Schulze, Dallas

by Gunfighter's Bride

  “That’s when you and Douglas fell in love,” Lila finished impatiently, beyond caring that she was behaving like an ill-mannered brat. She wasn’t in the mood to hear a rehash of old history. The china clock on the mantel seemed to be ticking louder than it ever had, reminding her that time was passing. At any moment, Bishop might knock on her door—if he bothered to knock at all.

  “That’s when Douglas and I fell in love,” Susan confirmed, ignoring Lila’s rudeness. “But I also had a chance to get to know your husband.”

  Lila flinched at the word. Despite the wedding band that weighted her finger out of all proportion to its size, she couldn’t even begin to think of Bishop as her husband.

  “I don’t mean to be rude.” Another lie. She seemed to be telling a lot of them today, Lila thought bitterly. “But I’m really not in the mood to hear what a wonderful man I’ve married and how terribly happy we’re going to be. I’d really like to be alone, if you don’t mind.”

  Lila half expected Susan to depart on a wave of indignation, and she would almost have welcomed it. She was not in the mood for sympathy or reason. But if Susan was annoyed by her blatant rudeness, she didn’t let it show—another way in which her sister-in-law reminded her of her mother. Margaret Adams had considered strong emotional displays the essence of bad manners. A lady is always restrained. It’s up to us to set an example for the stronger sex. No matter how upset you are, you must show a calm façade to the world. Lila had spent her whole life trying—and failing—to live up to her mother’s ideal of ladylike behavior, an ideal that seemed to come effortlessly to Susan.

  She rose, shaking out the china-blue silk skirt of her dress. Her expression reflected nothing but compassion for the younger woman. “I know the circumstances are less than ideal, but I think you and Bishop could have a good marriage. You must have been attracted to one another. He’s a good man, Lila. He may seem hard and unapproachable but there’s a gentleness inside him. And a strength you can lean on, if you’ll let yourself.”

  The last thing Lila needed or wanted was a recitation of Bishop McKenzie’s wonderful qualities. Not when all she could think of was that he might be climbing the stairs at this very moment, expecting to spend the night with his bride.

  “If you were so taken with him, I’m surprised you didn’t marry him instead of Douglas,” she snapped, making no effort to conceal her anger.

  There was a brief, uncomfortable silence and then Susan sighed. “I’ll leave you alone. Just think about what I’ve said.”

  Lila stayed where she was, staring unseeingly at the delicate china clock. The door closed quietly behind Susan and Lila’s shoulders slumped. She’d behaved badly. She knew it, knew also that she owed her sister-in-law an apology. No matter how upset she was about Susan writing to Bishop, she could have handled it better. There’s never an excuse for bad manners. How many times had she heard her mother say that? Apparently it hadn’t been enough.

  She half turned toward the door, thinking to go after Susan, but she’d taken no more than a step when her glance fell on the bed. She stopped, the need for apologies forgotten.

  Bishop. Just what did he have in mind for tonight?

  ***

  Bishop inhaled one last lungful of smoke before dropping the cigarette on the ground and grinding it out with the toe of his boot. The night air was chilly and he was grateful for the warmth of the coat Susan had suggested he take. Remembering the scene in the dining room, he smiled. Trust Susan to worry about whether or not he was warm enough, no matter what the circumstances. She was a born mother hen. Even in the midst of the desert, with their odds of survival somewhere on a par with that of a snowball in hell, she’d fussed over him and Douglas.

  At the thought of Douglas, Bishop’s smile faded. In his entire life, he’d known only a handful of men he was willing to call friend. Douglas Adams had been one of them. If he’d given some thought to that friendship three months ago, things might have turned out considerably different. But Douglas had been the last thing on his mind that night.

  Turning back the way he’d come, Bishop saw the big house laid out at the bottom of the hill. He pushed his hands into the pockets of his trousers, his eyes narrowing in memory. The house had blazed with light that evening. It had been full of light and laughter. Everyone had been delighted to celebrate Douglas and Susan’s wedding. He’d been pleased for them too but, as he’d watched them swirl across the dance floor, their faces alight with happiness, he’d been aware of a soul-deep loneliness. And then Lila had been standing in front of him, her eyes sparkling with challenge, all but daring him to ask her to dance.

