“Verrick!” Lucas called when he strode out of the dining room. The older man stood before the front door, his way blocked by Cora. At Lucas’s call, both of them started guiltily, and Lucas realized her hand was on Verrick’s cheek. What had Lucas interrupted?

Verrick didn’t look back, but brushed around Cora and slipped out the door in his usual silent way. Lucas took the time to stop and peer at his sister-in-law.

Cora’s hand dropped to her side, and she smiled sort of sadly. “He’s hurt, but he won’t say—”

“I know,” Lucas snapped, then winced.

Cora wasn’t the one he was mad at. Neither was Verrick, for that matter. He didn’t know who he was mad at, but he knew he had to find the man and talk to him about…about everything.

Who was he?

Lucas had grown up hearing stories about Verrick the gunslinger from his mother. His mother, who’d obviously betrayed her marriage vows with the man when he was younger than Lucas was now. And it had been his mother who, months ago when they’d heard rumors of Pierce advertising for hired guns, had suggested he send for Verrick, the most feared gunslinger in the west.

The gunslinger who’d once told her he’d always be willing to protect their son.

Loving someone means you will do whatever is necessary to protect them.

Lucas groaned when he remembered Verrick had never discussed accepting payment for this job. He wasn’t here for pay…he was here for Lucas.

“Verrick!” he called again when he burst out the front door.

But the porch and yard was empty, and while the gunslinger could probably take one look at the dust in front of the walk and know who’d gone where and how long ago, Lucas was hopeless. He took off for the stable at a jog, wondering if he’d driven the man off already.

Loving someone means you will do whatever is necessary to protect them.

He called again in the stable, not really expecting an answer and not receiving one. Verrick’s big gelding was still in his stall, his tack still hanging undisturbed. Verrick hadn’t ridden away.

“Verrick?”

Still no answer.

Where had the man gone? Where would he go when he’d just heard his son say that he’d never respect a killer?

Lucas winced and ran his hand through his hair in exasperation. He couldn’t respect a man who killed others for a living, but that hadn’t stopped him from hiring one as soon as there was a need. Was Verrick just a tool, who’d been used by others too unwilling to take care of their own problems? Was that what Lucas himself was doing now? And how had that shaped a man who’d been doing it since he was eighteen?

And—Oh God—why did Lucas have to find that letter now? Today? On the day he discovered he was going to become a father? He’d always vowed to be a better father than his own had been, but come to find out, Thomas Ryan wasn’t his father at all.

It would be a damn sight easier to be a better father than Verrick had been, that was for sure.

But in the back of his mind, Lucas reminded himself Verrick hadn’t had the chance to be a father. What kind of father would he have been if he had?

Lucas muttered a curse. Standing here in the stable, with Shannon and Cora unprotected in the house, and Verrick only God knows where, wasn’t going to help.

“Verrick, where the hell are you?”

Lucas stepped out of the building, wondering if he should find someone to go fetch Blake and the others back to the ranch. But when he saw the man with one foot poised to climb the steps to the house, Lucas began to run.

Pierce must’ve heard him, because he turned, his rifle tucking smoothly against his shoulder as he shifted his focus to the man tearing across the yard toward him.

Dimly, Lucas realized Pierce meant to shoot. Shoot Lucas, while standing practically on his porch!

The bastard had the audacity to step onto his land, to come to his home, with a loaded weapon? A weapon that, even now, was taking aim at Lucas’s head?

Some sixth sense told Lucas to dive to the side just as Pierce squeezed the trigger, and the bullet blew his hat off instead of going through his chest. He turned the dive into a roll and came up just as Pierce was chambering another round.

And all of the anger, and frustration, and guilt he’d been carrying around for the last few days finally caught up to him. “Shannon is in there, you bastard!” he yelled, launching himself at Pierce.

Time slowed as the older man swung the Winchester toward him, but Lucas wasn’t thinking about the way the bullet would feel when it slammed into him, or the realization maybe he’d inherited some of his real father’s instincts after all.

