“The first thing I’m buying is the biggest, softest feather bed to be found. That’s what you deserve.”

Hanna snickered as he set her on the porch. “My, I have married well, haven’t I? I have a husband who places my comfort above all else—”

She barely had time to complete the teasing comment before Cale clutched her hand and nearly dragged her up the steps in his haste for privacy. A blush exploded on her cheeks when the stage owner—a wiry little man with frizzy gray hair—glanced up from where he sat, warming himself by the fire. He grinned wryly as his gaze bounced back and forth between her and Cale.

Hanna decided she didn’t care if the proprietor knew why they were in an all-fired rush to reach their room. If her legs had been longer, she’d have been the one tugging Cale up the steps.

Praise for Carol Finch’s previous title

Call of the White Wolf

“The wholesome goodness of the characters…will touch your heart and soul.”

—Rendezvous

“A love story that aims straight for the heart and never misses.”

—Romantic Times

#636 BADLANDS HEART

Ruth Langan

#637 NORWYCK’S LADY

Margo Maguire

#638 LORD SEBASTIAN’S WIFE

Katy Cooper

Bounty Hunter’s Bride
Carol Finch

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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Available from Harlequin Historicals and
CAROL FINCH

Call of the White Wolf #592

Bounty Hunter’s Bride #635

Other works include:

Harlequin Duets

Fit To Be Tied #36

A Regular Joe #45

Mr. Predictable #62

The Family Feud #72

Lonesome Ryder?/Restaurant Romeo* #81

Silhouette Special Edition

Not Just Another Cowboy #1242

Soul Mates #1320

This book is dedicated to my husband,

Ed, and our children—Kurt, Jill, Christie, Jeff and Jon.

And to our grandchildren,

Livia, Blake, Kennedy and Brooklynn.

Hugs and kisses!

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

Fort Smith, 1870s

“Oh, my God, what have I done?” Hanna Malloy whispered apprehensively as she stepped off the steamboat that had transported her upriver from New Orleans. She stared at the gloomy, overcast sky, which promised another spring rain shower at any moment and listened to the drone of insects that swarmed near the river. In dismay, she surveyed the muddy frontier outpost of Fort Smith. This was her salvation? This was the answer to her prayers and her reward for six months of careful planning to seize control of her future? What in heaven’s name could she have been thinking!

“Want some help with them bags, missy?”

Hanna stepped away from the foul-smelling miscreant who’d approached her while she was lost in thought. The shaggy-haired man with beady gray eyes flashed her a smile that was missing two front teeth.

“Thank you for your kind offer of assistance, but I can manage on my own,” she replied.

The short, pudgy brute eyed her carpetbags covetously, glanced this way and that, then lumbered off. Hanna had the unmistakable feeling that if there hadn’t been dozens of river boatmen, cowboys fresh from trail drives, gamblers and railroad workers bustling around her, the man would’ve snatched her bags and taken off at a dead run.

Hanna gulped and glanced uneasily around her. She wasn’t in the best of company at the moment. Indeed, in all her twenty years of existence, she’d never been in such bad company without the protection of a chaperon.

A sense of panic and disillusionment very nearly overwhelmed Hanna. For moral support and a sense of comfort, she clasped the golden locket—a childhood gift from her mother—that hung around her neck. Inhaling a bracing breath, she strode past the abandoned, stone-walled garrison that had been built on a sandstone bluff overlooking the Arkansas River.

“Oh, Lord,” Hanna muttered as she hiked toward the frontier town set a mere hundred yards from the eastern border of infamous Indian Territory—where thieves and murderers were reported to run rampant. There were no paved avenues, no luxurious hotels, no fashionable boutiques and no lights to illuminate the mud-caked streets. There were, however, Hanna noted, amazed, a string of thirty saloons, a newspaper office, one bank and several shops that provided basic necessities. Dozens of wagons, hacks and saddle horses waited beside the uneven boardwalks.

She’d planned and schemed, hoarded her monthly allowance and used the funds her departed mother had set aside for her wedding trousseau for this? Sweet merciful heavens! Even in her modest-priced lavender gown Hanna looked overdressed and out of place in comparison to the few women she passed on the street.

Hanna squared her shoulders, hitched up the hem of her dress and marched determinedly forward. She had to remind herself—repeatedly—why she’d turned her back on her aristocratic lifestyle, sacrificed all the opulent luxuries in New Orleans and left her father’s handpicked groom at the altar. She, who had what most women aspired to, had climbed out the window of a church filled to capacity, and made a mad dash to the riverboat that would deliver her to the precious freedom she’d craved—dreamed of—for years. For the sake of independence, she’d have to learn to adjust and accept life on different terms than what was familiar.

Hanna stepped onto the uneven boardwalk in front of a saloon to avoid the heavily rutted mud street. Tinkling piano music, masculine laughter and the smell of cigar smoke greeted her as she passed one tavern after another, to reach one of the ramshackle hotels in the offensive frontier town.

When a drunken ruffian stumbled from one of the saloons and rammed her broadside, Hanna clamped her arms around a rough-hewn post to prevent herself from being catapulted into the mud. Her carpetbags swung crazily from her fingertips.

“Well, what have we here?” the man slurred, licking his lips and leering at her through bloodshot eyes.

Thunder boomed overhead, signaling impending doom and threatening Hanna’s firm resolve. If she had any sense at all she’d reverse direction and hightail it back to the river to catch the next steamboat to New Orleans and the familiarity of life as she knew it. The thrill of reaching her personal promised land had been dashed, replaced with disillusionment and uncertainty.

“Why don’t you ’n me find us a room and git better ‘quainted?” the drunkard suggested, in what she presumed to be his most seductive voice. It fell miserably short of the mark.

Hanna shivered with repulsion and pushed herself away from the splintered post. “Excuse me, sir,” she said stiffly. “I’m on my way to meet my fiancé.” That was a half-truth, probably one of many she’d have to tell before she got where she was going.

Before the scruffy-looking man could grab her arm, Hanna sailed off at a fast clip, praying she could reach a hotel before she was waylaid again. Even in her haste she noted she was attracting entirely too much attention from the men who milled about on the boardwalks. Sweet mercy! The ratio of men to women in this town must be so lopsided that males salivated at the mere sight of a female, Hanna decided. She made a mental note to purchase another gown that downplayed her femininity the first chance she got. All this unwanted attention was making her nervous and spoiling her attempt to maintain a low profile.

The last thing she wanted was to find a string of men trailing behind her. She’d endured quite enough of men and their hidden agendas—not to mention their more obvious intentions toward her person. Because of her wealth and position in New Orleans society, she’d dealt with more than her share of gold diggers and opportunists who were anxious to attach themselves to her family’s fortune. And her father, damn him, had paraded a string of handpicked suitors past her, then finally delivered his ultimatum when she kept stalling and found fault with every one.

The thought of her domineering father stiffened her resolve and brought her chin up to a determined angle. Despite the crash of thunder and the sudden downpour that formed a curtain of rain along the overhang of the porch roof, Hanna assured herself that she had what she wanted. Now she was in control of her life and her destiny.

The sacrifices she’d made to reach Fort Smith, the hardships she might face during her exodus, were worth every trial and tribulation. At long last she was free of her father’s control. He was not making another decision for her, not dictating to her ever again. This was her declaration of independence from Walter Malloy, the powerful, influential shipping magnate who believed that his only daughter was a pawn to be played to his advantage.

Walter believed that money could buy anything and that every man had his price. During the steamboat ride upriver, Hanna had made a pact with herself that she would turn her father’s cold-blooded philosophy on him, to ensure she broke his control over her forevermore. She’d abandoned all attempts to please him, to earn his love and respect. She had spent years trying to gain his attention and approval, but he seemed loath to spend more than a few moments looking in her direction before turning away. In his eyes she would never be the beloved son he’d lost to illness.

Therefore, Hanna had left her life of sophistication, refinement and elegance behind, to find herself a husband. Her idea of the perfect mate, not her father’s. Hanna had mentally listed her qualifications for an ideal husband. He would be an intimidating man himself—not one easily cowed by her father’s booming commands, nor easily swayed by bribes, which bent so many people to her father’s fierce will.

Hanna glanced up to note the wooden sign that indicated she’d reached a hotel. If she were in New Orleans she wouldn’t have set foot inside such a shabby establishment. But this wasn’t New Orleans and she wanted nothing more than to take refuge from the rain and the crowd of men that swaggered along behind her. She was tired of being ogled, and weary from her journey. Not to mention the emotional turmoil she’d undergone after her father announced that she would wed whom he decreed, when he decreed and where.

The thought sent frissons of frustration undulating through her. Hanna definitely needed a secluded place to rest, to unwind, to regroup before she reviewed her checklist for the husband she hoped to acquire quickly and expediently. After she caught her breath, she would inquire around this muddy, backward frontier town to locate a man who’d agree to share his name, for a substantial price. Hanna would be her father’s daughter, use his own tactics, for the first and last time.

After a brief wedding ceremony, the groom could go his way and she would go her own way—west. She’d heard it said that out West a woman wasn’t as restricted by social expectations as in the East. Out West was where free-spirited individuals migrated, to live by their own rules and establish new lives for themselves.

Surely somewhere in this outpost of three thousand souls she could find one man who was intimidating and strong-willed enough to withstand her father. A man who didn’t stay in one place long enough for Walter Malloy to track him down and offer him scads of money to have the marriage annulled, before dragging his daughter home to wed that stuffy, pompous aristocrat he had chosen.

Hanna winced, remembering her confrontation with her father. He’d boomed at her in that deep, foghornlike voice, shouting that Hanna had rejected the very last suitor, and that she would become Mrs. Louis Beauchamp—of the highly prestigious Beauchamps who could trace their family lineage back to the titled gentry of France. The merger of two wealthy shipping magnates would ensure a monopoly the likes of which New Orleans had never seen.

In outraged fury, Hanna had refused, insisting that if Walter was so immensely fond of Louis Beauchamp—of the highly respected Beauchamps—then he should marry the man.

That had been a mistake of gigantic proportions. Walter’s face had turned the color of raw liver and he’d bellowed that there would be a wedding and a merger and Hanna would accept his decisions, like the dutiful, grateful daughter she was supposed to be.

From that day forward, a chaperon—Rutherford J. Wiley—was assigned to her each time she left their sprawling plantation on the Mississippi or ventured from their elegant town house in New Orleans. According to Walter, Hanna would have no opportunity whatsoever to defy his decree.

Or so he thought, she mused, smiling triumphantly as she made a beeline toward the registration desk of the hotel. She’d taken advantage of the only window of opportunity her father had left open to her the past few months. The window in the room where she was to dress in her wedding gown before Walter walked her down the aisle to become the bride of Louis Beauchamp—of the proud and pompous Beauchamps. That window had been her salvation. Hanna had been prepared for that moment of opportunity, had planned for it, right down to the last detail.