  He’d accepted the challenge, drawing her into his arms and waltzing her onto the ballroom floor. And, for a little while, the loneliness was gone, driven away by the flirtatious mischief in her smile. From the moment of his arrival a few days before the wedding, she’d made no secret of finding him intriguing. Under other circumstances, Bishop might have been inclined to give in to temptation and take her up on the invitation in her eyes. But beneath the invitation, there was an innocence he couldn’t ignore, even if she hadn’t been Douglas’s sister.

  He’d left the ball soon after that dance, retreating to his room with a bottle of whiskey he had every intention of draining. He’d worked his way just far enough down the bottle to be feeling no pain when Lila knocked on the door. She’d said that she wanted to make sure everything was in order. With the servants so busy with preparations for the reception, she was afraid they might have missed some item necessary to his comfort. But there had been something in her eyes that said that it wasn’t concern for his comfort that had brought her to his room.

  He’d reached for her and she’d come into his arms as if coming home. In some distant part of his mind, he’d known that he should stop. They’d both had too much to drink. He had about as much business making love to Lila Adams as he did jumping off a cliff and expecting to fly. But the taste of her had drowned out the small voice of reason. For a little while, he hadn’t felt so alone.

  Bishop shook his head and started back to the house. He was paying a hell of a price for a few hours of not being alone. They both were.

  He’d stayed outside longer than he’d realized, and, by the time he got back to the house, most of the lights were out. He’d assumed that everyone had gone to bed but, as he stepped into the foyer, the butler rose from a chair that sat in one corner.

  “Were you waiting up for me, Thomas?” Bishop asked, feeling a twinge of guilt. “You shouldn’t have. I can find my own way around.”

  “I’m sure you can, sir.” An elderly black man with the erect carriage of a general and an arrogance to match, Thomas had been with the Adamses all his life, taking over the position of butler from his father. On Bishop’s last visit, Thomas had treated him with a fatherly warmth, reflecting his gratitude for Bishop’s saving Douglas’s life. Now the chilly disapproval in Thomas’s voice was palpable.

  “Allow me to take your coat,” he said, coming forward to take the garment as Bishop shrugged out of it.

  “Thank you. Do you know where my bag ended up?”

  “Certainly, Mr. McKenzie. I had it put in Miss Lila’s room.”

  “Lila’s room?” Bishop’s head jerked around in shock, his eyes meeting Thomas’s.

  “Mrs. McKenzie, I suppose I should have said.” Thomas draped Bishop’s coat over his arm.

  “Does she know it’s there?” Bishop asked, his mind boggling as he tried to imagine Lila’s reaction to finding his things in her bedroom.

  “I wouldn’t know but it seems likely that she saw it when she went up to her room.”

  “I guess she would have,” Bishop murmured, looking up the broad staircase.

  “I’ll say good night then, Mr. McKenzie. Unless you need me to show you to Mrs. McKenzie’s room.”

  Bishop winced at the subtle sarcasm that infused the last sentence. Obviously, the servants had a pretty good idea of why Lila had started out to marry one man and ended u
p married to another.

  “I’m sure I can find it,” he told the butler.

  “Then I’ll say good night, sir.”

  “Good night.”

  Bishop waited until Thomas had disappeared toward the back of the house before he started up the stairs. Mrs. McKenzie. It wasn’t going to be easy to get used to hearing Lila referred to that way. It had been a long time since he’d heard that name used. Which brought up another problem, he thought uneasily. His unexpected marriage could solve almost as many problems as it was causing, although it was doubtful that Lila would see it that way. He’d have to talk to her tomorrow before he left. There were things she needed to be told.

  Bishop reached the top of the stairs and turned down the hall that led to west wing of the house. He was not nearly as familiar with Lila’s room as Thomas had assumed but, as it happened, he didn’t have to rely on his memory to find it. His steps slowed when he saw the familiar black bag sitting in the hallway.

