The Gunfighter and the Heiress

chapter Four



Natalie spent the day buzzing around town making necessary arrangements for the wedding and reception. She contacted the justice of the peace to schedule the ceremony at seven o’clock the next evening. She confirmed the delivery of refreshments and requested tables to accommodate the partygoers.

After constant activity all day, Natalie decided to make an early night of it. She needed to catch up on her sleep and fully recover from her consumption of whiskey during her initial negotiations with Crow. Speaking of her soon-to-be groom, she hadn’t seen him since they’d haggled over his fee at breakfast. He hadn’t shown up to collect his money and she wondered how he’d spent the day before their wedding.

The next morning there was still no word from Crow or Bart. Nonetheless, Natalie hiked off to pick up several items of clothing and necessary supplies for her journey on horseback. She hurried back to her room to relax, then bathed and dressed in the simple white gown she had purchased at the one and only boutique in town.

“Business arrangement, pure and simple,” she told her reflection when her stomach knotted and a bad case of nerves seized her. Suddenly she was questioning her decision to rush into a marriage to a man she barely knew.

“This is what you wanted, Nat. This is the man you wanted to provide you with a ticket to freedom. Donovan Crow doesn’t love you and you don’t have to love him back.” After all, these sorts of arrangements were commonplace in New Orleans. It’s exactly what she would have had with Thurston Kimball III. Only better.

So why didn’t she feel completely satisfied with this arrangement? She chalked it up to hasty wedding jitters and fiddled nervously with her coiffure. The staccato rap at the door startled her, assuring her that despite her pep talk she was still very much on edge.

“It’s Bart!” he called from the other side of the door. “I’m here to escort you to the park, Miss Jones.”

Natalie inhaled a restorative breath and grabbed the yellow rose she had kept in a glass of water—it was all the bouquet she needed. Then she opened the door.

Bart appraised her new gown. “You look exceptionally lovely. You remind me of…”

He broke off suddenly and she wondered if she reminded him of a woman from his past, but she was too nervous and short on time to delve into Bart’s previous life in Boston.

“Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

“That’s exactly what Van said. He’s exceptionally nervous. He never expected to marry.” Bart smiled wryly. “You should know that yours was his only offer.”

Natalie chuckled, thankful that Bart was trying to ease her nervous tension. It worked to a small degree. “Thank you.”

He arched a thick brow. “For what?”

“For calming me down, as if you don’t know. And by the way, like Crow, I only plan to do this once in my life.”

“Then you chose well, Miss Jones.”

“I know,” she said to him, as well as herself.

Donovan Crow met and exceeded every qualification and expectation. She could drop his name from here to Santa Fe and it should be a deterrent for trouble.

Her thoughts faltered and so did her footsteps when she reached the park and saw Crow pacing in front of the circular garden where the justice of the peace waited, along with the whole blessed town! Dear God, what was she doing?

Bart halted beside her, then cupped her chin in his hand, forcing her to meet his solemn gaze. “I don’t know exactly what is going on with you. But if you’re going to change your mind, do it now. Not in front of the entire town. Van has dealt with far too many taunts and insults because of his mixed heritage. I know how it feels to be teased because I look like an out-of-place greenhorn in the West. Although Van is hard-nosed and tough as they come, I won’t allow you to embarrass him.”

The lecture was all Natalie needed to shore up her faltering composure. “I have no intention of embarrassing Crow,” she told him firmly, then flashed a playful grin. “At the high price he commands, I wouldn’t think of wasting my money by backing out now. Even though he hasn’t stopped by to collect, yet, I’m sure he will eventually.”

Bart snickered as he escorted her toward the waiting crowd. “I’m sure he’ll get around to it in his own time. And you’re right, he is expensive.”

She squared her shoulders and pasted on a smile as they walked down the makeshift aisle. She was ready to seal this deal that granted her everlasting independence and control of her family inheritance.



Van heard the murmur of voices behind him as he tugged at the cravat that felt like a noose around his neck. Nervous energy roiled through him as he lurched around to greet his soon-to-be bride. His heart slammed against his ribs—and stuck there—when he caught his first glimpse of Natalie being escorted down the aisle by his best friend.

Married? You’re getting married? Are you loco?

