Schulze, Dallas

by Gunfighter's Bride

  “Angel isn’t old enough to take care of herself yet. Do you want to help her undress for bed?” she asked, arching one slim brow in question.

  “Help her ..Bishop glanced past her at the door, which she’d left open a crack. Help that fragile-looking little girl undress for bed? He’d rather skin a live rattlesnake. “No, I don’t.”

  “I didn’t think so. And I doubt if you want to help her get dressed in the morning or supervise her baths either.” Lila’s mouth quirked with humor at the look of horror that passed across his face. “It’s not fair to expect Gavin to do it. That’s why Angel and I are in one room and you and Gavin are in the other.”

  Bishop stared at her, frustrated but unable to argue with her reasoning. He hadn’t given any thought to the fact that a child as young as Angel was going to need care beyond the basics of seeing that she had something to eat and a place to sleep. This wasn’t the way he’d planned to end the evening. Reasonable or no, he knew there was more to this arrangement than practicality.

  “I’ll see about renting a house tomorrow,” he said, giving grudging approval to the arrangements.

  “That will be lovely,” she said with bright insincerity.

  Looking at her, Bishop nearly groaned with frustration. He didn’t plan on spending the rest of his life sharing a room with his son. And he sure as hell didn’t plan on this marriage being one in name only, even if Lila seemed content to keep it that way. Maybe it was time to remind her of what it was that had gotten them into this situation in the first place.

  Lila had already started to turn away, and she -squeaked with surprise when Bishop’s hand closed around the back of her neck, turning her back toward him. She caught a glimpse of his vivid blue eyes, their expression mixing cool determination with a warm hunger that made her stomach clench with sudden awareness. She put her hands to his chest but then his mouth came down on hers and she forgot to push him away.

  She’d spent weeks telling herself it had been the champagne that had made her forget all about right and wrong, that had made her go to his room on a trumped-up excuse to satisfy her curiosity. Just once in her life, she’d wanted to know what it felt like to kiss a man like Bishop McKenzie—someone wild and dangerous; someone who didn’t think of her as Douglas Adams’s sister or Margaret Adams’s daughter or Billy Sinclair’s fiancee. She’d convinced herself that it was champagne and curiosity that had caused her downfall.

  With one kiss, Bishop proved her a liar. She might have had too much champagne that night and she’d certainly been curious, but what had driven her to follow him to his room had been something more elemental than either of those things.

  The gentle scrape of Bishop’s mustache was an intriguing contrast to the softness of his mouth. She was going to push him away, of course, Lila told herself. But she didn’t have to hurry. Safe in the knowledge that, with Angel waiting, this could go no further than a kiss, she allowed herself to feel the hunger that was slowly uncoiling in the pit of her stomach.

  He slid his hand upward from her nape, his fingers burrowing into her hair, wreaking havoc with the heavy knot into which she’d labored to wind it before dinner. His other hand flattened against her lower back. Lila’s skirts rustled as he drew her close against his body. He changed the angle of the kiss, his mouth hardening over hers. She felt her knees go weak as his tongue stroked across her lower lip, demanding a response she was helpless to deny. With a soft sigh of surrender, she opened her mouth to him, welcoming the demanding thrust of his tongue, hungry for the taste of him. Her fingers curled into the crisp white fabric of his shirt front, clinging to him as the world dipped and spun around her.

  This was what she’d tried so hard to forget. Not just the passion but the feeling of completeness, as if a part of her that had been missing all her life had suddenly been found. The feeling was as exhilarating as it was terrifying.

  She was all but melting in his arms when he broke off the kiss. He stepped back as she opened her eyes and stared at him, feeling almost dizzy at the abruptness of his withdrawal.

  “You can’t hide behind the children forever,” he told her, his voice holding a ragged edge.

  Lila watched, dazed, as he turned and walked away. She was still standing there when the door to his room shut with a quiet click.

