Carol Finch - The Bounty Hunter and the Heiress

“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.”