Schulze, Dallas

by Gunfighter's Bride

  Feeling more and more as if he didn’t belong there, he found his way down the hallway that led to the bedrooms. Lila was in the largest one, leaning over the bed, smoothing a linen sheet across the mattress. Bishop paused to admire the view. Though he didn’t make a sound, she turned suddenly, as if sensing his presence.

  “You startled me!”

  “Sorry.” He came farther into the room, setting his hat on top of the tall chest of drawers. “I wasn’t trying to sneak up on you.”

  “That’s all right. I was thinking of other things.”

  Her dress was plainly cut and trimmed only with the merest touch of lace at the wrist and throat. In a soft, buttery shade of yellow, it looked like the personification of springtime. Late-afternoon sunlight slanted through the window behind her, turning her hair to pure fire. She lifted one hand to tuck a stray curl back from her forehead. He knew it wasn’t her intention, but the gesture drew attention to the full curve of her breast and the gentle indentation of her waist. She was beautiful, desirable—and his.

  “I didn’t hear you come in,” Lila said, smoothing one hand over her skirts. Though she was modestly covered, there was something in Bishop’s eyes that made her feel suddenly naked and vulnerable. “Supper’s in an hour. I was just finishing up a few things.”

  “You’ve worked hard. The house looks good.”

  “Thank you.” Had he moved closer or had the room gotten smaller? She shifted back a little. “I put your things away. I wasn’t sure how you wanted them arranged.”

  “It doesn’t matter. Where are the children?”

  “They’re outside. Gavin said he’d look out for Angel.” He was closer. He was much too close, in fact, and it was suddenly hard to breathe. She inched back only to feel the bed come up against the back of her legs. That was not where she wanted to be.

  “So we’re alone.”

  He hadn’t touched her but her skin tingled as if he’d just run his hands over her. She swallowed. “They could come in any time.”

  “True.” He lifted one hand, brushing his fingertips across the curve of her cheekbone.

  Lila felt the light touch all the way to her toes, weakening her knees, softening her resolve. It would be so easy to melt into him, to forget the children; forget her determination to have a marriage that was grounded in something more than mutual attraction; forget everything but how good it felt to be in his arms. She stared up at him, losing herself in the clear blue of his eyes. His head lowered. He was going to kiss her. Panic fluttered in her chest. If he kissed her, he’d make her forget all about the plans she’d made. She’d forget everything but how good it felt to be in his arms.

  “My things are in the room next to this,” she got out, her voice quick and breathless.

  “What?” Bishop lifted his head to look at her.

  “I want us to have separate rooms.”

  CHAPTER 12

  Dead silence followed her announcement. Hearing the echo of her blurted words, Lila winced. This wasn’t the way she’d pictured it. She’d planned to wait until after the children were in bed and then the two of them would sit down in the parlor or the kitchen—as far from a bed as possible. He’d be well fed, perhaps in the mood to appreciate some of the less ... basic benefits of a marriage. She would calmly explain that she didn’t feel ready to make their marriage real in every sense of the word. She’d point out that, since she was already expecting a child, the most obvious reason for them to share a bed was not a factor. When she pictured the scene in her mind’s eye, she’d been so reasonable, her arguments so inargua-ble that he’d immediately agreed with her.

  But it hadn’t been part of her plan to blurt it out like a frightened child.

  “You want what?” Bishop’s tone was even—too even?

  Lila took a deep breath. “I want us to have separate rooms.” She stepped sideways and away from him. He didn’t try to stop her. She wanted to believe that was a good sign, but she suspected it was because he was still reeling from shock. “It makes sense,” she said as he turned to look at her.

  “Does it?” With the window at his back, his face was in shadow, his expression unreadable.

  “Certainly.” She struggled to inject a faint air of surprise into her response.

  “Why?”

  The flat question threw her momentarily off balance. Of course there were any number of reasons why, and she’d expected to have to point at least a few of them out, but there was something about the way he asked.

