The Gunfighter and the Heiress (9 page)

His voice trailed off when she bypassed the chance to deliver a debilitating blow and knock him off her. Instead, she arched up to kiss him tenderly, as if she had the rest of the evening to feast on him—and intended to do just that.

Van cursed himself for responding so fiercely, so instantly to her kiss. Wasn't it enough that these nightly self-defense lessons were murder on him? Did he have to fight nearly overwhelming temptation every blessed night?

“What the hell are you doing?” he demanded when she finally allowed him to come up for air.

Her dark-eyed gaze searched his for a long moment before she said, “I'm not sure.”

“Well, you better figure it out. If you think distracting your attackers with kisses will bring them to their knees, think again. They will take you up on an invitation like that so you better prepared to give a man exactly what he wants,” he muttered harshly.

“And what do you want, Crow?” she questioned, holding his steady gaze. “Would you pass up the opportunity?”

“What I want is to know why you insist on keeping your identity from me,
Natalie,
” he said unexpectedly. “Or is that another alias?”

Her dark eyes nearly popped from their sockets and her jaw scraped her chest. “How—?”

“You let it slip when I encouraged you to drink that first night. You also mentioned Avery and Thurston. Who are they to you? I've given you a dozen opportunities to tell me the truth but you have refused. Which makes me wonder what you are hiding and why” When she clamped her lips shut and glared at him, Van gestured west. “Go bathe in the creek while I hunt for supper.”

She stared at him for another annoyed moment. “You got me inebriated on purpose,” she hissed angrily.

“You've lied to me and withheld information so that makes us even,” he countered in a sharp tone.

Muttering, she rolled to her feet. She walked away without another word, without a backward glance.

Van blew out a frustrated breath. Well, at least he'd put a stop to her seduction before he caved in. What the devil had gotten into her anyway? he wondered. Was she purposely tormenting him? Well…it had worked. His unruly
body was chastising him for rejecting the temptation to turn his fantasies into reality.

And damn it, the more time he spent with her, the more he wanted her—and he hadn't thought it possible to want her more than he had the first night he put her to bed—without taking his own pleasure.

Hell, when had he turned out to be so blasted noble?

Scowling at himself, he strode off. “You are going no farther than Taloga Springs,” he told himself as he retrieved his rifle from the scabbard on Durango's saddle. Otherwise, Van was fairly certain his male body was going to burst into flames if he spent too many days with Natalie. Or whoever the hell she was.

He scoffed at the irony of this misadventure. He had gone into the wilderness and he had been tested and tempted to the extreme.
She
was the one who was supposed to be tested. Everything was working exactly backward and he was earning every damned penny she paid him for the use of his name and these maddening survival lessons.

Van blew out an exasperated breath. They had only been on the trail four days and he was so aware of her that he could barely think straight. Even worse, he had insisted they sleep side by side in case trouble came calling. Unfortunately, feeling her warm presence beside him and inhaling her enticing scent the whole livelong night was a dozen kinds of hell. No amount of money was worth depriving himself of what he suddenly wanted more than he wanted his next breath.

Damn it to hell! He wished Durango could sprout wings and fly her to Taloga Springs so he could shoo her on her merry way. Then he could return to his normal life and forget he ever married his secretive—and all too alluring—wife.

 

Troubled by the fact that she had unknowingly revealed her first name, as well as Avery and Thurston's, to Crow, Natalie paddled around the stream. Despite her annoyance with him, bathing relieved the aches and pains caused by so many continuous hours in the saddle. Had she known Crow knew her first name, she would have taken the stagecoach and bypassed the survival lessons—and his suspicious questions.

Not to mention her fumbling attempt to seduce him. She rolled her eyes in dismay. What had she been thinking?

Natalie reluctantly admitted that she secretly wanted to experiment with passion since she'd developed this fierce attraction to Crow. She wanted him—and him alone—to teach her about desire. That had not been part of her original plan, but how could she have known she'd find the man so utterly fascinating and wildly irresistible…at least until she learned how he had deviously obtained secret information from her.

No doubt, she was nothing more than another assignment to Crow. He didn't want her the way she had come to want him. It was rather embarrassing to realize she didn't possess enough alluring charm to tempt a man. Not any man, she amended. Just Donovan Crow, damn him!

Natalie groaned quietly. How was she going to face him after that embarrassing little episode…?

