Once A Gunslinger

by Diana Bold

  “It’s not that easy.” Tristan stared at the cans that had managed to elude him. “Billy is my nephew, too. I don’t want him to end up like me any more than you do. There’s nothing I want more than to stay here and ensure he doesn’t, but the sheriff warned me off yesterday, told me I have two days to leave.”

  “Keegan?” Joel asked. Suddenly Tristan’s behavior made sense, and Joel’s anger vanished. “Don’t worry about that bastard. He has no right to tell you to leave our land. You’ve done nothing wrong.”

  Tristan gave a wry smile. “That’s what Savannah told him. But he’s the sheriff, Joel. I don’t want to cause any trouble for your family.”

  “You’re part of our family.” Joel met his gaze, willing Tristan to hear the truth behind his words. “If you want to stay, then put that damned gun away and come back to the house with me. We’ll deal with Keegan when and if we have to.”

  Tristan tucked his gun in the waistband of his pants. “Thank you for this,” he muttered. “You’re probably saving my life. Again.”

  “Don’t thank me yet.” Joel clasped Tristan’s hand, thinking of all that still lay between them, knowing Tristan would hate him when he found out the truth. “We still haven’t talked about Michael.”

  Tristan shook his head, dropping his gaze. “We’ll do it some other time, all right? There’s no hurry, not if I’m going to stay a while.”

  Joel nodded, glad of the reprieve, yet aware that every day he delayed would only make the tale that much harder to tell. “Let me know when you’re ready.”

  “I will,” Tristan agreed, but from the look in his eyes, Joel doubted that day would ever come.

  * * * * *

  Tristan dressed carefully in preparation for joining the McKenzies for dinner that night, his mood lighter than it had been in a decade.

  Accepting Ian’s offer was the first positive move he’d made since he’d realized the Yankee looter he’d just shot was his brother.

  Staying here wouldn’t be easy—he still had to work through his feelings about Savannah—but the thought of building a solid relationship with his nephew was sounding more and more appealing. He needed a purpose, a reason to get up in the morning, and Billy was his last—best—hope.

  When he arrived downstairs, he was surprised to find that the meal had been moved from its usual place in the kitchen to the more formal dining room. A lovely dark‐haired girl was helping Savannah carry platters of food to the big dining table, and he figured she must be the reason for the change in venue.

  He hesitated in the doorway, unsure whether or not he’d be welcome when the family had another guest. Would they want a killer at their table now that he was nothing more than a hired hand?

  Ian stepped forward, clasping his hand in welcome, a sparkle in his blue eyes. “Tristan, so glad you decided to join us. May I introduce my fiancée, Mary Banks?”

  Mary Banks stepped forward, smiling with just a touch of nervousness. She had big green eyes and delicate features, and she and Ian were obviously crazy in love. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Kane. I’ve heard so much about you.”

  He could just imagine what she’d heard. Managing a small smile in return, he made an effort to appear as harmless as possible. “Nice to meet you, Miss Banks.”

  “Call me Mary. Everyone else does.”

  Tristan searched his mind for more polite small talk, realizing how long it had been since he’d been in any type of social situation. Luckily, he was saved from disgrace by Billy’s loud entrance into the room.

  “Mary,” Billy cried, rushing to give the young woman a huge hug. “I didn’t know you were coming for dinner tonight.”

  Mary blushed a bit and glanced up at Ian. “Well, your Uncle Ian stopped by and asked me so nicely, I just couldn’t resist.”

  The boy released Mary at last, and his bright blue gaze rested on Tristan for just a moment before skittering away. “Sir,” he acknowledged.

  “Hello, Billy.” Tristan knew he couldn’t expect too much too soon. Still, it was hard to hear the obvious affection in Billy’s voice when he spoke to Mary.

  Savannah slid between them, taking the youngster’s shoulders and guiding him toward the kitchen. “Come wash up, honey.”

