The Gunslinger Read online

  “You should have. Wounding him would have stopped him as effectively as killing him.”

  “Would have stopped him this week. But what about the next? Or the one after that? You protest and act disgusted as though I killed an innocent man. One of his boys held a gun to your brother’s temple. You think he wouldn’t have given the order to shoot?”

  Pressing a hand to her mouth, she spun around. Yes, he would have killed her brother to gain what he wanted from her. She pivoted back around. “Who are you to be judge, jury, and executioner?”

  “He knew my reputation. He drew first. If I’d wounded him, he would have come after me, and he would have seen to it the odds weren’t so even because then it would have been a matter of revenge. I learned the hard way to never leave a man who drew on me breathing, because he’ll find another time to draw on me—usually when my back is turned.”

  “How can you live like that?”

  Averting his gaze, he stood and reached for his shirt, but not before she caught a glimpse of loneliness reflected in his eyes. Grunting with his efforts, he pulled his shirt over his head. Without thought, she tugged the linen down and began to slip the buttons into place. She felt the touch of his gaze roaming over her face like a gentle caress. She didn’t move when he slowly lifted his hand. Tenderly, he cradled her cheek with a roughened palm that killed. She raised her eyes to his.

  “I remember you holding my hand, caressing my brow—”

  “I’d caress a snake to keep it from dying in my bed.”

  His unexpected smile sent unwanted shafts of pleasure swirling through her. It changed him, made him look not so harsh, made it easy to forget that he valued life so little.

  “You know the legend, lady, but you don’t know the man. And damn if I’m not tempted to introduce you to the man.”

  His nostrils flared, his lips parted as he lowered his mouth. She knew she should step away, but her feet were rooted to the spot like an ancient oak tree. He was wild and dangerous, everything she feared, all that she longed for. She welcomed the strength in his hand as he tilted her face, the yearning in his silver eyes, his breath wafting over her cheek as he neared.

  Thundering footsteps resounded through the house mere seconds before Toby burst into the room. “Riders are comin’!”

  Tenseness rippled through Wilder as he pierced her with his narrowed, suspicious gaze. She shook her head, knowing by his guarded expression what he was thinking. “I didn’t tell anyone you were hurt.”

  He snapped his attention to Toby. “How many?”

  “They’re workin’ up a cloud of dust. I couldn’t count ’em.”

  Chance released her, withdrew his gun with the hand that had just caressed her cheek, checked the bullets, and slipped it back into his holster. He grabbed his duster, grimacing as he maneuvered into it. He settled his hat low over his brow. “You and the boy stay inside. If bullets start to fly, take cover.”

  “Not every person is a threat.”

  “If I’m wrong, then you can invite them in for tea,” he growled as he stalked from the room. She heard the front door slam in his wake.

  “I don’t think he’s wrong, Lil,” Toby said.

  She slipped her arm around him. “You stay here. I’m going into the front room so I can see what’s happening.” As quietly as possible she left her bedroom, crept to the window that overlooked the porch, eased the blue gingham curtains aside and peered out. Wilder stood on the front porch, one hip cocked, his duster pulled back to reveal his gun. The riders drew their horses to a halt. One man urged his mount forward.

  “Are you Chance Wilder?”

  “Yep.” Wilder pulled a matchstick from his pocket and wedged it between his teeth.

  “They say you always work for the man with the best offer.”

  “That’s what they say,” Wilder replied.

  “Mr. Ward wants to see you up at his house.”

  Wilder withdrew the match from his mouth and pointed toward the corral. “I’d be obliged if one of your men would saddle my horse. It’s the dun-colored beauty.”

  Lillian sank to the floor, her heart thundering. She could think of only one reason why John Ward would seek an audience with Chance Wilder. He wanted to hire the man, and she knew he’d offer Wilder more than a harmonica, a bent coin, and a length of string.

  CHANCE’S SPURS JANGLED as he followed John Ward’s foreman through the sprawling ranch house to a room decorated with cow skulls and horns. A man in his mid-thirties glanced up from his chair behind a large oak desk. “Come in, Mr. Wilder, and have a seat.”

