Read the book: «The Bounty Hunter and the Heiress»
“I like being married to you. It’s convenient.”
Eva lifted her chin rebelliously.
Raven barked a laugh. “Not as convenient as you might think if we continue to ride the stage. We’d have to sleep together to keep up appearances, sweetheart.”
Damn, she hadn’t thought that far ahead. Eva drew herself up to full stature. She couldn’t resist a challenge.
“I can endure sleeping together if you can, sweetheart,” she countered defiantly. “Turn around, please.”
“What for?”
“So I can retrieve the money I stuffed down my dress.”
Raven grinned scampishly and shook his head. “Being married and all, there’s no reason for me not to watch….”
The Bounty Hunter and the Heiress
Harlequin® Historical
MILLS & BOON
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Praise for Carol Finch
“Carol Finch is known for her lightning-fast, roller-coaster-ride adventure romances that are brimming over with a large cast of characters and dozens of perilous escapades.”
—Romantic Times BOOKreviews
McCavett’s Bride
“For wild adventures, humor and Western atmosphere, Finch can’t be beat. She fires off her quick-paced novels with the crack of a rifle and creates the atmosphere of the Wild West through laugh-out-loud dialogue and escapades that keep you smiling.”
—Romantic Times BOOKreviews
The Ranger’s Woman
“Finch delivers her signature humor, along with a big dose of colorful Texas history, in a love and laughter romp.”
—Romantic Times BOOKreviews
Lone Wolf’s Woman
“As always, Finch provides frying-pan-into-the-fire action that keeps the pages flying, then spices up her story with not one, but two romances, sensuality and strong emotions.”
—Romantic Times BOOKreviews
The Bounty Hunter and the Heiress
CAROL FINCH
TORONTO • NEW YORK • LONDON
AMSTERDAM • PARIS • SYDNEY • HAMBURG
STOCKHOLM • ATHENS • TOKYO • MILAN • MADRID
PRAGUE • WARSAW • BUDAPEST • AUCKLAND
This book is dedicated to my husband Ed and our children,
Christie, Durk, Jill, Jon, Shawnna and Kurt. And to our
grandchildren, Brooklynn, Kennedy, Blake, Livia, Dillon
and Harleigh. Hugs and kisses!
Available from Harlequin® Historical and CAROL FINCH
Call of the White Wolf #592
Bounty Hunter’s Bride #635
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Texas Bride #711
The Last Honest Outlaw #732
The Ranger’s Woman #748
Lone Wolf’s Woman #778
*The Ranger #805
*Fletcher’s Woman #832
McCavett’s Bride #852
Cooper’s Woman #897
The Bounty Hunter and the Heiress #909
Other works include
Silhouette Special Edition
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Fit To Be Tied #36
A Regular Joe #45
Mr. Predictable #62
The Family Feud #72
Lonesome Ryder? #81
Restaurant Romeo #81
*Fit To Be Frisked #105
*Mr. Cool Under Fire #105
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Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter One
Denver, Colorado
1880s
Dressed in her breeches and shirt, Evangeline Hallowell paced back and forth across the Aubusson rug in the spacious study of her home. At irregular intervals, she paused to glance anxiously toward the hallway, then at the window. Muttering a curse, she wheeled around to wear another rut in the imported carpet.
Her younger sister, Lydia, had left earlier that afternoon and she hadn’t said where she was going or when she’d be back. Now it was dark and Evangeline was worried. She had the uneasy feeling that something was amiss.
A loud wail erupted near the front door. The sound echoed through the tiled foyer and bounced off the walls. Evangeline whirled around to race to the study door.
She stared incredulously at Lydia’s disheveled coiffure, tear-stained eyes and puffy face. “Dear God, what happened to you?”
Dirt soiled Lydia’s expensive pink gown. The pristine lace—that was now a dingy shade of brown—was snagged with leaves and twigs and drooped noticeably over the torn ruffles.
“Oh, Eva, I’m such a fool!” Lydia burst out as she flung herself into Eva’s arms.