No, all he was thinking about was Shannon and their baby, and the knowledge with Verrick gone, he was the only one standing between the ones he loved and this monster.

Ironic that, despite both of them calling in gunslingers, it came down to the two of them, after all.

When Lucas slammed into Pierce, the Winchester was caught between them. The older man squeezed the trigger even as Lucas’s arms wrapped around his middle and threw them both to the ground. Dimly, Lucas felt the burn under his arm as the bullet exploded out of the barrel, but it could be ignored in favor of making Joseph Pierce pay.

The two men rolled in the dust, but Lucas was younger and stronger. He yanked the Winchester out of Pierce’s grip and tossed it as far away as he could from his prone position, then whipped his face out of the way of Pierce’s fist. The blow caught him on the ear instead of the eye, making his head ring.

Lucas shook it off and bucked Pierce to the side, his hands already reaching for the other man’s throat. He slammed Pierce’s head into the ground once, twice, then oofed in surprise when the older man levered him to one side and rolled towards the rifle.

“No!” he yelled and yanked Pierce back by the collar. “You’re not going to hurt her!”

He was panting when he slammed his fist into the older man’s kidney, but it was an awkward blow, with him on his back. When Pierce merely grunted and reached again for the rifle, Lucas forced himself to roll to his knees. Everything seemed to hurt, but he couldn’t, couldn’t let Pierce grab that rifle again, couldn’t let him climb the steps to hurt Shannon.

Loving someone means you will do whatever is necessary to protect them.

He wasn’t a killer, but he wasn’t going to let Pierce near Shannon either.

When he threw himself at the man who’d been bedeviling him for years, Lucas’s hand found Pierce’s throat. As he squeezed, he thought of Shannon, helpless inside the house, and what would’ve happened if Pierce had gone inside with his Winchester while Lucas was in the stable. What could, even now, be happening with Pierce’s gunslinger, Baker, still on the loose.

Fear gave him strength, and he slammed Pierce’s head into the ground.

I love her. I love her. I love her.

It felt like a million heartbeats until the man’s angry snarl turned purple, then slack, and his cold eyes rolled back in his head.

But it wasn’t until Pierce went limp beneath him that Lucas inhaled for the first time since tackling the man, and realized what he was doing. He was bleeding and dirty, and sore as hell, and choking the life out of another human being.

Cursing, he threw himself off Pierce and wiped his hands as if he could rid them of a killer’s stain.

Loving someone means you will do whatever is necessary to protect them. But did that mean having to become a killer? A killer like his father?

Kneeling there in the dirt beside the body of the man who’d come here to hurt Shannon, Lucas stared at his hands.

Were they the hands of a killer?

The excitement of the day must’ve made Shannon jumpy, because when she heard the sound of boots on the front steps, her gaze jerked to Cora’s.

“Is that what I think it is?” she whispered. Both Lucas and Verrick had disappeared out the front door, but the sound of their steps wouldn’t cause a pit of dread open in Shannon’s stomach the way these did.

Her older sister was already reaching for the front door. “You stay here. I’ll check.”

Muttering a rude word, Shannon ignored her sister and tried to slip out the door too. The taller woman blocked her.

“I’m sure everything is fine out there, Shannon, but for the baby’s sake you should stay safely in here. Verrick was very clear you could be in danger if you leave the house.”

Her sister’s cheeks were surprisingly flushed. What had happened in the foyer, before Shannon had finally decided to follow her husband out of the kitchen?

Shannon jabbed a finger in her sister’s chest. “You might be older, and you might think you’re wiser…”

Cora actually backed up a step, bumping against the door and looking surprised.

“…and you’re definitely bigger than me.” Another jab. “But if you think you can keep me from my husband when he needs me, you’re about to learn differently, missy.”

Her dark brows rising in surprise, Cora had the audacity to smile. “And what makes you think he needs you?”