He could think of a dozen sensible reasons why he shouldn’t marry her—and only one reason he should. Because he liked her, even if he didn’t trust her. He admired her spunk and spirit. He reminded himself—with a certain sense of pride—that of all the men in the world she had chosen him.

His all-consuming gaze roamed appreciatively over her formfitting white gown that accentuated her alluring curves and swells to their best advantage. Natalie Whoever-She-Was was stunningly attractive and she had a body made for sin. He knew it for certain because he’d peeled off her yellow gown and put her to bed that first night.

Erotic fantasies had tormented him constantly since then… His thoughts fizzled out as she walked toward him with her shoulders squared and her chin tilted to that determined angle he’d come to recognize in their short but intense acquaintance.

An unfamiliar sensation overcame him when Natalie halted beside him and he noticed the single yellow rose she carried. He wasn’t sure what it signified, but it made him feel…well, he didn’t know what he felt but it was a pleasant sensation and there hadn’t been very many of those in his adult life.

“Last chance, Crow,” she murmured. “Do you want to change your mind and make a run for it?”

“No.” He tossed her a teasing smile and said, “I bought this fancy suit already. Hate to waste it.”

The grin she flashed made her dark onyx eyes twinkle and he impulsively took her hand in his as they turned to face the rotund justice of the peace who was only an inch taller than Natalie and was decked out in his Sunday-goto-meeting clothes.

Before Van knew what hit him, Natalie had said I do and so had he. Then he felt a moment of discomfort when he realized he hadn’t bought her a wedding band. But Natalie discreetly slipped him the ring she had been wearing on her right hand and he placed it on her left one at the prompt. Then they reached his favorite part of the ceremony where the justice of the peace announced they were husband and wife and he got to kiss his bride in front of the whole blessed town.

Even if no one in town could figure out why this bewitching female wanted to marry a man like him, a cheer rose up from the crowd. Van vaguely registered the sound because the feel of Natalie’s lush body pressed suggestively to his left him distracted to the extreme. The taste of her honeyed lips melting beneath his demanded his undivided attention.

A moment later, he heard Bart clearing his throat and felt a discreet nudge in the ribs. When Van broke the intoxicating kiss he noted his friend was grinning broadly and Natalie looked as dazed as he felt.

The sizzle and burn assailing his body was nothing more than fierce physical attraction, he tried to tell himself. Natalie was breathtakingly beautiful, after all. He’d been without a woman for more weeks than he cared to count. Naturally, she aroused him.

He curled his arm possessively around her as the crowd surged forward to congratulate them. To his amazement, people who usually ignored him took time to wish him well. It was as if he had become accepted and respected because of his connection to the auburn-haired woman he’d married.

Natalie looked sophisticated and poised. She was gracious to everyone who greeted her, though she insisted everyone call her Anna and he wondered why she refused to divulge her real name… Which reminded him…

“We haven’t signed the license,” he murmured in her ear.

“We can do it as soon as the greeting line trails off and the refreshments are served,” she replied.

A quarter of an hour later, the crowd converged on the tables beside the street to partake of food and drink. The local band struck up a lively tune and a moment of panic hammered at Van. The crowd turned in synchronized rhythm, expecting him to take the first dance with his new wife. Van glanced helplessly at Bart who nodded encouragingly.

“I doubt the ceremonial war dances I learned in childhood are appropriate for a white man’s wedding,” he mumbled self-consciously to Natalie.

To his relief she grinned impishly at him and said, “Finally, something that I might be able to do better than you. This is a waltz and the steps are easy. Slow, quick, quick… One…two, three.”

She stood close enough to him that he could shadow the movements of her body while she counted the tempo in a whisper. He must not have looked too clumsy because the crowd applauded and then went back to eating and drinking.

“I must warn you that these dance lessons will cost you, Crow,” she teased playfully. “A thousand should do it.”

“Now who’s the highwayman?” he countered with a grin.

By the time they completed the second waltz, Van had his dancing legs beneath him and felt confident that he wasn’t making a complete fool of himself or of Natalie. In fact, he felt like part of a community for the first time. It was a gigantic step for a man who straddled two contrasting civilizations and never felt as if he really belonged in either one.

Bart ambled across the area cordoned off for dancing and halted beside Van. “May I dance with the bride?”