Her attention shifted to the movement she noticed in the shadows of the trees. Alarm zinged through her and she tried desperately to remember what Crow had taught her.

Unfortunately, paralyzing fear sent every practical thought flying out of her head when two brawny Indian
braves stepped into the clearing. They pointed their rifles directly at her.

Natalie covered herself as best she could—considering she was naked and standing shoulder-deep in the stream. Her clothes and her pistol were draped over the bushes and they might as well have been a hundred miles away for all the good they were doing her now.

Another wave of panic buffeted her as the warriors approached the creek bank. Dear God, what if they had overtaken Crow and he was lying somewhere in a pool of his own blood? What if she was their next victim?

Natalie couldn't restrain herself when one of the men, dressed in buckskins, came toward her, as if he meant to walk into the water and grab her. She screamed bloody murder, yelling,
“Crow!”
at the top of her lungs.

Her life was about to be over before her long awaited adventure began!

“Crow! Help!”
she screeched—and quickly forgave him for using underhanded means to ferret out the information he'd wanted from her.

N
atalie's terrified voice blared into Van's wandering thoughts, sending him racing to the creek with his rifle at the ready. He skidded to a halt and ducked in the bushes when he saw two Comanche braves looming on the stream bank. Although the spring-fed water wasn't completely transparent, it didn't matter. A man's vivid imagination could easily fill in all the enticing details of Natalie's lush feminine body.

Hell! Van thought. His eyes were popping and his tongue was hanging out, so why should he be surprised the warriors were hypnotized by the arousing sight?

Determined to get control of himself, Van rose to his feet. “Stop gaping at my wife,” he shouted in the fluent Comanche dialect that he had learned growing up.

The warriors lurched toward him and Van relaxed when he recognized Chulosa and Teskee. He had known them both since childhood and he visited them periodically at the reservation. He wondered if they had permission to leave Indian Territory. If not, they would be in serious
trouble with the Indian agent, the military and the Texas Rangers.

“You married a white woman?” Chulosa hooted as he lowered his rifle barrel to the ground.

“Why would you do that?” Teskee wanted to know.

“Long story,” Van replied as he approached. “The more important question is why are you two here?”

“I would appreciate it if you could hold this powwow somewhere else so I can bathe and dress,” Natalie requested. Her irritated gaze landed squarely on Van. “What are you saying to them?”

Van glanced sideways, wishing he couldn't see her body quite so well in the rippling water. The sight, he was certain, would be burned into his eyeballs for all eternity. Calling upon his willpower, he led the braves uphill to the campsite.

“Why did the woman agree to marry you?” Teskee asked as he sank down cross-legged on Van's pallet.

“She said I was perfect for her,” he replied wryly.

Both men glanced, befuddled, at each other then stared pensively at Van.

He flicked his wrist, dismissing the topic of conversation. “Why did you leave the reservation? You know the consequences of being truant.”

“We will risk the consequences to find decent food for our people,” Chulosa explained. “The meat supplies you sent are gone. The rancid beef the army provides and expects us to eat is unfit for coyotes. Too many people are becoming sick.”

“We have come to hunt deer, rabbit and whatever we can find so our people won't go hungry or die,” Teskee insisted.

“I sent food and supplies last month,” Van reminded them. “How can they be depleted so soon?”

“Some of the soldiers are selling the goods for their own profit,” Teskee replied. “They even have scouts keeping watch to alert them when you enter camp so they can be prepared.”

Van scowled at the news. “As soon as I escort my wife to Taloga Springs, I'll head to the reservation,” he promised.

“We will go with you,” Chulosa volunteered. “You will need protection and extra weapons this time. The new lieutenant named Suggs keeps telling his superiors that you should not be allowed to come and go as you please because you are half Kiowa. To an Indian-hater like him, that is the same as a full-blood that should be imprisoned on the reservation.”

Damnation, thought Van. Wasn't it enough that the Harper Gang was out for his blood? Now the corrupt military officer wanted him unarmed and confined so he wouldn't pose any threats. Oh, and he couldn't forget the two bastards and their henchmen who might be hunting for Natalie. They wouldn't be pleased to discover she had married Van, who now stood in the way of the men anxious to steal her inheritance—or so Natalie claimed.

Van wondered what else could go wrong with his so-called wedding trip, but he was afraid to ask.

