The Gunfighter and the Heiress (16 page)

“Why would she leave this behind?” Van asked Bart.

Bart shrugged uncertainly. “Maybe she left it with you for safekeeping.”

“Or to make sure the legal owners couldn't take it away from her when they catch up with her…. Oh, hell!”

“Oh, hell
what?
”

Swearing profusely, Van snatched up his breeches and stepped into them while Bart politely glanced the other way. “Maybe the men who are after Nat arrived in town. Perhaps they hurled the rock through the window. She might have spotted them on the street while she was checking around, dressed in her wayward waif disguise.”

Bart frowned, bemused. “Then why didn't she say so?”

Van stared somberly at his friend. “Maybe she didn't want us to know because she was afraid we would confront them and discover her version of the story is a manipulative lie.”

Bart winced. “Which suggests she left you behind while she made tracks out of town. Maybe she plans to circle back to retrieve the money and the jewels when the coast is clear.”

“Still think she's innocent of wrongdoing?” Van asked as he crammed the carpetbag containing money and jewels inside his saddlebag for safekeeping.

Bart opened his mouth, closed it, then huffed out a breath. “I don't know what to think.”

Van thought Natalie was a scheming fraud who had used her keen intelligence and her luscious body to lead him—by a certain part of his anatomy located below his belt buckle—exactly where she wanted him to go. Damn it, she had turned him into a dozen kinds of fool and he kept allowing it because he had fallen under her seductive spell.

Outraged with her and himself, Van grabbed his shirt and fastened himself into it. “I'm going to track her down, no matter how long it takes.”

“I better go with you,” Bart insisted. “You are not in a good frame of mind to confront your runaway wife.”

“
Ex-
wife,” Van corrected as he plopped down on the edge of the bed to pull on his boots.

“Technically she's still—”

When Bart noticed Van's venemous glower, he shut up. After a moment he said, “I'll change clothes and meet you at the livery stable in a few minutes.”

Still smoldering with scorched pride and flaming temper, Van grabbed the weapons—the few his soon-to-be ex-wife had left behind—and scooped up his saddlebags.
He strode through the suite and down the hall, taking the steps two at a time to reach the small, unadorned lobby and the boardwalk beyond.

The sound of tinny piano music and drunken guffaws wafted from Rattlesnake Saloon into the street, along with a cloud of cigar and cigarette smoke. Van made a beeline for the livery, wondering if Natalie had stolen Durango for her fast getaway.

That would be the crowning blow to his frustration, he decided. A woman could make a fool of a man ten times over, but she had damn well better not steal his prize horse!

Guided by moonlight and the lantern hanging just inside the entrance, Van entered the stables. He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw his shiny black gelding in his stall. However, the strawberry roan was gone. Natalie had skipped town, as he expected. He wondered if she expected
him
to deal with the supposed stepfather and ex-fiancé while she flitted…

Van's thoughts evaporated instantly when he walked up beside Durango—then noticed the man sprawled face-down in the empty stall where Natalie's horse should have been. Sickening dread skittered through him. The cut of the man's clothing was too stylish for a cowboy fresh from a trail drive. The stovepipe hat was another telltale sign the man was out of his element and that he was accustomed to wearing expensive, tailor-made garments.

When Van heard muffled footsteps, he glanced over his shoulder to see Bart, dressed in a buckskin shirt, dark breeches and riding boots. Bart slowed his step when he noticed the grim expression on Van's face.

“What's wrong?”

“Dead body.”

“Uh-oh…”

Van opened the stall gate while Bart grabbed the lantern to get a better look. Blood oozed from the wound in the middle of the man's back. A stab wound. But there was no dagger in sight. Van had taught Natalie well, hadn't he? He was surprised she hadn't left his bowie knife at the scene of the murder to throw suspicion on
him.

“Good God,” Bart muttered when Van rolled the dandy onto his back to get a better look at his expensive jacket, cravat and fashionable breeches. The corpse's light blond hair was filled with straw. His skin was pale, as if he rarely ventured into the sunlight. His hands didn't have a callus anywhere to be found and his green eyes stared sightlessly into the darkness.