“Of course—”

Van’s voice dried up when a gunshot rang out of nowhere. He reached reflexively for Natalie and rolled with her to the ground. He managed to pin her protectively beneath him before a second bullet whizzed past his head and slammed into Bart’s shoulder when he dived to the ground to protect Natalie’s exposed left side.

“Ouch, damn. That hurts,” Bart hissed as he grabbed his bleeding arm.

Van reached for the double holsters strapped around his hips then remembered he hadn’t worn his six-shooters to the ceremony. He cursed under his breath as he reached into his right boot to retrieve the long-barreled pistol. A third shot whistled through the air and the frightened crowd scattered in every direction at once to avoid being hit. Van swore sourly when he noticed the flares of gunpowder and the dark puffs of smoke rising from the roof of the butcher shop. Now he knew where the second two shots had originated but not the first one. What he did know was someone was taking potshots at him. There were two or three shooters, he guessed. Was it the three surviving members of the Harper Gang? Had they come gunning for him during the wedding reception? He was surprised they hadn’t ambushed him during the ceremony.

“Damn Harper brothers,” he scowled in disgust, wishing he’d spent the previous day reconnoitering the area instead of catching up on sleep.

He was outraged by the interruption at his wedding party and mad as hell that Natalie’s white gown was smeared with grass stains galore. But worse, his best friend had suffered a gunshot wound. Snarling, Van bolted to his feet and fired off two shots toward the roof of the butcher shop.

“Curse it, Crow!” Natalie railed at him as she vaulted to her feet. “Don’t call more attention to yourself!”

To his disbelief, she thrust herself in front of him, just as she had done that night in Road To Ruin Saloon.

“Stop doing that!” he snapped, shoving her behind him before he pulled the trigger again.

Although he knew his boot pistol was out of range, he doubted his bushwhackers knew it. He fired off one more shot for good measure. It was met with silence. Apparently, his attackers—who had used guerrilla warfare to hit and run, had beat a hasty retreat before he identified them.

Instinct and training urged him to take off at a dead run to track down the snipers. Van was accustomed to facing danger alone—and doing it immediately. However, with Bart down and Natalie unprotected, he hesitated to race off.

“Oh, God!” Natalie gasped as she stared at the bloodstain that soaked the sleeve of Bart’s expensive jacket. “Are you all right?”

“Does having your arm hurt like blazing hell count as all right?” Bart asked with a grimace.

“Take off your jacket and let’s see how bad it is.” She craned her neck to survey the departing backs of the crowd. “Is there a doctor available?”

“I don’t need a doctor,” Bart murmured as he carefully peeled off his jacket to see the red stains on his left shirtsleeve. “I have Van.”

Natalie blinked owlishly as Crow knelt beside his friend. He retrieved a knife from his left boot to cut open the sleeve of the white shirt to assess the injury.

“Four inches to the right and you’d have a serious problem, Bartholomew,” Crow said as he blotted the wound with the hem of Bart’s shirt.

“Glad my luck held,” he panted as he tried to lever himself into an upright position. His face turned white as salt and he wilted back to the ground. “Go find the men who shot at us and give them my regards.”

Crow shook his head. “First things first. I’m taking you and Sunshine to your rooms for safekeeping. Then I’ll track down those bastards.”

Natalie swallowed uneasily as her gaze darted up the side of the brick building to survey the place where the shots had been fired. She felt ill, certain the bastards Crow referred to were Avery Marsh, Thurston Kimball and their hired assassins. How had they managed to find her so quickly?

However they accomplished the feat, their gunmen nearly disposed of her new husband and accidentally hit Bart. Or had they been aiming at her and missed…?

“Dear God,” she wheezed, her blood practically turning to ice in her veins at the awful thought of Crow or Bart Collier dying because of her. In addition, she hadn’t signed the marriage license so the fortune was still up for grabs.

“What’s wrong?” Van glanced every way at once. “Did you spot someone on the roof of the butcher shop again?”

“No.” Natalie inhaled several cathartic breaths and told herself to calm down now that the danger had passed—for the moment, at least. “What can I do to help Bart?”

“Let’s get him on his feet after I apply a tourniquet to stop the bleeding.”

