The Gunslinger Read Online Free Page A

night.
    She strolled to the house and rested her arms on the porch railing. The slight breeze toyed with the curls circling Wilder’s head. His mouth moved slowly over the instrument, and she imagined his lips trailing a path along her throat. Heat that had little to do with late summer surged through her.
    As though reading her thoughts, Wilder paused in playing and lifted a corner of his mouth. “Evenin’.”
    Her heart thundered as though she’d never had a man speak to her with a sparkle in his eyes. “Toby, you need to finish up your chores before supper,” she announced, fighting to ignore the blatant attraction she felt for this man, this hired killer. She couldn’t explain it, much less understand it. He represented violence when all she desperately longed for was peace.
    â€œAh, Lil—”
    â€œDo what your sister says,” Wilder ordered.
    With a scowl, Toby dropped the chair onto all fours and tromped toward the barn.
    â€œDon’t take offense, Mr. Wilder, but I’d rather you didn’t encourage him—”
    â€œEncourage him to do what? His chores?” he asked.
    â€œEncourage him to spend time in your company. He’s at an age where he’s easily swayed. I’d rather he not be influenced by a man who kills.”
    â€œYou’d rather he be influenced by an old man’s whore?”
    Lillian staggered back as though he’d slapped her. Humiliation swamped her, angered her—that this sinner should sit in judgment of her. “What Jack Ward was to me is none of your damn business!”
    Chance watched her storm past him and disappear into the house. He cursed long and hard under his breath. He had no right to say what he had, but every time he thought of an old man’s gnarled hands touching her, touching her the way he wanted to, the way she’d never let him . . .
    The boy loped to the house, his smile bright. Chance was surprised the kid’s jaw didn’t ache as a result of his constant grins. He leapt onto the porch. “You comin’ in for supper?”
    â€œThink I’ll stay outside a little longer. Smells like your sister cooked up some stew. Why don’t you bring me a bowl?”
    â€œI’ll sit out here with you,” he offered.
    Chance shook his head. “Your sister needs the company.”
    The boy nodded reluctantly before going inside. Chance slipped the harmonica into his pocket and gazed toward the horizon. Evening would arrive soon. In the passing years, he had most missed sitting on a porch in the quiet after a day filled with exhausting work. Now when his body ached, it was more often from a bullet wound than from laboring in the fields. In the evening, his back was usually against a wall in a saloon, while he drank whiskey, hoping to dull the memories and the yearning for a life far different than the one he led.
    Hearing the footsteps, he glanced back over his shoulder. The woman stood in the doorway, a wooden bowl in her hands. “Toby said you wanted to eat out here.”
    â€œThought it best.”
    She gave him a brusque nod, handed him the bowl, and turned to go back inside.
    â€œMiss Madison?”
    She stopped, but didn’t look at him.
    â€œI owe you an apology. I had no right to say what I did.”
    She met and held his gaze, a corner of her mouth lifting slightly. “Well, we finally agree on something.”
    â€œWe agree on something else. I won’t be influencing the boy. I’ll leave come morning.”
    Her smile fell and she furrowed her brow. “You can’t be fully recovered.”
    â€œThanks to your tender ministrations, I’m strong enough. I’ll bed down in the barn tonight and be gone by first light.”
    â€œWhen you’re finished eating, come inside and I’ll change your bandage.”
    He waited until she went into the house. Then he lifted the bowl of stew, inhaled the spicy aromas, and