The Gunfighter and the Heiress - By Carol Finch Page 0,7

she countered nonchalantly, hooking her arm around his elbow and guiding him across the street.

He expelled a snort. “You didn’t save my life, sunshine.”

To her surprise, he didn’t yank her to a halt in the middle of the street and commence raking her over live coals.

“You saved that drunken kid who picked a fight with me,” he muttered.

She nodded and smiled approvingly, despite his unsettling glare. “Confidence. I like that in a man.”

“Now what’s this nonsense about a wedding that isn’t going to take place day after tomorrow?” He eyed her warily. “And why did you send the telegram from Fort Worth, claiming you’re my fiancée? Which you are not.” He gave her that hard, bone-chilling stare again. “Whatever game you’re playing, you need to know that you picked the wrong groom.”

Natalie disagreed. When it came to selecting the perfect husband, Donovan Crow met her specific requirements. Her brilliant scheme would teach those sneaky bastards not to plan her marriage or her life. By damned, she was in charge of her own destiny. She would never, ever, be a man’s pawn again. This was her Independence Day. Nothing, not even a surly, reluctant groom, was going to stop her now.

“Do you need my help, Van?” came a cultured voice from behind them.

Natalie glanced over her shoulder to see the studious-looking gentleman standing on the boardwalk outside Road To Ruin Saloon.

“I can say no to her by myself, Bart,” Crow said without taking his icy glare off her.

“We’ll be in my room, having a discussion.” He glanced at Bart. “Bring me the bottle I just opened at the saloon.”

For a split second, unease skittered down her spine. The prospect of being shut in his room brought all sorts of unpleasant scenarios to mind. A moment of doubt tried to accost her. She didn’t know Crow except by reputation. He was a hard-edged, hard-nosed gunfighter who never failed an assignment. He was relentless until he brought his missions to satisfying conclusions.

She wondered if he dealt the same way with women—especially one who made the public announcement they were getting married.

She quickly reminded herself that Crow had permitted her to tow him by the hand. She took it as a good sign since he hadn’t tossed her in the dirt and stamped all over her. She inhaled a bolstering breath and shored up her floundering resolve. Short of physical abuse—and she had a two-shot derringer tucked in her pocket so she would be prepared for that—she told herself she could hold her own with the brawny gunfighter.

Natalie had spent three months diligently preparing for this moment. She wasn’t backing down. She knew exactly what she wanted and needed and she planned to get it. She needed the toughest, most dangerous gun for hire she could locate and Donovan Crow was it.

After all, she reminded herself, Donovan Crow could be bought. That’s another reason she had selected him.

The hotel clerk tossed Van a speculative glance while he led the bewitching female in yellow across the lobby and up the steps. Thanks to her startling announcement in the saloon, the town was abuzz with gossip and speculation. But very soon, Van would squelch the preposterous notion of an upcoming marriage and he’d get to bottom of Miss Sunshine’s theatrical performance. Yet, he had to hand it to this daring chit. She had walked boldly into a saloon full of men, thrust herself into the middle of a potential showdown, then dropped the bomb that left him momentarily thunderstruck.

When the woman reached the head of the steps and veered right, he tugged her to the left and led the way to his suite.

She blinked in surprise as he ushered her inside. “You have a two-room suite. How did you rate that, Crow?”

“It’s where I live when I’m not on assignment.” He made a stabbing gesture toward the settee in the sitting room. “Sit, sunshine.”

She didn’t obey immediately, just tilted her chin stubbornly and met his hard stare. Now why wasn’t he surprised?

“Fine. Stand up if you want, but I’m sitting down.” He sprawled carelessly on the sofa. “I’ve just returned from a long, exhausting foray. I’m tired and I’m cranky. You can either tell me what this wedding nonsense is about or leave me the hell alone. I really don’t care which. But you should know there will be no wedding, no matter what you say.”

Her cautious gaze darted speculatively to the empty space beside him and then to the door. She expected him to pounce