The Gunslinger by Lorraine Heath Read Free Book Online Page A

settling down?” she asked, making her voice light.
    â€œBoth. I see no point in longing for what you can’t have.”
    â€œSurely as big as this country is, you could find a place where people wouldn’t seek you out.”
    â€œYou’re going on the assumption that I don’t want to be found.”
    She nearly staggered over her feet, with the certain realization that he chose this life of violence. How easy it was to forget as a new dawn brought brightness to the day that darkness still hovered.
    He set the bucket on the porch. “Let me know when you’re ready to head into town. I’ll saddle a horse for you.” He turned on his heel.
    It seemed in this matter, at least, Wilder was going to serve as her champion, apparently holding with his promise to escort her to the sheriff. Her father had never been present when she was growing up, Toby’s father had been in their lives only briefly, so she’d never known what it was to rely on a man for protection. She was accustomed to being independent, standing up for herself. Still, reluctantly she admitted that she was grateful she wouldn’t have to go into town alone. She needed to put her reservations about this man aside and show her gratitude. “Breakfast will be on the table in half an hour, Mr. Wilder. I expect you not to be tardy.”
    Stopping, he looked back over his shoulder. “Appreciate the food. I’ll take it on the porch.”
    â€œThe table, Mr. Wilder. Inside.”
    He lifted his arm, fingers poised as though to touch the brim of a hat he suddenly realized he wasn’t wearing. “I’ll wash up.”
    Lifting the bucket, she watched as his long strides carried him back to the barn. He’d be leaving after they saw the sheriff. She didn’t know why she wanted him to carry the memory of a few more minutes in her company with him. Or why she wanted to pretend for a while that neither of them were pariahs.
    C HANCE COULDN’T REME MBER the last time he sat down to a meal at a table situated inside a house. He ate in saloons, the occasional hotel, sitting in front of a campfire beneath the stars. And on front porches. He didn’t usually get invited inside someone’s home. He didn’t count waking up in her bedroom. No invitation had been issued. Necessity had led him there.
    But this . . . standing close to the table that was set near an oven, he watched as she bent over and removed biscuits from the heated interior. He grew warm at the sight of her backside, the apron strings running along a curve he longed to touch. He should have told her she couldn’t order him to eat at her table. He should have just mounted his horse and ridden out. But where she was concerned, he hadn’t done what he should since the boy barreled into the saloon asking for his help.
    â€œIs there anything I can see to?” he asked.
    â€œJust have a seat,” she said, smiling at him as she set down a basket holding the biscuits. A small bit of flour rested on the curve of her cheek, right up against her nose. He wanted to wipe it away with his lips, then take his mouth on a journey that covered every inch of her.
    He’d known the moment she stepped into the barn. He’d trained himself to be attuned to his environment, to sense changes, to be alert to the smallest fluctuation in his surroundings. He’d heard the crinkle of hay beneath her feet, felt the shift in air accommodating her movements, was aware of her soft short breaths. When she was near enough, he inhaled her fragrance. He’d sat on that stool relishing the ordinary, had allowed those quiet moments to carry him back to a time before he’d strapped on a gun, when he would have welcomed her into his arms and greeted the day with far more passion.
    Dangerous to let his thoughts wander to the possibilities that might exist between them. He couldn’t stay and she didn’t want to leave. And