The Bounty Hunter and the Heiress Read Online Free PDF Page A

made them easy to flush out.
    When involved in a showdown, Raven had learned not to display the slightest fear or hesitation. And when he barked an order, he had to make it stick. Otherwise, his intimidating reputation was useless. Raven knew how to make orders and ultimatums stick and he had the souvenirs of battle scars to prove it.
    Just ask the man frying in hell after he put the whip marks on Raven’s back for no other reason except that he was half-native.
    Cold fury trickled down his spine at the thought, but he quickly shifted his attention to the cowering clerk. The man assumed he’d somehow offended him by permitting that female masquerading as a young boy to pay for the room.
    Raven fished a silver dollar from his pocket then tossed it to the clerk. “Thanks for the good night’s sleep. It was a long time in coming after sprawling on the ground while chasing down thieves for three weeks.”
    The balding clerk relaxed and smiled slightly. “My pleasure, Mr. Raven. I’ll pass along your kind words to the hotel owner.”
    â€œYeah, be sure to tell the Hallowells I enjoyed my stay,” he said and silently smirked as he envisioned the highfalutin family members who reportedly owned half of the damn town.
    â€œIt’s always good to have you stay here,” the clerk added. “Come back again.”
    Raven nodded before he walked outside. He was no fool. He knew exactly why the clerk at London House was eager to have him stay here. He had quelled three disturbances with drunken patrons during the past four months. Now there were no disruptions when word spread that he was renting a room here.
    A cynical smile quirked his lips when two prissy females reversed direction the instant they spotted him standing on the boardwalk. The fashionably dressed pair scurried off. Apparently, they had heard circulating legends. He had overheard the rumor that he was half-human and half-Cheyenne ghost spirit. Damn, where did whites come up with that superstitious nonsense?
    His smile faded as he carried his saddle with him to the restaurant to have breakfast. He noticed the manager opened his mouth to object, recognized him then turned away to speak confidentially with the waitress, who scurried over to take his order immediately.
    Raven ignored the stilted silence that descended on the café. He wondered if the mysterious woman, who had barged into his room the previous night, would be as well-received in her unaccepted attire as he was. He stuck out like a sore thumb—and on purpose. She would, too, if she removed her oversize hat and allowed those silky auburn curls to tumble around her alluring face.
    A knot of unwanted attraction tightened in his belly when the image of the fascinating woman who dared to visit his room sprang to mind. Hell, half the reason he had refused her request was that he felt an admiration and sexual interest that could have spelled trouble.
    J. D. Raven had one hard-and-fast rule. He never, ever became emotionally involved in a case. It was strictly business because anything less might make him hesitate, make him think with his heart, not his head. Like carelessness, distraction could get him killed before his time.
    After eating the hastily delivered breakfast Raven exited the restaurant, much to the relief of the proprietor and customers, he noticed. He halted on the boardwalk to survey Denver’s hustling, bustling citizens, who cast him cautious glances then hurried on their way.
    Above the clatter of wagons and carriages in the street, a train whistle pierced the morning air. Glancing absently toward the depot, Raven strode off to deposit his bounty money in the bank. Fifteen minutes later, he entered the dry goods store to replace the shirts damaged during his recent foray. In addition to ground-in dirt and mud stains—the result of wrestling Buster Flanders on the edge of a cliff—smears of blood and ripped fabric made the garment better