The Gunslinger by Lorraine Heath

arms, holding her close, knowing he’d never let her go, knowing that at long last the road ahead of him wasn’t going to be lonely.

 
    Epilogue
    Five Years Later
    P U SHING HERSELF UP from the rocking chair on the porch, Lillian Wilder pressed her hand against her swollen stomach where her unborn child kicked. She was hoping for a girl this time.
    Walking to the edge of the porch, she saw her husband strolling in from the distant cornfields, his three-year-old son perched on his shoulders, Toby loping along beside them. She watched as Chance threw his head back and laughed, and she knew Toby had told him something outrageous. She loved Chance’s laughter, loved his smiles, loved him.
    She heard a rumble and glanced toward the road. Her breath caught at the sight of the unfamiliar wagon. Slowly, she released her breath. Men looking to gain a reputation usually rode in on a horse. In the passing years only two had come to the farm seeking out the notorious Chance Wilder. They’d left disappointed, discovering that Chance Wilder could not be goaded, beaten, or threatened into strapping on his gun.
    She didn’t think the elderly couple pulling their wagon to a halt in front of her house had come to challenge Chance’s fading reputation. She stepped off the porch. “Evening.”
    The man looked at her with a piercing silvery gaze. “We were told this is Chance Wilder’s place.”
    She wiped her suddenly damp hands on her apron. “Yes, that’s right. Chance is coming in from the fields now.”
    The man climbed down from the wagon, and then helped the woman to the ground. Her light blue gaze was riveted on Chance as he strode toward them. The older man slipped his arm around her shoulders and drew her close as though what needed to be faced was better faced together.
    Chance’s stride faltered and slowed as he neared the house. Wariness guarding his features, he came to stand beside Lillian, his eyes drawn to the couple. He wrapped his hands around his son and lifted him off his shoulders, setting him on the ground between him and Lillian. A heavy silence stretched between him and the couple. Lillian slipped her hand into Chance’s, surprised to find his trembling.
    Tears welled in the old woman’s eyes and spilled onto her cheeks. She pressed a shaking hand against her mouth. “Chance,” she whispered brokenly.
    â€œMama,” he croaked.
    She held out her arms. “We’re so sorry. Forgive us, son. Please forgive us.”
    Chance shook his head. “There’s nothing to forgive, Mama.”
    Chance released Lillian’s hand and crossed the short expanse, taking his mother into his arms, her heart-wrenching sobs echoing around them. “We were wrong, wrong to send you away,” she lamented.
    â€œIt’s all right,” Chance murmured.
    His father hesitated, then stepped forward to embrace his wife and son. They held each other for long moments as the years and regrets melted away. Finally Chance drew back. “I want you to meet my family.”
    He held his hand out to Lillian. She stepped within the circle of his arm. “This is Lillian, my wife.”
    Lillian smiled warmly. “I’m very happy to meet you. Chance has often spoken of you.”
    â€œThis young fella is Toby, Lillian’s brother,” Chance said. “I consider him to be my brother, too.”
    Toby beamed up at him, and Chance ruffled his hair. Then he lifted his son into his arms. “And this is our son,” he told his parents.
    More tears welled in his mother’s eyes. “Oh, Stephen, we have a grandchild. How wonderful! What’s his name?”
    Chance hesitated, shifting his gaze to Lillian. Nodding, she rubbed his shoulder.
    â€œJames,” Chance said quietly. “We named him James.”
    In memory of the brother he’d lost, they had selected the name. Her chest tightening, Lillian watched as understanding