Once A Gunslinger

by Diana Bold

  Holding her gaze, he covered her hand with his, and moved it lower, across the flat plane of his stomach, then lower still. She caught her breath and closed her eyes as she touched him, amazed by the feel of him, steely hardness wrapped in warm, silken skin.

  He moaned. An earthy, delicious sound. She stroked him from base to tip, intent on pleasing him as much as he pleased her. He stood still beneath her awkward caress, letting her learn what made him catch his breath and what made him tremble with desire.

  Then he was touching her, too, his fingertips at the apex of her thighs, coaxing her to open wide for his gentle invasion, rubbing and teasing until she thought she’d die of the pleasure. When neither of them could endure the sweet torture a moment longer, he cupped her hips with his strong, elegant hands, and thrust deep inside her.

  She gasped, stunned by the fullness, overwhelmed by the reality of him after ten years with nothing but dreams to keep her warm at night.

  “Oh, Tristan. I never stopped loving you.”

  He stared down at her, his body trembling with the effort of remaining still. “Don’t say that,” he told her harshly. “Oh, God, Savannah, I can’t bear it.”

  Before she could say anything else, he began to thrust deeply. The sweet friction stole her breath and made her forget everything.

  A strange pressure built, something she hadn’t experienced last time when she’d been so young and scared. She fought it, but then he reached between them and rubbed his thumb in a slow circle where their bodies joined.

  Pleasure exploded through her veins.

  She sobbed his name, tears of wonder coursing down her cheeks as he thrust once more and then shuddered deep within her.

  * * * * *

  As soon as Tristan regained his breath and a portion of his sanity, he pulled away from Savannah. He closed his eyes and sank to the blanket at her feet, his pulse still roaring in his ears. He tried to collect himself, but it was impossible with the feel and taste and scent of her still so fresh in his mind.

  Dear God, it had been better than he’d remembered, better than his wildest fantasies. She’d made love to him with such passion and sweetness. In her arms, he’d felt whole for the first time since he’d walked away from her all those years ago.

  “Tristan?” Her voice was soft, hesitant. “What’s wrong?”

  He opened his eyes to find her staring down at him, her blue eyes still soft with pleasure, her auburn hair falling around her slim white shoulders and beautiful full breasts in riotous disarray.

  “You said you loved me.” He shook his head, wishing he could let it go. He wanted to take her words as the gift they’d been and never look back, but he couldn’t. He had to know the truth. “Is it me you love? Or is it Michael? Tell me, do you even know the difference?”

  She flinched as though he’d struck her. “I never loved Michael. Never. It was always you. Only you.”

  He let her words sink in, but then he shook his head, still unsatisfied. “Then why did you marry him? Why?” His voice was anguished, all the hurt and anger he’d been hiding since he’d first found out about her marriage squeezed into that one little word.

  Why?

  Why hadn’t she waited? Why hadn’t she loved him as much as he’d loved her?

  She slipped off the ledge and reached for her damp shift with trembling hands. Pulling it over her head, she sat down beside him, drawing her knees up to her chest.

  Her guilty manner caused his heart to sink even further. He knew he wasn’t going to like whatever she was about to say.

  She pushed her hair out of her eyes and rested her chin on her knees. “I have so much to tell you,” she whispered, her voice raw and quiet. “I don’t know where to begin.”

  “Begin at the beginning,” he told her, wishing she’d just get on with it.

  She nodded, and her eyes grew distant. “When we made love for the first time, I wasn’t afraid. I was so sure once I gave myself to you, you’d forget about your plans to fight for the South and marry me.”

  He frowned and grabbed his trousers, pulling them on with rough, angry movements. “I trusted you. I thought you loved me enough to marry me no matter what decision I made.”

  “I did love you,” she whispered. “Oh, Tristan. I’m so sorry. I was young and foolish and used to getting my own way. We fought, and you left, but I never expected that to be the end.”

  His temper finally boiled over. “Just tell me how you ended up marrying Michael. How long did you wait after I left before you made love to him? A week? A month? Did you do it to get back at me?”

  “No,” she cried, shaking her head in denial. “It wasn’t like that. It wasn’t like that at all.”

  “Then tell me what it was like. Damn it, Savannah, tell me!” He knew he was frightening her, knew how close he was to losing control, but he couldn’t help it. Everything important to him rested upon her answer, and he was terrified of what she would say.

  “I never made love to Michael. Never. He only married me because I went to him when I found out I was going to have a child. Your child.” She bowed her head, her slim shoulders shaking with emotion. “Billy is your son, not Michael’s.”

  He sat back, his pulse roaring in his ears, his entire perception of the world spinning wildly off‐kilter. “Billy is my son?”

  Closing his eyes, he recalled every moment he’d spent with the boy. His stomach churned with despair and regret. Why hadn’t it ever occurred to him that the night he’d spent with Savannah all those years ago might have resulted in a child? Why hadn’t he realized Billy was his son the very first time he’d seen him?

  Billy was ten years old. He’d missed out on ten years of his son’s life.

  “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, but I didn’t know what else to do. Everyone within fifty miles hated you for what you’d done, and I was about to give birth to your bastard!”

