Her face washed and dried, she reached for the heavy braid that confined her hair. She studied her reflection as she loosened it. She remembered overhearing her mother talking to some of her friends, commenting on someone of their acquaintance who was expecting a child. They’d all seemed to agree that pregnancy was flattering to a woman, giving her a special beauty that shone from within. At the time, Lila had thought it an absurd idea. How could a woman possibly look beautiful when she was growing fat with child? But she had to admit that, now that the morning sickness seemed to be a thing of the past, her hair did seem to shine a little more and her skin seemed to glow in a way it never had before.
Had Bishop noticed? She threaded her fingers through her braid, loosening her hair as she picked up the silver-backed brush that had been a sixteenth-birthday present from her parents. Tracing the pattern on the back of the brush, she thought about the love that had existed between her parents, so real it could almost be touched. She and Bishop might never achieve that kind of closeness, but she wanted to believe that they could develop a respect to go along with the undeniable physical attraction between them.
She was uneasily aware that no stretch of the imagination could put Bishop in her father’s shoes, but she shoved the thought aside. According to articles in The Lady’s Journal of Home & Hearth, it was up to a woman to set the tone of a marriage. It was her responsibility to guide her husband by gentle example.
A lady is at all times pleasant and soft spoken. There are few things less attractive than an aggressive female. Never forget that your husband is your lord and master in the eyes of God and man. But it’s equally important to remember that it’s a woman’s gentle, civilizing touch that protects men from their baser instincts.
There. No less an authority than The Lady’s Journal of Home & Hearth endorsed her actions. Bishop might not appreciate it now, but she was confident that this arrangement was best for both of them. It needed a little refinement, perhaps, she admitted, thinking of that kiss. But she was sure they could straighten out any small problems that might come up.
***
Bishop was seated behind his desk when the door of the jail opened. Since he hadn’t heard any shots and noon was a bit early for even the most belligerent of the miners to be starting a fight, he didn’t look up right away. But then his deputy, who had been sprawled in a chair reading a stack of wanted posters, scrambled to his feet so quickly that he sent the chair skidding.
“Ma’am.”
Even before he saw her, he knew who it was. It wasn’t just Bart Lewis’s awestruck tone that told him Lila had entered. It was the subtle smell of lavender that drifted in with her. The sweet seduction of that scent had haunted him for months. Lying beside her last night, it had filled his head, teasing him with memories of her silky hair spilling through his fingers, her soft skin under his hands. He’d had plenty of time to consider the wisdom of the arrangement upon which he’d insisted. Sharing a bed with his very attractive wife and not touching her was likely to make sleep an elusive goal.
“A-afternoon, Miz McKenzie,” Bart stammered, sounding as awestruck as if he were speaking to Queen Victoria. Not that Bishop could completely blame him, he thought as he looked at her. Lila was wearing a dress in warm shade of rose that brought out the fire in her hair and highlighted the creamy softness of her skin. A matching hat was perched on top of her upswept hair, tilted at a demurely rakish angle over her green eyes. She was, Bishop admitted, considerably more impressive than the pictures he’d seen of England’s short, plump little queen.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Lewis.” She bestowed a smile on the lanky deputy that made his Adam’s apple bob up and down. “It’s a beautiful day, today, don’t you think?”
“Yes, ma’am. I can’t recollect last time I seen a day this pretty.”
Bishop’s mouth twitched with amusement. He was willing to bet that Bart would have said the same thing if a blizzard had been sweeping down out of the mountains.
“I’ve come to see my husband,” Lila said.
“He’s here,” Bart assured her earnestly, as if she might have overlooked Bishop.
“Why don’t you take a break?” Bishop suggested to his deputy as he came around his desk.
“A break?” Bart gave him a blank look as if he couldn’t quite remember who Bishop was.
“Go have lunch,” Bishop clarified.
“I ain’t hungry.” Bart’s gaze had returned to Lila.