  “I think we should take some time to get to know each other before we ... become intimate.”

  “You’re carrying my child. That seems pretty intimate to me.”

  The dry sarcasm of his response struck a spark off her temper. She drew a deep breath, reminding herself that no good would come of getting angry.

  “That was an ... accident,” she said carefully. “That doesn’t mean that we really know each other the way a husband and wife should.”

  One corner of Bishop’s mustache curled in a sneer. “I suppose what happened a few days ago was an accident too?”

  “It was a mistake,” Lila said evenly. She’d expected him to bring that up and she had an answer ready. “It was a case of circumstances and ... and propinquity leading to—”

  “No.”

  “N-no?” No to what?

  “No separate rooms,” Bishop said flatly, answering the question she hadn’t quite asked. “You’re my wife. Like it or not, we’ll share a room. And a bed.”

  “I don’t like it,” she snapped, infuriated by his dictatorial tone. “I don’t like it at all.”

  “You should have thought of that before you married me.”

  “I don’t recall that I had much choice,” she said bitterly. “You made sure of that when you strode into the church like some conquering warrior and announced to all and sundry that I was carrying your child.”

  Bishop leaned toward her, his eyes hard as sapphires and just as blue. “I don’t recall making any announcement. But I do remember you telling your good friend Logan that I’d raped you so that he’d marry you.”

  “He didn’t know it was you.” Lila felt the same mixture of anger and guilt she always did when she remembered the lie she’d let Logan believe.

  “And he would have married me even if he’d known the truth.”

  “And do you think he’d have been willing to have separate rooms?”

  “Of course.” Lila lifted her chin, her eyes flashing with righteous indignation. “Logan is a gentleman. He’d never have asked me to do anything I didn’t wish to do.”

  “Well, like I said before, I never claimed to be a gentleman,” Bishop said in an infuriating drawl. “But I think your good friend Logan might not have been so eager to sacrifice himself to save your honor if he’d realized that you expected him to spend the rest of his life celibate.”

  “Stop calling him ‘my good friend Logan,’ ” Lila ordered, her temper soaring. “And I never said anything about it being for the rest of your life.”

  “Oh?” Bishop’s dark brows went up, nearly disappearing into the heavy black wave of hair that had fallen onto his forehead when he took off his hat. “So you had some specific length of time in mind? Would it be too ungentlemanly of me to ask what it is? When do you think we might know each other well enough to share a bed as well as a name?”

  “I can’t predict that.” She turned away from him, crossing the room with quick, nervous steps. This was a weak point in her argument and she knew it. How could you put a time limit on something like this? How could she say that in three months or six months or even three years she’d be able to give herself to him without reserve? It wasn’t possible to know ahead of time.

  “So you want me to just wait and see when your mood changes?”

  “It’s not a mood!” She spun to look at him, frustration and anger turning her eyes a smoky green. “I’m just asking for a little time. Everything has happened so fast. We hardly know each other. And if you menti
on what happened in my room the other day or the fact that I’m carrying your child, I won’t be responsible for my own actions,” she warned him. “That’s not what I mean and I think you know it.”

  The hell of it was that he did know it, Bishop thought, feeling more than a little frustrated himself. She wasn’t talking about the physical aspect of their marriage. Inexperienced as she was, she had to know that that wasn’t in need of work. What she was talking about was something else, something not so easily defined. It was the kind of thing that women set store by and that most men could happily ignore in favor of the simpler and more easily grasped pleasures of the flesh.

  “No separate bedrooms,” he repeated and saw her eyes flare with quick anger. He waited for the explosion but she caught herself with a visible effort. When she spoke, her tone was painfully level.

  “I’m not asking for that much. Perhaps just until the baby’s born. That’s not much to ask, is it?”