She imagined that her father had cursed several blue streaks when he’d realized she’d escaped. She would’ve liked to see the look on his face when he realized she’d defied him and fled the city posthaste. If she knew her father—and she knew him well—he would spare no expense in hiring the most qualified detectives—the Pinkertons, no doubt—to haul her home.

But it would be too late. She’d have a husband and she’d be long gone by the time Walter discovered where she was and what she’d done to counter his insufferable dictates.

“May I help you, miss?”

Jostled from her thoughts, Hanna glanced up to see a bewhiskered and bespectacled man with a shiny bald head staring at her. “Yes, sir. I would like a room, please. Your best,” she added, certain the best Fort Smith had to offer would fall miserably short of the luxuries to which she’d grown accustomed.

The proprietor—James Jensen, according to an engraved wooden nameplate on the counter—smiled kindly at her. “I’m sorry, miss. I’m afraid second best is all I have to offer. Our most spacious suite was rented an hour ago to a man who’s become legendary in these parts. He’s one of Judge Parker’s most effective and most reliable, ya see.” James leaned forward confidentially. “By nature and profession, he’s not a man folks want to cross. But he and his dog saved my life one dark winter night when four bloodthirsty hooligans dragged me into the alley to pistol-whip me and steal the money I was taking to the bank. Now we have a standing agreement. When he’s in town he receives the best accommodations I have to offer. Free of charge.”

Hanna was intrigued. The reputation of Judge Isaac Parker—the Hanging Judge, as he’d been dubbed—was known far and wide. This living legend who rode for Parker might be exactly the kind of man she was looking for.

“He’s a deputy marshal?” she asked hopefully.

James smiled wryly. “When necessary. Bounty hunter mostly, though. You might say he’s the judge’s last resort when all civilized methods of law and order fail. This gunfighter takes the most difficult cases and deals with the worst desperadoes who hide out in Indian Territory. ‘Course, being a half-breed Cherokee, he knows every inch of that seventy-four thousand square mile territory, every secluded haunt where outlaws like to hole up with their ill-gotten gains.”

“So, you’re saying this accomplished bounty hunter, and sometimes deputy marshal, is in and out of town frequently?” she asked with growing interest.

“Mostly out,” James reported as he turned the registration book so she could sign her name. “He’s only in town once a month or so to deliver prisoners, testify at trials and collect his rewards.”

In other words, this legendary tracker and shootist was sent out to apprehend the most vicious, barbaric criminals who preyed on society. He risked his life on a daily basis for sizable rewards.

Anticipation sizzled through Hanna. From the sound of it, luck was on her side. Within an hour of reaching Fort Smith she had a prime candidate for a husband. He was more or less a gun for hire who provided a necessary service. If he were accustomed to dealing with deadly killers on a regular basis he wouldn’t bat an eyelash at confronting her blustering father. Walter Malloy would be no more intimidating to this fearless gunfighter than a buzzing mosquito.

“Most of the deputy marshals ride across Indian Territory in groups of two to four, pulling a wagon that serves as mobile headquarters, office, kitchen and jail,” James added. “But not Cale Elliot. He and his dog travel alone, and that’s the way he likes it.”

Cale Elliot, she mused as she signed a fictitious name on the register to throw her father’s detectives off her trail. And they would come looking for her; she didn’t doubt that for a minute. By then, Hanna would have a wedding ring on her finger and a marriage license in hand.

When she’d originally devised her scheme to escape her father’s control, she had considered seeking out a condemned convict for a husband. But it didn’t take her long to realize she needed a live body. If she were a widow her father could easily tote her back to New Orleans to wed Louis Beauchamp. No, Hanna needed a real live husband, and this half-breed bounty hunter sounded as if he fit the bill perfectly. She could be wed immediately and disappear before her father tracked her down.

“Here ya go, Miss…” James glanced down at her signature “…Rawlins. Turn right at the top of the stairs. Your room is two doors down on the left.”

“Is my room near the bounty hunter’s?” she asked eagerly.

Assuming Hanna was hoping for nearby protection, James smiled, then glanced over her head to note the raft of men who were hovering in the doorway to cast their eyes on the attractive new arrival. “He’ll be right across the hall from you. He’s not one for idle chitchat, but if trouble arises, he’s the man you’ll want on your side.”

Mrs. Cale Elliot, she mused. That had a nice ring to it….

A worrisome thought furrowed her brows. What if Mr. Elliot was already married? Perhaps he had a wife who lived in the Cherokee Nation.

Don’t go borrowing complications, she chastised herself as she accepted the key from James. Hanna decided to approach Mr. Elliot with her proposition as soon as she had time to freshen up. If he was married he might be able to recommend another deputy marshal who would suit her purposes just as well.

“You won’t have to walk far to enjoy a fine meal,” James informed her, nodding his bald head toward the adjoining restaurant. “My wife and her sister are fine cooks. Best in town, in fact. You’ve come to the right place for a clean, tidy room and mouthwatering meals.”

“Thank you, sir. I’m sure the room will be splendid and the meals exceptional,” Hanna replied as she hoisted up her satchels, then headed for the steps.

“I’ll call one of the servants to carry your bags,” James offered.

“No need for that. I’ll manage on my own.” From now on Hanna intended to be self-reliant. It was her luggage, after all, and she’d carry it herself.

She could feel male eyes boring into her back as she climbed the creaking staircase. For once the tiresome attention of men didn’t annoy her. She was too preoccupied with the prospect of locating a suitable husband. She had important matters on her mind and was one step closer to the protection granted by marriage, to enjoying independence, freedom and living her life how and where she chose. Soon she’d have the opportunity to explore her hidden talents, to discover what she excelled at, rather than being stifled by her father’s demands and expectations.

Did she have a knack for writing? A talent for painting? Could she become a noted clothing designer and seamstress? An actress or singer? The possibilities shimmered before her like a pot of gold at the end of her personal rainbow.

She’d head west to find herself, to find her own niche. Without her family’s well-known name to raise eyebrows and attract the attention of opportunists itching to latch on to an heiress, she could be herself for once in her life. Hanna doubted she’d discover love somewhere beyond the notorious Indian Territory. As far as she could tell, love didn’t exist. It was a whimsical notion and she obviously didn’t possess lovable qualities. If she had, her own father would have cared deeply for her. But no matter what, she would not become a trophy wife, the window dressing for Louis Beauchamp—a man who thought and behaved like a younger version of her father. A man who wanted her only for her looks, social prestige and wealth, not for the person she was inside.

Hanna halted on the landing to catch her breath, and took note of the sign that read No Animals Allowed. She hiked up the second set of steps and veered right. She sincerely hoped her quest for the perfect husband took her no farther than across the hall.

After the ceremony she would wire the family lawyer to announce she’d met the necessary requirements to take control of the trust fund her mother had bequeathed to her—money her father and Louis Beauchamp couldn’t touch or control. She’d take a stagecoach to cross Indian Territory, then Texas—and beyond. She wouldn’t look back. Instead she’d look forward, with great anticipation, to her freedom and her future.

Cale Elliot draped his saddlebags over the back of a chair, then picked up the whiskey bottle from the table. James Jensen never failed to have a room ready and waiting when news arrived that he and his prisoners had returned to Fort Smith. After he had saved James from a vicious beating, the man had become his instant and steadfast friend. Which was a good thing, because Cale didn’t have many of them. His line of work alienated folks on both sides of the law, and his tumbleweed lifestyle provoked wary speculation rather than friendship.

Cale tossed down a drink, feeling the whiskey burn from his gullet to his empty belly. Since this was a private celebration of sorts, Cale helped himself to another gulp. After five frustrating years of posing questions and following leads, he’d learned the whereabouts of the man who’d killed his half brother and sister-in-law. Cale had finally stumbled onto the vital information, and feelings of long-awaited revenge roiled inside him.

Although Joe Horton had dropped out of sight in Kansas, Arkansas and Indian Territory, he’d apparently resurfaced in Texas, using the assumed name of Otis Pryor. One of the fugitives Cale had interrogated during the trek back to Fort Smith had supplied the information in exchange for leniency. Of course, Cale would’ve offered the outlaw the moon to entice him to spill his guts about Otis Pryor. And indeed, Cale would have a word with Judge Parker before Wilbur Burton went on trial, as promised. But Cale’s “word” wouldn’t be a kind one. The ruthless son of a bitch had murdered two elderly Cherokees and stolen their livestock. The only message Cale intended to give the judge was that justice damn well better prevail.

Cale set the bottle down with a soft thunk, then scrubbed his hand over his bearded jaw. He desperately needed a hot, soaking bath and two days of uninterrupted sleep. The three cutthroats he’d hauled to justice had done their damnedest to outrun him and the best tracking dog west of the Mississippi—maybe even the best in these entire United States. Cale and Skeet had run themselves ragged for three weeks, searching for clues and questioning witnesses about the crimes of murder and robbery.

It had taken a hair-raising firefight and a knock-down-drag-out brawl to convince the fugitives to surrender. In the end, Cale had manacled his prisoners and delivered them to the jail in one piece—more or less. But he’d come damn close to having his head blown off by the blast of a sawed-off shotgun. His own bullets had been aimed to slow down his assailants, not kill them outright. Judge Parker preferred to have criminals brought to trial. Sometimes Cale had little choice and was forced to return with his fugitives jackknifed over the backs of horses. But he had no intention of showing any mercy when he encountered Otis Pryor. An eye for an eye, he mused bitterly.

Unfortunately, the scuttlebutt was that Otis had surrounded himself with a small army of hired guns and had forced out the previous owners of a ranch with death threats. He’d used the money he’d stolen from Cale’s half brother, Gray Cloud, and several other hapless victims to stock his ranch with stolen cattle and horses, and regularly sent out his gang of thieves to steal more livestock to increase the herds.

Cale couldn’t storm the fortress with pistols blazing. No, he had to devise an ingenious scheme to avenge the deaths that had taken all that was left of his family. For years, Cale had been fighting other men’s battles for them, righting wrongs that had gone too long unpunished. Now it was his turn, his time to seek personal justice. But first he needed an effective plan to infiltrate Otis Pryor’s stronghold and sneak past the corrupt law officers that were in that bastard’s pocket.

Skeet’s quiet growl put Cale’s senses on high alert. The dog had been catching a nap under the table. Suddenly, Skeet laid back his ears and bared his teeth. Cale reflexively slid his Colt from its holster and inched silently toward the door to pounce on whoever thought to pounce on him unaware.

This wouldn’t be the first time someone tried to sneak up and blow him to kingdom come. That adage about outlaws being thick as thieves was right on the mark. Cale had lost track of the number of times some hooligan tried to bushwhack him for jailing a fellow gang member. He couldn’t recall the number of death threats against him.

In fact, less than a year earlier, a vengeful gang member had broken down the door of this very room and tried to shoot Cale while he was lounging in his tub. Cale couldn’t even enjoy a leisurely bath without some spiteful son of a bitch attacking with a pistol or dagger.

