The Gunfighter and the Heiress Page 7

  “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.

  Chapter Five

  Natalie scurried around her room, gathering her belongings and cramming them into her satchel and carpetbag. Disguised in the men’s clothing she’d purchased for traveling, she checked that no one was waiting in the hall to pounce on her. She slipped outside the door, then inched down the hall to the metal fire escape and into the alley.

  She planned to be long gone by morning and the two bastards and their hired assassins could chase her and leave Crow and Bart alone. No one else was going to suffer because of her, she vowed fiercely.

  Leaving her luggage behind the livery stable, Natalie scampered around the corner of the building, then ducked inside. She surveyed the string of horses in their stalls. One powerful-looking gelding caught her attention. He was solid black, except for a strip of white down the length of his nose. The marking resembled an arrow.

  Making her selection, she pulled her oversize cap down round her ears then strode toward the door she presumed led to the owner’s living quarters. She rapped on the door and waited impatiently before knocking again.

  “Hold your horses, I’m coming,” the owner grumbled from the other side of the door.

  Natalie nodded to the fifty-year-old—or thereabouts—barrel-bellied man who had a sparse smattering of gray hair on his head. His shoulders were as wide as a bull’s and his legs reminded her of tree stumps.

  “Whad’ya want, kid?” he demanded gruffly.

  “Need a horse,” she replied in her deepest voice, to throw off the owner so he would mistake her for a boy. “Want to buy the strapping black one and I got money to pay for it.”

  “Yeah? Stolen money?” he asked, and snorted. “Can’t have that one. Belongs to Crow. He pays me damn good money to make sure Durango is well fed and ready to ride when he wants him.”

  Should’ve known, she thought. The muscular mount looked as if he could run all day and night without breaking a sweat. The horse reminded her of Crow—tough, powerful and dependable.

  “Give me the second best mount you have. I gotta ride west to see my sick mama,” she mumbled. “A boy’s gotta be there when his mama needs him, ya know.”

  The owner squinted suspiciously at her. “You sure you got money that ain’t stolen?”

  “Hard-earned,” she insisted. “I’m not a thief, mister.”

  She must have sounded convincing because the older man finally nodded and lumbered down the aisle to open the stall where a strawberry roan waited. “I s’pose you need tack, too, huh, kid?”

  “Yes, sir, I do.” She fished several bank notes from her pants pocket to give to the owner.

  Within a few minutes, Natalie led her mount around the corner to toss her luggage on the back of her horse. She tied the satchels in place then caught sight of a darting shadow from the corner of her eye. She tried to scream her head off but a man’s hand clamped over the lower portion of her face, making it difficult to breathe and impossible to yell for help. He slammed her back against his solid chest and leaned down to growl venomously in her ear.

  “Going somewhere? I don’t think so. Besides, you forgot something and I’m here to see you get it.”

  Van jerked the cap off Natalie’s head. Wild curls tumbled around her shoulders. He had a good mind to give the glossy strands a yank. Despite her boy’s clothing, he’d known by the way she moved that she was female—and he knew exactly which female in particular. His runaway wife.

  Hell, they hadn’t been married five hours and already she was hightailing it out of town without him.

  And she hadn’t paid him, either. In good faith, he hadn’t pressed the issue. Maybe he should have.

  “Good Lord,” she gushed when he removed his hand from her mouth and she glanced up at him. “You scared ten years off my life.”

  “Too bad, sunshine. I’m mad as hell at you for scaring ten years off mine. I stopped by your room and found you gone. I thought the bushwhackers had sneaked in, grabbed you and your belongings and decided to hold you for bargaining power to get even with me.”

  He got right in her face, bared his teeth and added, “Do not ever do that again. Understand?”

  “I’m doing you a huge favor, damn it,” she snapped.

  “Are you? Doesn’t feel like it to me.” He displayed the document he’d retrieved from the justice of the peace a few minutes earlier and shook it in her face. “I thought you were in an all-fired rush to get hold of this paper. My name is on it. So are the witnesses. And where’s my money for the use of my name? You trying to skip out without paying?”

  He wasn’t really worried about his marriage fee, but he was irritated and he hadn’t liked the unfamiliar feelings of fear and concern that lambasted him when he realized Natalie had vanished into thin air.

  “Certainly not,” she said in offended dignity. “I would have wired you the money as soon as possible.”

  “Instead, you can give it to me in person when we return to your room because you are not leaving town without me.”

  She blinked, startled. “I’m a liability you can ill afford, Crow. My stepfather tracked me here and hired someone to dispose of you. Or me. I’m not sure which and I won’t risk your life again. If you take another assignment and leave town, I’m hoping the hired assassins will come after me instead of you.”

  Van clutched her elbow to quick-march her to the hotel but she stubbornly set her feet and refused to budge from the spot—short of being scooped up, tossed over his shoulder and carried off.

