The Gunfighter and the Heiress Page 3

  She nodded and smiled approvingly, despite his unsettling glare. “Confidence. I like that in a man.”

  “Now what’s this nonsense about a wedding that isn’t going to take place day after tomorrow?” He eyed her warily. “And why did you send the telegram from Fort Worth, claiming you’re my fiancée? Which you are not.” He gave her that hard, bone-chilling stare again. “Whatever game you’re playing, you need to know that you picked the wrong groom.”

  Natalie disagreed. When it came to selecting the perfect husband, Donovan Crow met her specific requirements. Her brilliant scheme would teach those sneaky bastards not to plan her marriage or her life. By damned, she was in charge of her own destiny. She would never, ever, be a man’s pawn again. This was her Independence Day. Nothing, not even a surly, reluctant groom, was going to stop her now.

  “Do you need my help, Van?” came a cultured voice from behind them.

  Natalie glanced over her shoulder to see the studious-looking gentleman standing on the boardwalk outside Road To Ruin Saloon.

  “I can say no to her by myself, Bart,” Crow said without taking his icy glare off her.

  “We’ll be in my room, having a discussion.” He glanced at Bart. “Bring me the bottle I just opened at the saloon.”

  For a split second, unease skittered down her spine. The prospect of being shut in his room brought all sorts of unpleasant scenarios to mind. A moment of doubt tried to accost her. She didn’t know Crow except by reputation. He was a hard-edged, hard-nosed gunfighter who never failed an assignment. He was relentless until he brought his missions to satisfying conclusions.

  She wondered if he dealt the same way with women—especially one who made the public announcement they were getting married.

  She quickly reminded herself that Crow had permitted her to tow him by the hand. She took it as a good sign since he hadn’t tossed her in the dirt and stamped all over her. She inhaled a bolstering breath and shored up her floundering resolve. Short of physical abuse—and she had a two-shot derringer tucked in her pocket so she would be prepared for that—she told herself she could hold her own with the brawny gunfighter.

  Natalie had spent three months diligently preparing for this moment. She wasn’t backing down. She knew exactly what she wanted and needed and she planned to get it. She needed the toughest, most dangerous gun for hire she could locate and Donovan Crow was it.

  After all, she reminded herself, Donovan Crow could be bought. That’s another reason she had selected him.

  The hotel clerk tossed Van a speculative glance while he led the bewitching female in yellow across the lobby and up the steps. Thanks to her startling announcement in the saloon, the town was abuzz with gossip and speculation. But very soon, Van would squelch the preposterous notion of an upcoming marriage and he’d get to bottom of Miss Sunshine’s theatrical performance. Yet, he had to hand it to this daring chit. She had walked boldly into a saloon full of men, thrust herself into the middle of a potential showdown, then dropped the bomb that left him momentarily thunderstruck.

  When the woman reached the head of the steps and veered right, he tugged her to the left and led the way to his suite.

  She blinked in surprise as he ushered her inside. “You have a two-room suite. How did you rate that, Crow?”

  “It’s where I live when I’m not on assignment.” He made a stabbing gesture toward the settee in the sitting room. “Sit, sunshine.”

  She didn’t obey immediately, just tilted her chin stubbornly and met his hard stare. Now why wasn’t he surprised?

  “Fine. Stand up if you want, but I’m sitting down.” He sprawled carelessly on the sofa. “I’ve just returned from a long, exhausting foray. I’m tired and I’m cranky. You can either tell me what this wedding nonsense is about or leave me the hell alone. I really don’t care which. But you should know there will be no wedding, no matter what you say.”

  Her cautious gaze darted speculatively to the empty space beside him and then to the door. She expected him to pounce on her and she was calculating how fast she could reach the door to escape his evil clutches.

  Van swallowed a grin—and realized he didn’t have reason to smile often. She was a refreshing change in his routine. And yes, he did admit that veering into the bedroom to catch up on the lack of intimate activity he’d suffered lately held tremendous appeal. But caution overrode temptation. He was curious to know what sort of plot the auburn-haired beauty was trying to embroil him in.

