The Gunfighter and the Heiress - By Carol Finch Page 0,16
and you answered for them personally, would you steal from him when you knew he made unannounced visits to the reservation?”
“I suppose not, but the world is full of arrogant fools, Bart. I’m surprised someone hasn’t tried to swindle him.”
“They’ve tried. Two in fact.”
“What happened to them?”
“One’s in jail. The other is in hell where he belongs.”
Crow’s voice rumbled from so close behind her that Natalie spilled her hot coffee. She shook the sting from her hand as she glanced over her shoulder at him. Her eyes widened in surprise while she, and the other patrons, stared at Crow in astonishment.
Clean-shaven, he was even more ruggedly handsome. He’d clipped his raven hair and he was wearing a stylish three-piece black suit. He looked amazing, and not the slightest bit hung over after ingesting the same rotgut she’d consumed last night.
“Please excuse me, Miss Jones,” Bart said politely, then climbed to his feet. “I have business to conduct. You two can hammer out the details of your…er…arrangement without me.”
It occurred to her that Crow purposely sat down with his back to the wall at their corner table. No doubt, it was his custom to keep watch, in case trouble came calling. She would have to remember that when she embarked on her journey through the wilderness…
She snapped to attention when she recalled her conversation with Bart. Of course! Survival training! It’s what she needed before she set off to find excitement and adventure on the frontier. It had worked for Bart and it could serve her well, too.
Aware that all eyes were upon them in the café, Natalie smiled at Crow in greeting. Then she reached over to place her hand on his. That should convince the onlookers that she had deep feelings for Crow and this was more than a business arrangement. To add reinforcement to the presumption, she leaned sideways to place a playful peck on his bronzed cheek.
“You look exceptionally handsome,” she murmured. “Wish I looked that nice. But this headache from hell won’t let up.”
He reached into the pocket of his jacket to retrieve a small leather pouch. He sprinkled part of the contents in her coffee cup. When she arched a dubious brow, he said, “Old Comanche and Kiowa remedy.”
She swallowed three quick gulps of coffee, expecting an offensive taste. Surprisingly, she detected only a pleasant hint of mint.
“I won’t order for you since you intend to become an independent woman of the world,” he remarked. “But I recommend the house special. Also, it will help settle your stomach.”
She liked that Crow acknowledged her desire to make her own decisions and take command of her life. Unlike Avery Marsh and Thurston Kimball III, who insisted on speaking for her and telling her what to do because they were men and she was merely a witless female.
By the time the steaming food arrived, her hellish headache had fizzled down to a dull throb. Five minutes later, she began to feel like her old self again. Natalie dived into the meal with all the enthusiasm of a starving field hand.
“Now, about your fee,” she said between bites of fried potatoes.
“Two thousand.”
She nearly choked on her food. “Two?” she tweeted.
“That’s my standard fee for a wedding.”
She eyed him warily. “You’ve been married before?”
He munched on his slice of ham, swallowed and kept her in suspense, the ornery rascal. “No, but if I’m ever asked again, it will be two thousand. Take it or leave it, sunshine.”
She glanced speculatively around the café. “I wonder if I could get any takers for one thousand.”
“A dozen, who lack skills and experience, I expect,” he said with a nonchalant shrug of his impossibly broad shoulders. “As you pointed out with great relish last night, I can be bought.” He slanted her a meaningful glance but she noticed his silver-blue eyes twinkled with playful devilry. “But I don’t come cheap.”
She narrowed her gaze at him. “But I see that you engage in highway robbery.” She blew out her breath. “Maybe I will take my offer to Bartholomew Collier since he confided that you taught him to handle himself against brutish adversaries.”
His expression turned cool and distant. “Your choice, sunshine. This is, after all, part of your convoluted plan to avoid marriage to the fiancé you left behind.”
“I think Bart is a fine man,” she insisted.
“I never said he wasn’t.”
She drummed her fingers on the table while she stared Crow down. He was a magnificent-looking man and he was followed by the kind of reputation