  “What about the horse I bought?” she challenged. “I can’t just leave him here to be stolen. I’m going to need him. And there’s the matter of my luggage—”

  His annoyed growl cut her off. Van untied the satchels, dropped them at her feet and then muttered, “I’ll be right back. Do…not…move…or else.”

  He knew the instant the words flew out of his mouth that he’d made a mistake. Her chin tilted to a rebellious angle and her spine went ramrod stiff.

  “Good God, I married a tyrant,” she sniped.

  “Please do not leave without me,” he corrected himself in a gentler tone.

  She looked down her pert nose at him, then struck a haughty pose that would have made him grin at her antics if he hadn’t been so aggravated by her.

  “Fine, dear, since you asked so nicely.”

  He led the strawberry roan into the livery to contact the owner and concoct an explanation for returning the horse.

  “What did you tell him?” she demanded the
instant he returned. “I want to make sure we have our stories straight.”

  “I told him that the kid and I are heading in the same direction tomorrow. I also told him to take care of the boy’s horse as well as he usually takes care of mine.” He arched a brow. “That suit you, sunshine?”

  “Yes, but what is not going to suit me is if you are ambushed on my account,” she grumbled as he swooped down to grab her luggage.

  “I told you that it’s my would-be assassins who are lurking about, not yours. So stop feeling guilty—”

  His voice dried up as he rounded the side of the Simon House to see three horses tethered to the gutter pipe in the alley. Instant concern blazed through him. “Damn Harper brothers,” he scowled. “Stay here.”

  He wasted his breath because Natalie, with her curly hair flying around her, leaped over the satchels he’d left behind and followed him up the metal fire escape. With both pistols drawn, Van eased into the hallway. He felt Natalie’s piddly little two-shot derringer jabbing him in the elbow.

  “Be careful with that thing,” he warned in a whisper. “Don’t shoot me by mistake.”

  “I won’t. Just let me know when I can unload my weapon on those two bastards and their hired killer,” she demanded.

  Just what I need, thought Van. A trigger-happy bride.

  He definitely had to take time to give her proper weapon and self-defense training before she rode off into the sunset. The way she waved around that snub-nosed pistol, she was going to shoot somebody—and he hoped to hell it wasn’t him!

  Van went on full alert as he crept down the hall toward his room. He jerked to attention when he noticed Bart’s door was standing ajar. Bemused, he tiptoed into the sitting room and pulled Natalie along with him. He heard jeering voices in the bedroom so he motioned for Natalie to remain where she was while he crept to the bedroom to investigate.

  He instantly recognized the three men standing over Bart, who apparently had regained consciousness after one of the burly brutes pounded on him. Bart’s eye was swollen shut and his split lip was bleeding.

  “Toss your weapons on the bed,” Van demanded ominously.

  When Jonas Potts wheeled around, his weapon raised threateningly, Van fired off a shot. He left Potts with a wound similar to the one Bart suffered. In the meantime, Bart caused a distraction by hurling the spare pillow at the second burly brute who went by the name of Pete Caine. Van pounded him on the back of the head when he tried to retrieve the pistol he’d tossed on the bed. Caine’s legs folded up like a tent and he dropped to the floor, unconscious.

  Van lurched around to confront the third intruder— Evan Rigsby—but he was a moment too slow. Rigsby plowed into him, knocking him off balance and groping at Van’s pistol.

  “You ain’t gonna save this scrawny little bastard again, Crow,” Rigsby snarled. “This time both of you—”

  His voice fizzled out abruptly and his gray eyes widened in surprise. “What the hell…?” Rigsby chirped, and went perfectly still.

  Van glanced around Rigsby’s thick shoulders to see that Natalie had defied his orders—again—and had crept into the bedroom. She stood over Rigsby with a cloud of auburn hair floating around her face and the barrel of her pistol crammed into the side of his head.

  “Can I shoot him, Crow?” she drawled, then got a crazy gleam in her eye that was amazingly convincing.

  Rigsby swallowed with an audible gulp.

  “I’ve been itching to shoot somebody all day.”

  “No,” Van snapped, and bit back a grin.

  “Why do you always get to have all the fun?” she complained. “I want to draw blood, too, and watch them squirm in pain.”

  Van shoved Rigsby aside, then gestured toward the injured bully who was clutching his bloody shoulder. “If Potts tries to move you can blast away at him.”

  He gestured for Rigsby to get down on his knees, then used the ties from the curtain to restrain him.

  “Thanks for the help.” Bart stared at Van with his one good eye and licked his split lip. “Looks like I owe you again.”

  “No, you’d have handled these goons easily if I hadn’t given you peyote for the pain.”

  Taking charge of the situation, Van dragged the unconscious Caine into the sitting room while Bart held Rigsby and Potts at gunpoint.

  “Sunshine!” Van called from the other room.

  She poked her head around the corner of the bedroom door and arched a questioning brow. “You decide to let me shoot one of these hombres for target practice?”