  After Billy and Savannah left the room, Tristan followed Ian’s lead and seated himself at the long table. A centerpiece of fresh mountain flowers crowned the snowy white tablecloth, and he recognized the gleaming silver and china from similar fancy dinners he’d attended at the McKenzies’ home in Maryland. Baked ham, mashed potatoes and gravy, corn on the cob, freshly baked bread, and a pitcher of lemonade completed the feast.

  Joel came in and sat down on Tristan’s right, flashing Ian’s girl a huge smile. “Smells good, Mary.”

  Mary shrugged. “Tell Savannah. She had almost everything done before I even got here.”

  “Smells good, sis,” Joel called, giving Mary a wink.

  “Thank you, Joel.” Savannah and Billy returned and took their seats, which placed them directly across the table from Tristan. Savannah looked beautiful, as always, but frazzled. He wished there was something he could do to lighten her load.

  Billy bowed his head and began saying grace, a custom Tristan hadn’t heard in so long he’d nearly forgotten people did such things. He lowered his head, listening to his nephew’s exuberant voice, feeling oddly peaceful. God, how he’d missed this.

  There were several moments of silence after Billy was done while everyone filled their plates, but then Joel nudged Tristan with his elbow. “Have you told everyone you decided to accept Ian’s offer?”

  Savannah sucked in a startled breath. “Is that true, Tristan? Are you going to stay?” Her eyes held cautious delight, and a touch of something else. Fear, perhaps?

  Tristan tore his gaze away from her and looked over at Ian. “Yes, I’d like to stay. If you’ll still have me.”

  Ian stared at him for a long moment and then smiled. “Of course we’ll still have you.”

  Chapter Nine

  Savannah was glad when Mary insisted on helping her do the dinner dishes. In the months that Mary and Ian had been courting, the two women had become close friends, and she enjoyed Mary’s company.

  Female companionship was in short supply out here, and though she longed to tell Mary everything about Tristan, she restrained herself.

  How could she admit she’d made love to Tristan outside of wedlock? That the child she’d passed off as her husband’s all these years actually belonged to a man most people thought of as a killer?

  Unfortunately, Mary wouldn’t let it go. “How do you know a man like Tristan Kane? And why does he look at you as though he’d like to wring your neck and kiss you senseless all at the same time?”

  She laughed, but there was little humor in it. “Is that how he looks at me?”

  Mary nodded, her green eyes sparkling. “He’s very handsome. Although, not nearly as handsome as Ian,” she hastened to add. “Come on. Tell me how he came to be here. There are the most dreadful rumors circulating in town that he’s a killer and who‐knows‐what else.”

  Savannah shook her head and plunged her hands into the steaming, soapy water where the dishes were soaking. “He may be all that they say now. But back in Maryland, when we were young, he was everything I’d ever dreamed of.”

  “You love him.” Mary’s pretty face was a picture of sympathy. “I hope everything works out for you. There’s nothing I’d like more than to see you as happy as Ian and I are.”

  “Thank you.” Her voice sounded rough even to her own ears. “But I don’t think there’s much chance of that.”

  Mary squeezed her shoulder. “If you ever need to talk about it, just come see me.”

  She nodded and changed the subject.

  They finished the dishes in record time, since both of them were in a hurry to join the men in the sitting room. Billy and Joel were already deeply involved in a game of chess, and Ian was waiting with obvious impatience, his eyes lighting up when he s
aw Mary.

  “Finally,” he murmured, taking Mary’s hand and leading her to the loveseat in the corner. Savannah sighed, knowing they’d spend the rest of the evening laughing and whispering, stealing kisses when they thought no one was looking.

  Ian and Mary would be wed in less than a month and, although Savannah was very happy for her brother, it worried her. Until now, she’d been the undisputed mistress of her brother’s home. But everything would change once he married. No matter how much she liked Mary, it would be hard to step back and become little more than a poor relation living on Ian’s charity.

  Besides, the love they’d found in each other made her feel even more alone. Especially tonight, when the only man she’d ever wanted was so close, yet incredibly far away considering everything that stood between them.

