The Gunslinger and the Heiress. Kathryn Albright

He had believed what he’d felt in that kiss so many years ago. He wasn’t plannin’ on playing the fool a second time.

      “I’ll pay.”

      “Now, that sounds like something your grandfather would do. Why me? Why don’t you save some money and have your valet go with you? He’s already in your service.” He shoved on his Stetson. He’d heard enough. Too bad the only remembrance he’d have of her voice was this conversation. It left the taste of sour pickle juice in his mouth.

      “Double.”

      He paused.

      “I’ll pay you double what you make at the saloon.”

      A hint of desperation had crept into her voice. The money would come in handy, but it was something else that tugged at him, a feeling that there was more going on that she wasn’t saying.

      “Mr. Houston...I really want you to be the one escorting me.”

      Maybe he could make himself stand being near her in short doses—for the money—and because it would salve his conscience concerning his sister. “How long?”

      “Two days. All I need is two days of your time.”

      His gut told him to stampede for the door. He should listen to it.

      “Please? I really need your help.”

      There it was—she’d finally come around to asking him. Now was his chance to squash her the way she’d squashed him. So why wasn’t he throwing it back at her like he’d planned? “What time did you say this ribbon-cutting happens?”

      Something glimmered, lighting her eyes. Hope? “The ceremony starts at eleven.”

      “Guess I could see my way to doing it for the money. Long as we are clear on that.” At least that was what he was telling himself. “I’ll be by at ten.”

      “That will make us late.”

      “Half past nine, then.”

      She stretched out her hand. “Agreed.”

      He hesitated. It was how business deals were made, although usually it was man-to-man. Touching her seemed a might more personal than he wanted at the moment. He kept his hand stuffed in his pocket. “Agreed. Two days.”

      Slowly she pulled her hand back. “Yes. Thank you, Mr. Houston.” She turned toward the stairs.

      He could handle this. Two days would pass quick enough. Long as he kept the upper hand, it would be easy money. He could tell her off later. Feelin’ a bit ornery, he decided to let her know who was in charge. “Miss Lansing?” Her proper name rolled off his tongue easy enough.

      She stopped. “Yes?”

      “I’m not much for waiting.”

      A slight hesitation was the only indication he’d unnerved her before she replied, “Neither am I, Mr. Houston. I’ll see you in the morning.”

      She spun her trim backside on him and walked to the stairs. He watched the swaying movement of her burgundy skirt as she mounted each stair until she stepped out of sight on the landing. A queer feeling rolled in his gut that had nothing to do with the absence of food there.

      Turning toward the door, his gaze collided with the desk man’s. The man watched until Caleb stepped through the ornate entryway to the street and let out a long—long—breath.

      Heaven help him. Hannah was all grown up.