The Bounty Hunter and the Heiress (3 page)

Cold fury trickled down his spine at the thought, but he quickly shifted his attention to the cowering clerk. The man assumed he'd somehow offended him by permitting that female masquerading as a young boy to pay for the room.

Raven fished a silver dollar from his pocket then tossed it to the clerk. “Thanks for the good night's sleep. It was a long time in coming after sprawling on the ground while chasing down thieves for three weeks.”

The balding clerk relaxed and smiled slightly. “My pleasure, Mr. Raven. I'll pass along your kind words to the hotel owner.”

“Yeah, be sure to tell the Hallowells I enjoyed my stay,” he said and silently smirked as he envisioned the highfalutin family members who reportedly owned half of the damn town.

“It's always good to have you stay here,” the clerk added. “Come back again.”

Raven nodded before he walked outside. He was no fool. He knew exactly why the clerk at London House was eager to have him stay here. He had quelled three disturbances with drunken patrons during the past four months. Now there were no disruptions when word spread that he was renting a room here.

A cynical smile quirked his lips when two prissy females reversed direction the instant they spotted him standing on the boardwalk. The fashionably dressed pair scurried off. Apparently, they had heard circulating legends. He had overheard the rumor that he was half-human and half-Cheyenne ghost spirit. Damn, where did whites come up with that superstitious nonsense?

His smile faded as he carried his saddle with him to the restaurant to have breakfast. He noticed the manager opened his mouth to object, recognized him then turned away to speak confidentially with the waitress, who scurried over to take his order immediately.

Raven ignored the stilted silence that descended on the café. He wondered if the mysterious woman, who had barged into his room the previous night, would be as well-received in
her
unaccepted attire as
he
was. He stuck out like a sore thumb—and on purpose. She would, too, if she removed her oversize hat and allowed those silky auburn curls to tumble around her alluring face.

A knot of unwanted attraction tightened in his belly when the image of the fascinating woman who dared to visit his room sprang to mind. Hell, half the reason he had refused her request was that he felt an admiration and sexual interest that could have spelled trouble.

J. D. Raven had one hard-and-fast rule. He never, ever became emotionally involved in a case. It was strictly business because anything less might make him hesitate, make him think with his heart, not his head. Like carelessness, distraction could get him killed before his time.

After eating the hastily delivered breakfast Raven exited the restaurant, much to the relief of the proprietor and customers, he noticed. He halted on the boardwalk to survey Denver's hustling, bustling citizens, who cast him cautious glances then hurried on their way.

Above the clatter of wagons and carriages in the street, a train whistle pierced the morning air. Glancing absently toward the depot, Raven strode off to deposit his bounty money in the bank. Fifteen minutes later, he entered the dry goods store to replace the shirts damaged during his recent foray. In addition to ground-in dirt and mud stains—the result of wrestling Buster Flanders on the edge of a cliff—smears of blood and ripped fabric made the garment better suited as a rag.

Raven plucked up two black shirts then set them on the counter. As an afterthought, he picked up a plaid shirt and brown breeches for Hoodoo Lemoyne, the older man who kept the home fires burning in Raven's mountain cabin. The clerk hastily tallied the expenses so he could get Raven out of his store as quickly as possible.

Ah, how he longed to be working around the mining camps tucked in the mountain valleys. At least there, where the lines of civilization weren't so strictly defined, he wasn't treated as such an outcast. Then again, he reminded himself, he wasn't accepted readily much of anywhere and he'd become accustomed to his solitary existence.

Tucking his purchases in his saddlebag, Raven scooped up his saddle, rifle and gear then spent a long moment lamenting his fallen horse. That buckskin called Buck had listened patiently while Raven rambled. He knew what Raven expected of him during a frantic chase and he trotted loyally to him when he whistled. Losing Buck was like losing a trusted friend.

Raven strode deliberately down the boardwalk, sending citizens veering off like the Red Sea parting for Moses. Once inside the stagecoach depot, Raven purchased his ticket to travel south. He sprawled negligently in a chair—away from the three men and the woman who would soon be wedged in the coach with him during the journey.

Hat pulled low on his forehead, Raven crossed his arms over his chest. Stretching out his long legs then crossing them at the ankles, Raven settled in to get some more shut-eye before the stage departed.

The whiskey he'd consumed the previous night left him with a dull headache. Missing several nights of sleep to remain on constant alert was catching up with him.

From beneath the shadowed brim of his hat, he could see the men and woman fidgeting nervously at the prospect of sharing confining space in the coach. If he cared in the least—which of course, he didn't—their distaste of what he represented would dent his pride. But, like a cougar in the wilds, he had come to terms with his isolated lifestyle and didn't brood about it.

Tracking criminals for bounty was what he was good at. He supposed he could sign on as a deputy marshal or city marshal in some nameless little town. As long as he clipped his hair, dressed strictly in white's man's clothing and made a conscious effort to look civilized. Yet, the very idea…

His rambling thoughts scattered like a covey of quail when the door creaked open and a woman entered. Raven had learned to school his facial expressions and give none of his thoughts away years ago. But he was stunned to the bone when he recognized the woman whose curly auburn hair danced like flames in the sunlight. She was the very same female who had dared to approach his room and make demands the previous night. She was even more fetching in daylight, especially when she discarded shapeless masculine clothing in favor of feminine apparel.

This morning she had dressed in a modest but flattering calico gown that accentuated every voluptuous feminine curve and swell. And she had plenty of them in all the right places, he noted. She carried a matching parasol and wore a hat that boasted a couple of feathers and ribbons. War bonnet, most likely in her case, he mused as a wry grin crossed his lips. Indian custom had nothing on white civilization, he decided. Undoubtedly, the woman had girded herself up for another confrontation to urge him to take her assignment. Waste of time though it was.

