The Gunslinger by Lorraine Heath

that she was gone.”
    â€œWhat about Toby’s father?”
    She smiled softly. “Shortly after I was born, Mother moved to Houston. She worked in a saloon. I think the bartender, Ben, must have loved Mother for years, but he felt he had nothing to offer her.” She shrugged. “I’m not sure of the details, but I remember that she stopped looking tired all the time. He doted on her. They’d planned to marry, but he was killed in a barroom brawl. Afterward, Mother realized she was carrying Ben’s child. We lived in a room over the saloon then. Wasn’t fancy, but we had love. She died of influenza last year.”
    Chance was silent for several seconds, considering what Lillian had told him. Then he asked, “So how did you come to be here?”
    â€œAfter I wrote my letter to Jack Ward, to tell him Mother had died,” she said, “he came to Houston and told me he intended to make things up to me. He had a little house and some land he deeded over to me. Toby and I always wanted a house. And I’d always longed for my own father’s love, so we moved here. A few nights after we were settled in, Jack Ward brought me my mother’s letter. He was reminiscing about her when suddenly he clutched his chest and collapsed. I got him to the bed, and he died in my arms. Everyone assumed I was his whore.”
    â€œAnd you didn’t correct them?”
    â€œEveryone was in a panic. Mrs. Ward was hysterical. John arrived the next day and wanted to protect her. I didn’t think she’d appreciate knowing her husband had another child. I’ve thought of leaving, but this property is the only thing Jack Ward ever gave me, other than my life. I can’t give it up.”
    â€œThen I’ll do all in my power to see that you keep it.” He shifted his body and laid her back down on the quilt. Covering her body with his, he kissed her tenderly. He understood her desire to hold onto the land, because in the short time he’d known her, she’d become important to him, made him wish that he was worth holding onto as well.

 
    Chapter 8
    T H E LATE AFTERNOON air hung heavy around Chance as he walked among the trees lining the banks of the river, Lillian’s small hand nestled within his larger one as though it belonged there. They’d brought the boy swimming, and Chance could hear the muted gurgling of the nearby flowing stream. They’d left the boy to give him some privacy as he put back on his clothes. Chance welcomed the excuse to be alone with Lillian. He was dying for an opportunity to kiss her.
    He stopped walking and faced her. The sun had whispered across her face, leaving her cheeks glowing a rosy red. If he lived to be a hundred, he’d never forget the shape of her face. “I want to have a meeting with John Ward. I’m thinking the troubles would go away if he knew the truth.”
    She hesitated a moment before she nodded thoughtfully. “And when the troubles go away, you’ll go away.”
    He saw the sorrow sweep into her eyes. He was both humbled and terrified with the knowledge that she cared for him. He lowered his head, touched his mouth to hers and kissed her, gathering the memories close so he could unfurl them at night beside the campfire. She welcomed him as no one else ever had. She made him want to stay—when he knew he had to go.
    He drew back and brushed his thumb over her swollen lower lip. “I’m not what you need, lady.”
    â€œBut you’re what I want.”
    Explosions rent the still air. Chance felt the pain tear through his back as he pulled Lillian close, withdrew his gun, and plunged over the embankment, giving them some protection. They landed hard amid dry leaves and brush.
    â€œCan you get to the boy and horses?” he asked.
    â€œWho do you think is out there?”
    â€œMy guess is that Ward hired his gun. Ride out of here and get the sheriff. I’ll hold them