“He looks like the tenderfoot I used to be when I first arrived in Texas from Boston,” Bart remarked.

“You never looked this prissy,” Van insisted.

“Thanks. I'd like to think not. Still, this man doesn't fit into this rowdy town at all.”

“He won't have to fret about looking out of place anymore,” Van murmured after he checked for a pulse in the man's neck—and found none. “This tailored suit will be fine where he's going.”

“Is he carrying identification?” Bart asked.

Van dug into his pants pockets to find them empty. “He's been robbed.” He fished into the pocket of the brocade vest to retrieve an engraved pocket watch. “Well, hell. It's Thurston Kimball III. He's in no condition to give us a physical description of the real Natalie Blair. How inconvenient.”

Did Natalie think he wouldn't incarcerate his own wife for theft and murder? Had she played him for a fool from the very beginning? He swore every action and every comment had been designed specifically to lend credence to her convincing performance.

“I know what you're thinking,” Bart said. “But you could be wrong. This could have been self-defense—”

“A stab in the back with my missing knife?” Van scoffed.

“Someone other than Nat might be involved,” Bart went on quickly. “Maybe robbery was the sole intent and Kimball fought back then turned to run.”

“And maybe pigs fly in Boston, Bartholomew, but they sure as hell don't in Texas,” Van muttered sarcastically. “Go fetch the city marshal, will you? Jed Dawson has sleeping quarters in the back of his office.”

Bart lurched around and jogged off. Van rose from a crouch to stare at the sophisticated and stylishly dressed Thurston Kimball III. He doubted the man had known what hit him until it was too late. Kimball probably wished he had never become entangled with the dark-eyed beauty that had flitted off into the night.

“You should be thankful I married her before you did,” he told Kimball, though the man was long past listening. “Avoiding wedlock didn't save you, though, did it? Wonder what wedlock has in store for me?”

Grimly, Van strode off to fetch the livery owner from his quarters to rent a horse for Bart to ride. By the time Bart and Marshal Dawson arrived, Van had saddled Durango and the rented sorrel.

“Any idea who did this?” Dawson hiked up his sagging breeches while he stood over the body. “Wonder if the two men who robbed the stagecoach in no-man's-land last week hit town to prey on a few more victims.”

“I don't have a clue,” Van lied so Bart didn't have to. “Bart and I have an errand to run at a nearby ranch.” That sounded plausible, didn't it? “We'll be back tomorrow.”

Dawson arched his thick brows. “You taking a job with one of the ranchers hereabout? They are having fits with
trail herders who help themselves to a few calves to take along to sell for extra profit to the meat buyers in Dodge City. Not to mention the report of a few horses being stolen lately.”

“I'm thinking of looking into the situation,” Van mumbled evasively. “Can't say if I'll be interested in taking the assignment or not.”

“I sent word to the Rangers about those two stagecoach robbers. But if you come across those bandits, bring them in. The stage line is offering a reward. It's all yours if you capture them, Crow.”

Van had no interest in doing the Rangers a favor, or capturing the thieves or collecting the reward. All he wanted was to track down Natalie—pronto.

Dawson stared at the sprawled body, heaved a sigh, then pivoted on his heels. “I'll fetch someone to help me haul this departed soul to the undertaker.”

When the marshal exited, Van and Bart led the horses outside to mount up.

Bart settled himself in the saddle then glanced curiously at Van. “Do you have any idea which way Nat might have gone?”

“My best guess is north because traveling through canyon country at night is too risky.”

“Then let's go with your best guess.” Bart reined down the street.

Van followed behind him. He wondered how he could restrain from choking the life out of that cunning wife of his when he caught up with her.

That's why Bart is here,
Van reminded himself as he urged Durango into a trot and then a gallop.