  It damn well was, Bishop thought, feeling a gut-deep sense of frustration. He seemed to see a wavery image of Isabelle superimposed over Lila. Isabelle, with her pale gold hair and soft blue eyes. It’s just until the baby’s born. Please, Bishop, let me go home to St. Louis. I’m afraid to have a baby out here. I’ll come back as soon as the baby is born. I promise.

  Only she hadn’t come back. When he’d gone to St. Louis after Gavin’s birth, Isabelle had begged him to let her stay longer. The baby was so small, she’d said. Why put him at risk by taking him into the untamed West? When he was a little older, it would be better. He’d given in to her pleas. To tell the truth, his tiny, helpless son had scared the hell out of him. And despite the mutual dislike he shared with his mother-in-law, she was certainly in a better position to see to Isabelle and Gavin’s care.

  Time had passed and his trips to St. Louis had grown farther apart. Gavin was two when Bishop realized that, if he didn’t get his wife and child away from her mother, he was going to lose them forever. So he’d turned a deaf ear to Isabelle’s tears and moved his family as far from St. Louis as he could get them. He took a job guarding gold shipments on the journey from the gold fields to San Francisco and settled Isabelle and Gavin in a small house in the city.

  Isabelle had tried. God knows, she’d tried. But, never a forceful woman, she seemed to have lost all ability to make a decision on her own. She’d simply given over control of her life to her mother. Without Louise to tell her everything from what to wear to how to think, she’d been lost. She’d looked to Bishop for the guidance she couldn’t seem to live without. By the time Angelique was conceived, he’d begun to feel more like her father than her husband.

  Maybe if she hadn’t become pregnant again, things would have been different. Maybe Isabelle would have gotten stronger, more independent. But when she found out she was carrying another child, she’d begged him to let her go home. He could have pointed out that “home” was supposed to be wherever he was, but he hadn’t. Something had told him it was too late, that she was lost to him. He took her back to St. Louis and left her there to await the birth of her child. And never saw her again.

  “Bishop?” Lila’s questioning tone dragged him back to the present. “Just until the baby’s born? That’s not asking too much, is it?”

  “No separate bedrooms.”

  Without giving her a chance to continue the argument, he turned and strode from the room, sweeping his hat off the dresser on the way out.

  “We’re not through talking about this,” Lila said, following him into the kitchen.

  But she might as well have been talking to the wind. He strode out, leaving the back door to bang shut behind him. Lila glared after him, her hands clenched into fists at her side. He was the most annoying, obnoxious, frustrating man she’d ever known. After stamping over to the stove in a most unladylike fashion, she jerked the lid off the pot simmering there. Then she snatched up a wooden spoon and stirred the stew with vicious force.

  Life would have been much easier if Bishop hadn’t come back to Pennsylvania. She could have married Logan and been perfectly content with him. He would have treated her like a gentleman should treat a lady. He wouldn’t have been so infuriating. With just a cock of his eyebrow, Bishop could set her temper soaring. Logan would never have dreamed of cocking an eyebrow at her. And he would have understood her desire to have separate rooms. Lots of couples had separate rooms, even if they’d married for the usual reasons. It was a perfectly civilized thing to do. But if she said as much to Bishop, he’d probably say that he hadn’t claimed to be civilized any more than he’d claimed to be a gentleman. Lila jabbed at a potato, shoving it under the bubbling juices. She should have married Logan, she thought again. He wouldn’t have upset her like this.

  The door opened behind her and she spun, ready to deliver a blistering diatribe about people who walked out in the middle of arguments. But it wasn’t Bishop who entered. It was Gavin and Angel. Lila told herself she wasn’t disappointed. She’d be just as happy if Bishop never came back at all. She forced a smile for the children.

  “Supper’s almost ready. Why don’t you two get washed up?”

  Bishop could eat alone if and when he bothered to return. Better still, he could go hungry. It was the least he deserved.