  “Not tonight. Please put a cold pack on Bart’s eye and lip and change the dressing on his arm while I march these goons to jail.”

  “Yes, sir.” She gave him a snappy salute. “Anything else?”

  “Yeah, don’t shoot Bart for practice, either. He’s had a rough night.”

  When Natalie disappeared from sight, Potts stared curiously at Van. “Why’d you marry that hellion? She’s plum loco.”

  “She’s the best I could do,” Van said with a straight face. “Now let’s move. You’re disrupting my wedding night.”

  Natalie dabbed lightly at Bart’s puffy eye and swollen lip. “Who were those men? And what did they want with you?”

  Bart shifted position and winced in pain. Apparently, the sedative was wearing off. “Those were the bullies I told you about that attacked me when I first moved to Wolf Ridge.”

  Natalie blinked in surprise. “They retaliated because you made sure they served jail time for all their crimes?”

  “Yes, and I am so sorry they targeted me during your wedding reception,” he said out the side of his mouth that wasn’t swollen. “They spoiled your evening.”

  “They shot you?” she chirped. “Not the men hunting for me?”

  “And not the Harper Gang that Van thought had arrived to ambush him and hit me by mistake.” Bart levered himself against the headboard and reached for the glass of water on the end table. “Turns out I was the original target and I was to die for making those goons spend so many years in prison.”

  “Eight years is a long time to hold a grudge,” she murmured.

  “Not if you possess their spiteful mentality.” Bart sighed in frustration. “This should have been my opportunity to use the self-defense tactics Van taught me. Instead I was sleeping the evening away.”

  “A shame they didn’t do you the courtesy of contacting you in advance, the way the Harper Gang did for Van. Which is why he presumed he was the target of ambush and I assumed I hadn’t covered my tracks well enough to prevent my stepfather and former fiancé from finding me so quickly.”

  “There is a very real possibility of that happening to you,” Bart forewarned. “Van has the uncanny knack of finding people who plan to stay lost. He might be the best in the business, but there are others less honest who dispose of witnesses or anyone else if the price is right. Hired killers are easy to come by in any part of the country, I’m sorry to say. I’ve seen to it that several were convicted in court.”

  Bart stared at her grimly with his good eye. “That is why you need to tell me your real name so we can be prepared for possible ambush that might place you or Van in danger.”

  Natalie shook her head, sending the curly tendrils drifting around her shoulders. She considered Crow and Bart trustworthy—to a point. But she’d been serious when she informed Crow that she trusted no man explicitly. The Robedeaux-Blair name was a blessing and curse. People often accepted bribes to offer information that might earn them large rewards. It would break her heart if Bart or Crow betrayed her, for she counted both men as friends.

  “Anna,” Bart coaxed emphatically. “I’m offering lawyer confidentiality. Tell me your troubles. It’s for your own good that I have all the facts. Even better if Van has them, too.”

  “But it might not be for your own good or Van’s,” she said, provoking his wary frown. She waved him off with a breezy smile. “At any rate, I will be out of your hair very soon and your life will return to normal. I’ll
conclude my business with Crow and be on my way.”

  “You saw what happened to me,” Bart said somberly. “It could happen to you. A woman alone in an unfamiliar part of the country is an invitation for trouble.”

  “What could happen to Sunshine?” Van questioned as he suddenly appeared in the doorway.

  Natalie sent Bart a silencing stare. “Nothing important. Did you put the bullies behind bars?”

  Van’s gaze bounced back and forth between her and Bart. “Yes. By the time Bart testifies against those goons, they will be back in the penitentiary for another long stint.”

  Natalie rose to her feet. “I left my luggage in the alley. I better collect it.” And she should have done so earlier, considering the valuables she carried.

  “I’ll help,” Van volunteered.

  “You don’t trust me not to flit off into the darkness again, do you?” she asked as he followed closely at her heels.

  “I’ve seen one of your disappearing acts, so no, I don’t trust you. Do you trust me?”

  “No,” she admitted, thinking of her conversation with Bart about her refusal to divulge her real name.

  “Then there you go, sunshine. And why didn’t you stay on the fire escape like I told you?” he demanded irritably.

  “I must’ve forgotten what you said,” she said flippantly.

  “And when I told you to wait in the hall outside Bart’s room?” he challenged.

  She tossed him a caustic smile. “Guess I didn’t hear what you said.”

  She stepped onto the landing, then scurried down the steps to retrieve her satchels. When Crow followed her back to her room, she rummaged through her luggage to fish into the hem of her yellow gown.

  He arched a thick black brow while he watched her retrieve the money owed him. “Clever. Any other tricks up your sleeve…or hem…as the case happens to be?”

  “No, just the one.” She counted out two thousand dollars and said, “I’ve decided not to take survival lessons because I want to be far away from here before my step-father and ex-fiancé locate me.”