N
atalie had never spent a more miserable night in her life. She was on the run and she didn't have the luxury of Crow's pallet to bed down on the ground. Not that she could sleep, of course. Having Marsh, Kimball and five hired mercenaries after her kept her nerves on edge. However, she had managed to catch two short naps while the strawberry roan rested and drank from the stream she crisscrossed.

Tired and achy, Natalie worked the kinks from her back, then mounted her horse. The sun made its first appearance on the horizon, splattering molten-gold rays over the hillside and turning the stream to rippling flames.

Natalie grimaced as she headed north on the road that would take her across no-man's-land to reach the infamous cow town known as Dodge City. There were very few trees to break the terrain, which meant she would be exposed and vulnerable to attack. Crow had cautioned her to remain on high alert when there was no place to hide. She reassured herself that if outlaws—and Marsh's
death brigade—could see her then surely she could see them, too.

Her hopeful thoughts scattered like a covey of quail when she saw three riders trotting down the road. A shout went up behind her and she recognized Marsh's voice. She glanced every which way, trying to decide on the best course of action. She dug her heels into the horse's flanks and reversed direction.

Curse it! She had no choice but to race back to the wooded area near the stream to play hide-and-seek as long as necessary.
Do you really think Marsh and his goons will give up and go home with so much money at stake?
she asked herself as she ducked away from the bullet that whizzed past her shoulder and plugged into the tree she passed.

A horrifying thought exploded in her mind when she realized Kimball and the three straggly haired goons from Rattlesnake Saloon weren't with Marsh's brigade. Sweet mercy! Had they split up so the other four men could attack Crow?

Natalie felt sick, knowing she had tied up Crow to facilitate her escape. She had left him vulnerable and defenseless. If he came to harm, she would never forgive herself.

Fear sizzled through her as she flattened herself against the saddle and pressed her cheek against her horse's neck. Another gunshot sailed past her, missing her horse by inches. She could hear Marsh cursing the air blue, but she didn't look back, just zigzagged through the saplings that cluttered the steep incline near the creek bank.

When she finally braved a glance over her shoulder, she realized Marsh and his two goons were closing in faster than she'd hoped. She recognized the tall, slim gunman with the hawkish nose and close-set eyes that she had
encountered on the fire escape the previous night. He aimed his pistol and took her measure while he raced toward her.

Frantic, Natalie jerked on the reins to veer left at the last possible moment after the gunman fired. Then she veered left again when he fired a second time.

“I gave orders to shoot to kill!” Marsh bellowed at her. “If you don't stop I'll turn my men loose on you for target practice.”

Natalie thought fast. “If you kill me you'll never find the money and jewels I buried last night!”

She heard Marsh swear as she skidded her horse down to the creek, then splattered through the shallow water. She also heard the thunder of hoofbeats racing after her at high speed before another shot crackled in the morning air. Her horse screamed in pain and Natalie cursed when the strawberry roan stumbled, then went down on its front knees.

“I'm so sorry,” she wailed when she realized the shooters had aimed for her horse. They had decided to keep her alive—for a short while, at least—until they tortured information about buried treasure out of her.

Before the horse tipped sideways, Natalie jerked her foot from the stirrup so her leg wouldn't be pinned down and crushed. She bounded off like a jackrabbit, estimating how long she could play cat-and-mouse with these three ruthless bastards before they caught up with her. She didn't hold much hope of lasting very long and she sorely wished she could have trained with Crow for a few months instead of a week. Then perhaps she might have stood a fighting chance of escaping.

Again, she wondered what kind of chance Crow stood if the mercenaries had indeed divided forces to bear down on him while this vicious threesome attacked her.

“Shoot her legs out from under her!” Marsh boomed.

Natalie dived sideways to avoid being shot, rolled over and bolted to her feet to take cover behind a tree thick enough to withstand flying bullets. Unfortunately, it was useless. All three men on horseback surrounded her, pointing their pistols directly at her chest.

“Jenson, tie her up,” Marsh barked.

“You are a helluva lot of trouble, bitch,” Jenson, the hawk-nosed hombre, grumbled as he dismounted.

