Bishop's Pawn

by Suzanne Halliday

  Holy fuck. Giant chunks of snow do not wear red hats. Reacting instantly, he pushed open the truck door and slip-slid across the road to the fallen snowball.

  A body lay motionless in a pile of white along the side of the narrow road. He bent to get a closer look and nearly shit his pants.

  Oh god, no. It was her, and she was groaning slightly.

  In a voice that sounded unnecessarily harsh, he barked, “Are you alright?”

  She blinked but didn’t react. Emergency triage being just one of his many unique skills, he began a swift physical assessment. When he touched her shoulder and moved his hand down her arm, she reacted like an outraged royal virgin being manhandled by a servant.

  Grunting when she landed a vicious kick to his leg, he ignored the pushback and continued his assessment.

  Her voice was thick and husky when she angrily growled, “Get your hands off me.”

  There was a frantic quality to the way she avoided being touched. As she struggled to her feet, he stepped back and admired her grit. This girl wasn’t going to take anyone’s shit. Not even his.

  She wobbled and swayed like a flag at the mercy of a windstorm. When her shoulders went back and she defiantly pushed snow off her face Roman was seized with an attack of primal lust so hot and heavy that he let out an involuntary grunt.

  The withering glare she shot his way instantly died when they were face-to-face. He saw the recognition light up in her eyes. Whatever verbal shot she was preparing to fire got lodged in the chamber when their eyes met.

  “Aw, shit.”

  He shared her reaction.

  Sensing she was undoubtedly going to be one hundred percent resistant to an offer of help, he sidestepped the whole thing and simply took control. And besides, he could see she was in distress. They didn’t have time for any of her fuck off and die nonsense.

  “It’s good to see you again too,” he snarled between gritted teeth. Crowding her with his body, he forced her to go where he wanted. “Now get in the truck. Gotta keep moving or we’ll be stuck right here.”

  She didn’t resist and she didn’t comply. He stared down into her shocked face and willed some of the fierce scowl he was sure he wore to soften.

  “You can trust me,” he said softly.

  Her caustic snort revealed what she thought of his unsolicited declaration. “Yeah, whatever.”

  Shifting away from him she walked away and began kicking the snow behind the truck.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  “I’m not going anywhere without my stuff.”

  “What stuff?”

  “Ah, here we go,” she declared from twenty feet away. Cradling her elbow, she bent and grabbed hold of something.

  “Don’t just stand there, fancy man. Lend me a hand would you? Sheesh.”

  I don’t believe I’ve ever been called a fancy man before, he mused as he snapped to attention and did as she demanded. Handing him an old backpack, she wrapped her fist around a chain and pulled a chain of quail out of the bushes.

  He couldn’t tell if she was hurt or not. At times she favored one arm but it wasn’t consistent.

  She was peering intently through the heavily falling snow at the hilly tier of woods that she fell from rising above the road. Suddenly turning away, he heard a softly muttered oath, “Balls.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” she replied with brusque coolness.

  He was irked by the undisguised annoyance directed at him. His jaw clenched tighter. She turned away and swept past him as if he was invisible, marched to the rear of the truck and flung the dead birds onto the snow-covered bed.

  For whatever reason he didn’t move at all, just stood there holding the ratty old backpack as thick snow clung to his clothing, and stared at her.

  Yanking on the passenger door, she pulled it open and then whirled back to glare at him with a mocking look that triggered a very unwelcome sexual response.

  “Okay, look,” she sneered with cold impatience. “You’re not trespassing on a private road that put you in spitting distance of where I live for no reason. So cut the astonished act. I’m not buying it. Hill folk ain’t stupid,” she drawled.

  Time out, time out, his brain hollered. Pay attention man because there was a mega-tonnage of information and clues in what just came out of her mouth. That last part? The sarcastic dig about mountain folk? Yeah. Totally a twangy approximation of the local drawl. But everything else? Absolutely no accent whatsoever. As a matter of fact, her speech resembled the patois of a New Englander.

