The Gunslinger Read Online Free

room.
    Breathing heavily, Chance sank against the pillow and rested the glass on his bare chest.
    Wiping her hands on a crisp white apron, the woman strolled boldly into the room, seemingly not at all fearful of his reputation. Her fiery hair was caught up in a braid that draped over one shoulder. “You’re awake.”
    â€œYou say that like you had doubts.”
    â€œYou ran a fever for two days.”
    Shock rippled through him. “Two days? What day is it?”
    â€œThursday.”
    â€œI need my clothes,” he barked.
    â€œYou need to rest,” she insisted.
    Fighting not to appear as weak as he felt, he started to sit up. “I need to get some fresh air, start gathering my strength—”
    She pushed him down with one hand pressed against his uninjured shoulder. “Let me feed you some broth first.”
    â€œWhere’s my gun?”
    â€œI put it away.”
    â€œGet it.”
    â€œYou’re not in any danger.”
    â€œLady, the only time I don’t wear a gun is when I’m making love to a woman, so unless you’re aiming to climb into this bed with me, bring me the damn gun.”
    Fire flashed within the blue depths of her eyes. She stomped to the bureau, jerked open the top drawer, and snatched out his gun belt. She stalked to the bed and flung it at him. Groaning when it thudded against his chest, he grabbed the holster and closed his hand around the smooth handle of the Colt, welcoming the uncomfortable peace it always brought him. He captured her gaze, certain she wanted to tell him exactly what he could do with his gun: use it on himself. Not that he hadn’t once contemplated it. “Does anyone know I’m hurt?”
    â€œNo. I considered going for a doctor yesterday evening when you were delirious, but you threatened to put a bullet between my eyes if I did.”
    He nodded. “The boy?”
    â€œHasn’t left your side.”
    In her voice, he heard the anger seething beneath the surface. He couldn’t fault her. “I’ll eat now,” he said quietly.
    Her fists swinging at her sides she stormed from the room. Lord, she was mostly spit, but she intrigued him. He couldn’t recall the last time a woman had caught his fancy.
    He slid his gaze over to the boy, who furrowed his brow. “You wouldn’t really have killed her, would you?”
    Chance slowly shook his head. “Nope. But in my line of work, you live longer if people believe the lies.”

 
    Chapter 3
    A S THE LOW haunting melody of a harmonica filled the late afternoon air, Lillian stepped out of the barn where she’d been tending to the cows. Chance Wilder sat on the porch, his back against the wall, the front legs of the wooden straight-backed chair in the air, the harmonica pressed to his lips.
    Toby sat beside him, his chair in the same reclining position, his eyes fastened on Wilder with something akin to adoration.
    Reluctantly she had to admit she’d been impressed by Wilder’s determination to summon up the strength to make his way to the front porch. His jaw had been clenched against the pain, his movements slow and measured as he shuffled through the house. He didn’t comment on the sparse, simple furnishings, although she suspected he was more focused on moving one foot in front of the other instead of his surroundings. Once he reached his destination, he sat there all afternoon, Toby pestering him with one question after another, which he patiently answered, although he never volunteered more information than was needed to appease her brother’s curiosity. She realized now that his impatience the first day had been the result of his directing all his efforts toward staying on his horse.
    She didn’t like witnessing his tolerance. It was much easier to dislike him when he was short-tempered with Toby. Much easier to dislike him before she’d seen his vulnerability and held his hand through the