  Tristan sat in a comfortable chair near the window holding a book in his elegant hands, but she didn’t think he was reading. He used the book as a shield, an excuse to keep anyone from engaging him in conversation.

  Nonetheless, she thought the mere fact that he’d joined them, instead of retiring to his room, was encouraging. He was reaching out, whether he realized it or not.

  Her gaze moved to her beautiful blond son. Billy’s attention returned repeatedly to Tristan, though he tried hard to hide his interest. Her stomach fluttered when she thought about what Tristan’s decision to stay would mean to all three of them.

  Within the next few days, she’d have to tell Tristan about his son, and then tell Billy she’d lied about who his father was. She clenched her hands into fists as she sat down in her favorite chair and contemplated her basket of mending.

  Neither revelation was going to be easy. It would take every bit of strength she had to do what needed to be done without shattering under the pressure.

  A rumble of thunder shook the house with a sudden, deafening boom. Tristan flinched at the sound, and Savannah glanced at him, wondering at his sudden tension.

  Joel looked up from his chess game, a frown creasing his brow. “Sounds like we’re in for quite a storm.”

  Ian slid off the loveseat and looked out the window. “I don’t like the look of that sky. Looks like hail.”

  “Most of the cattle are out in the south pasture. There’s not much shelter out there.” Joel stood and joined Ian at the window.

  Over their shoulders, Savannah saw a brilliant flash of lightning, and seconds later, the house shook again from the thunder.

  “They’ll be all right,” Joel assured Ian. “We didn’t lose any last year.”

  “You’re probably right.” Ian resumed his place at Mary’s side and began talking to her in a low voice, but Savannah knew he was worried. The ranch was still struggling. They couldn’t afford any losses.

  The storm advanced quickly across the prairie. Within a quarter of an hour, rain lashed at the windows and hail pounded like gunshots on the roof.

  Tristan gave up all pretense of reading. He stared into the fire, his lean face drawn and pale. The kitten she’d given him had crawled up on his lap, and he petted him absently, his strong fingers tangling in the cat’s long, silky hair.

  Savannah watched him out of the corner of her eye with increasing alarm. Every time a clap of thunder shook the house, he went rigid. She could tell by the rapid rise and fall of his broad chest that his breathing was far from natural. The explosions of sound seemed to take him to another place, another time.

  She wondered if the thunder reminded him of cannon fire.

  Shoving her mending aside, she crossed the room and knelt before him. “Tristan,” she whispered. “Come with me.”

  He raised his tortured gaze to meet hers and seemed bewildered to see her there. His green eyes were filled with despair.

  “Come with me,” she repeated, her heart twisting in sympathy.

  She thought he would refuse her but, after a moment, he stood and let her guide him through the darkened house. She hesitated in the hall, trying to decide where to go, and then led him out the front door to the porch swing. It was a little chilly, but the covered porch sheltered them from the driving rain.

  “It’s all right,” she told him when another brilliant flash of lightning lit up the sky. “It’s just the storm.”

  He snatched his hand from hers and did his best to hide the tremor that shook him when the inevitable crack of thunder vibrated the porch.

  “I know,” he said gruffly. “Christ, Savannah. I’m not a child.”

  She inched closer, refusing to allow him to retreat. He’d been alone for so long, and she was determined to be there for him now whether he liked it or not.

  “I can’t begin to understand what you’re feeling.” She cupped his face in her hands, loving the feel of his smooth, warm skin beneath her palms. “Not unless you tell me.”

  Tristan inhaled sharply, batting her hands away. “There’s nothing you can do.”

  He didn’t want her help, didn’t want her to see his vulnerability. She could accept that, but she wasn’t about to give up on him. “I think you’d feel better if you talked about it.”

  “Some things can’t be fixed.” He ducked his head and sighed wearily. “Haven’t you learned that by now?”

  She leaned back, surveying his bowed blond head, itching with the need to bury her fingers in his silky hair and rub his temples until the tension flowed from his long, lean body. “Maybe you’re right, but what would it hurt to try?”

