“You look exceptionally handsome,” she murmured. “Wish I looked that nice. But this headache from hell won’t let up.”

He reached into the pocket of his jacket to retrieve a small leather pouch. He sprinkled part of the contents in her coffee cup. When she arched a dubious brow, he said, “Old Comanche and Kiowa remedy.”

She swallowed three quick gulps of coffee, expecting an offensive taste. Surprisingly, she detected only a pleasant hint of mint.

“I won’t order for you since you intend to become an independent woman of the world,” he remarked. “But I recommend the house special. Also, it will help settle your stomach.”

She liked that Crow acknowledged her desire to make her own decisions and take command of her life. Unlike Avery Marsh and Thurston Kimball III, who insisted on speaking for her and telling her what to do because they were men and she was merely a witless female.

By the time the steaming food arrived, her hellish headache had fizzled down to a dull throb. Five minutes later, she began to feel like her old self again. Natalie dived into the meal with all the enthusiasm of a starving field hand.

“Now, about your fee,” she said between bites of fried potatoes.

“Two thousand.”

She nearly choked on her food. “Two?” she tweeted.

“That’s my standard fee for a wedding.”

She eyed him warily. “You’ve been married before?”

He munched on his slice of ham, swallowed and kept her in suspense, the ornery rascal. “No, but if I’m ever asked again, it will be two thousand. Take it or leave it, sunshine.”

She glanced speculatively around the café. “I wonder if I could get any takers for one thousand.”

“A dozen, who lack skills and experience, I expect,” he said with a nonchalant shrug of his impossibly broad shoulders. “As you pointed out with great relish last night, I can be bought.” He slanted her a meaningful glance but she noticed his silver-blue eyes twinkled with playful devilry. “But I don’t come cheap.”

She narrowed her gaze at him. “But I see that you engage in highway robbery.” She blew out her breath. “Maybe I will take my offer to Bartholomew Collier since he confided that you taught him to handle himself against brutish adversaries.”

His expression turned cool and distant. “Your choice, sunshine. This is, after all, part of your convoluted plan to avoid marriage to the fiancé you left behind.”

“I think Bart is a fine man,” she insisted.

“I never said he wasn’t.”

She drummed her fingers on the table while she stared Crow down. He was a magnificent-looking man and he was followed by the kind of reputation that gave other men pause. Bart was not. There was one clear choice. Plus, she had told herself from the onset that Crow could name his price and she would pay it. Still, it was the principle of the matter.

Natalie huffed out her breath. “Fine. I’m sticking with our original arrangement…except I insist upon receiving the self-defense lessons you gave Bart. That, of course, will be included in the two thousand dollars you demand.”

He smirked. “That will cost you another thousand, but I don’t have time for extensive lessons. Bart is gathering information about other job offers as we speak. If I train you, you’d have to learn fast.”

“I will be your devoted pupil,” she pledged solemnly. “I do not intend to set off on my great adventure and get killed immediately. I can use all the pointers I can get.”

“More coffee, ma’am? Mr. Crow?” the waiter asked politely as he hovered beside the table.

Van nodded, then waited for the man to walk off. “Bart can teach you what I won’t have time to do. He learned well. In fact, he delights in having someone pick a fight with him these days so he can sharpen his skills in hand-to-hand combat and with a variety of weapons. He might work cheaper.”

She braced her forearms on the table, leaned toward him and said, “I want to be competent in the wilds because I won’t have a personal bodyguard watching my back. I want you to teach me. After last night, I don’t think that is asking so much in return.”

He stared straight at her, watching her face go up in flames. “You mean because I partially undressed you so you could sleep comfortably without wrinkling your dress?”

He didn’t think her face could turn a deeper shade of red. He was wrong.

“No. Not that. The other thing,” she said, then cleared her throat and fidgeted in her chair.

“What other thing?”

She rolled her eyes in annoyance. “Do not make this more difficult than it already is. You know what I mean.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Was it so uneventful that you have forgotten?” she huffed in offended dignity.

He leaned toward her and said quietly, “What in the hell are you talking about?”

She blushed ten shades of red. “Consummating the marriage,” she hissed between gritted teeth.

Van barked a laugh that called too much attention to their corner table and earned him another of Natalie’s annoyed glares. “You’ve misjudged me, sunshine. I find no pleasure in dallying with unresponsive women. There’s no give-and-take involved in that.” He stared straight at her. “You don’t remember much about what we said and did last night, do you?”

She shook her head. “No, I don’t. But if nothing happened, then what did the yellow rose signify?”

Van shifted awkwardly in his chair. “I don’t know. You just looked so…so…beautiful lying in my bed.” Damn, he felt self-conscious. He’d never had a conversation like this one before. “I just…hell, I don’t know.”

She settled back in her chair and flashed such a breathtaking smile that it would have knocked his knees out from under him if he’d been standing.

“That is the sweetest thing a man has ever said to me.”

“Doubt it.” He dived back into his meal and prayed for blessed silence. He should have known better with her.

“After lunch I’ll make the arrangements for refreshments and look up the justice of the peace to preside over the ceremony in the park.”

“Fine, but I already spoke to the marshal about cordoning off the park. I contacted local bartenders about delivering drinks. You can speak to all the café owners about food so we don’t leave anyone out…” He glanced at her guiltily. “I didn’t mean to take over for you. But if you’re determined to get hitched tomorrow, arrangements needed to be made immediately.”

“No offense taken. I’ll have plenty of decisions to make myself when I’m in the wilderness.”

He tried to picture her venturing off into the frontier without a clue of what to expect from two-legged and four-legged predators. The woman was insane to think she could survive alone. Van had years of practical experience under his belt. He still ended up in precarious scrapes occasionally. Maybe he did need to spare the time to instruct her. Otherwise, he’d feel guilty if this lovely tenderfoot met with trouble—and she would. It was inevitable in this part of the country.

“Listen, sunshine, I’ve decided to offer survival lessons. For five hundred. Just the basics.”

“You are too generous, Mr. Crow,” she said caustically.

He watched her gird herself to negotiate with him. She delighted in haggling over prices, he could tell.

“Two hundred fifty is my top offer,” she declared.

“Three thousand for my license signature, the survival classes and I’ll pay part of the wedding expenses.”

“Done,” she said sooner than he expected. She extended her hand and he shook it. Then she smiled wryly and said, “I’d have given four, Crow.”

“Then I’ll have to find a way to compensate for what I could have had,” he countered suggestively.

When her face turned beet-red, he knew that she knew what he meant. And hell, if she was hiring him as her husband, then she could compensate for being his wife. Fair was fair, wasn’t it?

“You are a scoundrel,” she muttered at him.

He smiled widely, showing his teeth. “I wouldn’t be if you had agreed to the fair price of four thousand.”