When Skeet bolted to his feet, prepared to bound toward the door, Cale signaled for the burly beast to hold his ground. Cale positioned himself beside the door and listened to the faint rap. Before the unwanted visitor had time to react, Cale jerked open the door, wrapped his arm diagonally across the intruder’s chest and rammed the pistol barrel beneath his chin.

Only it wasn’t a man; it was a woman.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she squawked in surprise.

“What the hell…?” Cale croaked as he appraised the shapely bundle of womanly curves and soft flesh that he held clamped in his arms.

Chapter Two

Cale was so shocked by the unexpected sight and feel of the female pressed up against him that he stood immobilized, his arm crushed to her heaving bosom, his pistol still crammed against her throat. He couldn’t say he’d been surprised often in his thirty-two years of hard living. But the woman’s unexpected arrival at his door sure ’nuff stunned the hell out of him.

Her fresh clean scent infiltrated his nostrils, and he had to try hard not to breathe her in. The feel of her lush body clasped familiarly to his was a vivid reminder that he hadn’t been with a woman since he couldn’t remember when.

He would have predicted that this refined, delicate-looking female would keel over and faint dead away—or at the very least, wail, whimper and beg for release. But she didn’t. The lady obviously had a stronger constitution than he would have presumed. He liked that about her, among other things—like the way she felt in his arms. But she was either amazingly courageous for coming here, or incredibly foolish. He didn’t know which.

Although the woman looked as harmless as a fly, he didn’t release her. She could be the distraction that preceded the springing of a trap. Some sneaky weasel could be lurking in the hall, waiting to blow Cale to smithereens.

“Skeet,” Cale whispered, then angled his head toward the partially opened door.

The dog trotted across the room and cut around the corner so sharply that he slammed into the woman’s legs before searching out trouble in the hall. A moment later he returned to sniff at the woman’s skirts.

No doubt Skeet was as unfamiliar with the perfumed scent of a citified woman as Cale was. Usually Cale’s reputation and profession worked as effectively as repellent to send decent women running in the opposite direction—often screaming. He was, after all, a hired gun, the circling vulture of Judge Parker’s brand of justice, and a half-breed to boot. Although the Cherokee had been labeled as one of the five civilized tribes in Indian Territory, most folks regarded all Indians—himself included—as heathens to be avoided and confined to reservations.

Which made it all the more baffling as to why this lovely, obviously well-bred woman was here.

“Whaddaya want, lady?” Cale growled menacingly.

She appeared so badly shaken that he figured he’d scared the wits clean out of her. Well, good. If she didn’t have more sense than to come knocking on the door of a man of his reputation, she needed a good scaring.

“I—I…have a p-proposition for you, sir,” she panted.

Thick Louisiana accent, he noted. He wondered if this little Southern belle realized she was way out of her league when dealing with him. If she didn’t know it yet, she would soon. Even he knew it was taboo for gently bred ladies of quality to consort with men like him. If she wanted to keep her reputation intact she needed to get the hell away from him—fast.

When it finally dawned on Cale what she’d said he glanced down into her pale face—and nearly drowned in the depths of the most remarkable violet eyes he’d ever seen. A thick fan of curly lashes framed those spellbinding pools, which sparkled as if lit from within. Her peaches-and-cream skin was blotched with color—an outward manifestation of the fear that was streaming through her. ‘Course, he could feel her heartbeat hammering like a tomtom against his forearm, so there was no question that he’d frightened her badly.

“Proposition?” he echoed. “What the hell kind of proposition?”

She gulped audibly and tried to force a smile, but he noticed the expression wobbled on the corners of her Cupid’s-bow lips. And damn, what a sweet, inviting, sensuous mouth she had, too. He was tempted to steal a taste while he had the chance. For sure, this was likely the one time in his life he’d ever be this close to sophisticated feminine perfection.

This little bundle of lavender satin and lace had it all—the delicate skin and bone structure, the curvaceous body, the beguiling face and a coil of silver-blond hair that reminded Cale of trapped moonbeams. His rough handling had caused one side of her coiffure to come unwound, leaving two thick, curly strands dangling on his shoulder—just close enough for him to get a whiff of their clean scent.

Why had the personification of every man’s sweetest dream rapped on his door, offering him a proposition? What the hell was this? Some kind of cruel joke? Hadn’t he been ridiculed because of his mixed heritage often enough without her showing up to remind him of who and what he was?

Suspicion clouded Cale’s mind again. He wondered if some spiteful renegade who wanted to launch him to hell had paid her to set him up. “Skeet, guard the door,” he ordered gruffly.

With ears laid back and an unwelcoming snarl, the dog obeyed instantly, sinking down on his haunches in the hallway. Cale kicked the door shut with the heel of his boot. When he shifted to pat the woman down, ensuring that she wasn’t packing hardware, she squawked in offended dignity.

“Now see here, sir! There is no call to manhandle me! I only came for a chat. Any fool can see I’m not the slightest threat to you.”

“Where’re you from, princess?” he asked as he slid his hand beneath the hem of her gown to check for stashed weapons in her soft kid boots. Again she squealed indignantly when his hand touched her leg. He ignored her and completed his search. When he was assured she was hiding nothing but her seductively curvaceous body, he dropped the pistol still trained on her and slid it into its holster.

She made a big production of fluffing the wrinkles—caused by his manhandling—from the sleeve of her gown. Then she looked down that pert little nose at him. “I swear, I’ve never met a more suspicious man. Do you greet all your guests with a gun to the chin and a swift frisk?” she asked with a huff.

“I don’t usually have guests, only intruders,” he reported as he motioned for her to take a chair at the table. “I asked where you hail from.”

“N’Awlins, though I don’t see that it matters,” she said snippily.

“Figured as much. That drawl is unmistakable.”

Hanna took a seat, noting Cale Elliot didn’t do her the courtesy of pulling out her chair the way most gentlemen would. But what did she expect? This rough-edged bounty hunter knew nothing about polished manners and etiquette. Not that she held it against him. She’d had her fill of haughty aristocrats who showered her with effusive flattery and fawned over her in hopes of drawing the interest of a wealthy shipping heiress.

When Cale straddled a chair—backward—and stared warily at her from beneath his furrowed brow, she realized this was a novel experience for her. He was a novel experience. This brawny bounty hunter, who dressed in worn buckskin, was absolutely nothing like the stuffy gentlemen her father had tossed in her path since she’d blossomed into a woman. There was a wild, dynamic presence about this man that intrigued her.

Eyes as dark as midnight, surrounded by a hedge of coal-black lashes, bore into her, as if searching out the hidden secrets in her soul. A leather band at the base of his neck anchored his long glossy hair—hair as black and shiny as a raven’s wings. He looked as if he hadn’t been within a mile of a razor in weeks. His dark beard and mustache gave him a most formidable appearance.

Hanna was certain that even her father might be just a tad intimidated by this ominous-looking creature. She knew for a fact that Cale Elliot was a solid, muscular six-foot-two and two hundred plus pounds, because she’d been plastered up against his rock-solid body. He was hard-edged, tough and suspicious. Not to mention that only God knew how much blood he had on his hands. This, she predicted, was the last man on earth her father would want her to marry—which was one more reason why Cale Elliot was positively perfect for her.

“Are you married?” she blurted out, then bit her lip and cursed her lack of finesse.

Two black eyebrows shot up to his hairline. “What the hell kind of question is that?” he said, then snorted.

“A straightforward one,” she replied, marshaling her nerve and her resolve. “Are you married or not?”

“No. Are you?” he retorted in the same gruff tone he’d employed since the moment he yanked her up against him and jammed his pistol to her throat.

“Not yet, but I plan to be very soon,” she replied resolutely.

Cale frowned, bemused. “Why are we having this conversation and who are you?”

Hanna overlooked his rude manner and defiantly ignored his question. With each passing second she became increasingly confident that this was the man she needed to ensure her independence from her father. Cale Elliot was hard as nails, formidable and abrupt. His reputation and occupation warned most people away. Most people, but not Hanna Malloy. She’d marry him on the spot if there were a clergyman or justice of the peace present.

“All right, Miz N’Awlins,” he drawled, mocking her Southern accent. “What’s this business about a proposition? I’ve had a long three weeks and I’m ready for a bath, a nap and a hearty meal. You’re keeping me from them. What the hell do you want with me?”

Hanna lifted her chin and met his piercing stare. Fleetingly she wondered if the devil himself had eyes this deep and black and penetrating.

“Well? Spit it out,” he snapped impatiently. “Your time’s almost up. I don’t like conversations that last more than a minute.”

Hanna flinched at his razor-sharp tone. She had to get up her nerve all over again. Since Cale Elliot apparently preferred straightforward and right-to-the-point dialogue, she’d accommodate him.

“I want to marry you,” she told him flat out. “I have five thousand dollars in cash as incentive to convince you to accept.”

Cale reared back so abruptly that he very nearly launched himself off his chair. His obsidian eyes shot open in stunned surprise and his bewhiskered jaw dropped to his broad chest. “Wha’d you say?” he choked out.

His shocked expression provoked her amused smile. If nothing else, she had Cale’s undivided attention. “You heard me, Mr. Elliot. I want a husband and I want one now. I want that husband to be you.”

He just stared at her as if she had Spanish moss dangling from her earlobes. Well, she mused, she supposed they were even now. He looked as stunned as she’d felt when he’d rammed a pistol beneath her chin and clamped her against his brick wall of a chest.

When Cale finally recovered from his shock, his gaze narrowed dubiously. This had to be a setup, he decided. Unfortunately, he was too rattled to figure out what the hell was going on. Why would this enchanting, sophisticated female propose to him? To distract and confuse him? Someone had obviously put her up to it. No decent woman in her right mind would want to attach herself to the stigma that followed him like a looming shadow.

He had a dozen strikes against him, and she looked to be all that was gentle and refined in this world. She could have her pick of beaus, and she claimed she wanted to marry him? There was definitely a catch, he decided. Was she a ruined woman who desperately needed a name for her unborn babe? Was she intent on punishing an unfaithful suitor by taking a husband far below her social status?

Another thought, of a dark and violent nature, bombarded Cale. If this lovely creature had been set upon by some lusting, abusive bastard, who’d left her with child the same way—

Cale jerked upright, refusing to let bitter memories of the past intrude and distract him. It was true that he was rough around the edges, had very little formal education and no sophistication whatsoever, but if there was one thing his Cherokee mother had taught him it was never to misuse a woman to satisfy his own needs. He had never forced himself on a woman and he didn’t hold with men who did.

“Well, Mr. Elliot?” she prompted when he lingered so long in thought. “I’ll pay you half the money now and half after the ceremony. Do we have a bargain?”

“First off,” he said, settling his forearms on the back of the chair, “don’t call me Mistah Elliot or suh,” he ordered, mimicking her drawl. “The name’s Cale, pure and simple. Secondly, why do you want to marry me? It’s obviously not because of my refined manners, my dashing good looks and endearing charm.”

