The Gunfighter and the Heiress (13 page)

Van cursed himself up one side and down the other for failing so miserably in this assignment. For all he knew, he was aiding and abetting a wily criminal who had stolen jewels and money and was using him to make her getaway on horseback—away from trains and stagecoaches that lawmen might check.

Damnation, how could I have been so naive and stupid?
he railed at himself harshly. He should have questioned her motives a week ago. Now he was certain every clever remark, every practiced smile had been designed to lure him under her spell and make him a willing pawn.

Hell, he would have trusted her more if she
couldn't
come up with the money to pay his fee and had offered a lame excuse about making monthly installments after she settled into a community and took a paying job. But his doubts had been festering since the beginning and increased when the Rangers mentioned the story of a woman named Natalie who had been abducted.

Now, his escalating suspicions and his overwhelming sense of betrayal hounded him to no end as he trekked toward Taloga Springs. If he had a brain in his head—and he liked to think he did, at least until he ran headlong into this witty, conniving female—he would go directly to Indian Territory to deal with the corrupt lieutenant. In his present state of mind, he might tear that cheating bastard apart, limb from limb.

His thoughts scattered like buckshot when he noticed the approaching stagecoach kicking up dust as it moved rapidly over the caprock that skirted the deep ravines and colorful canyons. Van snapped to attention when he saw two masked riders scrabble up the slope ahead of him. They tried to halt the stagecoach by firing their pistols in the air.

Just what I need to vent my frustration,
he thought eagerly as he gouged Durango in the flanks.

“Stay here,” he called over his shoulder to Natalie before he raced off like a bat out of hell.

 

Natalie watched Crow thunder through the dry arroyo, then scrabble uphill in pursuit of the bandits that halted
the stagecoach. Despite Crow's sharp command to stay put, she pulled her cap down on her forehead to conceal her identity and then took off after him. She might not be the best reinforcement for him, but she was available and willing and she could flash her pistol and look threatening.

However, if she had any sense she probably should ride to Taloga Springs alone and leave him to handle the situation by himself. For sure, Crow hadn't been stimulating company the past few hours. Heavens, he couldn't have been more standoffish if he had been in a different state! Natalie didn't know what she had done to find herself on the icy side of his frosty disposition. She suspected that he regretted their intimacy and was trying to make a clean break.

Damn it, hadn't he been listening to her? She had assured him that she expected nothing more than one night of passion. If consequences arose, she would deal with them. He would never know or feel obligated. She had his name on the legal document. That's all she had ever asked of him.

Natalie nudged the strawberry roan up the steep embankment. Her horse stumbled in the loose gravel, then bolted sideways when more gunshots resounded around the canyon. Her concern for Crow overwhelmed her. She was afraid he had suffered injury and she needed to be there to help him—

She swallowed a yelp when her mount dropped to its knees in an effort to maintain its balance on the narrow ridge. Unprepared, Natalie went flying from the saddle. She groaned in pain when she slammed her shoulder into a slab of rock. She tumbled helter-skelter down the embankment, skinning both knees and her chin before bouncing to a stop.

When her horse bolted to its feet and shook himself,
Natalie reached out with her good arm to grab the trailing reins. Every muscle screamed in protest as she came to her knees, only to be dragged downhill when the strawberry roan evidently decided there had to be an easier way to reach the elevated caprock and the road upon it.

“Stop…whoa, damn it,” she hissed. She yanked hard on the reins but the horse dragged her another ten yards before coming to a reluctant halt.

“Maybe you aren't cut out for the Wild West, after all,” she muttered at herself as she wobbled unsteadily to her feet.

In fact, maybe she should return to New Orleans to confront her treacherous stepfather with her new suspicions. If he deliberately poisoned her mother, she vowed to see him hang for his crime. Or stand him in front of a firing squad.

Fool that she had been, she had accepted his explanation of her mother's lingering illness and his claims that her doctors had tried to treat her without success.

Natalie vowed she was never going to take anyone's word for anything without checking facts first. On that determined thought, she tugged on the horse's reins, forcing him to follow her up the steep incline.

 

Van couldn't see who had fired a shot from inside the coach to fight off the masked men, but the bullet plugged one outlaw in the arm. The second highwayman caught sight of Durango scrabbling uphill and twisted in the saddle to fire off a shot, but Van fired first. The bullet struck the man's gun hand and the weapon flipped end over end then plunked onto the road. When both men tried to turn tail and ride off, Van held them at gunpoint with both six-shooters drawn and aimed directly at their chests.

“Get off your horses. Now!” Van barked ominously.

“Van?”

He glanced at the coach, surprised to see Bart Collier poke his head out the window. Well, that explained whose excellent marksmanship helped to thwart the holdup.

“What the blazes are you doing here?” Van asked as he retrieved two strands of rope from his saddlebag to restrain his prisoners. “Donovan
Crow?
” one of the masked men croaked. “Well, damn the luck!”

“We heard you got married and retired,” the other outlaw grumbled.

“Married? Yes. Retired? Not hardly. I live to arrest bandits like you.” Van secured the prisoners then quick- marched them to the stagecoach to check for available seating. There was no space for his prisoners.

“I guess you boys will have to ride horseback to town.” Van reversed direction to shovel them back to their horses.

“You shot us,” the first outlaw complained as Van jerked off the concealing mask. “We need medical attention, not a jarring ride to the calaboose.”

“The city marshal will see that you receive all the attention you have coming to you when you're in jail,” Van said unsympathetically. “Until then you'll hold.”