  His face remained blank but inwardly his eyebrows were arched high enough to blend into his hairline. Fascinating.

  “You want something. From me. Bad call by the way, but hey, that’s on you. Now unless I’m missing something,” she continued with a heavy dose of sarcasm, “you just ran me over with your vehicle. A moving violation, yes? And a blizzard has settled overhead so either get in this truck and take me home or throw it in reverse and drive your unwelcome ass outta here.” She glanced at the sky. “But put up or shut up, mister. I don’t have all day.”

  Kelly Anne James was, in actuality, cleverly disguised kryptonite. Had to be. That’s the only way to explain the burst of raunchy vignettes crowding his mind. Shit. For half a nanosecond he considered ripping her jeans off and throwing her onto her ass in a snowdrift so he could fuck her into oblivion.

  No. Seriously. That just happened.

  This snip of a girl with an attitude begging to be tamed overrode decades of the practiced control he was known for. He glared at her, frowning. This was an assignment. She was Liam’s sister. And way too fucking young and unworldly for the likes of him. None of those thoughts belonged in the same narrative but there ya’ have it. If he could be any more uncomfortable, it’d be a first.

  “Get in the fucking truck,” he snapped in an angry snarl.

  His brain was in chaos. Bewildered by his reaction he stomped up to the driver’s door, the one he left open allowing snow to blow inside, stowed her pack in the extended cab and then wiped the layer of white off his seat with an indignant huff.

  She all but melted into the passenger seat in an apparent effort to stay as far from him as she could so they drove in silence until, with an impatient hand gesture, she pointed out where to turn. After that, it was a few more minutes of ear-splitting dead air before the small house came into view.

  “Don’t block bandit,” she grumbled as he maneuvered the bumpy drive.

  Assuming bandit was the name of her truck, he didn’t just pull alongside but went through the process of backing in. “Make it easier to get moving once the snow stops.”

  His words bounced off her like a basketball hitting the rim. When it came to completely ignoring him, she was the winner by a mile. Not only didn’t she give any indication whatsoever that he spoke, the cold-shoulder defensive strategy he had to kind of, sort of admire, left him tongue-tied.

  So instead of talking, he observed.

  She was on the small side. Not overly so, but next to his size and brawn the size difference between them was glaringly obvious.

  When he’d seen her at Shorty’s, the atmosphere had been what you’d expect from a bar. The lighting sucked, half of everyone there openly smoked like chimneys, and he wasn’t just referring to cigarettes. The hazy and dim view from that night didn’t prepare him for how beautiful she was up close. With the red knit hat covering her hair he could only see her face but holy hell what a face.

  Her naturally arched dark brows drew attention to her eyes. Not unlike Liam’s, they were an unusual color, misty gray with touches of deep blue framed by thick, dark eyelashes. The family resemblance was strong.

  Annoyance popped and snapped inside him as cherry bombs went off in his conscience. She’s Liam’s sister. Get your fucking priorities straight.

  About to say he was sorry they were meeting under such bizarre circumstances, he sucked the words back into his throat when the passenger door was furiousl
y kicked open and she slid out.

  So much for taking a stab at civility. Dismissing him like an overcharging cab driver, she marched to the truck bed, retrieved her birds and then continued a tight ass march away from the truck toward the tiny house. He quickly exited the vehicle but remained where he was.

  She stomped her feet and kicked snow off the steps leading to the front door. At the last second, she looked straight at him. Her expression charted midway between scathing and withering.

  The thunder-jolt of primitive, crude lust landing in his groin made Roman tighten. It was a wonder his jeans didn’t combust and melt right off him. What the hell was it about this girl’s snide dismissal that got him so unusually riled up?

  Was it his natural instinct for taming her fire?

  Or was it a more disturbing impulse? Something deeper, more elemental. A response that went lightyears beyond simple, biological sexual urges.

  “If you’re coming, bring my pack. If you’re leaving, and please don’t let me stop you, drop it next to the path.”

  Dismissal achieved, she shrugged and then disappeared into the house.