He watched her astutely as she folded her hands in her lap, squared her shoulders and lifted her amethyst gaze. Cale steeled himself against the hypnotic lure of her eyes, her elegantly formed features. He felt as if reality had somehow been suspended, leaving him drifting in a world so remote from the daily rigors of staying alive that he could scarcely conceive of it.

He was sharing conversation with this astoundingly beautiful woman? In his room? That in itself was scandalous. Her reputation would be in shambles if anyone saw her arrive or exit.

He watched her draw a deep breath that caused her full breasts to strain against the dainty bodice of her gown. Her delicate brows drew together, as if she were carefully choosing her words.

“I’m offering no illusions, Mr.—Cale,” she quickly corrected. “I wish to take your name in a marriage of convenience. The union will not be consummated, of course. There will simply be an exchange of cash for possession of the marriage certificate. I’ve no intention of restricting or altering your life, nor mine. After the ceremony you are free to go your way and I will go mine.”

Well, he thought, so much for that titillating fantasy of having this lovely vision naked in his bed. He should’ve known she wouldn’t be the slightest bit inclined to cuddle up with the likes of him.

“If there comes a time when you meet a woman you wish to marry, you need only to contact me and I’ll tend to the divorce proceedings quickly. In essence, I’m simply asking you to put your signature beside mine on the dotted line. You’ll be well paid for your assistance.”

Cale studied her for a long, pensive moment, trying to figure her angle. He wondered which scenario fit her situation. The jilted Southern belle out for revenge? The ruined lover trying to save face? The abused woman who’d come to fear intimacy because of a nightmarish assault, and who sought protection with his name and reputation?

“What do you get out of this marriage of convenience?” he asked curiously.

He watched her squirm beneath his piercing scrutiny, but eventually she composed herself and flashed him a smile that did funny things to his pulse. He tried not to become distracted, but damn, she was so pretty that her beauty kept sidetracking him. Forcefully, he concentrated on her reply.

“I want the freedom to go where I please, do as I please,” she declared with noticeable determination. “I want the freedom to answer to no one but myself for the first time in my life. I am sick to death of being stifled and controlled and maneuvered by men who see me as nothing but a pawn. I want to discover who I can be in the West.”

He cocked a brow at that. Little Miss I-Wanna-Be-Independent didn’t have a clue what dangers she’d face while traveling across Indian Territory to reach the land of milk and honey she envisioned. Well, the fact was that the milk was curdled and the honey came with dozens of bee stings. She’d have to wise up and toughen up considerably before she could handle herself in places where law and order didn’t prevail the way they did in N’Awlins. It went without saying that she was naive and obliviously unaware of the difficulties she’d encounter on the road to her much-sought-after freedom.

Life beyond Indian Territory was brutal. Life anywhere was a bitch, and you just had to learn to deal with it.

Because of his background and line of work, he’d become jaded and cynical. He dealt with liars, cheats, thieves and killers on a day-to-day basis. He’d brought in dozens of criminals who would drop a man in his tracks, just to seize possession of his fancy boots, his fast horse or his pocket change.

The prospect of turning this unsuspecting female loose in dangerous territory made Cale cringe.

His thoughts scattered like buckshot when she doubled at the waist to lift the hem of her skirt. Curiously, he watched her wrestle with her cream-colored petticoats. She straightened in her chair and laid a roll of money—that had been inconspicuously hidden inside the hem of her petticoats—on the table between them.

“Here’s half of the easiest money you’ll ever make, Mr.—Cale.” She stared him squarely in the eye. “Do we have a deal?”

“You’re running from someone or something,” he guessed accurately.

He noticed her telltale flinch before she composed herself and flashed him a distracting smile. Cale was an expert at reading faces, and he noticed the guarded expression in her eyes. He could almost hear the cogs of her brain cranking, as she tried to decide how much of the truth to tell. He figured white lies and half-truths were all he’d likely hear from her.

“I am on the run, in a manner of speaking, but not from the law. Only from an intolerable situation.”

“Are you with child?” he asked bluntly.

Her face flooded with so much color he wondered if she’d go up in flames. She shook her head vigorously, causing a few more tendrils of silver-blond hair to cascade over her shoulder. “No, I’m not,” she assured him in a strangled voice.

Judging by her reaction to his probing personal question he suspected she was as pure as the driven snow. Damn, he and this pixielike female were polar opposites. Cale had been purged of purity and cured of naiveté years ago. He’d seen the worst that one human could inflict on another. He’d been cursed frequently and fluently. He’d been to hell and back so many times that the devil himself had nothing new to teach him.

Impatiently, she rose to her feet, then reached for the money on the table. She pivoted to modestly tuck the roll into her bodice, then wheeled back to face him. “If you aren’t interested in my bargain, perhaps you could refer me to one of your acquaintances who might be agreeable.”

Cale stood up, sighed, then stared at her for another long moment. “I’ll think about it,” he said, stalling. “I need a bath and a sleep. I’ll meet you downstairs in the restaurant for supper in two hours. Surely you can wait that long to get yourself hitched.”

She smiled faintly as she turned toward the door. Cale’s betraying gaze dropped to the graceful sway of her hips—hips that he’d touched familiarly while searching for concealed weapons. No wedding night, she’d said. No more than a chaste kiss to seal their hasty union at the ceremony. That didn’t sound like much fun.

Well, hell, even the best of men—and he was the furthest thing from the best of men—would object to being denied one night in this woman’s arms. After all, he’d be legally entitled, wouldn’t he? He’d rather spend one night with her and opt to let her keep her wad of money.

Always on alert, Cale reflexively grabbed his six-gun when she halted abruptly, then lurched toward him. He was definitely cynical and mistrusting, he mused. He didn’t even trust this vision of refined beauty not to double-cross him. But then, life had taught him to trust no one but himself if he wanted to live to see another sunrise.

Her violet-eyed gaze dropped to his hand, which now held a pistol pointed at her chest. She lifted her face and her wry smile indicated that she understood his instinctive need to be leery and alert at all times.

“I suppose, like you, I’ll have to learn to be less trusting and more attentive if I’m to survive in the West.”

“You’ve got that right, sugah,” he said, mocking her magnolia blossom accent. “I can guaran-damn-tee that honorable men are few and far between where you’re going. You could use a crash course in survival. No offense, Miz N’Awlins, but you’re about as green as they come.”

“No offense taken, sir,” she replied. “And while we’re being honest with one another, you should know that you are still my first choice as a husband. I prefer not to go hunting for second best—” Her voice dried up when she opened the door and was met by Skeet’s menacing snarl.

“Come,” Cale ordered quietly.

The oversize dog cast Hanna a wary glance, then trotted forward. When she made the crucial mistake of reaching down to pet Skeet’s broad head the dog snapped at the air a mere inch below her outstretched fingers. She jerked back her hand to ensure she still had five fingers attached. Again she’d surprised Cale. Most folks he encountered gave Skeet a wide berth and never tried to befriend him. Obviously, she was a kind, caring soul, despite whatever situation had put her on the run and provoked her to tell him little white lies.

“A word of warning,” Cale cautioned as he snapped his fingers, signaling the dog to heel. “Never, ever, make sudden moves toward Skeet. He’s in the same line of work I am and he’s damn good at it. Better than I am, in fact.”

She stared at Skeet, then glanced at Cale. “I could have sworn I saw a sign posted on the steps that said No Animals Allowed.”

Cale nodded. “You did. But Skeet has special privileges. I did a small favor for James Jensen. Now Skeet and I have the best hotel accommodations. Skeet may be banned from the restaurant, but he has the run of this suite.”

She smiled slyly at him. “That is the boiled-down version of the story James conveyed to me. Saving a man’s life and ensuring that he wasn’t parted from his hard-earned money constitutes far more than a small favor, Mr. Elliot.”

When she turned to go, Cale called after her. “Oh, by the way, if I agree to your bargain, I want six grand and there will be a wedding night.” He waited for her reaction, curious to see just how determined she was to get herself a husband. Determined enough to pry another thousand from her purse and come willingly to their marriage bed, if he so requested?

Cale watched another blush suffuse her cheeks, saw her eyes flare with temper and her fists knot in the folds of her gown. Better that Little Miss N’Awlins know here and now that he couldn’t be charmed or cajoled into doing anything he didn’t want to do, especially when he knew she wasn’t being completely honest with him.

“Well?” he asked, battling an amused grin as he watched her stiffen like cured mortar and glare daggers at him. “You never did tell me your name. Seems that if I do decide to wed you I oughta know what to call you.”

“I’ll consider your request,” she said tightly. “We can hammer out the details over supper.”

Five would get him ten that she was going to spend the next two hours trying to figure out how to convince him that he didn’t really want a wedding night and that five grand was more than plenty for the use of his worthless name.

And speaking of names… “Who are you?” he asked again.

“Sarah Rawlins,” she said, then turned and left.

Cale scowled at the closed door. He’d bet his last silver dollar that he still hadn’t learned that mysterious woman’s true name. Again he wondered what she was running from and how soon the past would catch up with her. It always did—somehow or other. That was the gospel according to Cale Elliot.

He drew in a deep breath and muttered when the alluring scent of her perfume filled his senses. It clung to his clothing, teasing him, tormenting him. Just like the vision of that woman with secrets in her eyes.

Muttering at the sudden, whimsical image of him and Sarah Rawlins—or whoever she really was—rolling around naked on his bed, Cale stalked to the door to flag down a maid and request water for a bath. Considering that dainty female’s affect on his male body, he could use a cold bath, but his screaming muscles needed relief. He’d spent too many days in the saddle. Too many nights on the ground, sleeping with one eye open and one hand clamped over his Colt.

He’d spent three weeks on constant alert, expecting to be bushwhacked at every bend of the road, from every overhanging sandstone cliff, from the shadows of every cave where outlaws lurked, armed to the teeth. Cale desperately needed to soak in a tub, relax and ponder Sarah’s proposition.

Hell, he thought, if she really was determined to marry someone, it might as well be him. It wasn’t as if he had any other potential prospects beating down his door. But all the same, a man was entitled to a wedding night for the use of his name—especially when his new wife looked, smelled and felt as tempting as Sarah Rawlins.

Her offer of money didn’t persuade or impress him, because money wasn’t a motivation for him. He’d been stockpiling cash in Fort Smith’s bank for years and had money to burn. What he didn’t have was a wife and the titillating trimmings of a wedding night. He wanted that violet-eyed beauty to come willingly into his arms, wanted to know what it was like to touch purity and refinement.

And secretly wished her innocence and good breeding might somehow rub off on him.

Cale waited impatiently while a troop of young boys filed into his room to fill the tub with steaming water. When he had the place to himself once again, he stripped off his clothes, sank into the tub and sighed contentedly. Ah, there was nothing better than a long-awaited bath…unless it was one uninterrupted night in the arms of an alluring woman who’d sought him out with an intriguing proposition.