  Ignoring the chair set in front of the desk, Chance ambled to a leather chair that rested against the wall. He sat and casually crossed his foot over his knee, studying the man who was studying him. John Ward looked as though he’d earned his place in the world.

  “You’re dismissed,” he said to the foreman without taking his gaze off Chance. The foreman backed out of the room and closed the door behind him.

  “You were supposed to meet with me this afternoon,” Ward said.

  “Had something else to do.”

  A muscle twitched in Ward’s jaw. “Wade Armstrong worked for me.” He leaned forward. “I thought you did, too.”

  “I got a better offer.”

  Ward narrowed his blue eyes and set his mouth into a grim line. “I don’t take kindly to being betrayed. You and I had an understanding.”

  “I never commit myself to an offer until I get a lay of the land and a feel for the stakes involved. I spent two days riding your land. I can’t see that it’s hurting you not to have that little patch the woman’s living on.”

  “How in the hell do you think my mother feels knowing that her husband died in his whore’s bed?”

  Chance’s stomach knotted. Jack Ward had died in Lillian’s bed, in her arms? Something akin to jealousy shot through him at the thought. He knew what she was, but he hadn’t truly envisioned her in bed with the man, in the bed in which she’d tended his wound. “Make her an offer—”

  “My father gave her all she’ll ever get from the Wards. I want her and the boy run off that land, and if you won’t do it, I’ll find someone who will.”

  “Be sure that he’s as good as his reputation because he’ll have to get past me first.” Chance unfolded his body and strode from the room.

  Chapter 4

  WITH TREMBLING HANDS, Lillian dunked the plate into the bucket of hot water. Wilder had returned earlier, dismounted, and sank to the porch. He’d ordered Toby to see after his horse. She wanted to tell him to get back on his horse and ride out, but he’d gripped the railing post so tightly that his knuckles turned white, and she realized he wasn’t nearly as recovered as he’d led her to believe. His face had dripped sweat, and she’d seen the small tremors racking his body. She would have offered to help him if he hadn’t given her a steely glare. It was several long moments before he was finally able to pull himself to his feet and deposit his body in the chair on the porch.

  Frustrated, she returned to the kitchen to wash the dishes she’d let soak while he was gone. She heard Toby’s excited voice. He’d no doubt finished tending to the horse.

  She set the last dish aside. Wiping her hands on her apron, she walked quietly to the front doorway and gazed out. With three fingers curled against his palm, Toby pointed one finger and raised his thumb in the air.

  “Pow! Pow!” he cried, flinging himself to the ground and rolling like he’d seen the gunman do that first day in Lonesome. He jumped to his feet, a wide grin splitting his freckled face in two. “They didn’t shoot today ’cuz they was scared of you,” he said.

  “They weren’t scared of me, boy. They were scared of death,” Wilder drawled.

  “When I grow up, I’m gonna be just like you,” Toby said, his face beaming.

  Lillian’s throat tightened. She wanted Toby to have the influence of a man in his life, but not when that man was a cold-stone murderer.

  “You don’t want that, boy,” Wilder s
aid, and Lillian suddenly realized that he never called Toby by name.

  “Sure I do,” Toby said, easing nearer to the porch, his head bobbing. “I’ll be famous—”

  “What you’ll be … is staring down the road at a long stretch of lonesome,” Wilder said, his voice a deep rumble, but in the midst of it, Lillian thought she heard a sigh of regret.

  She stepped onto the porch. Wilder slid his gaze over to her. He’d removed his hat and the slight breeze toyed with the soft curls. Moving past him, she dropped onto the top step and regarded the horizon where the sun painted its farewell tapestry.

  “Where do you live?” Toby asked, inching forward on the balls of his feet.

  “Under the stars.”

  “Ain’t you got a house somewheres?”

  “Nope.”