“I hear that a lot,” she said, then caught him off guard by plowing into him, knocking him sideways.

She ducked under his horse's belly and grasped the reins, using the animal as protection against oncoming bullets. She somehow managed—she figured fear provided the strength needed—to bound into the saddle and race away.

“Don't shoot my damn horse!” Jenson roared at his potbellied cohort. “I'm not walking back to Taloga Springs.”

Natalie wondered if Crow would be pleased with her attempts to escape disaster by using the skills he taught her, combined with her own wits. But she suspected he had cursed her to hell and back when he awoke to find himself tied to the bedposts. She inwardly grimaced, picturing him at the mercy of Kimball and the three burly goons. He might have been attacked, just as the bullies had set upon Bart while he was sleeping off the sedative.

Dear Lord!
she thought.
I'm the curse of both men's lives and I've placed them in grave danger.

Riding hell-for-leather, praying Crow and Bart had survived, she thundered along the creek bank, dodging trees and underbrush as best she could. Then it occurred to her that she should
attack,
not retreat, for she had nothing left to lose. She wanted vengeance on Marsh for targeting
her family to appease his insatiable greed. By damn, she would have revenge—or die trying.

Natalie grabbed the two-shot derringer tucked in the waistband of her breeches, but kept it out of sight as she reined back in the direction she had come.

Napoleon and Custer had their last stands…and so would she. She would put up a fight out here in the middle of nowhere. She was going to confront, head-on, the merciless bastard who deliberately murdered her mother. Marsh might kill her—and there was a very good chance of it—but she would draw his blood before she flew off to the pearly gates.

On the wings of that valiant thought, she jabbed her heels into the horse's flanks and charged full steam ahead. When she was within firing range she raised her pistol and blasted Marsh.

He yelped in horror when her bullet plugged his shoulder.

She was slightly off the mark. She could have put him out of her misery if she had aimed six inches to the right—and struck his cold, black heart.

A bullet screamed past her thigh and Natalie glared at the round-bellied gunman on horseback who'd shot at her. She fired off her second and last bullet, but she missed the snarling henchman by several inches. He aimed to fire at her before she could retrieve the boot pistol she had borrowed from Crow. She sagged in relief when the gunman's trigger clicked against the empty chamber. He had expended the bullets in his pistol and quickly reloaded.

Determined to battle to the bitter end, she rammed the barrel-bellied henchman broadside with her horse. Then she took a roundhouse swing at him with her arm, catching him upside the head with her derringer. He squealed in pain and somersaulted backward from his horse. His
frizzy brown head slammed into a fallen limb, stunning him momentarily. Natalie was all set to smile in triumph…until Jenson stepped from behind a tree to pounce on her.

Natalie screeched in surprise when he grabbed a fistful of her shirt, then yanked her so hard that she cartwheeled from the saddle. She struggled to gain her feet and make another run for it. But to her dismay, Jenson lowered his shoulder and knocked her forward. She stumbled and skidded across the ground, re-skinning her chin. Before she could draw her legs beneath her, he threw himself down on top of her, knocking the air from her lungs in a pained whoosh.

“Gotcha,” Jenson sneered at the back of her head. “When Marsh finishes with you, it'll be
my
turn. I'll hear you beg for mercy, hellion. Count on it!”

Natalie wanted to sass him, but she couldn't catch her breath. Plus, she couldn't reach the knife or boot pistol to launch another attack. She decided to bide her time until she could breathe again and come up with another plan. She only hoped her captors didn't check her for concealed weapons. Otherwise, she didn't have a chance in hell of escaping. For certain, her captors wouldn't underestimate her again.

 

“Lord have mercy,” Bart hooted, owl-eyed, while he and Van halted on the rise of ground above the creek to watch Natalie take on the three men. “Did I just see what I thought I saw? What daring! Whoever she is, she is magnificent.”