Without acknowledging her arrival, he surveyed Miss Calico. She stood about five foot six inches and weighed about one hundred and ten pounds—give or take. She passed a polite smile around the depot then focused her full attention on him. Still he didn't move or alert her that he recognized her from the previous confrontation.

If she planned to open another lively debate with an attentive audience on hand then he would refuse her not only in private, but also in public. No matter what, Raven wasn't taking the assignment. He needed time to rest, relax and to train Buck's replacement. Period. End of story. No exceptions.

He shouldn't have been surprised when the gutsy female walked straight up to him—but damn if he wasn't. Then she shocked him speechless when she said, “Did you purchase my ticket, J.D.?”

Calling him
J.D.
suggested they were on intimate terms. He sat there, too stunned to react, while the three men and woman glanced back and forth between him and the daring female. Even the agent at the ticket window perked up at the unexpected scene unfolding in the depot.

She sighed dramatically, shook her curly auburn head then smiled at him in tolerant amusement. Miss Calico, with her matching parasol, set her two carpetbags on the empty chair beside him.

To his further astonishment, she doubled at the waist, pushed his hat back to stare him squarely in the eye and said, “Honestly, love, I know we were married recently but you'll have to remember you have a wife to consider now.”

You could have heard a pin drop on the planked floor of the depot. Everyone's jaws sagged with incredulous disbelief. If Raven hadn't trained himself not to show the slightest reaction, his mouth would have dropped open and his teeth would have clattered to the floor.

Married?
What the hell was she talking about? Sure, he'd been drinking last night but he certainly would have remembered something like
that!

Seemingly unaware or unconcerned with the rapt attention she'd attracted, Miss Calico kissed his bearded cheek then sashayed over to purchase her ticket. She returned to take her place beside him. By that time, Raven had managed to sit up a little straighter in his chair and shake off the alluring scent of her perfume that had clogged his senses.

When Miss Calico brushed her shoulder affectionately against his and smiled at him as if he were the sun in her universe, something very strange and unfamiliar unfolded in the region of his chest. It was probably indigestion, he decided. He'd wolfed down his breakfast in a rush so he'd have time to swing by the bank and dry goods store before catching the southbound stagecoach.

When she glided her hand over his, giving it a seemingly affectionate squeeze, his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. He wasn't sure he could have formulated a sentence at the moment if his life depended on it.

“I'm very much looking forward to the rest of our honeymoon, J.D.,” she said in a stage whisper.

Beneath lowered lashes, Raven observed the expressions plastered on the faces of the other passengers. Something in the way they stared at him had altered drastically since his supposed bride arrived to make over him as if he were special to her. He seemed to have acquired instant respectability because everyone thought he was married to the stunning female—whose name he still didn't know, damn it.

“The stage has arrived,” the ticket agent announced.

Miss Calico was the first one on her feet. She grabbed her satchels then tugged him from his chair. “Don't forget your saddle, sweetheart. And I'm so sorry about the loss of your favorite horse. I know how much he meant to you.”

The comment confirmed to the other passengers that she knew specific details about him. She sealed their connection by adding, “I'm anxious to watch you train the replacement. In time, I'm sure the new saddle horse will be as invaluable as the last one.”

Then, to his absolute amazement, and that of the onlookers, she pushed up on tiptoe to press another kiss to his bearded jaw. Again, the tantalizing fragrance of her perfume infiltrated his senses and fogged his brain. He couldn't recall, but he presumed she had led him outside like a stupid lamb to slaughter. Then she directed the other passengers where to sit so the newlyweds could cozy up side by side in the coach.

It was only while Raven was tossing his saddle and the satchels into the luggage compartment on the back of the coach that his head cleared long enough for him to realize that he hadn't shut down the woman's charade and sent her packing. Worse, several passersby heard her call out to him. When she referred to him as
sweetheart,
she stopped traffic on the boardwalks and attracted owlish stares.

While she stood there, all smiles and cheery disposition, he stepped up beside her and bent his head to ask confidentially, “Who in the hell are you?”

“Evangeline Raven, of course. Really, J.D., you've been calling me Eva for weeks. Last night you swore I was the love of your life.”

“Ha, curse of my life is more like it,” he said and grunted. “Last night you interrupted a perfectly good drunk. And here you are this morning to ruin a perfectly good hangover. Be warned that you're going to regret this little charade of yours, I guaran-damn-tee it,
Eva.
”

He wheeled around to tuck his Winchester rifle beside his saddle and she followed after him. Flashing an impudent grin, she said, “I told you that you hadn't seen the last of me. You were warned, darling.”

“I thought you were a man-hater.”

“Can you think of a better way to get even with a man than to pretend to marry one of the worst offenders?” she countered in a syrupy tone.

“What the hell—?” came a startled voice from overhead.

Raven looked over the top of Eva's auburn head when the stage driver's gravelly voice boomed above him. From his elevated perch, the grizzled driver, whose bushy hair, long beard and mustache concealed most of his wrinkled features, stared at him in bewilderment.

“You're married?” the driver croaked like a bullfrog. “To her? You must have more charm than I thought.”

Raven inclined his head to take a better look at the driver. He recognized George Knott, the man he had interviewed after a stagecoach holdup the previous year.

“He has oodles of charm,” Eva defended as she laid her hand on Raven's forearm. “I'm honored to be his wife.”

Raven noticed the speculative glances coming his way again. This new respectability in white society beat anything he'd ever seen. One attractive female in calico, who testified to his charm and claimed to be his new bride, and wham! Suddenly he wasn't the dangerous bastard everyone thought he was. He was considered almost human.