The sobs and howls commenced in earnest—the outpouring of emotion that had apparently sustained Lydia until she reached the safe haven of their lavish mansion. She clung to Eva as if she was a lifeline and she proceeded to bawl her head off.
Eva let her sister vent her anguish for several minutes before guiding her to the sofa that sat perpendicular to the bookshelves that stretched from floor to ceiling of the north wall. Although Lydia refused to release her hand—and nearly squeezed off the blood flow to her fingers—Eva didn’t complain. She had spent years nursing Lydia through one melodramatic, emotional ordeal after another because she had assumed the role of mother, father and older sister.
This high drama, however, seemed to be more serious than usual for Lydia.
“You were right about him,” Lydia blubbered, then dragged in a shuddering breath. “I was an imbecile to believe him.”
Him, Eva presumed, was the suave, smooth-talking gentleman who had been courting Lydia and escorting her to Denver’s elite social functions for the past three months.
Eva tensed as she reassessed her sister’s tattered gown. “If Gordon Carter forced himself on you—”
Lydia flung up a trembling hand that sported three broken fingernails. “Worse!”
Eva’s dark brows elevated. “Worse than ravishing you?”
Lydia bobbed her head, sending shiny waves of auburn hair tumbling from her lopsided coiffure to cascade haphazardly over her shoulders. “He broke my heart, stole my buggy and my favorite horse and he swiped my money!” she cried in distress.
Eva went perfectly still, her mind racing back through time to reevaluate Lydia’s rather peculiar behavior this past week. She had been in and out of the mansion without bothering to inform Eva or the servants when she planned to return. If Eva hadn’t been preoccupied—fending off a particularly persistent suitor—she might have paid more attention.
Should have paid attention, she chastised herself. It was her sworn duty to protect and care for Lydia. She had solemnly promised her father that she would, after he fell ill suddenly then died.
Lydia wiped her eyes with the back of her grimy hand, sniffled loudly then glanced toward the imported grandfather clock that graced the corner. “Gordon and I were going to elope because he said you wouldn’t approve and you were jealous because you were interested in him. He said we had to be clever and discreet. He said you would be outraged if you weren’t the first to wed.”
“What!” Eva scrambled to control her temper then gnashed her teeth, wishing she could take several bites out of Gordon’s conniving hide. “I never had any interest in that scoundrel. It was plain to me that he was insincere. He made all the right noises, in his dedicated effort to impress you and others in our social circle, but I didn’t trust his intentions. The fact that he tried to pit you against me is one more reason why I dislike him.”
“It worked to some extent,” Lydia admitted on a ragged breath. “He suggested that I gather plenty of funds so we could elope—” Her voice broke and she half collapsed on the couch. “Oh, Eva, I’m so humiliated I could die! Gordon insisted that we shouldn’t bother with luggage so no one would suspect a thing. With my satchel of money we headed south to Canyon Springs to be married.”
Hot fury boiled through Eva’s veins as she visualized that silver-tongued, self-serving bastard luring her naive sister beneath his spell. At nineteen, Lydia hadn’t learned to be wary and cautious of shysters who sought to separate her from her inheritance. She had fallen for Gordon’s flattery and premeditated charm. His scheme had been to divide and conquer the Hallowell sisters so he could manipulate Lydia. Damn that lying, cheating bastard! He would be punished severely for this, she fumed.
Although Eva was silently condemning Gordon Carter to the farthest reaches of hell, she reined in her anger to listen to the rest of the infuriating tale.
“Then what happened?” she questioned intently.
Lydia rerouted the tears on her flushed cheeks, dabbed at her eyes with her dirty sleeve and finally met Eva’s unblinking gaze. “Gordon stopped the buggy in the middle of nowhere and shoved me out. He claimed that he was bored with my childish prattle, and I should walk back home because marrying me was the very last thing on his list of what to do with the rest of his life…”
Her voice fizzled out and humiliated wails erupted. Lydia flung herself facedown on the sofa, sprawling in emotional defeat. A few moments later, she raised her tousled head and clutched Eva’s hand again, accidentally scratching her with jagged fingernails.