  He flinched at the ugly word. He didn’t want to feel sorry for her, didn’t want to imagine what she’d gone through. He was the one who had been wronged. He was the one who’d been deprived of his own son.

  “You could have at least tried to let me know about Billy. Especially after the war ended. Joel sent a letter, so I know you could have written me one, too.” He brushed his hair out of his eyes with a trembling hand. “I’ve been here for a week. You could have told me the truth a dozen times.”

  “You’re right.” Sudden anger filled her voice. “I could have done all those things, and I’m sorry I didn’t. But has it ever occurred to you that maybe I wanted you to come looking for me? You’ve admitted you didn’t even know about my marriage to Michael until recently, so why didn’t you come back for me after the war?”

  He turned his face away, unable to bear the truth of her words, despairing for all the time they’d lost. “I didn’t think I was worthy of you. Not after what I did to Michael.”

  “Well, I didn’t think I was worthy of you, either. I knew you’d be angry with me because I took the coward’s way out, marrying Michael instead of waiting for you. And then, after Michael’s death, I felt so guilty because all I could think about was that you were still alive and that I’d never stopped loving you...” She trailed off, her voice breaking.

  There was silence between them for a long moment. He cleared his throat and glanced at her, hating her and loving her all at the same time. “So what do you expect me to do now?”

  She shook her head and swiped at her tears with the back of her hand. “I’ll tell Billy about you, if you’re really planning to stay. But if you’re going to leave again, I don’t think it would be wise.”

  He glared at her, furious that she was still trying to control his contact with the boy. “I’ll tell Billy who I am. I’ll do it in my own time, in my own way.”

  “Let me tell him,” she begged. “Please. He doesn’t even know you.”

  “And whose fault is that?” He surged to his feet and finished dressing, his anger and sore shoulder making him clumsy. “You don’t know me ei
ther. Not if you think I’m going to walk away from my own child. Damn you for insinuating such a thing.”

  “Damn me?” she cried. “No, Tristan. Damn you! Why shouldn’t I think you’d leave Billy? You left me, didn’t you?”

  If he didn’t get away from her soon, he wasn’t sure what he’d do. He didn’t know whether he wanted to strangle her or make love to her again.

  He turned on his heels and strode toward the edge of the slab. “I’m going back to the house.”

  “Go ahead. Run away. Isn’t that what you’ve been doing for the past ten years?”

  He stiffened at her words, but kept right on walking. Maybe she was right. In fact, he knew she was right. But this was the last time he was going to walk away.

  Savannah was in for one hell of a surprise because, when it came to his son, he intended to turn and make a stand.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Savannah packed the last blanket back in the picnic basket, her thoughts and movements numbed by grief. Tristan had left her sitting here half an hour ago, and it had taken her this long to collect the shattered pieces of herself enough to go after him.

  Nothing had gone as she’d planned.

  Dear God, what an afternoon. She’d gone from the heights of ecstasy to the shadowy depths of despair so quickly it had left her reeling. She’d handled everything so badly.

  All her prepared speeches had fallen by the wayside after they’d made love. Being in his arms again had crumbled her defenses. When he’d started questioning her about Michael, she hadn’t been prepared.

  Now she’d botched the most important conversation of her life. She didn’t know how to undo the damage she’d already done.

  He’d made her so furious. She’d told him things she hadn’t even realized she felt. Had she really been angry with him all these years for not coming back for her? Was that why she hadn’t looked for him?

  Maybe. Probably.

  Now Billy was caught in the middle of their anger and mistrust. Tristan wouldn’t even allow her to tell her son why she’d lied about his father.

  So much for her dreams of the three of them becoming a family at last.

  Before this was all over, Billy would hate her, too. It was inevitable.

  How could either of them ever forgive her for the things she’d done?

  * * * * *

  Tristan stalked into the McKenzies’ house, slamming the door behind him. He couldn’t mask his anger and sense of betrayal if he wanted to, so he didn’t even try. The need to see his son burned deep inside him, stripping away all caution or reason.

  “Billy!” His voice echoed off the high ceiling, shattering the afternoon calm. Some small voice inside his head urged him to delay this meeting. He knew he should sort out his own feelings about his son before he sprang the news on the boy, but he paid the voice no heed.

  For far too long he’d schooled his emotions and pushed aside all his needs and wants. His life had become an endless, aching desert in which nothing mattered but survival. But Savannah’s revelation had changed everything.

  He wasn’t alone any more. Right now he needed his son, and he wasn’t going to let anything in the world stand in the way of that.

  There was no sign of Billy, but Joel entered the hall from the direction of the kitchen, a frown darkening his face as he wiped his hands on a dishtowel. “What’s going on? What do you want with Billy?”

  “What the hell do you think I want with him?” Tristan glared at his old friend, feeling betrayed all over again. Surely, Joel had known.

  Savannah’s brother had probably summoned him here with the express purpose of telling him about his son, so why the hell couldn’t his letter have been more specific? Tristan would have come immediately, if he’d only known.

  Joel shook his head. “Listen, if Billy’s pulled some prank on you, go easy on him, will you? He isn’t a bad kid. He’s just trying to get your attention.”

