The Bounty Hunter and the Heiress. Carol Finch
herself to look through him as if he wasn’t there.
When the grandfather clock chimed ten times, Eva glanced up. She tapped Lydia on the shoulder then urged her to her feet. “Why don’t you go upstairs and I’ll have a warm bath prepared for you. I need to go out for a while, but I’ll return shortly.”
Lydia levered herself upright and managed the faintest hint of a smile. “If you are off to shoot that lying scoundrel I’ll send you out with my blessing, but I know he’s headed toward Canyon Springs, and probably to parts unknown. Finding him will be next to impossible.”
“You’re right. I would like to shoot him a couple of times for hurting you,” Eva insisted. “It’s the only purpose the men in our lives can possibly serve. Target practice.”
Lydia snickered but her expression sobered when she surveyed the irreparable damage to her expensive gown. “This was to have been my wedding dress.”
“Burn it,” Eva recommended. “That’s what I did with the one I wore the last time I was with Felix Winslow. I imagined him in it while it burned to ashes.”
Lydia shrugged, and when Lydia trudged up the staircase, Eva sailed out the front door. She jogged down the street to the Philbert estate. Roger and Sadie Philbert—twin brother and sister—were her lifelong playmates and friends. The blond-haired, blue-eyed twosome was returning from a party and they stepped down from their coach just as Eva hurried up the flagstone driveway.
“Rather late to be gadding out in men’s breeches, isn’t it?” Roger teased as he appraised her unconventional attire.
Eva glanced down, having forgotten that she was still wearing the garments she had donned for horseback riding, while attempting to track down her missing sister.
She shrugged carelessly in response to Roger’s playful grin. “You know I’ve acquired the reputation of an eccentric and free spirit. Why not enjoy it?”
Sadie clasped Eva’s hand to lead her to the front steps. “We attended the Jensons’ stuffy dinner party. I’m sure you had a more interesting evening than we did.”
Eva knew Lydia would be mortified if news of her involvement with Gordon made the gossip grapevine so she waited until she and the Philberts were behind closed doors before she asked, “I want to hire the best bounty hunter in the business, a Mr. J. D. Raven, I believe is his name. How do I go about finding him?”
“Bounty hunter?” Roger and Sadie crowed simultaneously. “Are you mad?”
“No, only vindictive,” she said enigmatically.
Roger motioned for her to follow him into the office to ensure complete privacy. Then he gestured for Eva and his sister to take a seat on the brocade sofa. “What the devil is going on?”
Eva shrugged evasively. “The business I want to conduct requires the skills of a particular kind of man like Mr. Raven. He’s known to be the best and that’s who I want.”
“If you need assistance, why not call upon the Rocky Mountain Detective Agency?” Roger recommended. “You know they are reputable.”
Eva had considered it, but since local and state newspaper reporters constantly followed the detectives’ cases, she feared Lydia’s name might be leaked. The last thing she wanted was a public scandal. Her nineteen-year-old sister was too vulnerable and too sensitive to gossiping peers.
“I came here for information, Roger,” she declared, avoiding his direct question. “So how do I contact Mr. Raven?”
“I cannot begin to imagine what you are up to, but it sounds intriguing,” said Sadie, her blue eyes glinting with interest.
When Roger crossed his arms over his chest and clamped his lips together, Eva sighed impatiently. “If you won’t help me then I’ll try another source.”
When she bounded to her feet and headed to the door, Roger grumbled under his breath. “All right, Miss Persistence, I’ll tell you what you want to know. As luck would have it, J. D. Raven arrived in town earlier today,” he reported. “In case you haven’t heard, he’s half-Cheyenne, half-white. And yes, he’s said to be deadly accurate with every weapon imaginable. But he’s not the kind of man our friends and colleagues associate with directly.”
Eva flicked her wrist dismissively. “You know I refuse to follow the dictates of snobbish society. I associate with whomever I please. I want Mr. Raven because his success rate is legendary when it comes to tracking down men who don’t want to be found.”
“From what I heard at the party this evening, he showed up at Marshal Doyle’s jail with two of the three fugitives he’d been tracking,” Sadie declared.
“What happened to the other one?” Eva asked curiously.
“Dead and buried,” Roger replied. “According to rumor, Raven doesn’t place a cross on the graves, just an X so Indian deities and the Lord Almighty won’t have to bother with the sinners. Plus, he plants them in the ground, facing away from the rising sun.” He flicked his wrist casually. “I’m told it’s some sort of Indian tradition that eternally curses evildoers.”
“You are full of all sorts of helpful and interesting information,” Eva praised. “Do you also know where I can find this legendary avenger of injustice?”
“You should let me handle this,” Roger advised.
Eva shook her head decisively. “This is a private matter and I will take care of it myself.”
His shoulders slumped and he shook his sandy blond head in defeat. “Fine, but you should go in disguise so you don’t cause a stir. The London House is the place where Raven roosts when he returns from his forays.”
“Thank you.” Eva grasped the door latch. “I might be out of town for a few days so please check on Lydia for me.”
Sadie frowned worriedly, but she said, “Of course, whatever you need. You know you can always count on us.”
When she opened the door to leave, Roger burst out indignantly, “You really aren’t going to tell us what this is about?”
“No, I’m sorry but I can’t right now. I’ll explain later,” she promised on her way out the door.
J. D. Raven collapsed on his bed, exhausted. He grabbed the bottle of whiskey he’d picked up in a saloon on his way over from Marshal Emmett Doyle’s office. He expelled a weary sigh and took a drink. The liquor burned its way down his throat to his belly then he took another sip.
He stared at the saddle and saddlebags he had tossed in the corner of his hotel room. “Damn sons of bitches,” he mumbled before he took another swig.
If life were fair, Buck—the best horse he’d ever had—would be brushed down, eating hay and resting comfortably in the livery stable right this moment. “But life sure as hell isn’t fair,” he said to the room at large. “I’ll drink to that.” And he did.
A firm rap on the door forced Raven to roll to his feet. “Who is it?”
“Emmett. I brought your bounty money.”
Just to be on the safe side, Raven grabbed his pistol, moved to the left of the door then peeked out to make certain it was the city marshal.
“Besides the bounty, I also have a word of warning for you,” Emmett said as he ambled inside. “Buster Flanders’s widow just stormed out of my office. She swears revenge after you killed her husband.”
“She wouldn’t be the first,” Raven murmured as he brushed his hand over the three-week growth of beard and mustache he hadn’t bothered to shave during the manhunt. “I’ve had lots of death threats.”
Emmett shrugged his thick shoulders. “Well, this woman says she intends to dance on your grave when you end up like her husband. She also wants to know where you planted Buster.”
“At