“I’m dreadfully sorry I listened to Gordon’s lies. He kept telling me that you were spiteful, stifling and envious because I was happy and you weren’t. Since you discouraged me from seeing him I thought it might be true.”
Eva shook her head adamantly. “You should have known better, Lydia. I have sworn off men for good reason. I can guarantee that I will never be jealous of my own sister. I want you to be happy, but you need to realize that adventurers will always set their sights on you because you have access to a fortune. That’s why we have to be so wary and selective of men.”
Lydia nodded and sniffled. “I understand that now, but Gordon kept telling me that he loved me and he’d never met anyone like me. Then his sugary tone changed to disdain once he had my money, my carriage and Hodge. You know how much I adore that horse. He was my last gift from Papa.”
Eva promised herself, there and then, that she would hunt down that vermin and see to it that he was poisoned, stabbed, shot and strung up by his heels. Then she would haul his sorry carcass to jail for the duration of his life.
“From now on I’m going to be just like you,” Lydia said determinedly. “I’ll never again trust a man with my heart or my money.”
“I regret that you had to find out the hard way that our family fortune is a burden and a curse. It attracts the wrong kind of men.” A faint smile pursed Eva’s lips as she brushed the tendrils from Lydia’s face and met her watery gaze. “For us, Lydia, all men are the wrong kind of men. They will always want what we have, not who we are on the inside. They want our prestigious connections, not our companionship. The only way I’ve found not to be hurt, disappointed or taken advantage of is to guard my heart carefully. You must look beneath the charming smiles and calculated flattery to determine a man’s sincerity.”
Lydia nodded her head. “I know you speak from experience because you were so sad three years ago and—”
“Past is past and I never look back,” she interrupted. “I prefer to profit from my mistakes, not repeat them.”
Although Lydia insisted on talking her unpleasant experiences to death, Eva preferred to keep them buried. The man who taught her not to trust, not to expose her heart to pain, was a closed chapter of her life. If she never saw him again, that would be perfectly fine with her. Unfortunately, Felix Winslow owned a successful local jewelry shop—thanks to his new wife’s financial backing. He showed up often with his young bride at parties and Eva had taught herself to look through him as if he wasn’t there.
When the grandfather clock chimed ten times, Eva glanced up. She tapped Lydia on the shoulder then urged her to her feet. “Why don’t you go upstairs and I’ll have a warm bath prepared for you. I need to go out for a while, but I’ll return shortly.”
Lydia levered herself upright and managed the faintest hint of a smile. “If you are off to shoot that lying scoundrel I’ll send you out with my blessing, but I know he’s headed toward Canyon Springs, and probably to parts unknown. Finding him will be next to impossible.”
“You’re right. I would like to shoot him a couple of times for hurting you,” Eva insisted. “It’s the only purpose the men in our lives can possibly serve. Target practice.”
Lydia snickered but her expression sobered when she surveyed the irreparable damage to her expensive gown. “This was to have been my wedding dress.”
“Burn it,” Eva recommended. “That’s what I did with the one I wore the last time I was with Felix Winslow. I imagined him in it while it burned to ashes.”
Lydia shrugged, and when Lydia trudged up the staircase, Eva sailed out the front door. She jogged down the street to the Philbert estate. Roger and Sadie Philbert—twin brother and sister—were her lifelong playmates and friends. The blond-haired, blue-eyed twosome was returning from a party and they stepped down from their coach just as Eva hurried up the flagstone driveway.
“Rather late to be gadding out in men’s breeches, isn’t it?” Roger teased as he appraised her unconventional attire.
Eva glanced down, having forgotten that she was still wearing the garments she had donned for horseback riding, while attempting to track down her missing sister.
She shrugged carelessly in response to Roger’s playful grin. “You know I’ve acquired the reputation of an eccentric and free spirit. Why not enjoy it?”
Sadie clasped Eva’s hand to lead her to the front steps. “We attended the Jensons’ stuffy dinner party. I’m sure you had a more interesting evening than we did.”
Eva knew Lydia would be mortified if news of her involvement with Gordon made the gossip grapevine so she waited until she and the Philberts were behind closed doors before she asked, “I want to hire the best bounty hunter in the business, a Mr. J. D. Raven, I believe is his name. How do I go about finding him?”