As if in answer to her question, a gunshot rang out front, and both women frantically reached for the door at the same time.

Shannon slipped through first, just in time to see her husband lunge toward an older, gray-haired man who was trying to aim a rifle at him. Shannon’s heart tried to climb up her throat. That had to be Mr. Pierce, because it certainly wasn’t Two-Grins Baker.

The gun spat again, and she felt the bullet whiz past her and inside the house. Behind her, Cora squeaked and the sound of breaking glass followed, then Verrick appeared at Shannon’s side.

She didn’t know where to look. Her husband and Pierce were grappling on the ground, grunting and cursing, but Verrick’s strong grip on her upper arm drew her attention to him. There was something in his eyes she’d never imagined seeing there.

It was fear.

“Take this.” He slapped something in her palm, and her fingers automatically curled around the metal. “I have to find Baker.”

It wasn’t until he’d slipped around the side of the house, silent as always, that Shannon looked down to see that he’d given her the smaller of the two guns he always carried. In a daze, listening to the two men snarling on the ground, Shannon wondered if that meant Verrick trusted her.

“No!”

Her gaze snapped up at her husband’s anguished cry.

“You’re not going to hurt her!” Lucas grabbed Pierce and the two men tumbled back to the ground.

With trembling hands, Shannon lifted the small revolver, her finger curling through the trigger guard as she tried to train it on Pierce. She didn’t want to hurt anyone, but she would, if it meant helping Lucas.

For now, though, her husband seemed to have the advantage. She watched him straddle Pierce, watched him lift the other man by the neck and slam him against the ground. Her stomach turned to see Lucas in so much pain he would do this to another man. He’d spent a lifetime determined not to be a killer, not to be like Thomas Ryan or Joseph Pierce.

And now…

“I love her!”

Shannon blinked. Surely she had misheard him?

“I love her. I love her.” With each blow, Lucas’s grunted confession seemed to rip out of him. “I love her!”

The rest of the world ceased to exist, overpowered by the frantic drum of her pulse in her ears and the tightness in her chest. I love her. Surely he wasn’t talking about her? Surely she was mistaken?

I love her.

With a clarity that swept over her and weakened her knees, Shannon knew. Lucas was talking about her. He was trying to kill Pierce with his bare hands to protect her.

The revolver was suddenly too heavy, her palms too slick to do any good. She stumbled against the railing, dropping one hand to support herself and vaguely wondering what good she could possibly do for her husband in this state.

He loved her? After the way she’d lied to him, after all the secrets he’d been keeping from her, he loved her? He loved her as much as she loved him?

It wasn’t until black began to creep around the edges of her vision that she realized she was holding her breath. Sucking in a great lungful, she focused on her husband once more. He was still now, kneeling in the dust beside the motionless body of the older man, staring down at his hands.

He loved her, and he’d just become someone he didn’t want to be to save her. The enormity of his sacrifice made Shannon whimper, and in the silence, it seemed unnaturally loud. His golden-brown eyes met hers, and she shuddered at the bleakness she saw in them.

“Lucas,” she whispered, then smiled. “Lucas, it’s over.”

His eyes widened slightly, and she knew she could help him. She forced all her love, all the comfort she could offer him into her voice, and stretched out one hand to him. “Come home, husband.”

Come home to me. To our baby.

Maybe he understood, because he blinked once and forced himself to his feet. She saw him glance at his hands once more, before taking a deep breath and shaking his head. Her smile still in place, Shannon beckoned.

Come home to me, Lucas. No matter what he’d done, or who he’d become, she would still love him.

And then she realized her husband hadn’t become a killer, because behind him, Pierce’s questing hand had reached the rifle Lucas had flung aside. Shannon hadn’t even seen the movement, but the man wasn’t dead.

Not only wasn’t he dead, but he was now levering the rifle toward her husband’s back.

So she did the only thing she could do. She loved Lucas and would protect him the way he’d protected her.

“Lucas!” she shouted as she raised the revolver.

He would come home to her.