As was his custom with his prisoners, Van secured them in the saddle—backward—then tied their feet to the stirrups. He'd found the technique effective in discouraging escape attempts.

“You ain't gonna last long,” the second brigand muttered at him. “I heard the Harper brothers are gunning for you. They claim they're gonna dance on your grave,
if
they decide to go to the effort to dig one.”

The attempt to frighten and intimidate Van was a waste of breath. He'd heard it all before—most of it more degrading
and insulting than this. “Thanks for the tip. I'll be on the lookout.” Van led the bandits to the rear of the stagecoach, then secured the reins. “I'm sure you boys prefer to see where you've been, because I guarantee you won't like where you're going.”

The thieves proceeded to tell Van where
he
could go and what
he
could do with himself when he got there, but Van had heard that before, too, so he ignored the bandits.

He halted Durango beside the window. He noted the film of dust on Bart's bowler hat and the lack of a sling on his arm. Then he surveyed Bart's fellow passengers—a man and two brazenly dressed females. They looked the type who displayed their wares in brothels—of which there were a half dozen in the raucous town beside two converging cattle trails.

“You didn't say why you're here, Bart,” he prompted.

Bart glanced this way and that. “It's a private matter that can wait until we reach town.”

“What about those three bullies jailed in Wolf Ridge?” Van asked.

Bart pushed his drooping glasses up to the bridge of his nose. “They'll hold… Where is your wife?”

He hitched his thumb toward the labyrinth of rugged canyons that dropped off the caprock. “I left her down below.”

He didn't mention that he was royally irritated with her for not telling him who and what she was. He spitefully considered letting her make her own way to Taloga Springs. She thought she could fend for herself in the wilderness, did she? Then let her try. What did he care? He'd been paid in full and she had lied to him repeatedly—about everything!

He glanced over his shoulder at the rugged canyon and wondered if he could live with himself if she came to harm
before he delivered her safely to town. He blew out his breath, then reined Durango in the direction he had come. “Rent us rooms at the Wildhorse Hotel, will you, Bart? It has the best accommodations in town, though that isn't saying much. We'll talk later.”

“Count on it,” Bart said grimly as he settled against the back of the coach seat.

“Mr. Crow! Wait up! I have a proposition for you.”

Van glanced back at the bulky, well-dressed man who sat across from Bart in the stagecoach. The older man wore thick spectacles and boasted a full head of gray hair.

“Sorry, I'm in the middle of an assignment at the moment.” He inclined his head toward Bart. “This is my business agent. You can take up the matter with him.”

Van trotted Durango to the edge of the caprock then looked down to locate Natalie. Despite feeling betrayed and irritated, he frowned in concern when he saw her horse grazing at the base of a ravine, but he couldn't see her. Damn it, hadn't he told her to stay put? When had she ever?

Since her clothing blended in with the tan and brown layers of rock near the base of the cliff, it took Van a moment to spot her. She was climbing to her feet and dusting herself off. Apparently, she had taken a spill.

Van eased Durango down the steep incline, letting the sure-footed gelding pick the best route. When he reached Natalie, he noticed her skinned knees and skinned chin. A layer of dust coated her clothing.

“Which excuse are you going with this time?” He settled his stony gaze on her. “You didn't
hear
me? You
forgot
what I said? Or you just weren't
listening?
”

She slanted him an annoyed glance—which didn't faze him in the least because he was aggravated with her for a dozen good reasons. For starters, she had lied to him
about why she wanted to marry him. Secondly, she had ulterior motives for wanting to learn to fend for herself so she could lay low—in case bounty hunters chased her when her name appeared on Wanted posters for abduction, theft and who knew what other crimes.

“I guess I must have been thinking about something else,” she said smartly. “Like trying to provide you with backup, in case those bandits blasted away at you.”

“You were going to cover
me?
” Crow crowed incredulously.

She tilted her skinned chin upward. “Yes, I was. But as mean and nasty as you are sometimes, I don't know why I bothered.”

She limped toward her horse, then gingerly pulled herself into the saddle. Van suspected she had more bruises and scrapes from her tumble downhill than were visible.

Not that I care,
he thought resentfully. She had bruised his pride and betrayed his trust. She didn't deserve his sympathy. What she was about to receive from him—when they reached town—was a relentless grilling. He wasn't going to let up on her until she had spilled the truth. The whole truth and nothing but!

“Hurry up,” he snapped as he reined Durango toward the ridge. “Bart is in the stagecoach and I have two prisoners I need to stuff in the calaboose for safekeeping.”

“Bart is here? Why?”

“He says we'll discuss the reason in private, not with a stagecoach filled with strangers.”

Van nudged Durango uphill, leaving Natalie to follow in his wake. He kicked himself all the way to town for misjudging the spirited chit he had married. He had half a mind to ask Bart to begin divorce proceedings immediately. He shouldn't let her cower behind his professional reputation. She could find some other gullible fool to
marry the second time. He wanted to be done with her once and for all.

Damn it, how was it possible for their incredibly intimate tryst in the dark of night to turn so sour in the light of day? And so much for his unerring ability to judge a person's character. Apparently, he was blind and stupid when it came to women.

Blind and stupid when it came to his
wife,
he amended as he trotted off without looking back.

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

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

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

He thought the absolute worst about her now.

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

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

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

“Divorce is frowned upon, you know—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Who doesn't?” Bart inserted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Right. What was I thinking?”

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Van.”

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

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

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

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

“Damn that man,” she muttered angrily.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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