“Bounty hunter?” Roger and Sadie crowed simultaneously. “Are you mad?”
“No, only vindictive,” she said enigmatically.
Roger motioned for her to follow him into the office to ensure complete privacy. Then he gestured for Eva and his sister to take a seat on the brocade sofa. “What the devil is going on?”
Eva shrugged evasively. “The business I want to conduct requires the skills of a particular kind of man like Mr. Raven. He’s known to be the best and that’s who I want.”
“If you need assistance, why not call upon the Rocky Mountain Detective Agency?” Roger recommended. “You know they are reputable.”
Eva had considered it, but since local and state newspaper reporters constantly followed the detectives’ cases, she feared Lydia’s name might be leaked. The last thing she wanted was a public scandal. Her nineteen-year-old sister was too vulnerable and too sensitive to gossiping peers.
“I came here for information, Roger,” she declared, avoiding his direct question. “So how do I contact Mr. Raven?”
“I cannot begin to imagine what you are up to, but it sounds intriguing,” said Sadie, her blue eyes glinting with interest.
When Roger crossed his arms over his chest and clamped his lips together, Eva sighed impatiently. “If you won’t help me then I’ll try another source.”
When she bounded to her feet and headed to the door, Roger grumbled under his breath. “All right, Miss Persistence, I’ll tell you what you want to know. As luck would have it, J. D. Raven arrived in town earlier today,” he reported. “In case you haven’t heard, he’s half-Cheyenne, half-white. And yes, he’s said to be deadly accurate with every weapon imaginable. But he’s not the kind of man our friends and colleagues associate with directly.”
Eva flicked her wrist dismissively. “You know I refuse to follow the dictates of snobbish society. I associate with whomever I please. I want Mr. Raven because his success rate is legendary when it comes to tracking down men who don’t want to be found.”
“From what I heard at the party this evening, he showed up at Marshal Doyle’s jail with two of the three fugitives he’d been tracking,” Sadie declared.
“What happened to the other one?” Eva asked curiously.
“Dead and buried,” Roger replied. “According to rumor, Raven doesn’t place a cross on the graves, just an X so Indian deities and the Lord Almighty won’t have to bother with the sinners. Plus, he plants them in the ground, facing away from the rising sun.” He flicked his wrist casually. “I’m told it’s some sort of Indian tradition that eternally curses evildoers.”
“You are full of all sorts of helpful and interesting information,” Eva praised. “Do you also know where I can find this legendary avenger of injustice?”
“You should let me handle this,” Roger advised.
Eva shook her head decisively. “This is a private matter and I will take care of it myself.”
His shoulders slumped and he shook his sandy blond head in defeat. “Fine, but you should go in disguise so you don’t cause a stir. The London House is the place where Raven roosts when he returns from his forays.”
“Thank you.” Eva grasped the door latch. “I might be out of town for a few days so please check on Lydia for me.”
Sadie frowned worriedly, but she said, “Of course, whatever you need. You know you can always count on us.”
When she opened the door to leave, Roger burst out indignantly, “You really aren’t going to tell us what this is about?”
“No, I’m sorry but I can’t right now. I’ll explain later,” she promised on her way out the door.
J. D. Raven collapsed on his bed, exhausted. He grabbed the bottle of whiskey he’d picked up in a saloon on his way over from Marshal Emmett Doyle’s office. He expelled a weary sigh and took a drink. The liquor burned its way down his throat to his belly then he took another sip.
He stared at the saddle and saddlebags he had tossed in the corner of his hotel room. “Damn sons of bitches,” he mumbled before he took another swig.
If life were fair, Buck—the best horse he’d ever had—would be brushed down, eating hay and resting comfortably in the livery stable right this moment. “But life sure as hell isn’t fair,” he said to the room at large. “I’ll drink to that.” And he did.
A firm rap on the door forced Raven to roll to his feet. “Who is it?”
“Emmett. I brought your bounty money.”
Just to be on the safe side, Raven grabbed his pistol, moved to the left of the door then peeked out to make certain it was the city marshal.