 

Dressed in her breeches, shirt, vest and boots, Natalie jogged uphill to camp. She'd nearly suffered heart seizure earlier when she'd glanced up to see the Indian warriors looming on the creek bank. She shook her head in self-disgust, for she had forgotten everything Crow taught her. She had yelled his name and screamed bloody murder.

She
should have
taken action.

How did she expect to survive in the wilderness when Crow sent her off on her own?

Her shoulders slumped in frustration when her thoughts circled back to the self-defense lessons from earlier this evening. She hadn't been repulsed when Van kissed her a little too roughly. Sweet mercy, she had been aroused!

What was the matter with her? She should have defended herself, not invited him to continue.

Maybe it was because her attraction to him kept getting the best of her after days of his constant companionship. She had wanted to know what it would be like to share his embrace rather than have him pounce on her so she could practice self-defense techniques.

The fact that she spent every night sleeping next to his muscled body, feeling his reassuring presence, made it seem natural to touch him familiarly. In addition, he was the last person she saw before she fell asleep and the first person she saw each morning. She was too comfortable around him, too satisfied with his appealing presence.

Next thing she knew, she would be incapable of beginning a new day without gazing into those silver-blue eyes and viewing his lopsided smile that did funny things to her pulse and touched her reckless heart.

“You'll be headed for heartache if you don't watch out,” she lectured herself sternly as she approached the campsite. “Plus, you can never trust him if he finds out who you are.”

Her thoughts flitted away when she heard the murmur of voices, then saw Crow and the two braves sitting cross-legged by the campfire. They were passing around the bottle of whiskey Crow kept in his saddlebags.

Even though she moved quietly toward them, all three men glanced up. She wondered if she would ever learn to be so attentive and aware of her surroundings.
You had darn well better be, Nat,
she told herself.
Otherwise,
you're liable to wake up dead and ruin your great adventure in the wilderness.

“Sunshine, these Comanche warriors are my friends,” Crow said in English. “This is Chulosa and Teskee.”

Natalie smiled cordially at the two men dressed from head to toe in buckskin decorated with long fringe. Their skin was darker than Crow's and their eyes were coal black. They weren't as tall as Crow, but they were as lean, muscular and in prime physical condition like Crow.

She walked over to shake their hands but they stared curiously at her fingertips. Despite their obvious reluctance, she clutched each man's hand and shook it firmly.

“Any friend of Crow's is a friend of mine,” she insisted.

The one called Chulosa stared at her with a bemused frown. “Why did you marry Crow?” he asked in stilted English. “Could you not find a white man who would have you?”

She shot Crow a sideways glance, noting that he was doing his damnedest—and failing miserably—to bite back a grin.

“No, I couldn't find a white man to suit. I have been told that I am very difficult. But Crow is perfect for me in every way. It's a good match.”

“Told you,” Crow said to his Comanche friends. Then he glanced at Natalie. “We will hunt supper while you gather more wood for the fire.” He handed her one of his six-shooters. “We'll signal you by whistling before we return to camp so don't shoot us by mistake.”

When the three men ambled away, Natalie crammed the pistol into the waistband of her breeches, then headed back to the tree-choked creek to gather firewood. She wasn't surprised that she hadn't heard gunfire—that might draw unwanted guests—before the men returned to camp carrying two rabbits and a squirrel. She, however, hadn't
mastered the art of pitching stones to bring down potential food for meals. If she didn't stock up on dried beef and canned goods before she forged off alone, she'd starve in a couple of weeks.

While the Comanche warriors skinned the meat, Crow strode off to bathe. Natalie unpacked the tin plates and cups, then made coffee while he was gone.

“Do you have permission to leave the reservation?” she asked Chulosa and Teskee.

The braves shook their heads, sending their dark braids rippling on their shoulders. “Our people need decent food because the soldiers take what is ours,” Chulosa said angrily.

“We risked arrest because our families and our clan need untainted food,” Teskee added grimly. “Your white soldiers do not care if our tribe dies off. They have poisoned us in the past to reduce our population. They often single out a warrior, who is too vocal about our mistreatment, and claim the reason they gunned him down was because he resisted arrest. No one believes us when we protest the abuse and killings. There is only the white version of the stories.”

