The Gunfighter and the Heiress (18 page)

“But I didn't know that for sure because I had only heard your side of the story. Then you stole my knife—”

“Borrowed.”

“—and my boot pistol which you have yet to return to me,” he said, talking over her in a loud voice.

She reached for the weapon, then slapped it into his hand. “There. Happy now?”

“Not particularly,” he said, and glared at her. “When I found your ex-fiancé in the livery with a stab wound in his back, I thought you had disposed of him so he couldn't contest your story or offer a physical description of the real Natalie Robedeaux-Blair.”

When she opened her mouth to interrupt Van flung up a
hand in her face. “Bart and I weren't sure what the hell was going on. You can see why we might have had our doubts after you tied me up and stole my knife. Then I stumbled over a dead man in the stall where your strawberry roan had been the last time I looked.” His caustic voice rose to a shout. “I expected to be accused of killing the man!”

Van dragged in a deep breath and told himself to calm down. It didn't help. He'd been fuming all afternoon and he wanted to blow off steam—directly in Natalie's bewitching face.

“Then, if all that wasn't enough to torment the living hell out of me, while I was riding around in the dark, wondering if I had misjudged you again and thinking I was a fool, I topped the rise of ground at dawn to see three men I didn't know shooting at you.”

“People shoot at you all the time,” she contended. “You should be used to that.”

Van grabbed another breath and gnashed his teeth as he glared at her. “I'm used to people shooting at
me,
but I nearly suffered heart seizure while bullets were flying at
you.
Then I nearly suffered an apoplexy when your horse went down and I was too far away to help you or to get a clear shot at the men who might have had good reason for trying to gun down my wife!”

He wagged his finger in her face and said, “If you want to get yourself killed, let me do it. I'll make it quick and painless and put both of us out of our misery.”

Natalie shot him an agitated glance. “Are you the same man who comforted me while I made a complete fool of myself by soaking your shirt with my tears this morning? How could you be so kind, understanding and supportive this morning when you are flapping like a buzzard and picking my bones clean this evening?”

“Because you needed a place to fall apart this morning
and I was relieved to know I hadn't misjudged you. I was grateful you had survived the attack. You were incredibly brave—or stupid. I'm still trying to figure out which!”

“Thank you so much for the insult,” she huffed.

He waved his arms in expansive gestures. “You are welcome. Now I'm having my say and—”

To his frustration, someone rapped at the door while he was in mid rant. Scowling, he strode beside the door—not in front of it, as was his policy—to see two tall, gangly boys toting buckets of steaming water. He directed them to the bedroom where the tub stood behind the unadorned dressing screen. He waited impatiently while they poured out the water, then trooped back to the sitting room.

When they left, Van took a good long look at Natalie and he reconsidered lecturing her. She was skinned up, bruised and she had dark circles under her eyes. He'd had his say—for the most part. He could wait until later to finish his tirade.

He tossed her satchel on the settee. “Take your bath and get some rest.”

She lifted a perfectly arched brow. “You're finished chewing me up one side and down the other?”

“For now.” He fished out a small dagger and handed it to her. “I bought this for you at the general store on our way over here.”

She took the stiletto and tested the sharp edge. “Thank you, dear. It's the kind of wedding gift every bride loves to receive from her devoted husband.”

“You're welcome, sassy minx,” he said before dropping a quick kiss to the side of her mouth that wasn't swollen. Then he spun on his heels. “Enjoy your privacy.”

“I'm sure I will, knowing you'll be back for part two of your scathing lecture. I'm really looking forward to it,” she called after him.

Natalie huffed out an annoyed breath after the door clicked shut behind Crow. Honestly, there were moments—like this morning when he had been the very picture of gentle compassion—that she loved him so much she could hug the stuffing right out of him. Then there were times—like now—when she wanted to pound him over the head for being judgmental, domineering and cynical. How could he be so suspicious of her?

Her shoulders slumped as she peeled off her breeches that had holes in the knees and tossed them carelessly aside. She reminded herself that she had been cautious and secretive to protect herself. True, she hadn't been completely honest with Crow. Then she had sneaked off, hoping to lead Marsh, Kimball and those five goons…

She wondered what had become of the other three men who exited Rattlesnake Saloon with Marsh, Kimball, Jenson and Green last night. Maybe Marsh hadn't hired them as part of his army of assassins. She should have asked about those scraggly haired, big-boned hombres who'd had their backs to her at the saloon and were too far away to accurately identify them through the hotel window.

She would question Marsh later, she mused as she stared longingly at her bath.

“Ah, Lord, maybe I'm a hopeless tenderfoot after all,” she murmured as she sank eagerly into the brass tub.

