“What are you doing to my horse?”
He spun around at the harsh feminine voice. Miss Zimmer stomped toward him, wearing the same outfit as yesterday—faded white blouse, worn skirt, and a scowl.
Reed raised his hands in surrender. “Just looking at her. She’s a fine animal. An Arabian, I’m guessing. Though I’ve only seen a few of them.”
Miss Zimmer’s expression softened as her gaze shifted from him to her horse. Why should that bother him?
She shook her head and walked toward him. “No, Lulu is a Morgan.”
His gaze swiveled back to the animal. Compact and sturdy with strong limbs, arched neck, and an expressive face. “I should have recognized her breed. My father had several Morgans back when he used to harness race. Though I don’t ever remember seeing a gray one.”
“They’re not as common as bays, blacks, or chestnuts, but I think she’s much prettier.”
Reed caught Miss Zimmer’s gaze, intrigued with her dark eyes. “Mmm. . .lovely.”
She blinked, her cheeks grew crimson, then she scowled and stepped back. “Why are you here again? Our duel is tomorrow.”
“No, it is not.”
Her brow crinkled a moment; then her expression grew serious. “Yes, it is.”
Reed stepped closer. “No. It is not. I refuse to participate in another duel, especially one against a woman.”
Her eyelids narrowed to a mere slit; her nostrils flared. The crimson on her face now wasn’t from embarrassment. She spun away from him, flinging a light floral scent in his direction. Her hair, though unruly in its loose bun that threatened to unwind at any moment, looked clean and shiny. Her clothing was another thing—shabby, just like her property. Now that he thought about it, Betsey’s dress was newer than her mistress’s. He longed to take Miss Zimmer to Charleston—to see her dress like any other plantation mistress—but he’d have to hog-tie her to get her there. He closed his eyes and shook his head. How could he be attracted to this woman? She wanted him dead—and she wanted to be the one to pull the trigger.
“What’s wrong? Are you ill?”
The unexpected compassion in her voice took him by surprise. He longed to make peace with her. “Yes, in a manner. I’m sick of this feud. Can’t we set it aside and be friends? We are not our fathers. I’m sorry that your father lost his harvest and had financial troubles because our ship sank. But have you ever considered that we lost an expensive ship and a portion of our harvest, too?”
She blinked, a confused look crossing her face; then her gaze hardened. “But you didn’t lose a brother.”
He glanced down at the ground. “I never had one to lose, but my only sister died shortly after her birth.”
Her mouth gaped open, but she wasn’t ready to give up the fight. Her pert chin lifted. “I demand that you give me the satisfaction to right the wrong you did when you shot my brother. I expect you to be at the dock tomorrow at dawn. And no need to bring a second. We will deal with one another directly.”
She spun around, not waiting for his response. Did she actually think he would duel with her? He marched after her.
“I’m not battling pistols with you.”
Flinging out her arms, she pivoted as gracefully as a belle at a ball. “Ja, you will—or I’ll come to your home and hunt you down.”
He stared at her a long moment. Wishing things were different wouldn’t change how they actually were. “I believe you would. But are you willing to shoot me in cold blood? Because I will not fire at you.”
Her lips puckered and a myriad of expressions dashed across her pretty face. She tramped right up to him, stopping so close that if he as much as twitched he’d touch her. Tilting her head back, she glared up at him, nostrils flaring like a wild filly. The warmth of her breath feathered his face. If he leaned forward a few inches, he could steal a kiss. He almost smiled at the thought but worked hard to keep his expression somber.
“You Bishops are responsible for everything bad that has ever happened to us. I never even wanted to come to this country in the first place, but my fader had to have his way. My mother died as a result, now Fader is wasting away and doing nothing but sleeping and drinking, and Johan is lost to me. You’d be doing me a favor by shooting me, Mr. Bishop.”
“Well, I won’t. You can be sure of it. And I won’t be at the dock tomorrow morn.”