With the tourniquet in place, Crow clutched Bart’s good arm and gently drew him into a sitting position. Together Natalie and Crow hoisted Bart to his feet. He staggered slightly but gritted his teeth and moved forward under his own power as best he could. Natalie and Crow wrapped their arms around his back for additional support as they headed toward the Simon House.

Once the shooting had stopped, the crowd converged to see who had been hurt. Natalie gnashed her teeth when someone in the middle of the crowd commented the shooting didn’t surprise him, considering who the groom was.

“What is the matter with you people?” she burst out. “Donovan Crow is a good and decent man and—”

“It’s all right, I’m used to—” Crow tried to interrupt but she was having none of that.

“This is my husband and I demand you show him the consideration and respect he deserves—”

“Sun—”

“He travels the country, capturing vicious criminals who prey on all of you and yet you—”

“Sunshine—”

“—went running when trouble arose,” she said, talking over him. “Any of you volunteering to help Crow hunt down the bushwhackers? No? I thought not. You cowered behind his gun. But thank you so much for partaking of the free food and drink at our reception, and then running like cowards while Crow covered everyone who turned tail and ran.”

Natalie huffed out an agitated breath as she motioned for the crowd to move out of their way. When Bart grinned at her—in between painful grimaces—she glared at him. “Why are you smiling? You’ve been shot.”

“I thought this marriage might be a mismatch,” Bart mumbled. “I was mistaken. What Van does with his weapons you can do with words. I’ll have to strive to be that animated when I’m arguing my next case in court.”

Natalie tried to get past her anger and indignation but it wasn’t easy. When she glanced at Crow, he raised his eyebrows and bit back an amused smile. He didn’t have a damn thing to smile about, either, but he didn’t realize it yet.

She knew Marsh and Kimball—or their hired gunmen—had fired the shots. They had barely missed their mark and Bart was suffering for it. Knowing those greedy bastards, she predicted they would strike again. Soon.

Her guilty conscience beat her black and blue while they shepherded Bart across the street toward the hotel. Crow was on high alert, looking for trouble in the form of another ambush. He stuck to the shadows beneath the porches outside the stores to reach the hotel lobby without mishap.

Natalie managed to keep her trap shut while they ascended the steps to escort Bart into a spacious, expensively furnished suite that rivalled Crow’s living quarters.

Then she blurted out, “I’m so sorry! This is my fault and Bart is suffering for it! This is not what I intended.”

Both men gaped at her as if she had ivy vines growing out her ears.

“The two men who want to use me for their greedy purposes obviously located me sooner than expected. I predict they will attack again.”

“Nice of you to shoulder the blame, sunshine, but the three men who swore revenge because I killed their little brother in self-defense are the ones who retaliated. Although I put them behind bars, they recently escaped.” He walked Bart across the sitting room to the bedroom. “They sent me a note, promising an eye for an eye.”

Natalie hurried to the commode to fetch a cloth to dip in water to cleanse Bart’s wound while Van eased him into bed.

“I’ll fetch the poultice then stitch him back together,” Crow said as he reversed direction to hurry off. “Lock the door behind me.”

“What three men is he talking about?” she asked Bart when she returned from securing the door.

Natalie eased down on the edge of the bed to clean the jagged wound. She told herself she wouldn’t faint. She was headed for the wilderness as fast as she could get there and she refused to be squeamish, whether she treated her own wounds or someone else’s.

“The Harper Gang—” He hissed in pain when she touched a tender spot. “Damn, that stings!”

“Sorry.” She tried to be exceptionally gentle.

“The cutthroats committed a series of bank robberies and shot tellers and innocent bystanders. Van told the bankers to sic the Texas Rangers on the outlaws when they escaped jail. Apparently they haven’t tracked down the Harpers and recovered the stolen money.”

Natalie marshaled her determination to have the wound completely prepared by the time Crow returned with his poultice and needle. When she felt the bullet lodged against muscle she pulled a pin from her hair, dipped it in water and gently probed to remove it.

Bart glanced at the bullet she placed on the end table, and then at her. “I’m impressed.” His gaze drifted past her when a knock at the sitting room door rattled the hinges. “Get that, will you? I’d do it myself but my arm’s blown off.”

She rolled her eyes at his exaggeration, then hurried off to unlock the door. Crow sailed past her, carrying a leather pouch twice the size of the one he kept in his shirt pocket.