  He glanced up at her, his green eyes unfathomable in the dim light. “You’ve already broken my heart. Must I give you my soul as well?”

  She touched his face again, grazing his chiseled jaw, her own heart aching for what she’d done to him. “Can’t we just talk? I’ve missed that so much. Don’t you remember those conversations we used to have down by the river? You listened to me as though every word I said was important. Friendship like that is a rare and precious gift.”

  He let his head fall back against the wooden swing and groped for her hand. “I’ve missed you, too. More than you’ll ever know.”

  “Then tell me what’s troubling you. Tell me why the thunder makes you so tense.” She laced her fingers through his and waited, praying he’d give her something else to hang on to. She wanted a glimpse of what his life had been like while they were apart.

  “There’s something wrong with me,” he admitted at last, his voice low and tortured. “Every loud noise makes me want to run for cover. I know it’s only thunder. I know it. But the sound takes me back there—to the war. Sometimes I’m afraid I’ll never find my way back again.”

  This was far more than Savannah had expected him to reveal, and she had no idea what to say. She squeezed his hand, wishing there was some way she could make it all disappear, turn back the clock so they could both make all the right decisions.

  “I’ve been lost for so long. Losing you. Losing Michael.” His hand tightened almost painfully. “When he died, a part of me died, too. I don’t know what to do without him. He haunts me.”

  “Michael wouldn’t have wanted to be anyone’s ghost,” she whispered, dismayed. “Especially not yours.”

  “Do you think so?” He held her with the potency of his emerald gaze, no longer seeming to notice the storm that howled around them. “We were strangers those last few years. We disagreed about everything. In the end, you knew him far better than I.”

  Guilty heat crept up Savannah’s cheeks. Michael had been her husband. She’d stood in a church and vowed before God to love him and no other, but she’d never known him a tenth as well as she did Tristan.

  “You should have had him by your side all these years,” Tristan continued, and she knew what it must have cost him to say those words. “He would have given you a home of your own... more children.” He shook his head, and a lock of hair fell forward over one eye. “I always knew I’d taken away Michael’s future, but now I find I’ve robbed you of one, as well.”

  Tristan was her future. She wanted to tell him that, but couldn’t find the words. Sh
e’d come out here with the intention of comforting him, but somehow he’d turned the tables on her, giving her little choice but to confess all and beg for his forgiveness.

  He’d given her the perfect opportunity to tell him about Billy, but she wasn’t ready. Not yet. She wanted to be prepared to defend her choices, ready to explain everything in a calm and rational manner.

  She needed a little more time.

  Releasing his hand, she moved off the swing and went to stand at the porch rail, staring out at the fast‐moving storm. The worst of it had already traveled past the house and was advancing toward the mountains.

  She tilted her face into the cool, cleansing sprinkle of rain. “Whether you like it or not, you’re still alive. Michael would have wanted you to go on, to find some happiness. Wherever he is, his heart is bleeding for you.”

  Tristan considered Savannah’s words. They stung, yet he knew she was right. Michael probably would want him to be happy. His brother had been the kindest, most generous, effortlessly good man he’d ever known. Hard to imagine him being any different in death.

  He gazed at Savannah, drinking in her fey, uninhibited beauty. The rain splashed down her cheeks, wetting her fiery hair and catching in her long, dark lashes. He wanted to go to her, cup her face, and kiss away every glistening drop.

  Happiness. Could it really be that easy? He’d tried to stay away from her, tried to hate her, but it was impossible. Every time he turned around, she was there comforting him, tempting him, driving him crazy with desire.

  Maybe he should quit fighting it.

  The silence stretched between them, and she finally stepped back under the shelter of the porch, twisting her hands as she met his heated stare. “The storm is moving away. Only pea‐sized hail. Ian will be glad.”

  Tristan allowed himself a small smile. “Well, at least you kept my mind off the thunder.”

  She laughed, breaking the tension. “I’m so glad.” She sat back down on the swing beside him and hugged him with surprising strength. “I just wanted you to have a little peace. I didn’t mean to pry into your life or make things harder for you.”