“Besides the bounty, I also have a word of warning for you,” Emmett said as he ambled inside. “Buster Flanders’s widow just stormed out of my office. She swears revenge after you killed her husband.”
“She wouldn’t be the first,” Raven murmured as he brushed his hand over the three-week growth of beard and mustache he hadn’t bothered to shave during the manhunt. “I’ve had lots of death threats.”
Emmett shrugged his thick shoulders. “Well, this woman says she intends to dance on your grave when you end up like her husband. She also wants to know where you planted Buster.”
“At the bottom of a deep ravine. Took me an extra two hours to climb down, make sure he had expired, cover him up and climb back to the ledge to retrieve the other two criminals.” He glanced at the marshal. “Dance on my grave, huh? That’s a new one.”
Emmett stared solemnly at Raven. “Buster Flanders has lots of kin and so does his wife. You’ve been marked for death so you better watch your back, in case she hires someone to repay you for killing her husband.” He dropped the pouch of money in Raven’s hand then gave him three new bench warrants. “These men are reported to be preying on miners and prospectors near Purgatory Gulch and the other camps in Devil’s Triangle to the southwest of here.”
“These will have to wait until I train a replacement for Buck.” Raven tucked the warrants in his saddlebag. “I’ll get to them when I can.”
Emmett nodded. “I’m real sorry you lost your horse. And remember what I said about the spiteful widow’s threat. She’s been passing word around town so be on guard, Raven.”
“Thanks for the warning,” Raven said as Emmett exited.
Sighing heavily, Raven plopped on the bed and helped himself to another drink. Five minutes later a quiet rap on the door prompted him to reach for his six-shooter. Hell, now what? he wondered. Considering the possibility of Buster Flanders’s kinfolk gunning for him, plus a few others along the way who had vowed revenge, Raven adhered to his motto. Stay alert or die. It was the code of the Cheyenne and of the wilderness. Carelessness got a man killed in a hurry.
Raven came silently to his feet. “Who is it?”
No one answered so he eased up beside the door again. There had been times when outlaws had shot through doors, hoping he was standing in front of them. Raven never faced a door directly.
When the quiet rap came again, Raven snapped open the door, grabbed the unwanted guest by the throat then jerked him inside. A gurgling yelp erupted from the kid in the oversize hat and jacket. Snarling, Raven slammed the kid’s thin shoulders against the wall and loomed threateningly over him. If the widow had hired this brat then Raven vowed to scare the bejeezus out of him and send him running back to the widow.
“You’re messing with the wrong man, brat,” Raven growled viciously. “Get the hell out of here and don’t come back or I’ll gut your carcass and throw it to the wolves.”
The kid’s chocolate-brown eyes widened then narrowed in annoyance. Raven didn’t usually have trouble with his scare tactics, but the kid boldly reached up with a gloved hand to pry his fingers—one at a time—from his neck.
“Back off, you buzzard. I came here to hire you and I can pay good money for your services.”
The kid’s voice sounded feminine and Raven squinted to appraise the shadowed face beneath the wide-brim hat. When he used the barrel of his pistol to knock off the kid’s hat, a cascade of curly auburn hair tumbled free. The woman was young. Twenty-two or twenty-three, he guessed. Despite her smudged cheeks, she was stunningly attractive. Although her thick-lashed eyes were her most striking feature, her Cupid’s bow lips drew his rapt fascination.
“Are you the Flanders widow?” he asked, refusing to unhand her until he knew how much of a threat she posed.
“No. I’m the angel of doom who wants a lying, cheating sidewinder of a man hunted down,” she replied.
It had been three months since Raven had been anywhere close to a woman. Staring at this woman’s lush lips had him wondering what she tasted like. As good as she looked? He was certain of it.
Before he became sidetracked, he shook off the lusty thought. No matter how deprived he had been, his survival instincts always prevailed. Always. He trusted only half of what he saw and even less of what he was told. This mysterious female was no different, lovely though she was.
The wary thought provoked him to clamp his hand around her throat again…in case this was a ruse. The woman coughed then glared at him for cutting off the air in her windpipe. He eased off enough to let her catch her breath.