  He stood in the hallway a moment, staring down at his bag and feeling his temper edge upward. Knowing it was a waste of time, he reached out to try the doorknob. Locked. Bishop drew a deep breath and considered his options.

  He was tired. He’d been traveling for days. He’d been punched, lost a good friend, and married a girl he barely knew and wasn’t at all sure he even liked. He hadn’t had a whole lot of time to contemplate what the future might be like, but he’d always thought that it was a good rule of thumb to start as you meant to go on. And one thing he knew for sure was that he did not intend to let his new wife have everything her way. He had the distinct feeling that she’d already had more of that than was good for her.

  He knew, as surely as if he could see through solid wood, that Lila was wide awake and staring at the door, wondering what he was going to do. Reminding himself that it had been a difficult day for her as well, Bishop grabbed a firm hold of his temper and tapped on the door.

  “Open the door, Lila,” he said in as level a tone as he could manage.

  There was a lengthy pause and he wondered if she was going to pretend to be asleep, but then she spoke, her voice muffled but audible.

  “Go away.”

  Without giving it a second’s thought, Bishop smashed the heel of his boot against the door. The lock yielded and the door flew open, slamming back against the wall with an echoing crash. He stepped into the doorway.

  Lila was sitting up in bed, her green eyes huge and startled in her pale face. Before either of them could speak, a door down the hall opened and Douglas and Susan ran out of their room.

  “What the devil do you think you’re doing?” Douglas demanded.

  Ignoring him, Bishop strode to the foot of the bed, his eyes on Lila’s face. She watched him with the expression of a rabbit facing a diamondback, her fingers wrapped around the covers, her knuckles white with the force of her grip.

  He let the silence build. Lila could feel her heart pounding in her chest. When she’d put his bag outside the door, she hadn’t given much thought to his reaction; she simply hadn’t been able to bear having it in her room a moment longer. The last thing she’d expected was that he’d kick in her door and stride into her room as if he had every right to be there. The frightening thing was that he did have the right.

  He loomed at the foot of the bed, huge and dark and angry. She was suddenly, frighteningly, aware that, a few hours ago, she’d given herself, body and soul, into his keeping. If he chose to beat her, the law would say he had the right. Not that she thought he’d beat her. Not really.

  He leaned toward her and she flinched back from the blazing heat in his eyes. How could she ever have thought they were cold?

  “Don’t ever lock a door against me again,” he said.

  The soft order sent a shiver up Lila’s spine. She swallowed, trying to think of something to say, something that would show him that he couldn’t intimidate her. But Bishop didn’t wait for her response. Turning, he strode back out into the hallway, nodding to Douglas and Susan as he scooped his bag off the floor. Lila heard his footsteps going down the stairs and then silence.

  CHAPTER 4

  It took every ounce of courage she possessed for Lila to come downstairs for breakfast the morning after her wedding. She had lain awake into the early hours of the morning, her mind replaying the events of the day, particularly the final scene with Bishop. She kept thinking of things she could have said or done to show him what she thought of his barbaric behavior, to make it clear that he couldn’t intimidate her. Except he had intimidated her—quite thoroughly. Not even in her imagination could she conjure up a picture of herself standing up to the man who’d loomed so menacingly over her bed.

  Feeling an uneasy mixture of bravado and trepidation, she entered the dining room, prepared to greet her new husband with a show of calm. But Bishop was not there, and Lila refused to acknowledge that there might be a trace of disappointment mixed in with her relief. Douglas and Susan were seated at one end of the table. They looked up as she entered, their self-conscious expressions giving Lila a pretty clear idea of what they’d been discussing. Douglas, and Susan, and everyone else in Beaton, she thought with a twinge of wry humor.

  “Good morning.” She was pleased to hear how normal she sounded.

  “How are you this morning?” Susan asked, her expression anxious.

  “I’m fine.” Lila lifted her brows in faint surprise, as if she couldn’t imagine why Susan was asking. Thomas slid her chair out for her and she sat down at the table, casting him a quick smile. “Are there any muffins left or did Douglas hog them all, as usual?”