❧
Carina couldn’t believe that Reed Bishop actually had showed up at the dock, after the adamant way he staunchly said he wouldn’t. Her fader sure didn’t think he had the nerve to face her in a duel, but this wasn’t the first time he’d been wrong. The shimmering morning sun, peering over the horizon like a beacon lighting the way, silhouetted Mr. Bishop as he walked his horse along the banks of the Ashley River, in no apparent hurry to arrive at his destination. Part of her hoped that he wouldn’t come. She hadn’t been thinking clearly when she’d challenged him, but pride and stubbornness would not allow her to withdraw. What would happen to Tanglewood—to her people, her fader—if she was to perish in this duel? Of course, being a surgeon and a fine shot, Mr. Bishop could choose to wound her in a nonvital spot, then patch her up and go on his way, his satisfaction intact. But would she be satisfied?
No, that wouldn’t do at all. She had too much work to do to be bedridden with a wound. She’d just have to shoot him first. Swallowing hard, she paced the damp grass, the hem of her skirts growing wetter by the second. Could she actually shoot him?
Wasn’t that why she’d practiced over and over, all these years? Why she had become an expert shot? To extract vengeance on the man who had killed her brother? The man whose family had started her father’s downhill spiral.
Betsey’s warning—a verse from the Bible—rang clear in her mind, Avenge not yourselves, but rather give place unto wrath: for it is written, Vengeance is mine; I will repay, saith the Lord. She glanced down at the box of dueling pistols she’d borrowed from her fader’s collection, uncertainty battling the desire for revenge.
She should never have told Betsey about the duel, but she had to let someone know—in case things went the wrong way. The woman had pitched a conniption fit, telling her what a fool she was for sending that written challenge and how good a man Doctah Boss was and how he’d helped Abel when no other white surgeon would have come near him with a ten-foot pole.
A chickadee called out a tune in the trees to the left, drawing her attention. She turned away from Mr. Bishop, who had dismounted and was walking her way. Was she wrong? All night she’d wrestled with her decision. Who else was there to stand up and demand satisfaction for the way her family had been wronged?
Forgive and forget, that’s what Betsey said.
But for as long as she could remember, her fader had blamed Frank Bishop for his financial demise and later Reed Bishop for killing his only son and heir.
Carina’s lip quivered. After all she’d done to keep the plantation going, her fader never once recognized her efforts or mentioned her as being his only heir. It was always her brother. What would happen when her fader died?
She huffed a harsh laugh. Maybe she would die today, and then maybe he’d bemoan her passing, but she doubted it. No matter how hard she worked, she could never gain his approval. Karl Zimmer had always been a demanding man, and being bedridden hadn’t changed a thing. The only good she’d done was to help her slaves live a better life. At least they would be sad if she did not survive.
She had to see this thing through. If she lived, so be it, and if not, then her worries would be over. She spun around and marched toward Reed Bishop.
Like a pesky fly buzzing around her head, she heard Betsey’s warning. “You ain’t ready to die. You ain’t made things right with the good Lord.” She waved her hand in front of her face as if to drive away the taunting, but she just succeeded in gaining Mr. Bishop’s attention. She lifted her chin. “I’m glad to see you actually showed up.”
He removed his hat and held it in his hands. His brown hair, the color of one of
Betsey’s sweetgrass baskets, curled slightly in an enticing manner. Would it be soft to touch or stiff like Lulu’s mane? His brow creased, but even so, he was still a handsome man. “Are you truly glad?”
The sad expression in his vivid blue eyes gave her pause, not to mention his unexpected question. Did it bother him to think she wanted him dead? And did she really? “I. . .uh. . .of course. One can’t participate in a duel by oneself.”
He sniffed a laugh and gave her a tight-lipped smile of resignation. She hadn’t expected him to be sad. Did he truly think he would perish today?
She stiffened her back, opened the box of pistols, and held it out to him. “Choose your weapon, sir.”
His eyes lifted to hers. “You actually mean to follow through with this ridiculous contest?”
