The Gunfighter and the Heiress - By Carol Finch Page 0,5
whatever necessary to make a new, unrestricted life for herself that didn’t involve those two devious bastards she’d left behind.
“First things first,” she told her reflection as she fluffed the wrinkles from her bright yellow gown. “Purchase a weapon to defend yourself from trouble. Then locate Mr. Crow and strike your bargain.”
As she descended the staircase, she noticed she was receiving far more attention than she had while dressed in widow’s digs. Since she had moved her mother’s wedding band to her right hand, the three men exiting the restaurant made note of her ringless left hand. They gave her a thorough once-over. Their blatant interest was an annoying reminder of the hassle she encountered in New Orleans where adventurers and gold diggers, familiar with the Robedeaux-Blair family name, congregated around her like pesky flies.
Although the men in the hotel didn’t know who she was, nothing could change her cynical opinion of the male species. To date, she hadn’t met a man who proved to be reliable, trustworthy or honest—certainly not all three at once!
Especially not those two sneaky bastards who sought to destroy her life—and would have if she hadn’t spirited away from New Orleans when she did.
Natalie walked straight up to the clerk and said, “Could you tell me where I might find Donovan Crow?”
Shocked, the clerk leaned close to say confidentially, “Ma’am, I wouldn’t want to be seen with him if I were you.”
“Why ever not?”
“Most dignified ladies avoid him whenever possible. He has an infamous reputation, you know. He’s also half Kiowa.”
“Oh? Which half?” she asked straight-faced then pivoted toward the door. She wanted to ask the clerk for a physical description of Donovan Crow, but that would invite too many questions since she planned to marry him immediately.
“Ma’am? Are you staying at the hotel?” the clerk asked as he perused the ledger.
“I’m Anna Jones,” she informed him.
His blond brows shot up his forehead and he glanced owlishly at her.
“I used the widow’s digs as a protective disguise during my trip. It worked amazingly well.”
The three men who overheard her conversation with the clerk fell into step behind her. Natalie rolled her eyes in annoyance when the men followed at her heels, showering her with effusive compliments.
Change of plans, she thought to herself. She would purchase a pistol to scare off the men who wouldn’t take the hint of being ignored and leave her alone. Then she would wander around town, hoping she would know Donovan Crow the moment she laid eyes on him.
The night after Van’s supposed fiancée failed to show up at the depot, he lounged against the bar in the Road To Ruin Saloon. He threw back a drink and let the strong whiskey burn its way down his throat. He was feeling considerably better after sleeping most of the day away—again.
“There’s a saddle tramp in the corner who’s been eyeing you for ten minutes,” Bart murmured quietly.
“I noticed him. Spoiling for a fight is my guess.”
“He’s consumed enough liquor to assure himself he can outdraw you and make a name for himself.”
“That’s exactly how I ended up with Robbie Harper’s three brothers gunning for me,” Van grumbled. “The little fool couldn’t clear leather nearly as fast as he thought.”
“Whiskey makes a man reckless with his tongue and far braver than he actually is,” Bart agreed.
When Van heard the sound of a chair being scooted across the planked floor to clank against the wall, he pivoted to face the glassy-eyed, peach-fuzz-faced kid toting double holsters and shiny pistols.
He flashed the would-be gunfighter his trademark glare. “The last drunken fool who decided to draw down on me is wearing a marble hat.”
The kid had drunk enough bottled courage to make him defiant. He jutted out his pointy chin. His hands hovered over his pistols. “You’re the one who’ll be wearing a marble hat, Crow. You worthless half-breed,” he slurred.
“No one is going to become a permanent resident in the cemetery,” came an unexpected female voice from the doorway.
Startled, Van—and every man in the saloon—glanced at the stunning female who stood five foot six and looked to be about ten years younger than he was. Her trim-fitting yellow gown displayed her full creamy breasts to their best advantage. Her eyes were black as midnight and sparkled with so much inner spirit that Van became lost in their depths—and he wasn’t alone. The woman had captivated the male crowd with her arresting beauty and her daring.
He dragged his gaze from the enticing display of cleavage to