  His thoughts scattered like a flock of geese when some-one—Bart, judging by the precise knock—rapped on the door. Sunshine nearly leaped out of her fetching yellow gown but she composed herself quickly and spun toward the door.

  “It’s me,” Bart called out, then burst in without awaiting invitation. He set the whiskey bottle on the table near the window, along with three glasses.

  “This is Bartholomew Collier, my business manager and local lawyer,” Van introduced. “Bart, this is…” He waited for her to fill in the blank.

  “Anna Jones,” she supplied smoothly as she extended her hand to Bart.

  She graced Bart with a dazzling smile that all but melted him into a gooey puddle. When he collected himself, he doubled over her hand, then pressed a light kiss to her wrist.

  Although Bart had taught Van white society’s social nuances, he bowed to no one—man or woman.

  In Indian culture, to do so was a sign of weakness.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Jones,” Bart murmured against her wrist.

  Anna Jones? Ha! Van inwardly scoffed. Before the evening ended, he vowed to discover the woman’s real name and find out what she really wanted from him. Bart could play all the senseless social games he wanted but Van had survived well enough for thirty-two years without bothering with the white man’s social posturing and protocol.

  “Thanks for the whiskey and glasses,” Van said dismissively. “We’ll talk later, Bart.”

  Bart glanced at the bottle and glasses Van scooped up, then stared pensively at Anna Jones—or whoever she really was. Van inclined his head toward the door, directing Bart to make himself scarce—and do it fast.

  When Bart exited reluctantly, Van set a glass of whiskey in front of Miss Jones. “Drink up, sunshine.”

  She sat down beside him on the settee but she didn’t reach for her drink. He took her hand and wrapped it around the glass. Her dark eyes popped when he touched her and he found himself swallowing another grin. Sunshine wasn’t as bold and daring as she’d let on in public. He guessed she was a tad bit afraid of him. Good. He preferred to maintain an edge with clients and antagonists.

  He still wasn’t sure which one Little Miss Sunshine was.

  Van sipped his drink and urged her to do the same. When she didn’t, he said, “In negotiations, which I figure this must be, Indians pass a peace pipe. White man’s policy is to discuss the assignment over a glass of wine or whiskey.” He didn’t mention that peace pipes usually contained ingredients that had the same effects of liquor. “This is the only white protocol I usually follow. I leave the hand-kissing to gentlemen, which I am not and never plan to be.”

  He half turned on the couch to face her directly. “Now what is it that you really want from me, sunshine?”

  “The name is Anna Jones.” She took a cautious sip and gasped to draw breath.

  “No, it isn’t.” Van whacked her between the shoulder blades to prevent her from choking. When she could breathe again, he pushed the glass back to her lips, insisting she take another sip. She did, reluctantly. “My friend calls me Van,” he informed her, then chugged his drink.

  “Friend?” she questioned then took another dainty sip.

  “I just have the one,” he informed her then smiled wryly. “Two, now that the whole town thinks you’re my fiancée. Drink up or I’ll fetch the peace pipe and we’ll do it Indian-style.”

  She clamped her lush lips shut defiantly when he tried to force her to take another drink. “You are not going to get me in
ebriated and take advantage of me, Mr. Crow.”

  “Van,” he corrected. “Then start talking. Unless you want to end up on your back in the bedroom and to hell with whatever scheme you’ve hatched by declaring we’ll soon be wed.”

  That threat should get her talking, he predicted. Bold as she was, he sensed she didn’t trust him. Smart woman. Van wasn’t sure he trusted himself with the mysterious, alluring woman who had him entertaining all sorts of illicit fantasies.

  When her gaze darted to the door again, he shook his head warningly. “You’ll never make it, sunshine. Plus, screaming won’t do you any good because no one would dare to venture in here. Except maybe Bart and you’d feel just awful if I had to kill my only friend because of you.”

  She fiddled with the folds of her skirt and he noticed the outline of a derringer she had tucked in the pocket sewn into the seam of her gown. She stared at him in annoyance.