“Nice to meet you, too, J. D. Raven,” she sniped. “Kindly move away. I didn’t come here to shoot you. Only to hire you.”
“I’m at a disadvantage here. Who the hell are you?”
She looked him up and down and said, “You? At a disadvantage? Rarely, I suspect. I’ve heard that you’re the best in the business. Judging by our unique introduction, you seem to be prepared for anything.”
“Everything. There’s a difference,” he corrected. “You didn’t answer my question, Miss…? Mrs…?”
He arched a brow when she refused to fill in the blank. Instead, she made herself at home by walking over to plant herself in the middle of his modestly furnished room.
“I’m glad to see the room is tidy and clean. Good. A guest has every right to expect the comforts of home,” she commented.
He disregarded her odd remark and studied her closely. She possessed the regal bearing of nobility, but she didn’t flash the aloof smiles he usually attributed to the privileged class of white society. Her unconventional style of clothing indicated that she wasn’t afraid to be different. Yet, she didn’t bear the hard lines of living that he noticed on the faces of women who supported themselves on their backs.
In addition, she possessed exceptional courage or she wouldn’t be here alone with him, for fear of damaging her reputation. There wasn’t a hint of fear in her dark eyes, only critical assessment and the sparkle of persistence. In addition, she stood up for herself and stood up to him in a way few people dared. He unwillingly admired that about her.
“Who do you want tracked down?” he asked as he set aside his six-shooter. “An unfaithful husband or fiancé? And what do you want done to him when I find him?”
“Shooting his legs out from under him would be good for starters,” she replied. “But he isn’t my husband or fiancé. I don’t have either one. As I recently reminded my sister, men best serve the purpose of a target for shooting practice.”
Raven squelched the makings of a smile when he realized she was perfectly serious. “You’re a man-hater, I take it.”
She shrugged noncommittally. “What will it cost me to hire you and when can you start this private manhunt?”
“You can’t afford me and I’m taking time off.” He hitched his thumb toward the door. “Nice meeting you. Close the door on your way out.”
She didn’t take the hint, just stood there staring at him with the confidence of one seasoned gunfighter bearing down on another.
Who the hell was this woman? he asked himself again. “Bold and determined” only began to describe her. The fact that she had come alone to confront him when most folks in polite society shied away from him was nothing short of astounding. His mixed heritage and his deadly profession usually worked like a repellant.
How desperate was this female? What had the man she wanted apprehended done to provoke her relentless fury?
When he walked over to grab her arm and escort her to the door she set her booted feet and jerked away from him.
“I’m not leaving, J.D. Get used to the idea.”
Her challenging stare and the determined tilt of her chin surprised and impressed him. He’d never shared a conversation like this one with a woman. Brief small talk before and after a tumble on the sheets was the extent of his association with women. This female was a novel—but annoying—experience and he wanted her gone. Intimidating her seemed to be the only effective method of shooing her on her way.
He scooped up the whiskey bottle and offered her a drink—which she turned down with a distasteful shake of her auburn head. Then he gestured toward the bed. “If you aren’t leaving then disrobe and climb in. We’ll negotiate the terms of our agreement later.” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.
He could tell right away that he’d offended her. Hell, he could practically see steam rolling from her ears.
“That’s what you want for your fee?” she snapped, disgusted. “All dealings between a man and woman are to be resolved in bed? You are an ass, J.D.”
“I’ve been called much worse. And it’s just Raven,” he replied, undaunted.
In his effort to route her from his room he removed his shirt and tossed it toward the towel rack on the washstand. When he reached for the clasp to the double holsters that held his ivory-handled Colts, she didn’t blink, just held her ground as the weapons clanked on the floor. Raven unfastened the top two buttons on the placket of his breeches and smiled wickedly.
She stared at his bare chest then at his gaping trousers, before raising her gaze to meet his challenging grin.
“You wouldn’t dare,” she muttered.
“I’ve dared plenty in my life. More than you have, I suspect. So how far do you plan to go with this game of chicken?” He shoved his breeches a little farther down his hips. “All the way…?”