  “Christ,” Tristan exploded. “He shouldn’t have to try and get my attention. I’ve missed out on ten years of his life. Do you think I want to miss even one more second?”

  “Well, I’m glad you feel that way,” Joel said, sounding relieved. “He needs some contact with the other half of his family. With Michael gone, he needs all the father figures he can get.”

  Tristan stared at Joel incredulously. “Billy only needs one father figure,” he said, drawing on his last vestiges of control. “And that’s me.”

  At that, Joel scowled. “You may look like Michael, but that doesn’t give you any special rights. I’ve been here for that boy every day of his life. You don’t even know him. How dare you stride in here and expect me and Ian to step aside?”

  “How dare I?” Tristan barely restrained himself from lunging across the room and choking the life out of Joel. “You and Savannah have kept the fact that I’m Billy’s father from us both since the day he was born, but now that I know, I plan to exert all of my rights!”

  Joel’s face went ghost pale. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  Tristan shook his head in disgust. “You can quit acting innocent. Savannah told me everything not more than an hour ago. I know Michael married her to protect her reputation and give Billy a name. The only thing I don’t know is why you just didn’t come right out and tell me I had a son when you wrote me that letter. You cost me so many years.”

  A small, choking sob came from somewhere behind him. Tristan whirled around, only to come face to face with his small son. Billy stood on the other side of the screen door. Tears tracked down his freckled cheeks and his big, blue eyes were wide with hurt and confusion.

  Tristan’s heart broke because he knew exactly what Billy was feeling. “Billy,” he whispered, holding out his hand.

  Billy shook his head, then turned and ran away.

  * * * * *

  When Savannah returned to the house, she found Joel sitting on the front porch swing. A half-empty bottle of whiskey dangled from his fingertips and a moody look darkened his handsome face.

  “There you are,” he said, his voice overly precise. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

  She paused on the steps, trying to gauge his mood. “Are you drunk?”

  The thought drained her spirits even more. Joel had finally managed to get his drinking problem under control during the last two years. He’d seemed content, if not happy, and she’d been pleased with how far he’d come.

  Now he was drinking again, and she was afraid it had something to do with her and Tristan.

  “Drunk?” He frowned and lifted the bottle to his lips, taking a deep drink. “So what if I am? It’s not every day a man finds out his sister and his best friend didn’t trust him enough to tell him the truth. It’s not every day a man finds out he unknowingly kept his nephew from his own father.ʺ

  Savannah sank into a wicker chair, watching Joel warily. “Tristan told you about Billy?”

  “Yes, he told me.” He shot her a dark look. “You should have said something. I feel like an idiot, prattling on about Michael when it was Tristan you loved all along. Why didn’t you tell me? I would have tracked Tristan to the ends of the earth if I’d known how badly you needed him.”

  “I didn’t need him,” Savannah told her brother, though it wasn’t the truth. The only reason she hadn’t begged Joel to find him was because she hadn’t thought he wanted to be found. “I had my family. I had Billy.”

  “Maybe you’re right.” Joel took another long swig straight from the bottle and then gave a bitter laugh. “Maybe you didn’t need him. Maybe you still don’t. But what about Billy? Don’t you think he deserves to know his father?”

  She took a deep, shuddering breath, hearing the truth behind her brother’s drunken words. How selfish she’d been, so afraid of Tristan’s reaction she’d decided to keep his son from him forever rather than risk his hatred.

  “Has Tristan already spoken to Billy?” A lead weight descended on her heart at the mere thought. Tristan was so angry. She was terrified
about what he might say to her son.

  Their son.

  Joel nodded. “Tristan and I were arguing. He thought I knew everything, and he was furious with me for not telling him sooner. Billy overheard the whole thing. He took off running, and Tristan went after him. I imagine they’re talking about it right now.”

  She buried her face in her hands, overcome with despair. Of all the ways she’d imagined for her son to find out about Tristan, overhearing it during the heat of an argument had never been one of them.

  Joel patted her bent head. “Everything will be all right, sis. Tristan loves you. He won’t say anything to make you look bad.”

  “I hope you’re right,” she whispered. But she thought of the anger on Tristan’s face when she’d told him about his son and knew her brother was probably being optimistic at best.

  * * * * *

  Tristan searched for his son for nearly an hour before finally finding him down by the river. The boy sat on a fallen log, throwing rocks into the water. His thin shoulders were slumped. He wasn’t crying, but his face was stained with tears and dirt.

  Relief and regret overwhelmed him. He was glad his son hadn’t come to harm because of today’s revelations, yet filled with guilt for handling it all so sloppily.

  It would have been better for everyone if he’d taken some time to think about everything Savannah had told him before trying to talk to Billy. He was wholly to blame for the deplorable manner in which Billy had learned they were father and son.

  Better if he’d let Savannah break the news to the boy. By insisting she allow him to handle things his way, he’d ensured that his first dealing with his son had ended up a complete failure. Perhaps he wasn’t fit to be a father. Maybe he should just leave now, before he screwed the boy up beyond repair.

  No, he’d meant the things he’d vowed to himself earlier. He was through running from his problems. One way or another, he and Billy were going to have to work things out.