His medicine bag, no doubt. She wouldn’t be surprised to learn this competent warrior was also a shaman. Natalie wished she could acquire half his talents and skills before she rode off to seek adventure and feed her hungry soul.



“No need to bother looking for the bullet. She removed it already,” Bart told Van. “I didn’t know you’d found time to give her a few survival lessons.”

Van glanced over his shoulder and stared pensively at Natalie who hovered by the bedroom door. “I haven’t. She must be a natural. Either that or she has skills she hasn’t divulged, along with her real name,” he added quietly.

He gestured toward the bag he’d set on the floor. “There’s a sedative in a silver tin,” he told her. “Give it to Bart with a glass of water before I stitch him up.”

While Bart munched on the painkiller and sipped water, Van packed numbing salve around the jagged edges of the gunshot wound. Then he stitched the skin together and applied healing poultice. All the while, his conscience railed at him for allowing his best friend to suffer injury from a bullet meant for him. Furthermore, Natalie had come close to being shot, too, and the thought made him cringe.

In addition, she had stood up for him and lectured the citizens on their bad behavior and rude comment. He was flattered and astounded by her daring and courage. Whoever she was, she wasn’t short on gumption.

“My, that’s a fast-acting potion.” Natalie frowned when Bart stopped talking in midsentence and slumped on the bed.

“Peyote,” he informed her with a wry grin. “It affects people in varying degrees. I used it on Bart after those hooligans beat him to a pulp. He reacted the same way, then he slept the night away in total oblivion.”

“Well, I suppose I should return to my room,” she said as she tucked the quilt beneath Bart’s chin. “It has been a hectic day, what with last-minute plans for the ceremony and the unnerving bushwhacking ordeal.”

Warily, Van watched Natalie shift from one foot to the other. She refused to meet his gaze, just kept casting concerned glances at Bart. He wondered if she was apprehensive about their supposed wedding night or upset because she thought the ambush was her fault. Which it wasn’t. It was his. Men shot at him all the time. It was a hazard of his assignments. He was accustomed to it. She wasn’t.

He had to admit the prospect of having Natalie in his room on their wedding night—whether anything intimate came of it or not—held tremendous appeal. But this was a marriage in name only, he reminded himself. Under the circumstances, it was probably best if all three of them stayed in separate rooms, in case the Harper Gang came gunning for him again.

Bart had been shot because he had been standing too close to Van. Bullets had flown over Natalie’s head. It was a wonder one of them hadn’t hit her. The thought of stitching up wounds on her flawless skin made him grimace is distaste.

“You can return to your room if you want,” he murmured. “You’re a woman of independence now. Just stay off the streets, lest you get shot and I have to patch you up.”

She finally met his gaze. “I do have my freedom now, don’t I? Well then, I’ll bid you good night. And thank you for seeing that I am free to go where I want and do as I please. I will always be indebted to you for that and I will pay you tomorrow.”

“No rush,” he said with a nonchalant shrug.

She swept across the bedroom in her grass-stained white gown. Van got up and followed her into the sitting area. “Stop right there, sunshine.”

She glanced at him as she reached for the door latch.

Van shook his head warningly, then pulled her sideways. “Never open a door while you’re standing directly in front of it. Especially after a near brush with bushwhackers. They could be lying in wait.”

“Good advice. Is that Rule Number One in Crow’s Survival Handbook?”

“Top ten at least.” He eased open the door to ensure no one lurked in the shadowed hallway, waiting to gun him down.

She hesitated momentarily, then pressed a kiss to his lips. “Thank you for coming to the wedding.”

He smiled. “Thank you for inviting me to be your groom.”

She opened her mouth and then clamped her lips shut, as if she’d decided against voicing whatever thought was racing through her mind. “Well, good night, Crow.”

He watched her cling to the shadows and noted which room she entered, in case he needed to come to her rescue. He strode quickly to the bedroom to check on Bart, who hadn’t moved a muscle. Van decided this was the perfect time to change into his everyday clothes, run the important errand he had overlooked after the shooting and then look around town. If the Harpers were lurking about, hoping to shoot the right man the second time around, he vowed to stop them in their tracks so Natalie wouldn’t be caught in the cross fire—like Bart.