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was, but he hadn’t truly envisioned her in bed with the man, in the bed in which she’d tended his wound. “Make her an offer—”
    â€œMy father gave her all she’ll ever get from the Wards. I want her and the boy run off that land, and if you won’t do it, I’ll find someone who will.”
    â€œBe sure that he’s as good as his reputation because he’ll have to get past me first.” Chance unfolded his body and strode from the room.

 
    Chapter 4
    W IT H TREMBLING HANDS, Lillian dunked the plate into the bucket of hot water. Wilder had returned earlier, dismounted, and sank to the porch. He’d ordered Toby to see after his horse. She wanted to tell him to get back on his horse and ride out, but he’d gripped the railing post so tightly that his knuckles turned white, and she realized he wasn’t nearly as recovered as he’d led her to believe. His face had dripped sweat, and she’d seen the small tremors racking his body. She would have offered to help him if he hadn’t given her a steely glare. It was several long moments before he was finally able to pull himself to his feet and deposit his body in the chair on the porch.
    Frustrated, she returned to the kitchen to wash the dishes she’d let soak while he was gone. She heard Toby’s excited voice. He’d no doubt finished tending to the horse.
    She set the last dish aside. Wiping her hands on her apron, she walked quietly to the front doorway and gazed out. With three fingers curled against his palm, Toby pointed one finger and raised his thumb in the air.
    â€œPow! Pow!” he cried, flinging himself to the ground and rolling like he’d seen the gunman do that first day in Lonesome. He jumped to his feet, a wide grin splitting his freckled face in two. “They didn’t shoot today ’cuz they was scared of you,” he said.
    â€œThey weren’t scared of me, boy. They were scared of death,” Wilder drawled.
    â€œWhen I grow up, I’m gonna be just like you,” Toby said, his face beaming.
    Lillian’s throat tightened. She wanted Toby to have the influence of a man in his life, but not when that man was a cold-stone murderer.
    â€œYou don’t want that, boy,” Wilder said, and Lillian suddenly realized that he never called Toby by name.
    â€œSure I do,” Toby said, easing nearer to the porch, his head bobbing. “I’ll be famous—”
    â€œWhat you’ll be . . . is staring down the road at a long stretch of lonesome,” Wilder said, his voice a deep rumble, but in the midst of it, Lillian thought she heard a sigh of regret.
    She stepped onto the porch. Wilder slid his gaze over to her. He’d removed his hat and the slight breeze toyed with the soft curls. Moving past him, she dropped onto the top step and regarded the horizon where the sun painted its farewell tapestry.
    â€œWhere do you live?” Toby asked, inching forward on the balls of his feet.
    â€œUnder the stars.”
    â€œAin’t you got a house somewheres?”
    â€œNope.”
    Toby darted a quick glance at Lillian before looking back at Wilder. She knew that her brother had always longed for a house instead of a room over a saloon. His dream brought her here, kept her here even when everyone wanted her to leave, even when she knew it would be so much easier to go.
    â€œHow ’bout kids? You got kids?” Toby asked.
    â€œNone that I know of.”
    Lillian felt the heat warm her cheeks as the image of this man in bed with a woman fluttered through her mind and took root. He wouldn’t be wearing his gun . . . or anything else for that matter. “Toby, you need to stop pestering Mr. Wilder.”
    â€œI ain’t pesterin’ him,” Toby protested. He angled his head and studied Wilder. “Am I?”
    Wilder shot a look at Lillian, and she realized she’d dug herself into a hole. She’d