Saving the Gunslinger

Chapter Four

Chapter Four

The aching in his gut festered and grew until Zachary was certain a hole would be gnawed straight through his middle. Every step his black gelding made brought him closer to a place he'd once said he'd never set foot in again—a place he hadn't seen in five long years.

He should have made this trip yesterday upon arriving back in Hackney, but Zachary hadn't been able to bring himself to do so. Even now he was fighting the constant urge to turn tail and run—never in his life had Zachary been a coward but damn, the thought of what was waiting for him at the end of this road had him feeling yellow.

The day was a pretty one at least. Bright sunlight filled a sky that was sapphire blue and dotted with cottony white clouds. Birdsongs filled the air. Spring was in full bloom and evidence of that was the aroma of wildflowers wafting on the gentle breeze as bees and butterflies swarmed about.

Yes, the day was beautiful indeed—and Zachary couldn't help but think it was simply mocking the turmoil that lived within him.

Pulling up on the reins, Zachary brought Blaze to a stop as soon as that white farmhouse came into view. Memories of the life he'd lived here came flooding back. The faces had become blurred now—a cruel trick that time played on the brain—but those memories were as vivid as if they'd been made yesterday. And, damn, they hurt.

Doing his best to turn off emotion, Zachary urged Blaze forward once more. Time had taken its toll on the land and buildings. The homes' white paint was faded and chipping away revealing the graying boards beneath while the black painted shutters hung crooked and broken. The barns and outbuildings looked as if time had taken one hell of a toll on them as well.

It was going to take a ton and a half of elbow grease to get the family ranch up and running again, but Zachary would do it. His parents had always loved this place and he owed it to them to see it restored back to working order. He never should have neglected it for so long.

The weeds had overgrown his mama's once beloved flower beds and the yard needed a good cut with the scythe. Zachary brought Blaze to a stop at the edge of the dusty porch and slid from the horses' back. The boots on his feet seemed to have gained twenty pounds apiece as Zachary struggled to lift them up the sagging steps.

Nearing that black front door, memories of his family overwhelmed him. His mama pulling fresh baked bread from the oven, while his pa boasted about how he'd gotten himself the best wife in Oklahoma. His sisters giggling at his antics while they practiced their arithmetic.

Quiet snowy days with the wind howling outside the windows but the fire warm in the hearth simmering venison stew. The family all gathered around the sitting room while pa read tales from a story book to entertain them and mama worked on whatever knitting project she had resting in her lap.

Laughter.

Warmth.

Love.

Blood.

Bullets.

Bodies....

Bile rose in his throat as Zachary turned and fled from the house, leaping off the porch and running until his tear blinded eyes failed to see a rock and he tripped before falling to his knees. Gasping for breath, Zachary fought back those tears and the urge to vomit. God dammit, he was nothing but a failure and a coward! Going in that house just how was something beyond his bravery—it couldn't be done.

It took several long minutes of catching breath and shoving down emotions before Zachary felt steady enough to rise once again to his feet. Swiping his arm over his face, he dried the dampness on his cheeks.