  CHAPTER 9

  Lila shepherded Gavin and Angel through the lobby of the Lyman Hotel, nodding to Clem Lyman who stood behind the desk watching their departure with unabashed interest. She was careful not to pause long enough for him to engage her in conversation. The last thing she wanted to do was get involved in a conversation with the hotelkeeper. She had too many secrets in her life to be comfortable talking to the “second biggest gossip” in town. The sooner Bishop found a house for them, the better.

  Although that was hardly without its hazards. Her cheeks warmed as she remembered the night before and the incendiary kiss they’d shared. Standing in a public hallway of all places! If anyone had seen them ... The thought was enough to make her shudder. She’d had a mostly sleepless night to consider what had happened, and she still couldn’t understand how she’d so far forgotten herself as to kiss him back. Not only kiss him but to cling to him like ivy to a wall.

  “I don’t see why I have to go to some stuffy old store.” Gavin’s complaint provided a welcome distraction from her thoughts.

  “Because it’s the best place to meet people,” Lila told him as they stepped onto the boardwalk in front of the hotel.

  “I don’t want to meet people.” Gavin was very definite about that.

  “Yes, you do.” Lila unfurled her parasol as protection against the bright spring sunshine. “If Paris is going to be our home, it behooves us to make the acquaintance of the people among whom we’ll be living,” she told the boy. She’d decided that the best way to handle her stepson was to treat him like the adult he seemed to so nearly be. She certainly wouldn’t get anywhere treating him as a child. “We need to make a place for ourselves, perhaps make a few friends.”

  “I don’t need friends,” he muttered, scowling out at the nearly empty street.

  “Nonsense. Everyone needs friends. You must have had some friends back in St. Louis. Boys you went to school with? Perhaps you visited their homes or they visited yours?” She was probing deliberately, trying to get a picture of what their life had been like.

  “I had a tutor. Grandmother wouldn’t have let us bring anyone home anyway. Nor visit them. She said she didn’t want to risk us coming in contact with the wrong sort of people and exposing our bad blood.” The look he gave her was defiantly casual, but there was a flicker of pain in the back of his eyes.

  Lila’s fingers tightened over the handle of her parasol until it was a wonder the finely polished wood didn’t crack under the pressure. She’d been taught to respect her elders. It was a tenet she certainly expected to pass on to her own children and, inasmuch as she’d found herself in charge of Bishop’s children, she intended to teach them the same. But there were limits.

  “Your grandmother sounds like a remarkably stupid woman,” she said crisply. “If I believed in bad blood, which I do not, I would have to say that the only bad blood you should be concerned about is what you might have inherited from her. I count it as a great pity that I’m not able to give her a piece of my mind.”

  Gavin’s eyes grew round with shock, and he stared at her as if seeing her for the first time. No doubt she should feel guilty for corrupting an innocent young mind, Lila thought, but she couldn’t conjure up any feeling of guilt. Louise Linton sounded like a positively horrible woman, and she was suddenly, quite fiercely glad that Bishop hadn’t left the children with her.

  She fixed Gavin with a stem look. “I don’t ever want to hear mention of bad blood again. Do you understand me?”

  He goggled at her a moment longer in silence and then swallowed hard. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Good. Now, let’s go see what this town has to offer. The mercantile is generally a good place to start
. Not for merchandise so much as for information and for meeting people.”

  “I don’t see why you expect to meet people at a store,” Gavin said.

  “Because people tend to gather in such places. Besides, I want to purchase some ribbon to brighten up your sister’s gowns.” Glancing down at Angel, Lila frowned at the starkly simple dress the child wore. The robin’s egg blue muslin certainly suited her delicate coloring and the quality was above reproach, but that was all the gown had to recommend it. “They’re much too plain for a child her age.”

  “I like ribbons,” Angel said, giving Lila a smile of dazzling sweetness.

  “Do you?” Lila brushed her free hand over the little girl’s golden curls. If Gavin presented something of a puzzle, Angel was simplicity itself. Lila couldn’t imagine a child who was easier to love.

  “Red ribbons,” Angel suggested. “And some for Cassandra too.” She held up the simple rag doll that was her constant companion.

  “Red?” Lila winced at the thought of trimming the blue dress with red ribbons. “How about red ribbons for Cassandra and maybe some rosy pink ones for you?”