So much for subtle hints, Bishop thought, not sure whether to be amused or annoyed. The kid was clearly on the verge of complete infatuation. He might have been more amused if it hadn’t suddenly occurred to him that the “kid” was twenty-four, only a year younger than Lila.
“I want to talk to my wife,” he said, abandoning subtlety for bluntness.
“Oh!” Bart’s thin face flushed a painful shade of red. “Sorry, Bishop. I wasn’t... I mean, I... I think I’ll go see what they’re serving at the boardin’ house.” He snatched his hat off the rack beside the door, nodded in Lila’s direction, and shot out the door as if a pack of wolves were nipping at his heels.
“He seems like a nice young man,” Lila said into the silence that followed his departure.
“He’ll do.”
The laconic response didn’t encourage further discussion of his deputy but, since she hadn’t come here to discuss Bart Lewis, that was fine with Lila. She’d come to discuss something much more important, and it seemed to her a stroke of genius to have the conversation here. The small jailhouse was about as far from intimate as it was possible to get. Built of solid stone, the walls were enlivened by wanted posters. The furnishings consisted of a battered wooden desk, a potbelly stove, and a glass-front cabinet that held an impressive array of guns. The windows were small but fronted onto the street, and since anyone could walk in at any time, it was the next best thing to a public location. It should be possible to have a calm, rationale discussion, no matter how annoying he was.
“Angel is with Bridget. And William Smythe and Joseph Sunday offered to show Gavin his favorite fishing hole.”
“The banker’s son?” Bishop arched one dark brow. “I’m surprised Sara Smythe is willing to risk her son coming in contact with Gavin. She’s not exactly an admirer of mine.”
“There aren’t many boys around for William to play with,” Lila pointed out with careful honesty.
“That’s true. I bet she’ll have some sleepless nights, worrying about what a terrible influence Gavin might be.” He didn’t sound particularly concerned by the thought of Sara’s insomnia, nor by her low opinion of him.
“That’s possible,” Lila agreed. She didn’t care about Sara Smythe any more than she had about Bart Lewis. She cleared her throat. “I was hoping I could talk to you for a moment.”
“I’m listening.” Unfortunately, he was also watching her with those cool blue eyes that made it so difficult to think.
Lila looked away, fidgeting with the strings on her reticule. It had seemed so simple when she thought about it earlier. But nothing was ever simple when Bishop was standing so close.
She met his eyes, trying to look and sound coolly confident. “What happened last night, when you kissed me, I mean. It—it can’t happen again.” Bishop raised his brows. “Are you telling me I can’t kiss you?”
Something in his soft tone made her uneasy but she lifted her chin. “It wasn’t part of our agreement.”
“The only thing I agreed to do was give you some time. I didn’t say anything about not kissing you.”
“I thought you were a man of your word,” she snapped, forgetting her determination to remain calm at all costs.
“I am. I gave you my word that I wouldn’t make love to you until after the baby’s born, unless you ask me to. And I won’t. That doesn’t mean I won’t kiss you now and again.”
“Against my will?” The implication that she might ask him to make love to her was infuriating. It would be a cold day in hell before she asked him for anythin
g, let alone that.
“I don’t recall you begging for mercy when I kissed you,” Bishop drawled. His own temper was visible in the tightness of his mouth, a warning she chose to ignore.
“You didn’t give me much chance to protest, did you? You just... pounced on me like a ... an uncivilized brute.”
“Pounced? Uncivilized brute?”
To Lila’s chagrin, amusement replaced the anger that had been simmering in his eyes. While it hadn’t been part of her plan to make him angry, she preferred that to knowing that she’d amused him.
“You know what I mean,” she muttered.
“Like I said, I don’t recall you begging for mercy last night. Nor a few days ago when I made love to you, for that matter.” He grinned wickedly. “Now that I think about it, I do seem to recall you begging then, but it wasn’t mercy you were asking for.”