  Toby darted a quick glance at Lillian before looking back at Wilder. She knew that her brother had always longed for a house instead of a room over a saloon. His dream brought her here, kept her here even when everyone wanted her to leave, even when she knew it would be so much easier to go.

  “How ’bout kids? You got kids?” Toby asked.

  “None that I know of.”

  Lillian felt the heat warm her cheeks as the image of this man in bed with a woman fluttered through her mind and took root. He wouldn’t be wearing his gun … or anything else for that matter. “Toby, you need to stop pestering Mr. Wilder.”

  “I ain’t pesterin’ him,” Toby protested. He angled his head and studied Wilder. “Am I?”

  Wilder shot a look at Lillian, and she realized she’d dug herself into a hole. She’d asked him not to encourage Toby. To fulfill her request, he’d have to hurt Toby’s feelings and tell him that he was a nuisance. Wilder squinted into the distance. “I’m just a little tuckered out.”

  “On account of you bein’ shot?” Toby asked.

  “Yeah.”

  Toby sat next to her. Digging his bony elbows into his skinny thighs, he leaned forward with a deep sigh to watch the sunset. Lillian turned to thank Wilder for sparing Toby’s feelings. A knot formed in her chest at the raw tenderness she saw reflected in his eyes just before he averted his attention away from her brother and stared again at the horizon. The loneliness he’d mentioned to Toby earlier was wrapped around him like a shroud. What would it be like to have no home, no family? As hard as things had been growing up, she’d always had the love of her mother, and now Toby’s unfettered devotion.

  “Is your shoulder hurting?” she asked.

  Remaining focused on the distance, he shook his head slightly. “Aches a little.”

  “Maybe we should put your arm in a sling, to ease the pressure on your wound.”

  He slid his penetrating, silvered gaze over to her. “It’s best not to care, lady.”

  She turned away, allowing the silence between them to thicken, the chasm to widen. The man who wore his reputation seemed so different from the one sitting on her front porch. She had not expected tenderness from a killer or a showing of respect for her wishes. He had never harmed her or Toby, but she couldn’t overlook the fact that he had hurt others.

  “Beautiful sunset,” he said quietly, with reverence.

  Lillian snapped her head around, unable to keep the surprise from reflecting in her voice. “I didn’t expect you to be a man who would notice—”

  “I notice everything, lady. It’s what’s kept me alive.” He leaned the chair back, resting his head against the wall. “Boy, if you decide to follow the path I’ve tread, you’ll need to learn that.”

  Toby swiveled his head around. “Learn what?”

  “To appreciate every minute you’re given. You never know which one will be your last.”

  Toby furrowed his young brow. “I figure the last one will come during a gunfight.”

  “The last one will come when you don’t expect it, when your back isn’t against a wall.”

  “You think someone would shoot you in the back?” Lillian asked.

  He shrugged.

  “How can you live always expecting to die?”

  “If I expect it, maybe it’ll be longer in coming.”

  “And what do you gain?”

  “Another sunset.”

  She turned away, not certain what to make of this man. Then Wilder began to play the harmonica. Its lowly strains floated around her, a seductive melody echoing loneliness. She felt a strong urge to reach out to him, but he’d chosen his path. The music faded into the silence as the sun disappeared and darkness blanketed the land.

  “Where did you get the mouth organ, boy?” Wilder asked.

  Toby twisted around. “It belonged to my pa. He carried it with him during the war.”

  “Where is he now?”

  “Dead.”

  Lillian wished that the night hadn’t turned Wilder into little more than a silhouette. She wanted to see his face, to know what he was thinking as he held her brother’s precious gift.

  “What about the string?”

  “Nothing special about it. Just figured you never know when you’ll need a length of string so decided it was a good thing to carry about. But the penny is a lucky penny. I put it on a railroad track and a train ran over it.”

  “You’re lucky the train didn’t run over you,” he said.

  “That’s what Lil said. That’s why it’s a lucky penny.”

  Lillian heard Wilder’s low chuckle. She stared through the darkness. She had said those exact words to Toby. The knowledge that she and Wilder would have similar thoughts unsettled her. She rubbed Toby’s shoulder. “Need to get yourself ready for bed.”