Natalie expelled an appreciative sigh while the warm water soothed her aches and pains. She was reminded of the days in her own oversize bathtub at the family mansion. Back in the day before her mother married Marsh and fell beneath his heartless scheme of greed.

While Natalie lathered herself with plain soap—not the fragrant kind she had at her disposal at home—her
thoughts circled back to what Crow had said to her during their confrontation.

It cut to the core to know Crow never really trusted her and that any feelings he might have had for her were skin-deep at best. “He's a mercenary at heart and you are a fool,” she chastised herself harshly. What did he need with her, other than to take advantage of the intimate privileges she'd granted him? Soon his next assignment would be awaiting him and she would be a half-forgotten memory by next weekend.

The truth stung her pride but Natalie reminded herself that she had withstood great adversity the past few months. She had survived and she had become reasonably self-reliant.

Thanks to Crow's instructions, for which she'd paid him handsomely.

Natalie scowled, then slid deeper into the tub to wet down her hair. While she was underwater, she vowed that she would head north first thing in the morning and put Crow out of her mind. She still had excitement and adventure ahead of her. She wouldn't stay where she wasn't wanted. She had the means to see the world and, by damn, she would see it all.

When that silver-eyed devil—who had turned her heart inside out and wrung all feeling from it—was out of sight she would force him out of her mind, as well.

Natalie shot to the surface, gasping for breath. Well, at least she had arrived at a sensible conclusion after soaking her head. She was going to forget Donovan Crow ever existed.

He could have the divorce he wanted. It didn't matter now anyway, she thought as she soaped her hair. Her inheritance was safe. Bart would see to that. Marsh would
rot in jail or hang for two murders, embezzlement and assault. She had been vindicated and she should be thanking her lucky stars she was alive!

F
eeling somewhat refreshed, Natalie donned the bright yellow gown Van favored. She smiled wryly, wondering if he would dispense with the remainder of his tongue-lashing if she wore his favorite dress. She doubted it, though she still hadn't figured out why he'd been so upset. Things had turned out splendidly, after all. Marsh and his goons were in jail and she would be out of Crow's hair for good by morning when the stagecoach raced off to Dodge City, the next destination for her exciting adventure.

Despite the prospect of seeing new sights, she knew she was going to miss Crow something fierce. “Think about the adventure ahead of you,” she encouraged herself as she stood in front of the cheval glass, surveying her reflection.

She had acquired a bit of a tan from hours spent outdoors. The red-gold highlights in her hair had become more pronounced, she noted. Aside from a few bumps, scrapes and bruises, she had emerged from her perilous ordeal with Marsh and his death brigade in one piece. Thurston Kimball III hadn't been so fortunate. He had
become Marsh's disposable pawn after he'd served his purpose.

Natalie retrieved the two-shot derringer she had reloaded, tucked it in one garter, then stashed the dagger Crow had given her in the other. Now that she had grown accustomed to wearing a shirt and breeches, she found the gown and petticoats confining. Well, she would continue her new fashion trend of breeches and boots once she set out to see the sights in Kansas and Colorado…without Crow.

Before the depressing thought took root, Natalie inhaled a restorative breath, then spun toward the door. She was determined to find out what had become of the three unidentified men she had seen hovering around Marsh and the other henchmen the previous day.

She sincerely hoped the men had cut their losses and left when news of Marsh's arrest circulated around town. Nevertheless, she planned to alert Marshal Dawson to be on the lookout for them. She didn't want them to break Marsh out of his jail cell, before he could swing from the tallest tree in Texas.

The moment Natalie emerged from the hotel lobby, she surveyed the dark street. Music from a piano and harmonica drifted from Rattlesnake Saloon, along with a customary cloud of smoke. Her stomach growled, reminding her that the dried pemmican she'd had for lunch on the trail had worn off. She was tempted to detour into a café, but decided to head directly to the marshal's office. She wasn't going to risk leaving any loose ends that pertained to Marsh.

If there was one thing she had learned about her heartless, conniving stepfather it was never to underestimate him. Then again, he had underestimated
her
ability of self-defense this morning and look where it got him.

Natalie swept down the boardwalk, ignoring the wolfish
whistles of drunken cowboys that were wandering back and forth between the Rattlesnake and Lookout saloons. She entered the marshal's office but Bart and Crow were nowhere to be seen.

Well, so much for softening up her hard-edged husband by wearing the bright yellow dress.

“Marshal Dawson?” she called out.

“Back here,” he answered from the other side of the door leading to the cells.