  “I think Cook held back one or two just for you, Miss Lila.” Thomas’s smile was affectionate.

  “See if you can sneak them in past my brother, please, Thomas.” They’d had variations on the same conversation many times over the years.

  “He doesn’t have to sneak them past me,” Douglas protested automatically. “You’d think I stole the food right off your plate, the way you talk.”

  “Well, I did notice you eyeing my bacon this morning, dear,” Susan said.

  The light conversation was strained. Too much remained unspoken for it to be otherwise, but Lila was grateful for its normalcy. For a little while, it almost seemed possible that she’d imagined everything that had happened—that yesterday had never happened.

  But the fragile illusion was destroyed a moment later when Bishop walked into the room. Lila didn’t need to see the sudden stiffness in Douglas’s expression to tell her that Bishop had arrived. Even with her back to the door, she knew he was there. She could feel him, as if something in the very air changed when he entered a room. There was a tense moment of silence, broken by Susan.

  “Good morning, Bishop.”

  “Morning.” Bishop nodded to Douglas before walking to the sideboard to pour himself a cup of coffee. He’d spent a damned uncomfortable night sleeping on a sofa in the library, and his mood was about as warm as the ache in his neck. At that, it was warmer than the atmosphere in the dining room.

  He leaned one hip against the sideboard and studied the three people before him. Douglas was wearing a dark, tailored suit, sober as a judge and about as friendly. Susan, in a dress of her favorite soft blue, was casting worried looks from him to Lila, who seemed to be utterly fascinated by the floral pattern on her plate.

  “Good morning, Lila.” For a moment, he thought she was going to ignore him, but he should have known better. Hearing the soft challenge in his voice, her chin came up, her green eyes meeting his coolly.

  “Bishop.” She nodded her head as regally as a queen greeting a subject—a not terribly important subject, at that, Bishop thought.

  He was torn between annoyance and admiration, a combination that was rapidly becoming familiar. He took a swallow of coffee, watching Lila above the rim of the cup. She was studying her plate again, her head tilted slightly downward, revealing the soft curls that fell against her nape. The sunlight that spilled in through the tall windows turned
her hair to pure fire and highlighted the milky softness of her skin.

  Bishop wondered idly if he would have found her easier to deal with if she hadn’t been so damned beautiful. She was wearing another gray dress, this one a deep, dusty charcoal, trimmed with ivory lace at the neck and wrists. A row of buttons marched down the front of the gown with military precision. The effect was austere, aggressively restrained. The severity of the garment all but shouted at a man to keep his distance. Yet Bishop found himself wondering how long it would take to open that prim little row of buttons.

  Not that he was likely to get a chance to find out. She’d made it pretty clear that she had no intention of letting him close enough to touch her buttons—or anything else. The thought did nothing to improve his mood.

  “I’ll be leaving this afternoon,” he said, directing the comment at no one in particular.

  Lila’s head came up, her eyes startled. “I can’t be ready that soon. I’ll need at least a week to pack.”

  It was Bishop’s turn to look surprised. “Pack for what?”

  “To go ... wherever we’re going. Where are we going?”

  Bishop stared at her a moment. “I’m going to Colorado. You’re not going anywhere, at least not with me.”

  “Of course I am. I’m going with you. Where else would I go?”

  “You’ll stay here.”

  “Here?” Lila felt as if the wind had just been knocked from her. He expected her to stay here? After the scene in the church yesterday? Had she made him so angry that he felt the need to punish her so cruelly? “I’m going with you.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  “Yes, I am. You’re my husband.” Funny, how easy that word was to say all of a sudden. “My place is with you.”

  “Your place?” Bishop’s dark brows shot up in surprise at this sudden display of wifely devotion. Lila flushed but she wasn’t going to give in. She couldn’t.

  “I won’t stay here,” she said flatly.

  “Maybe he’s right,” Douglas said, though it clearly cost him to agree with anything Bishop said. “Maybe you should stay here. You don’t know what it’s like in the West, Lila. It’s no place for a lady, particularly one in your delicate condition.” He cleared his throat, uncomfortable at having to refer to her pregnancy.