Tilting her head back, she gazed into his eyes. If she killed him, she’d never again see those beautiful eyes. And his mother—the only neighbor who had reached out to her—would be heartbroken and never forgive her. It pained her to think of Susan grieving for her son. Until this moment, she had only thought that killing Reed Bishop would take away the pain of Johan’s loss, but two wrongs didn’t make a right. She would have to be satisfied with just wounding him. She grimaced but nodded. “I do. You took my beloved brother from me, not to mention our family’s fortune.”
He slapped his hat back on his head and shoved his hands to his hips. He cut a fine figure in his tan frock coat, gold brocade waistcoat, and dark-brown trousers tucked into his boots. “I’ve already explained about what happened between our fathers. Losing a shipment to weather or thieves is an unfortunate incident that too often occurs when merchants do business. As for your brother, he challenged me. It wasn’t the other way around.”
“Johan was a quiet, gentle soul. He never fought anyone and preferred gaining book knowledge to physical pursuits.” She blinked and stepped back, feeling as if she couldn’t breathe. She’d heard rumors whispered about that Johan had been the one to issue the challenge to duel, but she’d never believed it. And she didn’t believe it now. “That’s impossible. Johan would never do such a thing.”
“Ha!” Mr. Bishop tossed his hands out to his side. “You were there. Did you not hear him? Your brother was drunk, Miss Zimmer. The liquor in his system must have emboldened him.”
Several thoughts dashed across her mind. Her father complaining that some of his liquor was missing just before the duel. Of smelling the foul stench on Johan that day he’d been shot. Was it possible he’d drunk himself into a stupor that empowered him to do something so completely out of character? She shook her head. “No, I don’t believe you.”
He hung his head as if disappointed in her and kicked a stone, sending it spiraling toward the riverbank. Why should that bother her? He heaved a loud sigh and looked up, his gaze pleading. “I was leaving the day after that ball. I was on my way to become a surgeon—a man who heals people. Why would I challenge a man to a duel that might end his life? I’m a man of healing, Miss Zimmer, not hurting.”
“But you hurt my brother. You killed him.”
“I never meant to. I wasn’t even going to fire at him, but when his lead ball hit my arm, I jumped and my finger pulled the trigger by accident.”
“Ha!” Carina barked a laugh. “You expect me to believe that the shot that killed my brother was an accident?”
He nodded. “Yes, because it was.”
Reed Bishop looked so sincere she almost believed him. If she hadn’t known without a doubt that Johan could never do such a thing, she might have been swayed. But the truth was Reed Bishop had killed the only family member who loved her. She’d been less than two when their mother had died giving birth to Johan. For as long as she could remember, she’d helped take care of him. And now he was gone.
She lifted the pistols again. “Choose your weapon, and do it now.”
Mr. Bishop stared at her, a muscle twitching in his clean-shaven jaw. His gaze dropped to the guns, and after a long moment, he selected one. He loaded the weapon then waited while she set down the box and finished loading hers.
“I have one favor to ask, Miss Zimmer.”
Carina’s heart jumped. What could he possibly want from her? “What’s that?”
The muscles in his jaw flexed, and he blew a long breath from his nose. He caught her gaze, sending her stomach into spasms.
“If I perish, promise me that you’ll see to it that my mother is well cared for. I don’t want her to suffer because she has no one special in her life who loves her like I do.”
She narrowed her eyes. Was this merely a ploy for her sympathy? Did he not know that she had lived the last four years grieving, angry, and plotting revenge as his mother would if he died today? Yet thinking of Susan Bishop having to endure such agony made her stomach ache. Watching over his mother was the least she could do, not that his mother would want to have anything to do with her after the duel if her son died at her hand. She nodded. “I promise. Now, walk ten paces then turn and fire.”
He stared at her, nothing moving but his lashes and a muscle in his jaw. “As you wish, Miss Zimmer. Take your best shot, and I hope and pray that it relieves you of the terrible burden you’re carrying.”
Eight
Stubborn, mulish woman—beautiful woman.
Did she honestly believe he could shoot her?
She didn’t know him very well if she believed that.
In truth, she barely knew him at all.