Goaded beyond endurance, Lila swung at him. He moved with that speed that always surprised her, catching her hand in his and using the hold to jerk her up against his chest. He’d held her like this once before, she remembered. In the church right after breaking up her wedding to Logan. She’d felt the same frustrated anger then that she did now.
“You tried that once before,” he said, making it clear that he hadn’t forgotten either. “You should learn to control your temper.”
“I didn’t have a temper until I met you,” she snapped.
“Bring out the best in you, do I?”
Lila bit back the urge to scream at him. Remembering her mother’s strictures about acting like a lady, she struggled to regain control.
“I don’t want you to kiss me again the way you did last night,” she said tightly.
He didn’t respond right away, at least not verbally. He brought his free hand up to her face. His fingertips slid gently over her cheeks and traced the rigid line of her jaw, leaving tingling awareness everywhere they touched. He trailed his hand down her throat and set the pad of his thumb over the pulse at the base of her throat.
“Are you afraid of me?” he asked softly.
“Certainly not!” Though it had been pride that dictated her quick answer, it was also the truth. She was frightened by the ease with which he could make her lose control, but she wasn’t afraid of him. Somewhere inside, she knew he wouldn’t hurt her. And despite her protestations to the contrary, she knew he wouldn’t force her to do anything she didn’t want to do. That was the problem. He could make her want to do things she shouldn’t.
“Then why is your pulse beating so fast?” He was so close that she could feel his breath against her forehead. Lila stared into his eyes, mesmerized by their clarity. “Maybe the problem isn’t that you don’t want me to kiss you. Maybe it’s that you do,” he whispered outrageously.
It took a second for his words to sink in. When they did, Lila forgot all about ladylike decorum. Her eyes flashing with rage, she jerked her arm away from him and took two quick steps back. It was infuriating to know that he was letting her go. She glared at him, her hands clenched into impotent fists at her sides. She would have given a great deal to take another swing at him, but it would have been a futile effort.
“If my pulse is beating quickly, it’s because you make me so angry,” she told him.
Bishop appeared unmoved and with a sound that could only be described as a snarl of frustration, she spun around and wrenched open the door. Slamming it behind her, she took off down the boardwalk, sure that steam must be rising from her person.
She was almost to Bridget’s house when it occurred to her that Bishop hadn’t agreed to a single thing she’d asked.
CHAPTER 14
Lila’s temper was still simmering when she got to Bridget’s. She’d never known anyone who could make her so angry with so little effort. With nothing more than a lift of his eyebrow, Bishop could make her forget everything she’d ever been taught about proper behavior. She’d gone her whole life without ever striking anyone—although she had kicked Douglas in the shins a time or two when he was particularly annoying—yet within a matter of weeks, she’d tried to slap Bishop not once but twice. And the fact that she hadn’t succeeded didn’t make her feel any better. If she was completely honest with herself, she’d have to admit that she felt only regret at her failure.
She nodded a greeting to Mr. Fitch as she swept past his store. His answering smile was almost shy, and Lila found herself remembering the things Bishop had told her about him. If they’d come from someone else, she would have thought them lies, but, while Bishop might be a despicable excuse for a human being whose main purpose in life was to annoy her, she didn’t think he was a liar. A fiend from hell perhaps, but not a liar.
Lifting her skirts a modest inch, she stepped off the boardwalk onto the dirt, turning off the main street. Her mood had improved only marginally when she let herself through the gate in front of Bridget’s house, but she paused to admire the rosebush. A sprinkling of slender buds decorated some of the canes, a promise of beauty to come. Somewhat soothed by the sight, she continued up the walkway and knocked on the door. Bridget’s voice called out from inside, inviting her to enter.
“I’m in the kitchen.” Lila made her way through the house, hearing the sound of children laughing somewhere outside. The big kitchen was filled with the rich scent of baking bread. Half a dozen finished loaves were lined up on one end of the big oak table. Crisp, tan crusts peeked from beneath the edges of flour-sack covers. An earthenware bowl sat in the middle of the table, the dough it contained starting to press up against the towel that covered it. Bridget was shaping another mound of dough into loaves, setting them in waiting pans.