Natalie strode through the doorway, pleased to note how good Marsh and his goons looked in a cage framed with metal bars. The only vulnerable place was the barred window that overlooked the alley. But there would be no escape attempt through the alley, not if she could help it.

She walked up to glare at Marsh who sat on a rickety stool, staring at the brick floor. “Where are the men I saw you conspiring with after you left Rattlesnake Saloon yesterday?” she asked without preamble.

“Go to hell,” Marsh growled without looking up.

“You first,” she countered caustically.

Marshal Dawson's thick brows furrowed over his eyes as he tugged up his sagging trousers. “What's this about other men?”

“I saw Marsh, Kimball, Green and Jenson exit the saloon yesterday with three scraggly haired, burly-looking men,” she reported then stared deliberately at Marsh. “I wanted to make certain they didn't attempt to break Marsh out of jail.”

“Three, you say? Not two?” Dawson questioned with sudden interest. “As I told Crow, there are two stagecoach robbers lurking in the area and a report of three stolen horses from a nearby ranch. I sent word to the Rangers a few days back, but they haven't arrived yet.”

“There were definitely three men, but I only saw them
from a distance. They were dressed like cowboys in tattered shirts and breeches. They wore red bandanas around their necks. I couldn't see their faces clearly.”

Dawson frowned pensively. “I better check this out. I have a description of the thieves and their stolen horses. Their mounts might be tethered to hitching posts or stabled at the livery.”

Natalie cast one last glance at Marsh who looked nothing like the cocky man who had married her mother five years earlier. She liked the looks of Marsh behind bars so much better and she chose to remember him as such…
if
she decided to think about him at all in the future.

“Doctor Purcell will be back around later to check your wounds,” Dawson told his injured prisoners as he walked Natalie out.

Natalie waited while the marshal locked the outside door. “No deputy?” she asked uneasily.

Dawson shook his dark head then hiked up his breeches. “My deputy was shot last week while trying to arrest a drunken cowboy fresh off a cattle drive. No one offered to take his place. This is a rough town, you know.”

She nodded in agreement, then veered left while the marshal veered right to check the horses lining the street.

“Do you know where Collier and Crow are?” she called after him.

He turned back to her and shrugged. “Not for sure. Maybe they stopped at one of the saloons for a drink,” he said, then continued on his way to check on the three men and their horses.

Natalie pulled a face. If she never had another swallow of whiskey, it would be fine with her. She still remembered feeling ill, befuddled and miserable after she'd had too many drinks during her business negotiations with Crow.

Lifting the hem of her skirt to hike quickly down the
boardwalk, Natalie contemplated her choices of eating establishments. She had tried the Caprock Café the previous afternoon and wasn't impressed. She decided to sample the fare at Canyon Café.

As she passed the corner by the gunsmith shop and headed for the restaurant, someone leaped from the shadows of the side alley to grab her. She didn't have time to shout for help because a man's grimy hand clamped over the lower half of her face. She bit down on a chubby finger and the man yelped in pain. Unfortunately, another hand—holding a smelly kerchief—replaced the first one. She didn't have the chance to scream at the top of her lungs.

“Hold her down, damn it,” someone growled while she wormed, squirmed and kicked in vain to gain release.

Sickening dread flooded over her when she realized that three men had accosted her. They wore kerchiefs for masks, but their long scraggly hair stuck out from the rim of their hats and dangled around their disguised faces.

These were Marsh's mysterious cohorts!

Natalie fought even harder for freedom, but she couldn't lash out effectively with her feet and legs because of the confining gown. Worse, her assailants had come prepared. They jerked her arms behind her back and tied her wrists together so she couldn't claw or take swings at them.

“Now get her legs,” one man ordered hurriedly.

She tried desperately to counter the attempt to bind her ankles, but she was encumbered by the dress and hopelessly outnumbered. To her fear and frustration, she found herself bound, gagged and tossed over one broad shoulder. Her captors carted her through the side alley to reach the four horses tethered behind the general store.

Her breath came out in a grunt when they dumped her on the ground, then rolled her up in a smelly tarp. One of
the men carelessly tossed her over a horse, leaving her in a jackknifed position while he lashed her feet to the stirrups. Blood ran to her head, making her dizzy. She tried to rear up and throw herself backward but one of her abductors shoved the heel of his hand between her shoulder blades and mashed her chest against the horse's ribs. Another man tied a noose around her neck and secured the rope to the saddle.

She cursed herself mightily for not paying attention to her surroundings. Crow would have lectured her sternly for letting her guard down, even though she was in town. Fool that she was, she had presumed she was safe.

Safe in Hell's Fringe?
What had she been thinking? Now she was practically hanging upside down, chewing on a foul-tasting handkerchief for supper and wondering if the three goons planned to hold her for ransom or for bargaining power to facilitate Marsh's release.

