The Gunfighter and the Heiress - By Carol Finch Page 0,40
several survival skills very quickly. But you have no sense of direction whatsoever.”
Apparently not, she thought to herself. She was headed in the direction of heartache because Crow’s presence in her life and his endearing grin were getting to her in more ways than she could count.
Avery Marsh, followed by Kimball and the two hired henchmen, stepped down from the train in Wolf Ridge. He was tired, irritable and annoyed that Natalie, dressed in her widow’s digs, had reportedly took the train west from Fort Worth to this godforsaken outpost where the railroad tracks finally ran out.
Kimball surveyed the community with distaste. “They call this a town? What do people do with themselves here?”
“Raise cattle, plow the ground and run shops,” Fred Jenson, the tall, lean henchman, replied. “For entertainment they play billiards and cards in the saloons.”
Kimball perked up. “Maybe this whistle stop has possibilities after all.” He glanced back at Avery. “While you check on Natalie I’ll wet my whistle at a saloon and see if I can make extra traveling money.”
Avery glared at Kimball’s departing back. The man was self-absorbed and as useless as an extra toe. However, having him out from underfoot for an hour had its rewards. The cocky dandy bragged about his sexual exploits constantly and droned incessantly about how clever and intelligent he was. There had been times during the journey that Avery contemplated losing Kimball permanently—after he’d served his purpose, of course.
Glancing this way and that, Avery determined which hotel accommodations would suffice then hiked down the street to the Simon House. While Jenson and Green posed questions at the restaurants, in hopes of locating Natalie, Avery approached the hotel clerk.
“I was hoping to meet my daughter here,” Avery said pleasantly. “She dressed as a young widow for her protection but she has dark eyes and auburn hair.”
The clerk nodded enthusiastically. “You are talking about Anna Jones, aren’t you? So you must be Mr. Jones.”
“I must be,” Avery said, flashing his most charming smile. “Can you tell me which room she’s in?”
The clerk looked at him oddly. “She didn’t inform you that she left town after she married Donovan Crow?
Married? To Donovan Crow? The Donovan Crow? Hell’s bells! Avery had not seen that coming. Now he would have to alter his well-laid plans. Damn that wily little bitch. He’d make her sorry she’d pitted herself against him. Avery had spent a lifetime planning golden opportunities for himself and he was damn good at it. Natalie would not outsmart him.
“I thought she was going to wait for me to show up,” Avery said, masking his irritation behind a troubled frown. “I was hopelessly delayed and she is hopelessly impetuous. Now I’ll have to trail after her.”
The blond-haired, round-faced clerk swiveled the hotel registry toward Avery. “You’ll need a room because I heard they are headed to Taloga Springs and the next stage doesn’t leave until tomorrow morning.”
Two days after the Rangers and Comanches headed north, Van saw Natalie gathering inedible vegetation on the riverbank. “Don’t touch that!” Van snapped abruptly.
She snatched her hand away from the green plant as if she’d been snakebit. When she flashed him an injured look, he regretted his sharp tone.
“I only wanted to gather wild carrots for supper,” she explained as she rose from a crouch, then sidestepped from the marshy area near the water.
“Those aren’t wild carrots.” Van examined the handful of herbs she had picked. He tossed out two other plants. “The plants you nearly pulled from the marsh were poison hemlock.”
Wide-eyed, she gaped at him. “They looked like carrots.”
He nodded. “Yes, they do. Which is why people unfamiliar with these plants suffer accidental poisoning.”
“What are the other plants I thought were herbs?”
“Nightshade,” he informed her. “The hemlock is worse. Make sure your horse doesn’t ingest that stuff, because it can be fatal to him as well as to you. As children in the village, one of our duties was to herd our horses away from the marshy creek banks to avoid poisonous plants.”
Natalie’s shoulders slumped dejectedly and she blew out her breath. “I’ll never figure all this out,” she mumbled. “I wanted to prepare a special meal because you said we’ll reach Taloga Springs tomorrow and we’ll part company.”
The thought didn’t set well with him. He could escort Natalie only as far as Taloga Springs. Then he needed to follow up at the reservation and investigate the army officer accused of stealing food and supplies from his people. He was torn between his hungry desire