The Gunslinger (4 page)

 

Chapter 4

W
IT
H 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 said, 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.”

“Have you ever talked with John Ward, tried to settle the differences?”

“No. John came here one night with an army of men. He told me to pack up and get, then threatened to kill me as a trespasser if I ever set foot on his land. Delivered his message and rode out. Makes it hard to reason with a man when you can't get near him.”

“It's even harder to reason with him if he's dead.”

Lillian's heart slammed against her ribs. Trembling, she clutched Wilder's shirt and lifted her head from his chest, trying to see into the depths of his silver eyes, but they were only shadows hidden by the night. His embrace was steady, secure, his hands slowly trailing up and down her back. “Promise me you won't kill him,” she demanded.

A silence stretched between them as though he were weighing the promise against the offer that he'd cloaked as a simple statement. “If he's dead, you and the boy will be safe.”

She tightened her fingers around his shirt and gave him a small shake. “I don't want the blood of Jack Ward's son on my hands. Give me your word that you won't kill him.”

His hands stilled. “What are you willing to pay me to keep me from killing him?”

Her stomach knotted, her chest ached with a tightness that threatened to suffocate her. Even though she couldn't see it clearly, she felt the intensity of his perusal. She had no money, nothing to offer him—nothing to offer a killer except herself. And she knew that he was aware of that fact.

Had she actually begun to feel sympathy for this man whose solitary life gave him no roots, allowed him no love? He was worse than Wade because at least Wade had barreled into her, announcing loudly and clearly what he wanted of her. The killer wanted the same thing, but he'd lured her into caring for him and trusting him, catching her heart unawares.

The pain of betrayal ripped through her, and she thought she might actually understand why one man would kill another. Tiny shudders coursed through her body and tears stung her eyes as she answered hoarsely, “I'll pay anything.”

Beneath her clutched hand, his heart increased its tempo, pounding harder and faster. He cradled her face between his powerful hands. “Anything?” he whispered. “If I want all a woman can offer?”