Natalie muttered at the very idea of Marsh escaping those iron bars that suited him so perfectly.

Her thoughts trailed off when one of her captors chuckled triumphantly. “That was easy enough.”

“Wish I could be here to see the look on that half-breed bastard's face when he finds out we kidnapped his wife,” the second captor sniggered.

Natalie snapped to attention—as best she could, considering she was draped over the horse like a feed sack. What did Crow have to do with these three? The thought exploded through her mind and sickening dread intensified. Surely these three men weren't the Harper brothers that had sent threatening messages to Crow.

She didn't know where she presumed the Harper Gang was hiding out, but certainly not in Taloga Springs, which was only one of several hellholes on the Texas frontier.

Good God, what rotten luck!

The third captor chuckled wickedly. “After we leave Crow another message and he walks into our trap to rescue his wife, he'll regret killing Robbie.”

“Eye for an eye.”

“Revenge is gonna be sweet.”

“It'll be even sweeter when Crow is dead and we take our turns with his widow.”

Natalie swore beneath her gag. For the second time in as many days, she worried that she might become the cause of Crow's death. She'd never forgive herself. Her future—or lack thereof—didn't look promising, either. While her captors led her down the alley in the darkness she hoped and prayed Crow had the good sense not to come looking for her. It wouldn't do either of them any good.

 

Van took a sip of his whiskey, then grimaced at the fiery taste burning his throat. He glanced accusingly at the bald-headed bartender in Lookout Saloon. “You doctored this tarantula juice with one-hundred-proof alcohol, didn't you?”

The rail-thin proprietor tried out his wide-eyed innocent look, but Van scoffed as he replaced his glass on the bar. “Try it again, friend. And do it right this time.” He set Bart's glass beside his. “For me and Collier.”

The bartender puffed up with irritation until Bart said, “Thanks, Crow. I'd like a real whiskey myself, not this throat-scorching, foul-tasting rotgut.”

Alternately grumbling then eyeing Van warily, the man reached beneath the bar for a fresh bottle of whiskey. He filled both glasses to the brim. “On the house.”

“You are too kind,” Van muttered as he lifted the glass in a mocking toast. “We already paid for the drinks we couldn't choke down.”

He sipped slowly, knowing he was procrastinating in his return to the hotel. He wanted to read Natalie several more lines and paragraphs of the riot act, but he didn't trust himself not to grab hold of her and kiss the breath out of her instead. That would only make the situation more painful for him. He knew she planned to leave on the stagecoach in the morning, headed on to the next leg of her grand adventure.

He stared into the contents of his glass and contemplated what his life was going to be like without that obsidian-eyed hellion underfoot. Damn it, he'd already forgotten what his days and nights had been like before he met her.

“I don't know about you, but I'm ready for a meal, a bath and a soft bed.” Bart polished off his drink, then pivoted toward the door. “Are we inviting Nat to dine with us?”

“Yes, we'll feed her before I finish raking her over live coals for defying Marsh and his goons this morning.”

Van guzzled the last of his drink, then followed Bart out the door. He frowned curiously when he saw Marshal Dawson halt behind the string of horses tethered in front of the gunsmith's shop. Then Dawson strolled over to scrutinize the horses standing in front of Lookout Saloon.

“Something wrong, Dawson?” Van asked.

Dawson hiked up his sagging breeches as he stepped onto the boardwalk. “Your wife came by earlier looking like sunshine in a pretty yellow gown.” He grinned and added, “You're a lucky man, Crow. You know that, don't you?”

“Yes, I do.” He remembered thinking the same thing about Nat when he first saw her in that very dress. “Did she stop by to tell Marsh where he could go and what he could do with himself when he got there?”

Dawson removed his hat and raked his beefy fingers through the coarse black hair. “Mostly she wanted to know about the three unidentified men she had seen with Marsh yesterday.”

Van started, his senses on high alert. “
Three?
When did she see them?”

“She said there were three men in addition to Marsh's crew standing outside Rattlesnake Saloon in the afternoon. She thought maybe the threesome might be planning a jail-break and she wanted to stop it before it started. I decided to look for the horses described from last week's stagecoach robbery. Doubt there's a connection, but you never know. Maybe the two thieves had another man standing watch even if the stagecoach driver and guard didn't see him. Should have thought of that earlier.”

Van muttered under his breath. Had Natalie seen the men while she was prowling around, trying to figure out who threw the rock through her window? Why hadn't she mentioned the men to him before? She should have…and he'd tell her so the moment he returned to the suite.