Chapter Three

Hanna stood in the middle of her cramped room, which contained nothing but crude necessities—a narrow, lumpy bed, washstand, lantern and small towel. Grumbling, she plopped down on the bed. Her perfect, would-be husband had turned out to be as demanding as her father. Furthermore, Cale Elliot was an unscrupulous scoundrel. He wanted a wedding night and six grand, did he? Hanna silently fumed over the fact that a man had manipulated her again. It was the story of her life.

On second thought, she supposed she shouldn’t be surprised by Cale’s counteroffer. Expecting any man to blithely agree to a wedding without the night that customarily followed was asking a bit much. As for the extra thousand dollars, Hanna would be more than compensated when her trust fund was released to her. That really wasn’t the issue here.

Spending the night with Cale Elliot was. The mere prospect of the unknown caused uneasy sensations to ripple through her.

Hanna glanced across the room to stare in the mirror that hung above the washstand. She pulled the pins from her hair and shook her head to send curls streaming down her back. Although Cale Elliot was as rough around the edges as a man could probably get, and they had nothing in common, there was something about those intense dark eyes and that bronzed face that intrigued her. Not enough, of course, to agree to going to bed with him, unless all other possibilities of gaining his assistance were exhausted. To Hanna, intimacy was just one more way for a man to control and dominate a woman. According to her married friends, lust was much more enjoyable for a man, and it was a woman’s duty to tolerate her husband’s physical desires. It seemed blasted unfair, but there you had it. That was marriage for you.

Hanna called up Cale’s mental image as she stretched out on her bed to rest. Despite her irritation at him, there was a wild nobility, an aura of dynamic power about Cale that she envied. Although he would make a most inappropriate husband if they were brushing shoulders with the upper crust of society, undeniably, there was something about the man that appealed to her. She was at a complete loss to explain or define her reaction to him. The fact that she had reacted to him on some basic level disturbed her.

Surely she couldn’t be attracted to Cale Elliot. He looked too rugged for her tastes, and she naturally assumed from his appearance that there would be nothing gentle or enjoyable about his embrace. He certainly hadn’t showed any tendencies toward tenderness when he’d clutched her to him, then searched her for weapons as impersonally as he might search a criminal.

The question was how determined was she to marry? Determined enough to sacrifice her innocence to a stranger who would take what he wanted from her and likely give nothing in return?

The thought caused Hanna to shiver, and she reflexively reached out to flip the thin bedspread over her shoulders. She lay there for a moment, asking herself just how much she was willing to sacrifice for her long-awaited freedom. She’d come this far. She’d given up all that was familiar and comfortable, but she was not returning to her father’s home to marry Louis Beauchamp, no matter how many French titles his uppity ancestors had flaunted.

Hanna drifted off to sleep, knowing that she would meet Cale Elliot’s stipulations, as distasteful as subjecting herself to his lusty pleasures would undoubtedly be. It was only one night, she consoled herself. She could endure that sort of physical torture for one night, couldn’t she? After all, nothing worth having came without a price, did it? This was the price she had to pay to call her life her own.

Her freedom and independence were worth it.

Walter Malloy stormed to the far end of his elegantly furnished study, wheeled around, then stalked back in the direction he’d come. Curse that devious daughter of his! He’d thought he’d finally got that willful girl under his thumb and convinced her to wed the man of his choice. Walter had found the perfect social match, but Hanna had defied him.

When Walter had stood at the church a few days earlier, staring in disbelief at the open window and realizing Hanna had fled, he’d vowed all manners of punishment when he located his runaway daughter. He would never forget the humiliation and embarrassment he’d suffered when he was forced to enter the sanctuary and announce to the guests that the wedding had to be postponed.

Walter scowled sourly and pivoted to wear another path on the imported Aubusson carpet. He’d been left to deal with Louis Beauchamp’s outrage and indignation. Even Walter had gotten sick of hearing how the entire lineage of Beauchamps had never been left at the altar, and that Hanna’s deceit ranked right up there with high treason.

Gad, what a disaster! By the time Louis had finished ranting and raving about the potential shipping monopoly being null and void if Hanna didn’t return to voice a public apology and follow through with the wedding, Walter was in the throes of a full-blown headache—and it hadn’t let up yet!

The quiet rap at the door prompted him to lurch around and glare at the agent he’d sent to locate Hanna. “Did you find that ungrateful child of mine?” he boomed.

Rutherford J. Wiley stepped inside and closed the door behind him. “No, sir, I’m afraid not. Miz Hanna seems to have vanished into thin air. I checked the train depot, shipping yard and riverboat depot, but her name didn’t appear on any of the passenger lists.”

“Well, of course not, you dolt!” Walter bellowed. “You think she’d traipse off, dragging her real name behind her?”

The agent shrank as Walter’s buglelike voice ricocheted off the walls. “Of course not, sir.”

Walter’s stubby arm shot toward the door, as if the feather-brained hireling didn’t have enough sense to know where it was. “Wire the Pinkertons immediately,” he barked. “Give them my daughter’s description. Instruct them to name their price, and I’ll double it. I want every available detective on this case and I want them now!”

“Yes, sir, at once, sir.” Rutherford spun on his heels and scurried through the foyer posthaste.

“Hell and damnation,” Walter muttered as he resumed his restless pacing. He’d lost his only son, the child who was to become the heir to the vast fortune Walter and his wife, Clarissa, had amassed. Now his wife was gone and he was consumed with such grief that there were times Walter swore constant work was all that kept him from losing his mind. He was left with a daughter whose appearance reminded him so much of his beloved Clarissa that staring too long at Hanna caused his heart to squeeze painfully in his chest.

Now even Hanna had abandoned him, and Walter had the raging Louis Beauchamp breathing down his neck, vowing all sorts of revenge if the missing bride didn’t turn up within the month.

Walter threw himself into his chair to brood. When he got his hands on Hanna, he swore he’d never let her out of his sight for a minute until she’d been delivered into Louis’s hands and had spoken her wedding vows. Then she’d be Louis’s headache, and Walter would gladly relinquish his responsibility.

Other men had dutiful daughters who honored and respected their fathers’ wishes. Why was he stuck with an unruly misfit who’d been taught her place but refused to remain in it?

Cale waited until he heard the quiet click of the door across the hall before he gathered various weapons and tucked them into his boots, at the small of his back and inside the sleeve of his buckskin shirt. Then he strapped the double holsters around his waist and tied the wicked-looking Bowie knife to his thigh. He’d armed himself to the teeth for so long that he felt naked without the feel of cold steel resting against his skin.

When he was sure Sarah—or whatever her real name was—had made it to the staircase, he opened the door and stepped into the hall. Cale had no intention of damaging the woman’s reputation further, if they didn’t reach an agreement. Escorting Sarah downstairs would send gossip flying. Cale was too well known in town, and she was so stunningly attractive that he suspected she drew considerable attention and speculation without unnecessarily linking her name to his.

Cale halted at the head of the steps and watched Sarah descend to the lobby. Sure ’nuff, she was already the object of scads of male attention. A throng of men congregated at the door and huddled inside the foyer to feast their lusty eyes on her. Cale gnashed his teeth, surprised by the sudden possessiveness that gnawed at him. He knew exactly what this gaggle of men was thinking. Hell, he could practically hear their collective speculations ringing in his ears. They wondered, as he did, how this ravishingly attractive female would look in the altogether.

When Sarah stepped into the restaurant and disappeared from sight, hungry male gazes lingered on the empty space she’d occupied, and whimsical sighs caused a warm draft to whisper through the lobby. Hell. A woman as bewitching as Sarah was definitely trouble, Cale mused as he descended the steps. He’d be asking for a barrel of it if he instigated the clever plan that had been buzzing around in his head since he awoke from his nap.

Cale wanted nothing more than to apprehend Otis Pryor, shut down that bastard’s illegal operation and seek personal revenge. The perfect solution to infiltrating Pryor’s stronghold in Cromwell, Texas, had hit him like a bolt from the blue. It was an ingenious cover—if he could convince Sarah to participate in the sting. In hopes of gaining her cooperation, Cale had devised a tempting incentive while he dressed for supper.

His thoughts trailed off when he entered the restaurant to see Sarah seated in the middle of the busy establishment, awaiting his arrival. Another unfamiliar sensation spiked through him as he strode forward. Despite all the male gazes focused on her, she was staring directly at him, as if he was the most important individual in the room.

Cale took a seat across from her and nodded a greeting when she forced a smile. He could tell she was apprehensive after the live grenade he’d dropped in her lap before she exited his room earlier. Judging by the look in her eyes and the pinched expression around her mouth, she’d reached a decision. He doubted she was comfortable with it, but she was determined to meet his demands, in exchange for his name on the marriage license.

“I took the liberty of ordering a steak for you. My compliments,” she said, doing a damn fine job of holding on to her composure.

“No, my compliments,” he contradicted as he leaned his elbows on the table and met her gaze directly. “That is, if you’ve decided to accept my terms.”

She tensed up and sucked in a deep breath that drew his betraying gaze to the rising swell of her breasts. After a moment her gaze dropped to the tabletop and she fiddled with the silverware. “Yes, I will agree to your terms, sir.”

Relief washed through Cale. If she was that determined to see this match made, even if it meant sacrificing something as personal and irreplaceable as her innocence, then he felt certain he could convince her to meet his new terms.

“The rules have changed slightly since we last spoke,” he announced.

Her chin came up and her entrancing eyes narrowed warily. “I cannot fathom what other personal sacrifices you expect me to make, other than the one I’ve already agreed to, sir,” she said through clenched teeth. “It doesn’t get more personal than that!”

There was spunk, spirit and a hint of temper behind her words, he noted. He liked that. Women without backbone bored him to tears. This little lady could be pushed around a bit, but she refused to be shoved.

“First off, Miz Magnolia, I told you to drop that suh business,” he said, emphasizing her drawling accent. “Secondly, you can keep your money and forgo the wedding night.”

Her delicately arched brows shot up like exclamation marks and her jaw dropped. She stared at him in wide-eyed dismay. “Am I to understand that you won’t marry me then?”

Her voice rose steadily, drawing the attention of the other patrons in the restaurant. All eyes zeroed in on them, as if they were specimens under a microscope. Cale swore under his breath when the room became dead silent. Well, hell. So much for keeping rumors and speculations to a minimum.

Cale draped his arm over the back of the chair and twisted sideways to address the attentive crowd. “My fiancée,” he announced, gesturing toward his flush-faced companion. Several startled gasps broke the silence. “Does anybody here have a problem with that?”

Dozens of curious gazes swung to Sarah. Cale said, “Go ahead. Tell ’em, Miz Magnolia. Then maybe we can all get on with supper.”

Her face turned crimson, but he had to give her high marks when she tilted her head to a proud angle and tossed her very radiant—and very convincing—smile around the room. “It’s true that Mr. Elliot and I plan to marry very soon.”

