The Gunslinger and the Heiress. Kathryn Albright

Caleb even want to see her after all this time? She swallowed hard. Most likely he wouldn’t. It didn’t matter. It couldn’t. She’d made a promise to Grandfather. Although she might be skirting it a bit in contacting Caleb, she had to have an escort, and once she learned more of what had happened to the ships, Grandfather would understand—and hopefully forgive her. After all, he’d always put the business first in his life. Surely if she did the same, he could only be proud. She intended to keep her promise—a Lansing always kept a promise.

      The memory of Grandmother Rose’s thin, reedy voice trilling in her ear came to her. It is paramount that in all things your conduct be above reproach. You are a Lansing. Your reputation must be above speculation or gossip of any kind. Believe me, any correction or chastisement that I give will be minimal compared to what society will bestow. At the time, Hannah had chafed against the rules of etiquette. They’d felt like a binding, an iron corset. But now, hearing the raucous music from across the street, they felt safe and secure—something that framed her existence.

      She dropped the drapes into place and turned toward the small writing desk against the wall. First thing to do would be to send a missive to the port authority agent requesting an audience as soon as possible. Then a second note to the manager of the Hotel Del Coronado informing him she’d be present at the grand opening and would like a word with him. When Jackson brought her supper, she would give them to him for delivery by courier in the morning.

      After eating a succulent supper of lamb, she sat down again at the secretary. It was time she wrote a short letter to Grandfather. If she posted it tomorrow, it would take a week to arrive at the house in San Francisco. By that time, perhaps she would be heading home. He’d be angry when he learned of her quest—angry when he found out she’d left San Francisco—but if the end result were the answers concerning the ships’ disappearances...

      Putting the finished note aside, she stared at the new blank page in front of her. Time for one more note—and the most difficult. She swallowed hard and then picked up the fountain pen once more.

      Mr. Houston. I’m in town for a short visit. Please feel free to call this afternoon. Horton Hotel.

      Hannah Lansing

      Caleb fingered the impression in the wax seal—a curled, elaborate HKL. Leave it to a Lansing to use fancy paper. He read the note again. The Horton. Not the best, most expensive place in town but pretty near to it. And way too close for comfort. He glanced through the open doors of the saloon and across the wide, dusty street to the Horton’s entrance. Acid churned in his gut. Miss High and Mighty. What was she up to? They weren’t exactly on speaking terms any longer.

      “You say this arrived at noon?”

      “Seems I mentioned that.” Jim narrowed his gaze at Caleb’s tone. “It ain’t my job to come lookin’ for you. You’re good at makin’ yourself scarce. One minute you’re hunting quail up to Tecolote Canyon and the next thing I know you’re hauling in a string of fish.”

      Caleb ignored him. Right now, fishing off the point sounded like a fine place to be until Miss Lansing left town. Maybe he’d camp there.

      “Ain’t you goin’ to go see her?”

      In answer, Caleb walked around the counter and deliberately poured himself a shot of whiskey.

      “You’re not foolin’ me.”

      Caleb scowled. “Leave it, Jim. It’ll take a lot more than her crooking her finger for me to drop everything and look her up.”

      Jim shook his head as if Caleb were dense. “I’ll say it plain, then. You’re not one to drink this time of day, and suddenly a note from this woman has got you doing it.”

      Caleb looked at the amber liquid, swirled it around in the glass before shoving it toward Jim. “Save it, then.” Whatever Hannah wanted—if anything—she would have to ask a whole lot nicer for him to mosey over to her hotel. Pushing thoughts of her from his mind, he walked over to the Bradison brothers’ weekly poker game.

       Chapter Four

      Caleb stared at the fancy stationery as if it was a stray cat with a piece of dynamite strapped to its back. The envelope, all gussied up with a black satin ribbon, had arrived from the Horton just after supper. He’d been eyeing it for the better part of two hours. He should set fire to the thing, but another part of him wanted to march across the street and tear up the note in front of Her Highness, dropping the pieces at her royal feet. It wouldn’t appease what happened between them, or Dorian’s slight of Rachel and Stuart, but it would sure make him feel a sight better.

      Instead of taking either trail, he slid his pocketknife along the paper, breaking the ties, and opened the envelope.

      Mr. Caleb Houston,

      I find I am in need of your assistance. Please meet me at the Horton Hotel at your earliest convenience. The sooner the better.

      Your friend,

      Hannah Lansing

      Well. That was a sight more cordial than the previous note. So she needed his help—not that he planned to give it.

      His sister’s request nagged him. He didn’t want to “look out for Hannah.” He didn’t want to get that close. It would muddy things, and right now he was doing just fine with the line he’d drawn between them. But Rachel asked so little of him now that he was grown.

      Maybe a quick check wouldn’t hurt—just to appease his conscience. He’d only make sure she was safe and sound, send the information to Rachel and then go about his business.

      He had to admit, he was kind of curious as to what Hannah looked like now. How had the years changed her since she was sixteen? She’d been pretty back then—just starting to fill out. He couldn’t imagine her any more so. Too bad her beauty was only skin deep.

      He slipped off the bar stool.

      “Where you agoin’?” Jim asked, straightening.

      “Got a score to settle, and for the first time I’m holdin’ a full house.” He stuffed his arms into his leather jacket and straightened his collar. “Won’t take long. I’ll be back for some of Yin’s stew before Clyde plays another round on the piano.”

      He strode to the road, his gaze locked on the front door of the Horton. Two doors down a dog snarled from the shadows and then barked incessantly at a passing rider. Caleb shut out the sound, intent on getting his first look at the woman who had been the hull stuck between his molars for the past five years.

      He entered the hotel, absently noting the rich interior, and then without a pause in his steps, zeroed in on the front desk.

      The man behind the counter took one look at Caleb as he approached and raised his nose in the air—an interesting position since the clerk was the shorter of the two.

      “I’m lookin’ for Han—Miss Hannah Lansing,” Caleb said. Guess they weren’t on a first-name basis anymore. Not after the way things had set between them. The clerk muttered something about waiting while he notified her.

      Caleb sauntered over to the fireplace. A woman like her would take her time coming to see him, no matter that the meeting had been at her request. She’d make some kind of a grand entrance.

      The heat from the cracklin’ logs took the chill from the damp night air. He rubbed his hands together, blew on them a time or two and then turned around to give the same consideration to his backside. A flash of light glanced off his eye—light reflected off a woman’s dangling gold earrings.

      She spoke with the desk clerk. There hadn’t been enough time to fetch Hannah, so it couldn’t be her. This woman wore a quality deep red traveling suit that hugged her waist. A fancy matching hat, swathed with black netting and three large black feathers, hid her features, although