“Are you going into the bakery business?” Lila asked as she set her reticule down and lifted her arms to unpin her hat.
“A bakery wouldn’t be able to supply this family,” Bridget said without pausing in her work. “The way they eat bread, you’d think it grew on trees. The Lord provides, Joseph tells me, but He’s getting a good bit of help from me when it comes to feeding this family.”
“Men generally neither understand nor appreciate a woman’s point of view,” Lila said, setting her hat on a chair.
Bridget glanced at her, one sandy red brow raised in question. “Had words with the sheriff, did you?”
Lila flushed with embarrassment at having allowed Bridget to guess as much. “I don’t know what gave you that impression,” she said stiffly.
“It’s a subtle thing,” Bridget said as she shaped the last of the dough and set it into a loaf pan. Straightening, she wiped her hands on the apron tied around her slender waist and gave Lila a considering look. “I think it might have been the fact that your hair seems a mite redder than it did when you left the little one here.”
“My hair?” Lila put her hand up to touch the carefully pinned twist into which she’d confined the heavy mass that morning.
“I was thinking it might be a good idea to have a bucket of water handy, just in case it actually burst into flames.” Her hazel eyes twinkled with laughter.
“That’s ridiculous,” Lila said, torn between amusement and embarrassment that she’d allowed her anger to show. In the best of all possible worlds, a lady didn’t feel strong emotions but, if she did feel them, she certainly didn’t reveal them. “My hair doesn’t look any different.”
“Maybe not,” Bridget conceded. “But there’s no denying the sparkle of temper in your eyes. Had a tiff with him, did you?”
“We ... disagreed,” Lila admitted uneasily.
“Don’t take it so much to heart.” Bridget tossed a towel over the loaves she’d just shaped. “Your husband has kept himself pretty much to himself since he came here so I don’t know him as well as I might, but he strikes me as a man with a bit of a stubborn streak.”
“He has the temperament of a mule,” Lila said before she could stop herself.
Bridget laughed. “The best of them do. It seems that strong men are generally blessed with more than a small helping of will.”
“I th
ink Bishop got more than his fair share,” Lila said.
“Could be.” Bridget set a cast-iron tea kettle on the stove. “I’ve always found a cup of tea is a good way to soothe the temper after having a run-in with one of the stubborn creatures. Is this the first time the two of you have had words?”
“Not exactly,” Lila admitted uneasily. Bridget seemed so matter-of-fact about discussing something Lila had been brought up to believe shouldn’t even be mentioned.
“Well, it won’t be the last time,” Bridget said comfortably as she got out cups and saucers. “My advice to you is to try not to take it to heart. Every couple has their quarrels now and again.”
“My parents never spoke a single harsh word to each other.”
Bridget’s eyebrows lifted. “Did they love each other?”
“Very much!”
“Then they had their quarrels. They just kept it to themselves.” She spooned tea into a sturdy brown china teapot. “Loving someone doesn’t mean you agree with them on all things. In fact, I think the more you love someone, the more likely you are to disagree with them. At least that’s the case with Joseph and myself.”
Lila thought that she and Bishop were proof positive that a couple didn’t have to be in love to disagree, but that certainly wasn’t something she could tell Bridget, no matter how good a friend she was.
“You don’t always agree with him?” she asked, fascinated by this glimpse into her friend’s marriage. She’d never seen her mother utter a word of disagreement about anything her father said or did. And even if Margaret Adams had disagreed with him, Lila couldn’t imagine her admitting as much to anyone else.
“Always agree with him?” Bridget’s chuckle was rich with humor. “I don’t even always agree with myself! My mother used to say I’d argue with St. Peter himself. I don’t know about that but Joseph and I have had our fair share of quarrels.”
“You have?” Lila tried to imagine the soft-spoken minister quarreling with anyone but the picture wouldn’t come clear.
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