More dead silence. Cale knew what the onlookers were thinking—the same thing he’d thought when she’d proposed to him. Why would a lady of obvious quality and refinement want to hitch herself to an unsociable half-breed gunfighter when she could take her pick from the cream of the aristocratic crop?

To Cale’s amazement, Sarah defended him when the crowd of inquisitive patrons glanced distastefully at him. “Cale Elliot is my perfect match,” she declared with absolute certainty. “I am honored and proud to become his wife. In fact, there isn’t another man on the face of this earth who would suit me better.”

Cale slumped back in his chair, as stunned as the rest of the owl-eyed patrons. She didn’t have to go that far. Why had she?

Suddenly, folks were staring at him, as if trying to determine what hidden qualities she saw in him that they’d obviously overlooked. It made him squirm uncomfortably to be the subject of such deliberate concentration.

Hanna smiled in amusement when the big, brawny bounty hunter shifted awkwardly in his chair. Her glowing accolades had unsettled him. Apparently he wasn’t accustomed to having his praises sung.

Although Hanna had no idea what new stipulations he’d decided to place on the bargaining table, her opinion of him had escalated the moment he’d announced he wasn’t forcing her to share a wedding bed and that no money would exchange hands. No matter what he asked, she’d agree, she decided instantly. Well, short of shooting someone for him, that is.

“Now that we’ve cleared the hurdle of announcing our engagement, what are these new stipulations?” she asked. “I…”

Her voice evaporated when the buxom waitress set two platters of steaks, fresh bread, beans and fried potatoes on the table. Hanna glanced at Cale, anxiously awaiting his reply.

He leaned forward, his whiskered face set in a serious expression. “I want you to pretend to be my loving wife for a month.”

Hanna frowned dubiously. Maybe she’d been too hasty in complimenting him in front of the crowd. Had she just agreed to forgo one night of unwanted intimacy for an entire month of it? “I don’t understand what you’re implying.”

Cale sighed audibly. “Look, Miz Magnolia—”

“The name is Sarah Rawlins,” she corrected tersely.

“No, it isn’t. I’m not as ignorant as I look. And until you trust me enough to divulge your real name it’s gonna be Miz Magnolia, so you better get used to it.”

“Very well, Mr. Elliot,” she drawled excessively. “Now about these new terms.” So as not to appear overly apprehensive, she plucked up her knife and fork and began whittling away at the thick steak.

“Here’s the deal,” he began, glancing around to ensure he wasn’t overheard. “I need a cover to track down my half brother’s killer. I recently learned that Otis Pryor has established a stronghold in Texas and he’s paid off the local authorities. If I ride in as a deputy marshal I’ll probably get my head blown off before I can serve a warrant for Pryor and his army of ruffians.”

Good gad! He did want her to shoot someone for him. Hanna gaped at him in astonishment, her fork poised inches from her open mouth. “You want me to kill him when he least expects it?” she chirped.

Cale camouflaged a bark of laughter behind a cough. Nonetheless, he drew considerable attention. “Hell, no. I plan to establish myself as a shopkeeper. I figure that with my knowledge of weapons I can pass myself off as a gunsmith, change my appearance and polish my manners so Pryor won’t be suspicious of my arrival in town. That’s where you come in.” He paused to take a bite of juicy steak.

“Go on,” she encouraged him. “What’s to be my role in this scheme?”

“You travel with me across Indian Territory with the wagonload of weapons to stock the store. During our journey I’ll teach you the skills you’ll need to survive in the West.”

Hanna smiled agreeably. “I find no fault with that. I’m aware that I have a lot to learn if I’m to become as self-sufficient and capable as you.”

“In exchange for my expertise, I want your expertise,” he insisted.

She frowned, befuddled. “I have no expertise. Heavens, I’ve never been allowed to explore my potential talents.”

Cale smiled at her and she felt a peculiar flutter in her chest. The man was almost attractive when he smiled, even with all that facial hair concealing his features. “You have more skills than you can imagine,” he said. “You possess the social graces and refinement I lack when it comes to fitting into society. I need to learn to fit in.”

The way he said it touched her heart. She, because of her wealth and the prestige of her family name, had been automatically accepted. But Cale’s background and occupation made him a social pariah. It wasn’t fair, but Hanna had learned long ago that life wasn’t necessarily fair.

“I’ll teach you to be a capable survivor if you’ll teach me to be a gentleman,” he continued. “Plus I’ll be your personal bodyguard during the trek through the wildest country you’ve ever encountered.” He stared at her grimly. “I won’t lie to you, Miz Magnolia. The journey through Indian Territory won’t be a Sunday stroll through the park. We’ll be traveling through rugged terrain. We’ll encounter bears, mountain lions and poisonous snakes—the worst of them being the two-legged variety. We’ll be camping out in the open most nights, subjected to inclement weather and possible attack. But you have my vow that I’ll protect you with my life, if you agree to this charade.”

Hanna swallowed uneasily. He wasn’t painting a pretty picture here. Perhaps she’d been too hasty when she decided to head west to claim her independence. Maybe she should’ve lost herself in the bustling crowds of Philadelphia, Boston or New York.

Yet this man claimed he’d take a bullet for her, if need be. Hanna had never experienced that brand of protective loyalty and devotion. Where she came from, her physical appearance—which she had nothing whatsoever to do with—elegant wardrobe, social status and wealth, drew empty pledges that were quickly given and hastily forgotten when an easier target and better opportunity arose.

Hanna’s respect for Cale rose another notch. She had the instinctive feeling that she’d finally met a man she could trust not to betray her or forsake her. They would both benefit from this bargain. She’d have a private chaperon, a tutor and bodyguard to accompany her to Texas. He would benefit from her social skills and her charade as his wife while he investigated his brother’s death. Although Cale hadn’t offered the gory details surrounding his brother’s demise, this was vitally important to him—as important as her need for freedom.

Cale wanted to ensure justice was served. Hanna didn’t blame him. She knew how much it hurt to lose a loved one, having lost her mother and brother—the two people in this world who actually cared about her. Having endured the heart-wrenching emotion of personal loss, Hanna had vowed never to let anyone close enough to subject herself to that kind of anguish again.

In Cale’s case, it must be a hundred times worse, knowing his brother’s murderer was running loose, preying on other innocent victims.

Cale stared at her solemnly, intently. “Furthermore, I agree to release you from our bargain the minute I apprehend Otis Pryor. You’ll be free to go your own way. I don’t need your money because I’ve stockpiled my own savings in the local bank.”

“My offer still stands,” she insisted. “If you intend to buy inventory for your store and rent space, you might need the extra funds. We’ll both need a suitable wardrobe to play this charade. I brought along only a few changes of clothes in my satchels.”

He nodded pensively. “Good point, Miz Magnolia. I hadn’t considered those details. So…do we have a bargain or not?”

Hanna peered at the sinewy hulk of man sitting across from her. She’d have to wait another month or two to enjoy her freedom, but it lessened the load that weighed down her conscience. This symbiotic liaison would be equally beneficial, and she hadn’t had to resort to her father’s manipulative methods to get her way.

She still wasn’t quite clear on exactly what Cale meant by “portraying the loving wife,” but she’d heard it whispered by her friends that feigning headaches, various illnesses and monthly feminine conditions worked effectively in holding amorous husbands at bay. Surely Cale wouldn’t want to upset her by forcing unwanted intimacy on her, since he desperately needed her cooperation in this masquerade to avenge his brother’s death.

Why, she could drop the entire charade at any moment, she realized. Then where would he be? For once she had the power to control the situation. He needed her, she realized, with an unfamiliar sense of pride and gratification. She’d been used before, plenty of times. Men perceived her only as a means to obtain wealth, as a prestigious trophy to drape on their arms. She’d never really been needed for a higher purpose.

My, that was something, wasn’t it? This self-sufficient, highly skilled gunfighter needed her, as much as she needed him. Hanna was firmly convinced now that fate was smiling down on her. Furthermore, if she succeeded in transforming Cale into a gentleman, she wouldn’t have to fret about her illogical attraction to him evolving into deep attachment. She, after all, disliked polished gentlemen, and she’d become immune to their practiced charm. The way she saw it, her bargain with Cale placed her in a no-lose situation. The man and this arrangement were positively perfect.

“Very well,” she said decisively. “We have a bargain. The sooner we’re married the better. In addition, you’ve mastered your first social skill, sir.”

“Yeah? What’s that?” he asked curiously.

“You managed to conduct a civilized conversation that lasted more than a minute.”

She smiled and he smiled back. Another unfamiliar sensation flooded her chest when his onyx eyes sparkled with amusement. It was as if they’d just formed an unlikely bond and cleared another hurdle in their negotiations. The expression of relief that settled on his rugged features must surely have mirrored her own sentiments. The bargain was set. Excitement and anticipation sizzled through Hanna.

She was one step closer to casting off the yoke of her father’s domination and embracing her promising future.

All she had to do was fight her way through an infestation of outlaws and renegades in the wild, untamed territory that was known as the Armageddon of the West. She’d do her part to aid in the capture of a notorious murderer and his army of ruthless desperadoes.

And then she’d be home free….

Good gad! What was she getting herself into?

Chapter Four

Hanna awoke the next morning teeming with excitement and anticipation. She was anxious to gather supplies that would aid in her quest to discover her hidden talents. With a tidy roll of cash stashed in her reticule, she opened the hotel room door, then smiled in greeting when Cale’s door opened a moment later.

“Good morning,” she said cheerfully. To her dismay his penetrating gaze drifted over her pale blue gown and lingered on the gold locket around her neck. She thought she looked passable in her simple gown, but apparently he disagreed.

“Take Skeet with you,” he said without preamble as he clutched her arm to assist her down the steps.

“That isn’t necessary,” she insisted. “I’m only going to pick up a few gowns and supplies at the general store.”

“Skeet, guard,” Cale ordered the menacing-looking dog, which reminded Hanna more of a wolf than a domesticated canine. “I’ll purchase the buckboard and trail rations for the trip while you’re shopping. I’m due to testify in court this afternoon, so I’ll speak with Judge Parker about the ceremony.”

Another surge of excitement washed through her as she descended the steps. Considering Cale’s swift efficiency, she might be wed within a few days—making her untouchable to her father. The prospect filled her with elation and she smiled.

“You look mighty pleased with yourself, Miz Magnolia,” Cale noted, studying her intently. “Any particular reason why?”

It was on the tip of her tongue to reveal her true identity and the reason for her excitement, but caution bade her to bide her time. She’d tell Cale everything he wanted to know after she had the marriage license in hand.

“I’m eager for our wedding.” It was the truth—sort of.

“Eager to marry me?” He scoffed. “I doubt it.”

Hanna halted abruptly on the landing. “Now, see here, Mr. Elliot, I will not have you putting yourself down in my presence. I don’t care what anyone in this town—or this entire country, for that matter—thinks. You are the perfect husband and I want you to be mine!”