  “All right. Fine,” she muttered. Then she sent him a mocking toast, grimaced and took another drink. “This stuff tastes awful. Maybe I’d prefer the peace pipe and powwow.”

  “Another time perhaps.” He inclined his head toward her drink. “Trust me, sunshine, whiskey gets better with each glass. Take another sip.”

  “One thing you should know, Crow,” she said, staring at him from beneath impossibly long, curly lashes.

  “What’s that?”

  “I never trust men.”

  “Neither do I. Most of them try to cheat you or kill you. Sometimes they try to do one right after the other.”

  “Which is why I’m here to bargain with you, Mr. Crow.”

  “As Bart is fond of saying, bargain with the devil and you end up in hell. Some folks claim that’s where you are when you deal with men like me. So tell me why you’re here. What sort of bargain did you have in mind, sunshine?”

  He watched her inhale a deep breath. His gaze reflexively dropped to the enticing display of cleavage he’d tried—and failed miserably—not to notice several times already.

  “I have decided to take complete control of my life,” she burst out hurriedly, then took another sip.

  “I’ll drink to that.” He poured himself—and her—another glass. “Who’s trying to stop you from taking control?”

  “My stepfather and the unfaithful fiancé he selected for me. They concocted a tidy business arrangement that is financially beneficial. To them. They will see to it that I don’t live too long. A year at the most, since I’m a defiant inconvenience to both of them.”

  “So you’re hiring me to dispose of the two men before they do unto you?” He shook his head. “Sorry, sunshine, I’m not in the extermination business…unless I’m left with no choice.”

  “I didn’t come here to hire an assassin.” She sipped the whiskey more eagerly than before. “I refuse to let them off the hook that easily.”

  He swallowed another chuckle—and wondered why it came so easily around her. Must be the whiskey mellowing him.

  “Ah, a woman who intends to get even,” he said, and grinned—again. Amazing! “I like that about you. Not enough to marry you, of course…. Go on.”

  “My real name is Natalie,” she said in a slurred voice.

  The liquor was beginning to work like a truth serum. Which, of course, was the whole point of this deceptive exercise.

  “You’ll always be sunshine to me,” he replied.

  His betraying gaze roamed over the yellow gown that accentuated all her feminine assets. And she had plenty of them, he noted. His well-honed powers of observation were working against him, causing an unwanted distraction. He was painfully aware of his physical attraction to the mysterious Natalie, alias Anna Jones. But he supposed most men—him included—would have to be dead a week not to be affected by her fascinating appeal.

  She set her empty glass on the coffee table, then twisted sideways to stare at him. Van refilled her glass, then replaced it in her hand. He found himself taking more time than necessary to wrap her fingers around the glass.

  He liked touching her and he took advantage of the excuse. Her skin was as soft as satin. That, in addition to her arresting figure, her bewitching facial features and her devastating smile kept sidetracking him. She also was smart and daring. He admired both qualities, which were highly praised in Indian culture.

  Donovan Crow was nothing if not Kiowa at heart.

  She cocked her head and studied him for a long moment. “Are you trying to seduce me, Crow? If so, I must warn you that I’ve been propositioned by the most experienced rakes and adventurers that New Orleans has to offer.”

  “Good for you.” He was excessively pleased she had now let her first name and her hometown slip. “I’m only trying to get you to tell me the details of this potential assignment. I assume it isn’t really marriage to a man like me.”

  She shook her head and several long, curly strands that were piled atop her head tumbled down and bounced around her temple like springs. He itched to pull the pins from her hair and comb his fingers through those dark, flaming strands. He wanted to watch them tumble across the pillow on his bed while they were naked in each other’s arms…

  Van snapped to attention, shocked at how quickly his wayward thoughts left him hard and aching. He usually had more self-control. But Miss Sunshine tempted the most self-disciplined of men—and he liked to think he was one.

  “You are very much mistaken if you think I wasn’t serious when I announced our wedding plans.”