  Angel’s delicate chin firmed. “I like red,” she said, showing the streak of stubbornness that Lila had seen a time or two before.

  “We’ll see what they have,” she said diplomatically. Hopefully she’d be able to persuade Angel to accept a more suitable color. If not... She shuddered at the image of red ribbons on robin’s egg blue. “Come along now.”

  She took Angel’s hand in hers as they stepped off the boardwalk and into the dusty street. This second view of Paris was no more impressive than the first. The Frenchman who’d named the town must have been unbearably homesick or remarkably optimistic. This collection of frame buildings fronting onto a dirt street bore no resemblance to the famed City of Lights that she could see.

  There was a bell over the door of Fitch’s General Store, and its cheery jangle announced their entrance. Lila paused just inside to let her eyes adjust. After the crisp sunlight outside, the interior of the store seemed dim. Fitch’s looked much as she’d expected. It wasn’t as polished and tidy as the mercantile back home nor was it as organized. Stacks of canned goods mingled with bolts of cloth and a display of men’s hats similar to the one Bishop wore. There was a potbelly stove in the center of the store. No fire burned within it today but she guessed that, during the colder months, it would offer much-needed warmth. Winters in these mountains must be difficult, she thought, repressing a small shiver.

  Also as she’d expected, there were a goodly number of customers in the store. There was a man paying for his purchases at the counter, two elderly gentlemen hunched over a checkerboard next to the cold stove, and three women standing beside a table that held bolts of fabric stacked in colorful disarray. Behind the counter was a tall, thin man of indeterminate age.

  A profound silence followed the bell’s announcement of their arrival. All eyes turned toward the door, and the newcomers were examined in minute detail. Lila felt Gavin edge a little closer to her and bit back a sympathetic smile. As the daughter and sister of politicians, she was somewhat accustomed to being the focus of all eyes. But even for her it was not comfortable. For a child who’d never even attended school, it must be an alarming experience. But apparently not for Angel. Looking around the store and finding all eyes on her, she blessed her audience with a singularly sweet smile.

  “I want a red ribbon,” she announced, confident that everyone else would find this information as interesting as she did.

  Lila couldn’t have come up with any better way to break the ice if she’d planned it. The laughter that followed her announcement put an end to the awkward moment. Mr. Fitch, for that’s who was behind the counter, assured her that he could provide her with all the red ribbons she could possibly want. The two old men gave rusty-sounding chuckles and then returned their attention to their checker game, and the burly man who’d been paying for his purchases immediately added a handful of stick candy to his order and presented it to Gavin and Angel. “With your permission, ma’am,” he said, looking at Lila.

  “It’s very kind of you,” she said, smiling at him. She was not yet accustomed to having people look to her to make decisions regarding the children. With time, she would surely lose the urge to look over her shoulder to see to whom they might be speaking.

  As Gavin and Angel went to the counter to get their candy, the three women abandoned the yard goods and approached Lila. She immediately recognized Dot Lyman, her plump figure wrapped in a heavily decorated gown of rose-colored muslin. The garment sported so many rows of tucking and so much lace and ribbon trim that she looked like nothing so much as an animated notions counter.

  “It’s good to see you again, Mrs. McKenzie,” she said as they neared. The genuine pleasure in her greeting made Lila feel guilty for her uncharitable thoughts. “I hope you’re well rested? Traveling is so tiring, isn’t it? Though how just sitting can tire one out is something I’ve never understood.”

  “I slept very well,” Lila assured her untruthfully. After all, her lack of sleep had nothing to do with the accommodations. “Thank you for asking. Your establishment is very comfortable.”

  “Thank you.” Dot actually blushed with pleasure at the compliment. “Clem and I do our best. Of course, we can’t compete with the fine hotels back East. Not that there’s much call for that kind of thing here. Most of our clientele asks for nothing more than a roof over their heads and a reasonably clean bed. But we—”

  “Really, Dorothy, I doubt Mrs. McKenzie is interested in hearing about the problems of running a hotel.” The woman who spoke was nearly as tall as Lila but outweighed her by at least forty pounds. The extra weight did not make her look plump and cuddly the way it did Dot Lyman. Instead, it gave her a certain imposing presence, an impression accentuated by the elegant severity of the steel-gray dress she wore. The contrast between its stark simplicity and the fussiness of Dot’s gown was almost painful to see.