“She is amazingly adroit, damn the little daredevil,” Van muttered. “She could have gotten herself killed!” Though why he should care he couldn't say. Or rather, he was in no mood to delve into the reasons why he had
been holding his breath while he witnessed his crazed wife mount a brazen charge against the men who attacked her.

Van had been beside himself with fear and concern since gunshots had shattered the peaceful silence of dawn. He had pushed Durango to his limits and raced up the road, hoping beyond hope that he wouldn't find Natalie lying in a pool of her own blood. Furious though he was with her, he didn't want anyone else to lay a hand on her.

He reserved that privilege for himself.

He intended to shake her until her pearly white teeth rattled and her eyes rolled back in her head, first chance he got. It was what she deserved for tying him up and leaving him in an embarrassing predicament…before she killed the dandy Van found lying motionless in the livery. Now she was taking on three armed men, as if she were bulletproof.

The woman was insane. There was no other explanation.

Van snatched his rifle from the scabbard on the saddle to take aim at the men who shot at Natalie. But she had engaged in hand-to-hand combat and he couldn't risk hitting her by mistake. When the gunmen knocked her to the ground and held her in place, Van raised his rifle to stare down the sight.

He swore under his breath when Natalie's captor bolted to his feet and yanked her up in front of him. He hooked his arm around her neck, making her choke to catch a breath.

Scowling, Van shoved the rifle into its scabbard then dismounted. Bart followed suit.

“Do we have a plan of action?” Bart whispered.

“Yes, sneak up and eavesdrop on the conversation to learn the extent of Sunshine's involvement with these cutthroats.”

Tethering the horses in the trees, Van led the way through the underbrush while he listened to the fancy-dressed gent with the muddy-blond hair, mustache and goatee who cursed Natalie for shooting him. Van wondered if this was the man named Marsh and if he deserved a good shooting. He wanted to believe Natalie's version of the story, but he vowed to reserve judgment until he gathered more facts.

The stork-legged gent, who had ripped off the hem of his shirt to stem his bleeding wound, stormed up to Natalie and backhanded her while the man called Jenson held her in place.

Van gnashed his teeth and told himself to hold position.

“What did you do with the money and jewels, bitch?” Marsh demanded hatefully.

Despite her bloody lip, she tilted her skinned chin upward and said, “I already told you I buried it for safekeeping, Marsh.”

Which Van knew was a lie—and he wondered how much of what she had told him was a lie, too.

“Buried it where?” Marsh snarled at her while Jenson lashed her to a tree to make sure she didn't elude them again.

“It's downstream a mile…or three,” she replied flippantly. “I forget. Confusion and severe headaches apparently run in my family. No doubt, I'm suffering from the same terminal malady that killed my mother.”

Van saw how Natalie was baiting Marsh with her suspicions about poisoning her mother. Which led Van to believe that she
had
told him the truth—part of it, anyway. Her comment lifted the heavy weight bearing down on his chest and reassured him that he wasn't such a bad judge of his wife's character after all.

Thus far, Marsh hadn't accused her of double-crossing
him by running off with the jewels and money. However, that still didn't excuse her for tethering Van like a horse, leaving him naked and maybe even stabbing Kimball with
his
bowie knife! Perhaps it had been self-defense, if Kimball had seen her making her escape from town, Van mused. Hopefully, eavesdropping on the conversation by the creek would answer his troubling questions.

“I knew I should have disposed of you first, you sassy little firebrand,” Marsh spat at her. “But you won't be around to point an accusing finger after you sign over the Blair fortune to me.”

“You've wasted your time and effort tracking me down,” she told her scowling stepfather. “My new husband is entitled to half the Blair fortune. If you dispose of me, he will inherit all of it. Hell will freeze over long before he signs it over to you. He knows exactly who and what you are.”

Bart and Van stared somberly at each other. He was tremendously relieved to know his wife wasn't the practiced liar, cheater and thief he was afraid she might be. But the jury was still out about her involvement in Kimball's death.

“We'll see about that,” Marsh growled. “I have him slated for execution. I might even use you for bargaining power to demand his cooperation.”