Natalie detested the thought of anyone being persecuted, tormented and confined. She knew all too well how it felt to be controlled and denied freedom. She couldn't begin to imagine how the Indian tribes felt when white settlers overran their land, poisoned their food and water supplies, slaughtered their livestock and herded them like cattle to reservations to suffer even more atrocity.

Her angry thoughts scattered when the warriors glanced up a moment before she heard Crow's approach. He looked refreshed after his bath and he had chosen to dress exactly like his friends. He glanced at her, as if unsure whether
she approved of his fringed buckskins, bone necklace and beaded headband.

The thought that her opinion mattered to him touched her. Impulsively, she walked over to kiss him right smack-dab on the lips. His friends snickered in amusement as they glanced back and forth from her to Crow.

For the life of her, she didn't know why these displays of affection came so easily while she was with Crow. Previously, she spent her time discouraging and thwarting male advances that were designed to court her inheritance, not her personally. Somehow she had managed to convince herself that being
married
to Crow granted her the right to touch him and kiss him anytime she wanted.

It wasn't that she was putting on an act to convince everyone she had feelings for Crow. She
did
have tender feelings for him. She had seen him at his best and worst and she had witnessed his every mood. She swore that, after only a week, she knew him better than she knew her male acquaintances in New Orleans after a year.

“We will leave you alone after the meal so you can join with your husband,” Chulosa said as he reached for a slice of the juicy meat.

Natalie's face flushed with heat but she told herself it was her own fault after kissing Crow in front of his friends. Not that she hadn't entertained a dozen thoughts of doing more than sleeping beside Crow. She certainly had. Not to mention that consummating their marriage might make it more difficult for Marsh and Kimball—wherever those two bastards were—to dissolve this union.

However, she had made advances toward Van before the Comanche braves arrived and he had held her at bay and questioned her motives. Her pride was still smarting about that. She never dreamed men turned down sexual
gratification, even if they weren't wildly attracted to a woman.

An hour later, the braves made themselves scarce and Crow folded his hand around hers to lead her toward the supplies stacked beside the tethered horses.

“We're going to erect a tent for privacy,” he announced. “You need to know how, in case you're in the wilds and a thunderstorm blows in.”

Natalie followed his instructions while he showed her how to drape the oversize tarp over a tree limb and then stake down the corners to shield her from the rain.

“It's better than packing a tent that has braces and stakes that you have to repack when you break camp,” Crow assured her. “It's important to make use of what is available and travel light so you can break camp and move quickly.”

“I'll keep that in mind,” she murmured before she used the blunt side of his ax to drive in makeshift stakes.

When Van strode off to fetch their pallet, Natalie glanced up at the dome of stars forming overhead. She wondered how she had survived so long in a crowded city. She might still be a greenhorn with a lot to learn but she had a great appreciation for the outdoors. She wasn't sure she could tolerate confinement again.

The thought made her wince, knowing how daunting it must be for Indian tribes, who had lost their freedom and had been forced to give up sacred ground and their customs to live in the white man's world. Slavery of any kind tormented the soul.

When Crow rejoined her inside the improvised tent, nervousness flittered through her body. They hadn't been alone since she had tried to turn their survival lesson into a seduction—which assured her that she also had a lot to learn in that department, too.

She watched Crow perform his nightly ritual of removing his boot pistol, the derringer inside the waistband of his breeches, a six-shooter and the bowie knife strapped to his ankle. Amusement overrode her unease.

“I swear you carry more hardware than a traveling salesman,” she teased, hoping to break the tension.

“We are going to equip you the same way when we reach Taloga Springs,” he insisted. “My motto is to be heavily armed and prepared for everything.”

“Can't wait,” she enthused. “I—”

Without warning, Crow clamped his hand over her mouth. She could feel the tautness in his body. Now what? she thought.

“Stay out of sight,” he whispered while he reclaimed all his weapons—including the pistol he'd given to her earlier.

She blinked in surprise when he slithered beneath the back edge of the tarp that was butted up against the tree trunk. Her attention shifted to the sound of galloping horses and the shouted command for the two Comanche warriors to throw down their rifles.

Despite Crow's order to stay inside, Natalie tucked her two-shot derringer in the band of her breeches and crawled outside, bounding to her feet. Campfire light reflected off the three rifle barrels that swerved toward her while she surveyed the ragtag riders. They were dressed in the same fashion as cowboys—or outlaws, it was hard to say which. Sombreros covered their heads and bristly whiskers lined their jaws.