The Gunfighter and the Heiress

chapter Six



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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sunshine, are you coming to bed?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



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

“I brought your newspapers and the mail arrived.”

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

“Come in.”

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

“Will that be all, Mr. Collier?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Natalie Robedeaux-Blair, heiress to the Blair shipping fortune in New Orleans, has been abducted. Her personal maid is missing and wanted for questioning. Her family is offering a reward for information leading to the arrest of the abductors. Miss Blair’s fiancé, Thurston Kimball III, has postponed the wedding scheduled in two weeks. He is desperate to locate his bride-to-be and pay whatever ransom necessary to ensure her safe return.



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

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

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

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

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

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

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



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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His voice trailed off when she bypassed the chance to deliver a debilitating blow and knock him off her. Instead, she arched up to kiss him tenderly, as if she had the rest of the evening to feast on him—and intended to do just that.

Van cursed himself for responding so fiercely, so instantly to her kiss. Wasn’t it enough that these nightly self-defense lessons were murder on him? Did he have to fight nearly overwhelming temptation every blessed night?

“What the hell are you doing?” he demanded when she finally allowed him to come up for air.

Her dark-eyed gaze searched his for a long moment before she said, “I’m not sure.”

“Well, you better figure it out. If you think distracting your attackers with kisses will bring them to their knees, think again. They will take you up on an invitation like that so you better prepared to give a man exactly what he wants,” he muttered harshly.

“And what do you want, Crow?” she questioned, holding his steady gaze. “Would you pass up the opportunity?”

“What I want is to know why you insist on keeping your identity from me, Natalie,” he said unexpectedly. “Or is that another alias?”

Her dark eyes nearly popped from their sockets and her jaw scraped her chest. “How—?”

“You let it slip when I encouraged you to drink that first night. You also mentioned Avery and Thurston. Who are they to you? I’ve given you a dozen opportunities to tell me the truth but you have refused. Which makes me wonder what you are hiding and why” When she clamped her lips shut and glared at him, Van gestured west. “Go bathe in the creek while I hunt for supper.”

She stared at him for another annoyed moment. “You got me inebriated on purpose,” she hissed angrily.

“You’ve lied to me and withheld information so that makes us even,” he countered in a sharp tone.

Muttering, she rolled to her feet. She walked away without another word, without a backward glance.

Van blew out a frustrated breath. Well, at least he’d put a stop to her seduction before he caved in. What the devil had gotten into her anyway? he wondered. Was she purposely tormenting him? Well…it had worked. His unruly body was chastising him for rejecting the temptation to turn his fantasies into reality.

And damn it, the more time he spent with her, the more he wanted her—and he hadn’t thought it possible to want her more than he had the first night he put her to bed—without taking his own pleasure.

Hell, when had he turned out to be so blasted noble?

Scowling at himself, he strode off. “You are going no farther than Taloga Springs,” he told himself as he retrieved his rifle from the scabbard on Durango’s saddle. Otherwise, Van was fairly certain his male body was going to burst into flames if he spent too many days with Natalie. Or whoever the hell she was.

He scoffed at the irony of this misadventure. He had gone into the wilderness and he had been tested and tempted to the extreme. She was the one who was supposed to be tested. Everything was working exactly backward and he was earning every damned penny she paid him for the use of his name and these maddening survival lessons.

Van blew out an exasperated breath. They had only been on the trail four days and he was so aware of her that he could barely think straight. Even worse, he had insisted they sleep side by side in case trouble came calling. Unfortunately, feeling her warm presence beside him and inhaling her enticing scent the whole livelong night was a dozen kinds of hell. No amount of money was worth depriving himself of what he suddenly wanted more than he wanted his next breath.

Damn it to hell! He wished Durango could sprout wings and fly her to Taloga Springs so he could shoo her on her merry way. Then he could return to his normal life and forget he ever married his secretive—and all too alluring—wife.



Troubled by the fact that she had unknowingly revealed her first name, as well as Avery and Thurston’s, to Crow, Natalie paddled around the stream. Despite her annoyance with him, bathing relieved the aches and pains caused by so many continuous hours in the saddle. Had she known Crow knew her first name, she would have taken the stagecoach and bypassed the survival lessons—and his suspicious questions.

Not to mention her fumbling attempt to seduce him. She rolled her eyes in dismay. What had she been thinking?

Natalie reluctantly admitted that she secretly wanted to experiment with passion since she’d developed this fierce attraction to Crow. She wanted him—and him alone—to teach her about desire. That had not been part of her original plan, but how could she have known she’d find the man so utterly fascinating and wildly irresistible…at least until she learned how he had deviously obtained secret information from her.

No doubt, she was nothing more than another assignment to Crow. He didn’t want her the way she had come to want him. It was rather embarrassing to realize she didn’t possess enough alluring charm to tempt a man. Not any man, she amended. Just Donovan Crow, damn him!

Natalie groaned quietly. How was she going to face him after that embarrassing little episode…?

Her attention shifted to the movement she noticed in the shadows of the trees. Alarm zinged through her and she tried desperately to remember what Crow had taught her.

Unfortunately, paralyzing fear sent every practical thought flying out of her head when two brawny Indian braves stepped into the clearing. They pointed their rifles directly at her.

Natalie covered herself as best she could—considering she was naked and standing shoulder-deep in the stream. Her clothes and her pistol were draped over the bushes and they might as well have been a hundred miles away for all the good they were doing her now.

Another wave of panic buffeted her as the warriors approached the creek bank. Dear God, what if they had overtaken Crow and he was lying somewhere in a pool of his own blood? What if she was their next victim?

Natalie couldn’t restrain herself when one of the men, dressed in buckskins, came toward her, as if he meant to walk into the water and grab her. She screamed bloody murder, yelling, “Crow!” at the top of her lungs.

Her life was about to be over before her long awaited adventure began!

“Crow! Help!” she screeched—and quickly forgave him for using underhanded means to ferret out the information he’d wanted from her.