The Gunfighter and the Heiress - By Carol Finch Page 0,4
why he wasn’t waiting at the depot to meet the woman who claimed to be his fiancée.
It could very well be that she might have to wait a week or two to meet him. If that proved to be the case, she would spend her time equipping herself for the next leg of her journey—a journey that would be a hardship for the two conniving bastards who would likely try to overtake her.
When they arrived at Simon House, Natalie paid the good-natured porter and then turned to the hotel clerk who looked to be a few years older than she was. He was blessed with thick blond hair, round face and barrel-sized chest. Without delay, he spun the ledger for her to sign, then handed over a key to her room.
“Will you be staying long…?” He glanced at the name. “Missus Jones?”
“That depends,” she drawled. “I’ll pay for two days and check on my travel arrangements. In the meantime, a bath would be most appreciated.”
The clerk snapped his fingers and two teenage boys lounging against the door to the restaurant came to attention. “Take Missus Jones’s belongings to her room and fill the tub,” he ordered.
While the boys scurried off, she glanced back at the clerk through her concealing veil. “Would you happen to know if Donovan Crow is in town?”
The clerk’s hazel eyes widened in surprise. “Why, yes, he is. Just returned two days ago, in fact.”
Natalie told herself it was possible the gun for hire hadn’t taken time to collect his mail. Perhaps that’s why he hadn’t shown up at the depot. Either that, or he suffered from a shameful lack of curiosity.
No matter, she reassured herself as she ascended the steps behind the young boys. Donovan Crow would know who she was and what she wanted very soon. She had come to strike a bargain with him and he could name his price.
Van rose from a crouch atop the roof of the train depot. Then he holstered his pearl-handled peacemaker—or widow maker, depending on the outcome of potentially deadly situations. He’d scanned the area around the depot but the vicious Harper Gang was nowhere to be seen. And neither was his supposed fiancée. The only woman near his age had hurried off the platform to greet a waiting sodbuster who hugged the stuffing out of her.
If the telegram announcing his fiancée was someone’s idea of a joke, Van was not amused.
Apparently, Bart had come to the same conclusion about the hoax telegram for he halted behind the depot to peer up at him.
“No fiancée.” Van walked over to the eave, then shimmied down the gutter pipe.
“Not that I could see,” Bart said as he monitored Van’s descent. “The only unattached female was a widow in mourning.” He frowned pensively. “That odd telegram still bothers me. If I were you I’d watch my back—just in case.”
“Exactly what I plan to do. Come on, Bart. I’ll buy you supper,” he invited.
“Let me stop by my office and close up for the day, then my time is yours. Later, we can decide which assignment appeals to you and I’ll send off a correspondence soon.”
“I’m not going anywhere for at least a week,” Van reminded Bart sternly. “I damn well intend to sleep in my bed instead of a flea-bitten way station or on the hard ground.”
On the wings of the declaration, they strode off. Van didn’t give another thought to the disturbing telegram from his so-called fiancée.
The next morning, after a surprisingly tasty meal at the hotel restaurant, Natalie returned upstairs to discard her disguise. She hoped to make Mr. Crow’s acquaintance and negotiate a price for the assignment she had in mind for him.
Anxiously Natalie appraised her reflection in the smoky cheval glass that stood beside the plain dressing screen and bathtub. The modest gown she selected didn’t hint at the wealth her parents had amassed in New Orleans. That was nobody’s business and she didn’t approve of flaunting wealth the way her stepfather and former fiancé were prone to do.
However, she hoped to look partially rested and presentable when she met Mr. Crow.
She wondered if Crow was holed up at one of the brothels, tripping the light fantastic after completing his most recent assignment. She didn’t want to have to march into a bordello. Yet, as of three months ago, Natalie had cast off the burdensome yoke of proper behavior and protocol demanded by the upper class. Now she was alone in the world and vowed to do