Cale blinked in surprise when she emphatically defended his worthiness for the second time. Damn, if this mere wisp of a female didn’t make him feel good about himself.

He stared at her uplifted chin, then his traitorous gaze drifted over the scooped-neck bodice of her gown and the trim indentation of her waist. She was such a tempting morsel—which was why he insisted on sending Skeet along as a bodyguard.

The woman didn’t seem to have a clue how much trouble she could get into just tramping down the streets of this rowdy town. If any man tried to lay a hand on her, Skeet would make him back off—or risk losing a few fingers.

“I’ll meet you back here for lunch,” Cale instructed as he escorted her down the last flight of steps. “In the meantime, pay attention to your surroundings. Got it?”

When she laid her hand on his arm and smiled up at him, Cale steadied himself against the baffling sensations her touch evoked. Her skin was as smooth as alabaster and his was as rough as alligator hide. That was just another reminder of the polar differences between them. And if she didn’t stop reaching out and touching him unexpectedly he wouldn’t be able to keep his mind on business.

Bottom line—this woman’s touch affected him. She affected him. Keeping his vow to bypass a wedding night was going to be torture, pure and simple.

Of course, Miz Rawlins from N’Awlins had a noticeable effect on all men, Cale decided as he stared at the male crowd that hovered by the door—with their tongues hanging out and their leers directed at his future bride.

“It’s so sweet of you to fret about me,” she said, totally oblivious to the gaggle of men gawking at her.

“I’m a long way from sweet,” he snorted. “No one has ever used that word to describe me before.”

“Then they obviously don’t know what a fine man you are,” she insisted. “But I can take care of myself. Truly.”

That, he thought, remained to be seen. Cale placed his hand possessively on the small of her back to guide her through the raft of men staring at her as if they’d never seen a woman before. Certainly not one as refined and bewitching as this one.

He inwardly groaned when they stepped outside to find another congregation of men waiting to feast their eyes on the newest arrival. Apparently the news of Sarah Rawlins’s heart-stopping good looks had spread through Fort Smith like wildfire. Hell, it’d be a full-time job watching over her. Cale was definitely going to dress her in oversize buckskins and a hat to disguise her gender during their trek through Indian Territory.

When they parted company, Skeet trailed at her heels. Cale watched a dozen male gazes follow the hypnotic sway of her hips. Possessiveness slammed him broadside again, but he told himself to get past it. This wouldn’t be a true marriage, after all. It wasn’t a marriage of convenience, either, because there would be nothing remotely convenient about having Sarah underfoot. She’d be an invitation for trouble and the worst personal temptation imaginable if Cale didn’t make her look like a boy—from a distance. Up close, there was no question that she was all woman.

Adding suitable clothing for Sarah to his own list of purchases, Cale strode off to the blacksmith’s shop to modify a wagon with a false bottom to conceal his shipment of weapons. No way was he going to advertise the fact that he was hauling enough guns and ammunition to equip a small army. He wanted to project the appearance of two travelers laden down with household supplies. That in itself was temptation enough for the swarm of thieves that lurked in Indian Territory.

Cale sighed in frustration as he strode into the livery stable. He had the unmistakable feeling that, despite all the experience he had under his belt, wedding Sarah and toting her across rough country was going to be the most difficult task he’d ever undertaken. And even though she kept insisting that he was perfect for her, Cale didn’t believe it. He’d never believe it, because he knew who and what he was—and so did everyone else around these parts.

He suspected she’d lose most of her cheery idealism after their rugged trek to Texas. Miz Magnolia didn’t know it yet, but she was on a collision course with reality. A damn shame, that, he mused. He wished the world was as rosy, noble and embracing as she wanted to think it was.

Hanna scurried around the general store like an enthusiastic child on a limitless shopping spree. Already she’d grabbed two sensible gowns off the rack, gathered art supplies, knitting needles, yarn, two bolts of fabric, parchment and charcoal pencils—in order to pursue her quest for her hidden talents. When she discovered her potential—whatever it might be—she was going to be prepared.

“Anything else, miss?” the shopkeeper questioned as he eyed her copious purchases curiously.

Hanna was certain the proprietor considered her frivolous and eccentric, but for the first time in living memory she didn’t have to explain herself to her father or anyone else. “No, this will be all,” she said most politely.

Hanna handed over the cash after the frizzy-haired man totaled her expenses. She scooped up the armload of packages and spun toward the door. Skeet waited just outside, and she swore the wolflike creature scowled in displeasure at her for separating him from his beloved master.

Honestly, there was no need for Cale’s precaution, she mused as she strode down the uneven boardwalk, leaving Skeet to sniff at whatever had caught his attention. No one was going to molest her right here in broad day—

Her thoughts scattered like buckshot when an unseen fist clamped around her elbow and forcefully jerked her into the alley. Before Hanna could let out a shriek, a grimy hand curled around her nose and mouth, cutting off her air supply. Terror pulsed through her veins when she glanced sideways and recognized the scruffy ruffian who had approached her on the docks. Hanna kicked and squirmed when the man wrapped an arm across her chest and dragged her deeper into the shadows.

Where was that blasted dog when she needed him? Moments earlier he’d only been a few steps behind her. Well, Hanna decided, it was time to prove she could fend for herself. She dropped her packages and bit a chunk out of the man’s finger. Simultaneously, she kicked her heel against his shin. Her abductor howled and cursed foully, but he refused to remove his hand from her mouth, so she bit down even harder on his finger.

“Argh!” Her captor yelped as he shoved her roughly against the side of the building. Trash barrels tumbled, and Hanna hit the dirt with a dull thump as he heaved her away from him.

Her breath gushed out in a whoosh as her head and spine slammed against the clapboard walls. She tried to scream before he pounced at her, but he’d knocked the breath clean out of her. No sound escaped her lips except a feeble whimper. And then he was upon her, backhanding her before he jerked her to her unsteady feet.

Finally Hanna managed to gather her wits and expel a bloodcurdling scream with Skeet’s name attached to it. The inhuman snarl from behind her gave her hope, but the burly brute had ripped the bodice of her gown and left it gaping before the wolf dog lit into him with teeth bared.

Suddenly it was her captor who was squealing like a stuck pig, fending off a vicious attack. Hanna, clutching her torn gown, braced herself against the wall and screamed for all she was worth. In fiendish horror she watched the dog—which she suddenly loved dearly—make short shrift of her abusive attacker.

As Hanna pressed a shaky hand to her stinging cheeks, she swore she’d never again be so naive and trusting when Cale warned her of potential danger. She’d probably gotten exactly what she deserved for not paying attention, but she was ever so glad Cale had insisted on sending along Skeet.

Cale jerked to attention when he heard a piercing shriek in the distance. He dropped the piece of lumber and dashed from the livery. Sarah was in serious trouble. The second shriek put him in a dead run, and he accidentally knocked bodies out of his way as he tore off down the street.

It had been years since Cale had dealt with the sensations of panic and fear. He’d mastered those emotions, but fear for someone other than himself was totally unfamiliar. He didn’t like the feeling that had his pulse hammering like hailstones, his gut twisting into a tight knot.

When he heard a vicious growl and a wail of pain, he elbowed through the crowd of onlookers and dashed through the trash-strewn alley. His legs suddenly refused to move when his gaze landed on Sarah, whose flawless face now boasted a red welt and whose delicate gown had been ripped from neck to waist.

Cale was still standing there, immobilized, when Sarah spotted him. She dashed toward him like a homing pigeon going to roost. She cuddled against his chest, and his arms reflexively closed around her. He felt her quaking fear vibrating through every fiber of his being.

“Call off Skeet,” she croaked.

“Not in this life,” Cale growled as he watched Skeet pin his victim to the dirt, his powerful jaws resting threateningly against the man’s jugular. Any heathen who laid his filthy hands on Sarah deserved to be chewed to bitesize pieces.

“Skeet, stop!” Hanna demanded as she huddled against Cale.

Amazingly, the dog unclamped his jaws and stood over the man, with his sharp teeth mere inches from his throat. Bemused, Cale arched a brow. It was the first time Skeet had obeyed a command from anyone but him. Must’ve had something to do with the fact that Sarah had tucked the uneaten portion of her supper steak in her purse and left it for Skeet the previous night, Cale decided.

“Somebody get the town marshal,” he ordered. “Now!”

Bodies scattered while Skeet stood guard, refusing to let the miscreant gain his feet and run for his life.

“Damn it, woman, didn’t I tell you to pay attention?” Cale snapped angrily.

Sarah nodded her tousled head, but refused to look up at him. He didn’t blame her. He was feeling positively murderous and probably looked it.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t think—”

“Obviously not,” he interrupted sharply. This was a good time to teach her a valuable lesson that she damn well better not forget. “You don’t trust anyone if you want to survive. You presume nothing. You remain on constant alert. Have I made myself clear?”

She jerked back slightly and glared up at him. When he saw the red welt on her cheek at close range and noticed the extent of the damage to the gown she clutched modestly to her chest, the damnedest thing happened. The vicious fury drained right out of him. Just like that. Poof! Suddenly it didn’t matter that this naive innocent hadn’t applied every precautionary measure that had become second nature to him. All that mattered was that she was alive and in one piece—more or less.

“Well, hell,” Cale muttered as he noticed the unshed tears glistening in those mystifying violet eyes. He slid his arm beneath her knees and scooped her into his arms.

“Put me down! I—”

“Clam up, Magnolia,” he interrupted as he carried her through the crowd of onlookers. “Skeet, stay.”

Without another word Cale strode toward the hotel, and he didn’t break stride until he reached his room. Propriety be damned, he decided. He was going to deposit Sarah in his bedroom, and nobody better mess with her again or he’d go on a shooting spree the likes of which this town had never seen!

It dawned on Cale that he’d gone a little crazy, was feeling off balance and out of control. But he didn’t care. Any man who would abuse a woman deserved to be poisoned, shot, stabbed and hanged in short order. It had been a sensitive issue with him since his—Well, for a long time. ’nuff said.

Cale laid Sarah gently on his bed, then forced himself to look away when his gaze dropped to the exposed swell of her breasts. She clutched at the tattered bodice and her face turned the same color as the welt on her cheek. Cale wheeled around to grab a towel, then dipped it in water.

“Here, Magnolia,” he said as he sank down on the edge of the bed. “Hold this to your cheek. I’ll fetch you another dress.”

“Th—thank you,” she stammered shakily. “I—I’m really sorry I’ve inconvenienced you.”

Well, there was another first, he realized as he stalked across the hall to retrieve the lavender gown that was draped over the end of her bed. No one had ever apologized for inconveniencing him and scaring him half to death before. He snatched up the garment and quickly reversed direction.

“Put this on while I retrieve Skeet.” He jerked his pistol from its holster and his knife from its sheath on his thigh. He laid both weapons beside her. “Anybody comes through that door besides me, you shoot ’em, and stab ’em a couple of times for good measure. I’ll be right back.”