  “Of course she’s not.” Dot’s fair skin flushed painfully. “I don’t know what got into me that I should ramble on like that. I guess it’s just the surprise, you know. Having Sheriff McKenzie turn up with a family when we didn’t even know he’d been married, not just once, but twice. I don’t usually forget myself like that and ramble on about nothing,” she said, oblivious to the fact that she was doing just that.

  The woman who’d spoken before drew a sharp breath, no doubt preparatory to blasting poor Dot for her foolishness, but the third woman spoke first.

  “Don’t worry about it, Dot. Your rambling makes for pleasanter listening than some folks’ careful speeches.” Traces of Ireland gave a lilt to her voice, and her hazel eyes were a warm and friendly contrast to the first woman’s icy displeasure. “Remember, Sara, patience is a virtue. Besides, it’s not as if Mrs. McKenzie is going to disappear on us, now is she? There’s plenty of time for introductions.”

  The gentle reproach made Sara’s mouth tighten into a thin line, but it was the fact that she accepted the reproach that Lila found interesting. Calmed, Dot was able to perform the introductions with laudable economy.

  The tall, dark-haired woman with the cold eyes and tight mouth was Sara Smythe. “With a ‘y,’ ” she clarified in icy tones. Her husband was Franklin Smythe—also with a “y,” Lila presumed. He owned the Bank of Paris, Dot said in tones of proper respect. Aware of Sara’s watchful eyes, Lila did her best to look impressed.

  The other woman was Bridget Sunday. She was barely five feet tall and so fine boned that she looked as if a strong wind might blow her over. Until you looked at her face, that is. There was so much life in her expression, so much laughter in her eyes that any impression of fragility immediately vanished. Her hair was unabashedly carrot red, and there was a smattering of frankly unfashionable freckles across her nose. There was a kind of earthy charm about her that made it hard to picture her as the wife of a minister, but that’s what she was.

  “Minister Sunday,�
� she said, wrinkling her freckled nose. “Can you imagine it? I told Joseph that it was downright embarrassing to have a name like that and go into the ministry. Better to be a bank robber, I said, but he didn’t listen to me. So here we are.”

  Lila chuckled, delighted by the other woman’s sense of humor. Sara’s mouth tightened further still, something Lila wouldn’t have believed possible.

  “A calling to the ministry is a gift from God,” she said repressively. “I hardly think one can compare it to robbing banks.”

  “I’ve no doubt there are bank robbers who consider their profession something of a calling,” Bridget said imperturbably. “Isn’t that why we’ve hired Sheriff McKenzie? To protect us from folks with that kind of thinking?”

  “Humpf.” Sara’s snort was a masterpiece of genteel disdain. “I never did approve of hiring a gunfighter. Seems to me there’s a risk of finding you’ve asked the fox to guard the henhouse. No offense meant, Mrs. McKenzie,” she added with barely perfunctory concern.

  Lila had known more than a few women like Sara Smythe. They frequently organized charitable committees, a laudable occupation in itself but one they took on more to allow them to exercise their bullying personalities than because of genuine civic concern. It had been her experience that it was better to set them back on their heels at the outset rather than to let them think they could run roughshod over you. Not to mention that she hadn’t been raised to stand idly by while someone insulted her husband.

  “What is it I shouldn’t be offended by?” Lila asked, arching one dark brow in question. “The reference to my husband being a gunfighter or the implication that he might have criminal tendencies?”

  It was said with such a pleasant smile that it took a moment for the other women to realize what she’d said. Out of the corner of her eye, Lila saw Dot’s mouth drop open and saw Bridget’s eyes widen in surprise, but she kept her attention solely on Sara. The older woman couldn’t have looked more shocked if a lamppost had addressed her.