  “But it ain’t late.”

  “It’s late enough for you.”

  With a disgusted sigh, he scrambled to his feet and onto the porch.

  “Here, boy.”

  In the shadows, she was able to make out Wilder extending the harmonica.

  “That’s yours now,” Toby told him.

  “I figure I’m alive because you talked your sister into tending my shoulder. This is payment.”

  Toby snatched it out of his hand and held the harmonica to his mouth. His quick burst of air sent a squeaky noise into the night. As he walked into the house, more followed.

  “He’s a good kid,” Wilder said quietly.

  “He has a name,” she snapped. “It’s Toby.”

  “You call a person by name, it makes it harder to forget him.”

  “What about the people you killed? Did you know their names?”

  “Some of them.”

  She moved her feet up to the next step and wrapped her arms around her drawn-up knees. She thought she might actually like the man if he had chosen a different occupation. “How much was Ward going to pay you?” she asked softly. When his answer was silence, she glanced over her shoulder, pinning him with a glare. “He is the one who brought you to Lonesome, isn’t he?”

  “No, lady. You’re the one who brought me to Lonesome.”

  Her heart pounded frantically against her ribs with the confirmation that she was the person he’d come to kill. “How much did he offer?”

  “Ten thousand,” he said quietly.

  “That’s a lot of money.”

  “Sure is, and he’s gonna offer it to someone else. Whether you want to admit it or not, lady, you need me.”

  “I don’t need you. We have a sheriff who is paid to protect the citizens of Lonesome.”

  “And where was he the other day?”

  Unexpectedly in need of comfort, she hugged herself as she struggled to find an explanation for the sheriff’s absence. Surely he wasn’t abandoning her as well. She’d broken no laws. “Maybe he was busy with other business, but I plan to speak with him tomorrow about John Ward and his threats. I should have done it sooner but I honestly didn’t think he’d take things this far.”

  “I’ll go with you.”

  “You said you were leaving in the morning.”

  “I’ll leave as soon as you’ve talked with the sheriff.”

>   She heard the hushed click of the chair hitting the porch as though it were as weary as the man who sat in it. His boots reverberated over the porch and thudded on the step. She jerked her head up.

  “Night,” he said as he hit the ground.

  She shot to her feet. “No.”

  He stopped, turned, and took a step back toward her. “No?”

  She licked her suddenly parched lips. “I … I just don’t think it’s a good idea for you to sleep in the barn. You increase the chances of your wound getting infected.”

  “Figured you’d prefer for me to be out of the house.”

  She nodded, trying to understand why she didn’t just let him go. Maybe it was the manners her mother had bred into her, or more likely, it was the fact that he had kept his word to Toby and was still watching out for her. “If John Ward should come back tonight—”

  “He won’t.”

  “How do you know?”

  “He hasn’t had time to hire my replacement, and he’s not about to risk his life until he feels like he’s got someone to cover his back.” He took a step closer, and she watched the moonlight play over his golden hair. “Why do you want me in the house?”

  “As payment,” she blurted, the heat flaming her face. “Payment for your kindness to Toby … and for saving me. I hate that you killed the man—” Tears burned the back of her eyes. She despised the weakness that made her sink back onto the porch steps. She wrapped her arms around herself and rocked back and forth, memories of the glittering lust and hatred burning in Wade’s eyes assailing her. “He was going … going to … no one would stop him.”

  Wilder’s strong arms suddenly embraced her as he joined her on the step and held her near. She pressed her head against his warm, sturdy chest and heard the constant thudding of his heart.

  “No one wants you here. Why don’t you leave?” he asked in a low rumble.

  She shook her head. “This place was the only gift Jack Ward ever gave me. It’s special to me.”

  “You loved him?” he asked quietly.

  She nodded her head jerkily. “I shouldn’t have. God knows I should have despised him, but I never could bring myself to hate him. Even now when his gift brings me such pain, I can’t overlook the fact that he gave it to me out of love.”