She stared at the weapons with rounded eyes, then peered up at him.

“And don’t tell me you can’t or won’t shoot,” he demanded gruffly. “You’ll do what you have to do to protect yourself and that’s that.”

Cale wheeled around and marched out the door. Once he was in the hall, he sucked in a deep, steadying breath, and told himself to calm down. It was easier said than done. In the last quarter of an hour something had shifted and resettled inside him. He couldn’t put a name to it. Wasn’t sure he wanted to.

Hell and damnation, his brief association with the mysterious Miz Magnolia was altering his life in ways he hadn’t anticipated. He couldn’t deal with her without being affected by her. Furthermore, he’d only had to worry about protecting his own hide for years. Now he was saddled with an incompetent female who naturally attracted trouble and didn’t know how to handle it effectively.

He had to be capable enough to protect her, as well as himself. Yep, he decided on his way down the steps. He definitely had to teach that helpless female several self-defense maneuvers or he wouldn’t be able to sleep at night, wondering who’d be waiting to molest her when she struck off on her own in the West.

His life had suddenly become complicated, he realized, as he hiked off down the street to collect his dog and ensure that Sarah’s attacker was carted off to jail.

Hanna levered herself onto a wobbly elbow, then pushed upright to shed her torn gown. The delighted anticipation of gathering supplies had been ruined by the unexpected attack. But what disturbed her most was the way she’d flung herself into Cale’s arms the instant he arrived on the scene of disaster. For some reason she was embarrassed to have a man as capable and self-reliant as Cale Elliot witness her incompetence. Why that should matter so much Hanna didn’t know. But it did matter—a lot.

When Cale came through the door with Skeet on his heels and his arms laden with packages, Hanna braced herself for another scathing lecture. To her amazement Cale didn’t light into her. He simply struck a rigid pose beside the bed, stared down at her with those eyes that were the color of the sky between midnight and dawn, and said, “I made arrangements for your meal to be brought up to you. If you’ll meet me at the courthouse after supper the judge can perform the ceremony.”

“Today? Really?” she squeaked in amazement.

He nodded briskly. “That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

That was exactly what Hanna wanted. She just hadn’t expected to have her whim met so quickly. But then she reminded herself that she was going to marry a man who was expedient efficiency at its finest. It was a trait she greatly admired. Someday she hoped the same could be said about her.

She stared quizzically at Cale when he reached out, as if to brush a recalcitrant strand of hair away from her face. He apparently changed his mind at the last moment, and his hand dropped to his side. The near gesture spoke of tenderness and comfort that she hadn’t expected from him.

Cale stared at the air over her head. “Maybe you should catch a nap, Magnolia. I’ll leave Skeet here to accompany you to the courthouse.”

When he pivoted on his heel, Hanna stared at his broad muscular back. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For not raking me over live coals for my stupidity,” she murmured.

He glanced over his shoulder, making her squirm beneath that probing gaze that never failed to unnerve her. “Who ordinarily rakes you over live coals?”

He was prying again, and she couldn’t bring herself to tell him who she was just yet. “I’ll answer all your questions later,” she promised.

“After the deed is done?”

She tried to smile, but the puffy welt on her cheek made it a mite painful. “Precisely. When I marry you my troubles will be over.”

“And mine will have just begun,” he murmured on his way out the door.

Cale was decidedly uncomfortable with the emotions this dainty female aroused in him. This morning she’d touched his hand and insisted he was an honorable, worthy man—despite what the rest of the world thought of him. Then she’d scared him witless when she was attacked and mauled. Then he’d almost made the crucial mistake of touching her consolingly a moment earlier, as if there was an affectionate bond between them.

Hell, who was he kidding? He was just a means to her mysterious end, and he’d bargained to make her a means to his personal brand of justice. Don’t get sentimentally attached, Cale cautioned himself as he set off to tend his errands. His association with Miz Magnolia would last only a month—two at the most. He’d exchange survival skills for polished etiquette, and she’d go her way while he went his. End of story.

He had to quell these fits and starts of lust that kept lambasting him at unexpected moments. A deal was a deal, after all. Having her come running to him for comfort and protection had been hard on his blood pressure—and certain parts of his anatomy. She might be his wife after supper, but she was still off-limits, he reminded himself sternly. And if he had a brain in his head he wouldn’t let himself forget that, no matter how much he wanted to touch and taste and hold.

In name only, he mused in frustration. Helluva deal he’d made, wasn’t it?

Hanna awakened with a jolt and glanced apprehensively around the room, trying to orient herself to her surroundings. The instant she saw Skeet napping beneath the table, the unnerving incident in the alley came back in a rush.

Rolling off the bed, she knelt in front of the wolflike dog, which bared his teeth at her. “I know you don’t like me, Skeet, but I didn’t thank you properly for saving me.”

Although Cale had warned her not to make any sudden moves toward Skeet, she tried a new approach. She held out her hand, palm up, in front of his snout. The dog growled softly but didn’t snap. Hanna took that as a sign of progress. She didn’t try to touch Skeet, just left her hand dangling in midair until he took a cautious sniff.

After a moment she pushed to her feet and walked across the hall to retrieve the wedding gown she’d stuffed in one of her satchels.

Hanna dressed for her second wedding in less than a week. For certain, she was more enthused and eager than she’d been at the first one. Although she knew she didn’t mean anything to Cale, she wanted to look her very best. She’d chosen a gown with a low-cut neckline that buttoned down the front—to facilitate a quick change before she escaped through the church window and boarded the steamboat.

She tugged at the swooping neckline, but it didn’t help much. One gulping breath and her breasts would spill from the lacy confines. Well, she’d just have to remember not to breathe deeply until she shed this gown.

Once she had her hair pinned atop her head in a fashionable coiffure, she assessed herself in the mirror. She’d likely be overdressed to marry a man who preferred buckskins and moccasins. But he was doing her a tremendous favor, and she intended to acknowledge it by dressing like a proper bride.

Hanna was dismayed to note the welt on her cheek had turned black-and-blue. She dabbed on some powder to hide the bruise as best she could. Shoulders squared, head held at a determined angle, she marched toward the door, then yelped when Skeet sprinted past her, knocking her off balance. She braced her hand on the wall to steady herself, then opened the door.

Skeet padded into the hall, glanced this way and that, then stared up at her as if to say the coast was clear. Hanna smiled on her way down the hall, remembering the lazy, worthless hound her father kept around as a prestige symbol. That purebred creature couldn’t hold a candle to Skeet. Just as she couldn’t hold a candle to Cale.

The discomforting thought caused Hanna to grimace. She would prove herself worthy and competent, she promised fiercely. She was not getting by in life on her looks, even if her father insisted that was all she needed to do. She was going to count for something—as soon as she had the opportunity to discover what she was good at.

“Miss Rawlins, you look enchanting,” James Jensen said as she descended the steps.

Hanna smiled gratefully as the hotel proprietor came around the counter to position himself between her and the crowd of men who loitered in the lobby.

“I must say, I didn’t quite believe the rumors flying around the restaurant last night, but despite what anyone says, you’ve chosen a fine man. The best, in fact,” James assured her.

“I couldn’t agree with you more,” Hanna replied.

“Er…even if this is rather sudden,” James murmured, “Um, all the same…”

She knew the hotel proprietor was dying of curiosity, fishing for an explanation for this whirlwind wedding. But Hanna was hesitant to confide the story to anyone. She simply smiled sweetly at James.

“I think you should know that a well-dressed, distinguished looking man named Richard Sykes, from the Pinkerton Detective Agency, questioned me two hours ago about a young lady who fit your description.”

The color drained from her face. Blast it! Her father hadn’t wasted a moment in sending out the troops. But then, she’d anticipated that. She just hadn’t expected to have Pinkerton bloodhounds on her trail this quickly.

James patted her clammy hand and veered down the hall. “Not to worry, my dear. I pleaded ignorance, but I doubt your secret will be safe for long.” He glanced pointedly at the crowd of men. “Cale left the buckboard by the back exit. There’s a young lad waiting in the alley to take you to the courthouse.”

Nodding appreciatively, Hanna exited and climbed into the wagon. Skeet hopped on to the wagon bed behind her. Apparently Cale was aware of the situation and wanted to transport her to the ceremony as discreetly as possible. She had the uneasy feeling he’d be full of questions when the ceremony ended—if he waited that long to demand answers.

An apprehensive sensation settled in the pit of her stomach while she was whisked down the alley at a hasty clip. For all she knew the agent could be watching for her, waiting to pounce. If the Pinkerton agent interrupted the wedding, her hopes of freedom would be dashed.

With a quick murmur of thanks, Hanna bounded from the buckboard and the young boy drove away. She moved swiftly toward the courthouse. Leaving Skeet to wait outside, she asked directions to Judge Parker’s chambers, then breathed a sigh of relief when she closed the door behind her. Now, if only Cale and the judge would show up so she could see this deed done quickly!

Hanna lurched around when the door swung open with a whine and an authoritative giant of a man with a tawny mustache, thick goatee and piercing blue eyes strode toward her. She smiled cordially as she extended her hand. “I’m marrying Cale Elliot,” she announced.

The judge’s stern expression softened and he chuckled as he took her hand. “So I’ve been told. Come with me, Miss Rawlins, and we’ll get the license in order before my deputy arrives.”

While the judge turned his back and thumbed through the desk drawer for the necessary legal papers, Hanna heard the door creak open again. She glanced over her shoulder to see a well-dressed gentleman wearing a fashionable bowler hat hovering in the shadowed alcove by the door.

Hanna panicked. The Pinkerton agent! Damnation, he’d found her before the ceremony could be concluded!

Her heart hammered frantically in her chest as she darted a sideways glance toward the window. That had been her escape route once before, and it might have to be again. Confound it! Where was Cale when she needed him?

While Judge Parker was preoccupied, Hanna inched closer to the window, keeping her back turned to the unidentified man. The click of footsteps crossing the judge’s chambers echoed like a death knell, causing another wave of anxiety to swamp her. The footfalls rang in her ears, bringing captivity one step closer.

Hanna fidgeted with the locket around her neck, seeking the comfort the object usually brought. She didn’t dare turn around and alert the Pinkerton agent that she was aware he was stalking her. All she had was the element of surprise on her side, and she wasn’t about to give that up.

The closer he came, the faster her heart pounded in her chest, making it difficult to draw breath. Hanna stared desperately at the latch on the window, trying to calculate the amount of time it would take to lift the sash, jump through, and make a mad dash for cover.

The hair on the back of her neck stood on end when the footsteps halted close behind her. Now! the voice of survival screamed at her.

Hanna launched herself at the window, but a steely hand shot out to manacle her wrist, dragging her backward while she stared helplessly at her porthole of freedom. Hell and damnation, she’d been inches away from escape and now she’d be dragged back to her irate father and that stuffy Louis Beauchamp!

God help her!

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