He counted to ten in his head as he walked back toward his horse. He hadn’t thought Miss Zimmer would actually go through with the duel, or he would have left the roan in a better place where he couldn’t accidentally catch a lead ball fired by an incompetent shooter. He had no real fear that Miss Zimmer would actually hit him, yet knowing that he’d never intended to shoot Johan either left him a bit uneasy.
He wouldn’t shoot her, no matter what. He couldn’t live with himself if he damaged her lovely flesh or caused her pain. But he had inflicted pain—the deep, grieving pain of loss. He knew how it felt because he still missed his father, even though they were often at odds with one another.
He reached number ten in his count and turned. Carina Zimmer had already turned and pointed her pistol at him. Never once in the times he’d relived that duel with her brother had he ever dreamed he’d find himself in such a predicament. He caught her gaze and fired his pistol into the air, knowing that doing so violated code duello’s rules for proper dueling. But there was hardly anything proper in a pistol battle with a woman.
Her mouth dropped open then snapped shut. She turned slightly sideways and aimed her pistol at him like a professional shootist might. A bead of sweat ran down his cheek as he lowered his weapon to his side. He had assumed Miss Zimmer didn’t know how to shoot—a bad assumption on his part if her stance was any indication. Standing firm, he met her gaze for gaze. She held steady but didn’t fire. Father, watch over me. Keep Mother in the shelter of Your arms should I perish today.
His opponent’s pistol lowered, but she jerked it back up.
It wobbled.
She steadied it again and took aim. His heart pounded a frantic beat like it had the first time he performed a surgery. He took a deep breath and turned sideways as she had, making himself a smaller target. He didn’t plan on making things any easier for her. His medical bag was on his horse, so if she didn’t inflict too serious a wound, he might be able to treat himself.
Suddenly her pistol shimmied and fell to her side. She dropped it and hunched over, crying out a sob that went clear to his soul. He wasn’t sure whether to shout a hallelujah, hurry to his horse and hightail it home, or wait. He doubted Miss Zimmer would be happy that he’d witnessed her collapse.
He took a step toward her. He couldn’t just walk away and leave her all alone in her misery. Besides, she might get a sudden urge of boldness and shoot him in the back. He took another step and then another. Her soft sobs tore at his gut. Comfort her, Lord.
The next instant, he fel
t as if God had told him to comfort her. He stopped in front of her, but she seemed not to see him. He lifted his arms, stepped forward, and wrapped them around her. She stiffened for a moment then fell against his chest, crying more than he’d ever witnessed a woman cry.
“You’re all right. Don’t fret,” Reed cooed to her. He muttered prayers heavenward and patted her back. He longed to help her, to make her life easier, if only she’d let him. But he was probably the last person she’d accept assistance from. Show me what to do, Lord.
She clutched his shirt and leaned into his chest. His heart ached for her. She had so much responsibility on her slight shoulders. He thought of his mother and how she had run the plantation for so many years, all on her own. How was she able to keep things running so smoothly, but Miss Zimmer wasn’t? He had it within his power now to make life easier for his mother. Guilt gnawed at him like a rat in a bag of grain.
Reed longed to lean his cheek against the top of Carina’s head, but he resisted. He might be unable to deny a growing desire to know her better, but he didn’t harbor any false hopes that she felt the same. Was she even aware that he held her in his arms?
❧
Carina stiffened. What was she doing enfolded in Reed Bishop’s arms?
She couldn’t shoot him, especially after he discharged his pistol in the air and stood still, waiting for her shot. How could he be so gallant in the face of death? How could the arms of her mortal enemy feel so safe? So good? So comforting?
When was the last time someone other than Betsey had hugged her? Reassured her? And why was he doing so when she’d come within a hair’s length of shooting him?
He was still her nemesis. And she had a death grip on his waistcoat.
She released it suddenly and stepped back. His arms loosened but didn’t let her go, as if he enjoyed holding her. She kept her gaze on the ground, too embarrassed to look up. “Please, let me go.”
Dueling Hearts Page 6