  He glanced around. The amount of snowfall was intense. For once the Weather Channel wouldn’t be exaggerating if they were calling this the blizzard of the century.

  By rote, his mind attacked the situation. Shit in the form of uncontrollable Mother Nature was about to get real.

  Grasping the straps of her pack, he pulled it from the cab, shut the door and pocketed the keys. While it was still light and he was able to see at least a short distance, he surveyed the physical surroundings around his vehicle, noting where the snow-covered access road broke through the thick trees. It’s always good to keep your bearings. Situational awareness was practically his middle name.

  Tromping through the building accumulation he slowed, giving the house a quick inspection as he approached the small porch. Though quite small, the one story dwelling had a portico covering the front door with two windows to the right. A chimney rose from the shingled roof. Barely visible from this angle and even more obscured by limited visibility, he spied a satellite dish behind the chimney.

  Kicking snow off his boots, he stepped onto the small porch beneath the peaked portico. Though the house was obviously old, he could see the siding had been recently painted. And the little porch. New wood. Nicely done too. The front door was also new. A multi-colored curtain covered the glass center pane.

  For no reason whatsoever, a sleeping demon he kept on a short chain deep inside him woke up and started to growl. New porch. Fresh paint. A front door perfectly hung. He breathed heavily, his senses on high alert. All these things indicated the presence of a man.

  Another male to contend with wasn’t something he’d taken into account. Jimmy made it pretty clear that even with a kid on the scene there wasn’t any evidence of Kelly having an involved baby daddy.

  He didn’t like the idea of there being a rival of any sort. Not one bit.

  With a final kick to clear his boots, he opened the front door and followed her inside. Making sure to step carefully onto the door mat, he wiped his feet, looked up, and stumbled to a halt.

  My god. He’d stepped into an Americana exhibit. The interior of the modest home was tidy enough, he supposed. It was a little hard to tell though from the sheer preponderance of stuff the little place harbored. Every place he looked his gaze fell on something. There wasn’t an inch or a crannied nook left untouched.

  For a neat freak like him, the overwhelming visual was both horrifying and sweetly endearing.

  Noise across the small living room caught his attention. A kitchen table just inside the door sat at the end of an L-shaped kitchen. She stood at the sink. He watched her in profile. She knew he was there but continued to ignore him.

  A fire crackled in the fireplace at the far side of the living room. The mantle was cluttered with mismatched knick-knacks and on the wall above it hung a cheaply framed painting depicting a lighthouse and cottage on a rocky coastline. Basic, blunt, colorful.

  On the far wall, splitting the space evenly, was a darkened hallway.

  Quirky and small, like its owner, the little house struck him in an entirely unexpected and sentimental way.

  She moved around and threw him some not-at-all subtle shade before stomping out of the tiny kitchen. Curious where she went, he dropped the backpack on the table, took off his leather jacket, hung it on a chair to dry, and then tracked her path. He found her in a small cramped mud room behind the kitchen. A door leading to what he assumed was the backyard and an old washer and dryer took up most of the space. At a relatively new looking utility sink, the cheap kind the home improvement stores put on sale all the time, Kelly had her sleeves rolled up as she attacked a task her angle prevented him from seeing.

  “Do you always stand around like there’s nothing to do?”

  He almost smiled. Almost. There was defiance in her voice and a sneering challenge.

  Challenges were cool with him. He responded to any contest whether physical or cerebral.

  “Sorry,” he sniggered. “Thought I chipped a nail coming through the door. Stopped to check my manicure.”

  She whipped around, tilted her chin defiantly, balled her fists, and placed them on her waist. The look on her face suggested she almost fell for his light tease. Almost.

  She boldly met his gaze. He caught the slight movement when she swallowed, but mostly he just stared her down. Every second ticking by in which she didn’t capitulate fueled the inferno of his unfortunate desire.

  He found the way she held fast to her ground humorous. The bluster delighted him. She was trying ridiculously hard to make it seem like she wore the pants in every situation. Oh my god, he thought with a laugh. There was no fucking way she’d ever known a man like him.