  ***

  Dinner was eaten largely in silence. Gavin was never talkative but Angel could usually be counted upon to fill any awkward gaps in the conversation. Tonight, tired out by the excitement and turmoil of their move from the hotel into their new home, she barely stayed awake long enough to get through her meal. Without her friendly chatter, the big kitchen seemed painfully quiet. Lila looked up several times to find Gavin watching her. His blue eyes, so like his father’s, seemed to hold a question. But each time their eyes met, he looked away without speaking and Lila simply didn’t have the emotional energy to pull whatever it was out of him.

  This wasn’t at all the way she’d envisioned the first evening in her new home. Bishop was conspicuous by his absence. Angel was practically falling asleep in her plate. Gavin was watching her with those eyes that were much too old for a boy of twelve, and she was caught between the urge to track her husband down and take an unladylike but satisfying swing at his arrogant nose and the desire to put her head down on the table and howl like a baby.

  Lila might as well have been eating sawdust for all she tasted her food. She was relieved to see the meal end, relieved to be away from Gavin’s watchful eyes and the empty plate at the end of the table. Pushing her chair back, she came around the table and scooped Angel up into her arms. She balanced the sleepy little girl on her hip to carry her to bed.

  “Take the lantern and bring in some wood for morning, please, Gavin,” she asked over her shoulder as she left the room.

  He didn’t respond but she knew he’d do as she asked. That was another way in which he was too adult for his age. There was none of the rebelliousness she remembered in herself at that age, none of the irritating whining she’d inflicted on anyone foolish enough to listen to her. If he’d been a meek or shy child, she wouldn’t have questioned his acquiescence. But she didn’t believe there was a meek bone in Gavin’s body. Beneath his quiet exterior was solid steel. Not unlike his father.

  The McKenzie men were enough to drive a sober woman to drink, she thought as she set her stepdaughter down on her bed and began undressing her. It was too bad they weren’t more like Angel. Not that the child didn’t have a will of her own— Lila remembered in particular a certain soft blue dress that was currently trimmed in bright red ribbons—but Angel had the courtesy to wrap her determination in a soft package, which made it much easier to swallow.

  Angel was asleep almost as soon as her head hit the pillow. Lila lingered next to the bed, watching the sleeping child. How had the child’s mother known what to name her? Bishop had said that his first wife had died soon after giving birth. Had she looked at her newborn daughter and seen the sweetness in her even then? Or had she given her the name Angelique as a kind of prayer for the c
hild she’d known she wasn’t going to be there to watch over?

  Lila touched her hand to her own stomach. Thinking of the. life growing there, she offered up a prayer that she’d be able to see her own son or daughter grow to adulthood. But there was no sense worrying about that now. Or any other time, for that matter. It was in God’s hands and she had to trust that He would take care of her and the child she carried. With a sigh, she turned and left the room, pulling the door almost shut behind her.

  Gavin had just finished filling the wood box when she entered the kitchen. She saw at a glance that he’d brought in a good mix of small and large pieces, along with plenty of kindling to make it easy to get a fire going in the morning.

  “That looks fine, Gavin. Thank you.”

  She expected him to mumble an acknowledgment and leave the room. Though she liked to think that he was starting to feel trust, if not yet affection, for her, he was not much inclined to seek out her company. But tonight he surprised her by lingering in the kitchen. Lila gave him a questioning look as she began to clear the table, but whatever was on his mind, he didn’t seem in any hurry to bring it up. Reminding herself that patience was a virtue, she continued with what she was doing, leaving him to decide when he was ready to speak.

  She drew enough hot water from the reservoir in the stove to fill a dishpan. There weren’t many dishes so washing them was the work of just a few minutes. All the time she worked, Lila was acutely aware of Gavin’s presence. By the time the dishes were rinsed and set to dry and he still hadn’t said anything, her patience had run out. Drying her hands on a soft linen towel, she turned to look at him.

  “Are you going to tell me what’s on your mind?” she asked.

  “Nothing.”

  “Nothing?” She arched one brow in disbelief. “You just wanted to watch me wash the dishes?”