  He noticed her heavy drawl changed and the slur in her voice became more pronounced. Despite the glassy glaze in her obsidian eyes, she still sounded intent and determined.

  “I will pay you handsomely to sign your name on a marriage license. You will receive a substantial fee for the use of your name. I will have the ultimate revenge on the two bastards trying to manipulate my life. No man will ever do that again. My new life of independence and adventure begins after the ceremony…” Hiccup. “’Scuse me.”

  Natalie frowned at the sluggish sound of her own voice. She stared into the contents of her glass and decided Crow was right. The whiskey didn’t taste as offensive as it had earlier. Plus, it took the edge off her nerves. She supposed that was important because they needed to have this heart-to-heart talk so they could reach an agreement. As he’d said, this was part of the business negotiation ritual.

  Her fuzzy gaze settled on his raven head and she marveled at the thick strands of his hair. Truth be told, she noticed everything about the dynamic man who would never fit into the well-to-do social circle in New Orleans. And that made him ideal for her—except there were two of him now. How odd. She shook her head in attempt to clear her blurred vision.

  Donovan Crow didn’t spew practiced lines of flattery or flaunt polished manners. He didn’t project an air of self-importance that she disliked so much. He was what he was—a seasoned warrior tested and hardened by danger. His training in Indian culture provided him with a keen understanding of how to survive in the wilderness.

  “Now I get it,” he said, jostling her from her meandering thoughts. “You want me to marry you before your other fiancé shows up. That way you can take control of your life so he and your stepfather can’t interfere.”

  “Precisely. I began this process three months ago when my mother died.” Her voice wavered but she gathered her composure and continued. “Mama had been ill for years. She couldn’t counter my stepfather’s scheme to marry me off and swindle me out of my inheritance. She encouraged me to become free and independent.”

  He stilled, watching her much too closely with those piercing silver-blue eyes. “How much inheritance are we discussing, sunshine?”

  She shrugged lackadaisically. There were some things Donovan Crow didn’t need to know. She refused to break her hard-and-fast rule that no man could be trusted explicitly. “Enough to provide him with a modest monthly stipend for the next several years.”

  That wasn’t true. Her stepfather coveted the generous stipend that would outlast his lifeti
me. Natalie’s maternal ancestors, the Robedeauxs, were royalty in France who had escaped the revolution and moved their shipping business to New Orleans to provide merchants with unique and valuable products from all over the world. Her father’s family held English titles and established several banks in Louisiana and in towns up and down the Mississippi River.

  Which is why she traveled under an alias and refused to divulge her last name since it was so well known.

  Crow’s intense, probing stare bore into her but she waved him off. “The point is those two bastards—” She covered her mouth when the foul names she’d given Avery Marsh, her stepfather (Bastard Number One), and Thurston Kimball III, the philandering fiancé (Bastard Number Two), popped from her lips.

  Rather than frowning in disapproval, as she expected, he threw back his head and laughed heartily. The deep, resonant sound utterly fascinated her and left a lasting impression, despite her inebriated state. So did the accompanying smile that lit every bronzed feature of his face. Suddenly Crow didn’t seem as formidable as he had while he was bearing down on her earlier that evening.

  She would have to remember to picture him laughing and grinning the next time he gave her that chilling look that turned his silver-blue eyes to ice and his face to chiseled granite.

  “Those two bastards what?” he prompted, then sipped his whiskey. He raised the bottle to her. “More?”

  “Please.” And why not? she asked herself. They were enjoying a companionable discussion and negotiating a business deal. It was a man’s way so it would become her way, too.

  “The two men who’re trying to run my life and end it prematurely…” Hiccup. “Sorry… They won’t have control over me and my…modest…inheritance.”

  “So we get married. You pay me for the use of my name and then what?” His penetrating stare was back in place—poking and prodding to reveal the secrets in her heart and soul. Tipsy or not, Natalie was determined to divulge as few secrets as possible.

  “Then I set off on a great adventure I’ve dreamed about. I go where I want, when I want and you collect your fee and no longer bother with me.”