  “While we wait for your pithy retort, how about you tell me what needs doing? I noticed the copper tub beside the fireplace only has two logs. Point me to the log pile.”

  She sputtered, and color bloomed on her cheeks. It was all kinds of fun to meet her death rays with practiced indifference. Mostly due to the obvious fact that his laid-back vibe was driving her nuts.

  He snapped his fingers twice. “Come on lady. I realize my fancy pants scramble your brain, but it’s like you said. Shit to do.”

  If she could have gotten away with ripping his throat open she probably would have, at least that’s the story her eyes told. Using her words against her was a stroke of finger-poking brilliance.

  He bared his teeth in a cheeky grin and topped things off with a wink. Her gray eyes turned stormy. Heaven help them if he ever forgot who he was. Who she was. Who they both were.

  Showing all the prowess of an outmaneuvered battlefield commander, he marveled at the neat, clean way she shifted focus. Marshaling her defenses for a better time was a smart move.

  His eyes narrowed as he viewed her anew. Kelly James country gal wasn’t at all who she was at the heart of things. It was an act. A performance born of experience, only he was certain she wouldn’t see it that way. He wondered what she’d be like in the real world. Imagining Kelly going toe-to-toe with her belligerent older brother triggered an involuntary bark of laughter to erupt from his mouth. This girl was trouble with a bold faced capital T.

  She stiffened so fast and so rigidly his guffaw cut short mid-note. Uh oh. Roman recognized a hard limit when he saw one.

  A sharp head flick sent a ponytail of black hair over her shoulder. His warrior’s brain, trained to notice externals, deciphered the movement one way but his primitive testosterone driven brain read a different challenge in her gutsy insolence.

  Recognizing the authoritative, home field advantage in her delivery, he gave her a gentlemanly pass with a brief nod.

  “Don’t patronize me, Mr. Bishop.”

  One eyebrow shot up without any help from him. He knew it was a mistake when her withering expression hardened.

  “What? Surprised you’re not the only one with five dollar words?�
�

  “Touché,” he replied with a barely concealed smirk.

  There was a nearly indiscernible quiver at the corner of her mouth. She liked sparring with him! Holy shit. Ignoring every single warning bell clanging discordantly in his head, he pushed aside all reason, abandoned his fucking sanity and stepped into the game.

  “Well shee-it, honey,” he drawled with mocking glee. “Being snowed in with a harpie didn’t hold much appeal.” His voice dropped a gazillion octaves until he found the smoky, innuendo-laden tone he wanted. “But a fast-paced volley of bourgeois taunts? Yeah. That’s what I’m talking about.”

  She burst out laughing. Not what he expected, but hey. As long as she wasn’t thinking about neutering him with the menacing knife balancing on the edge of the utility tub, he was good.

  “I can’t with you,” she scoffed after a thirty-second pause to catch her breath. “Just go out back and haul in some logs, okay? Fill the bucket and stack a few more to the side. Won’t be long now,” she muttered heavily with a dark glance at the overhead lights, “before the power goes out. Wet snow weighs down the lines. Best to be prepared.”

  And then she dismissed him. Turning away, she went back to processing her birds. He marveled at the way she met the conditions life sent her way. He watched her wield the heavy knife. In that second the tremendous disparity between the life she led now and the one about to overtake her made him uneasy. It wasn’t always a good thing to interfere.

  Liam and Roman existed in a world of five-star living. Though not exactly foodies in the classic sense, they shared an appreciation for a restaurant on the lower east side with a remarkable pheasant pate and a braised rabbit main that rivaled the chef’s award-winning bison steak in taste and originality.

  He’d done a lot of stuff in his life, but hunting and dressing a bird meant for the dinner table? Not so much.

  Suddenly her fancy man taunt wasn’t so funny.

  Stepping into the backyard, he made quick work of moving two-dozen good size logs to the back door. He also managed to end up cold, wet and pissy. Outside the cocoon of Kelly’s tiny house, there was nothing but cold, treacherous white. Darkness had fallen. The dim bulb above the door flickered.