Schulze, Dallas (31 page)

“Whose presence surprised you?” Bridget asked as she joined them.
Dot Lyman was with her.

“Sheriff McKenzie’s,” Sara said. “I was surprised, as I’m sure we
all were, to see him attend the services.”

Dot’s head nodded in agreement, just as it always did whenever
Sara made a pronouncement.

Bridget shook her head in disagreement. “If you mean because he hasn’t
been before, you should have taken into account that the man has a family to
consider now. He’d be wanting to set an example for his children, of course.”

Lila could have hugged her right then and there. She barely
restrained the urge to shoot a childish look of triumph at Sara. “So I was just
saying.”

“Children or no, one doesn’t expect to find a man of his
profession attending church.”

“Why not?” Lila’s brows shot up. “It seems to me a lawman has more
need than most to speak to the Lord.”

“I didn’t mean the position he currently holds,” Sara said in a
repressive tone.

“She means because he’s a gunfighter,” Dot explained when Lila
continued to look blank.

“A gunfighter?” Lila arched one brow. Bishop? She’d heard the
rumors, of course. When he attended Douglas and Susan’s wedding, there had been
a great deal of talk. Several people had claimed that Bishop McKenzie was a
famous gunfighter. She’d dismissed the rumors then and she dismissed them now.
People were inclined to foolish exaggeration. Before she could say as much,
Bishop and Clem Lyman joined them.

Bishop set his hand against the small of her back. The casually
possessive gesture sent a not-unpleasant shiver up Lila’s spine, a tingle of
awareness that she would have given a great deal not to feel.

“Ladies.” Clem’s greeting included all of them. “I’m sorry to have
to break up your pleasant gathering, but Dot and I have to get back to the
hotel. We’ve guests today.”

“It’s a sin to work on the Sabbath,” Sara pronounced, her
disapproval plain.

“I’m afraid our guests would consider it more of a sin if we let
them go hungry,” Clem said, his good cheer undented.

“I’ve no doubt the Lord understands that an innkeeper can’t take a
day of relaxation like the rest of us,” Bridget said. Her hazel eyes dared Sara
to disagree, and Lila was amused to see the other woman back down.

Before Clem and Dot could take their leave, the small group was
expanded by the arrival of Frank Smythe and Joseph Sunday. Greetings were
exchanged, there were several compliments given on the service, Clem mentioned
the possibility of rain before nightfall, and Dot said that Mr. Fitch had told
her he was getting a new shipment of dress goods in all the way from St. Louis.

There was a lull in the conversation, broken by Bishop. “If you’ll
excuse us, I’ve things to see to. The Lord will have to add lawmen to the list
of those who work on the Sabbath,” he said, with a bland look in Sara’s
direction. The pinched line of her mouth was her only response.

Franklin Smythe cleared his throat. “Before you go, Sheriff, I had
a letter from an associate of mine in Santa Fe a few days ago. He made mention
of something I thought might be of interest to you.” “What was that?” Bishop’s
voice came from behind Lila. His fingers shifted against her back and she had
to control a shiver of awareness.

“He mentioned that Dobe Lang has been asking around about you.”

“Has he?” Bishop’s tone was casual but Lila felt the sudden
tension in him and knew he wasn’t as indifferent to the banker’s words as he
sounded.

The other man cleared his throat again. “I... ah ... thought you’d
like to know Lang was interested in your whereabouts.”

“Thank you.” Again, Bishop’s tone expressed only mild interest,
but Lila knew she wasn’t imagining the change in him. And it wasn’t just Bishop.
The mood of the small gathering seemed to have taken a grim shift.

“Who is Dobe Lang?” she asked. She turned her head to look at her
husband. “And why would he be asking about you?”

“He’s no one important,” Bishop said, his eyes cool blue and empty
of emotion. “He’s rumored to have robbed a few banks but he’s never been
caught.”

“They say he’s faster than greased lightning.” William’s voice was
high with excitement. The adults turned to look at him, unaware until that
moment that he and Gavin and young Joseph had joined them. “They say he’s
killed better’n a hundred men and that he’s faster’n greased lightning when he
draws his gun. He’s supposed to—”

“William!” Sara’s shocked tone cut off her son’s recitation of the
skills of Dobe Lang. “Where on earth do you hear such things?”

“I read about them in the paper. I read about you, too, Sheriff,”
he told Bishop, his dark eyes bright with excitement.

“I wouldn’t believe everything you read in the paper,” Bishop said
lightly. But the hand against Lila’s back was stiff with tension.

“They say you was faster with a gun than anybody. They said you
killed Augie Lang in a fair fight and then paid for his funeral. That’s why
Dobe Lang is looking for you, isn’t it? ’Cause you’re the one that shot his
brother. They said you was cool as a cucumber about the whole thing, as if it
was all in a day’s work and didn’t bother you a bit.”

A taut little silence fell in the wake of his words. The people
around them were staring at William with varying expressions of surprise, dismay,
and, in the case of his mother, outright horror. There was no mistaking the
worshipful expression in the boy’s eyes. Clearly, he was smitten by a severe
case of hero worship and his only intention was to flatter the object of his
worship. Behind her, Lila could feel Bishop’s rigidity as he stood next to her.

“Really, William, I—” Sara’s sharp tone was drowned out by
Bishop’s quiet voice.

“Let me tell you something,” he said, leaning forward to pin
William with a brilliant blue gaze. “The day it doesn’t bother you to take
another man’s life is the day you stop being human. And anyone who says
otherwise is a damned fool.”

Such was the power of his quiet words that no one even thought to
offer a protest at his use of strong language when ladies were present. Lila
felt a chill go down her spine. For a moment, it seemed as if a cloud had
drifted across the sun, stealing the brightness of the spring day.

“I won’t hear any more talk about killing,” Sara said, breaking
the stillness that had gripped them all. She gave Bishop a look that placed the
blame for the turn the conversation had taken squarely on his shoulders. “Such
a discussion on the Sabbath and standing in the church yard! I’ll speak my mind
frankly and say that I never did approve of hiring a man of your reputation,
Mr. McKenzie. Now see what’s come of it. Gunfighters descending on our quiet
town and children talking of killing as if it were a game.”

“If Paris was a quiet town, we wouldn’t have had need of Sheriff
McKenzie’s talents,” her husband reminded her.

“You have to admit that things have been much quieter since he’s
been here,” Dot said, unexpectedly coming to Bishop’s defense. “Why, there
hasn’t been a single killing in almost two months!”

“I still say that trouble attracts trouble,” Sara said adamantly.
“No offense meant, Mr. McKenzie.”

“None taken, Mrs. Smythe.” Bishop tilted his head, his face
completely expressionless.

“Mark my words, no good will come of it. Come along, William.
Franklin.” The Smythes departed with a look of disapproval from Sara, vague
apology from her husband, and pure hero worship from William.

The Lymans said hasty farewells and disappeared in their wake,
leaving a pregnant silence behind them.

“I know it’s the Sabbath and I shouldn’t be havin’ such
uncharitable thoughts,” Bridget said, her Irish accent thickening a little with
emotion. “But I don’t believe I’ve ever met a woman more in need of a good,
solid kick in the—” She broke off, glancing at Angel, Gavin, and Joseph, who
were all listening with unconcealed interest. “—conscience,” she finished
stiffly.

“I believe you’ll have to take your place behind me,” Lila said
tightly. Really, the nerve of that woman, criticizing
her
husband.

She was so intent on glaring after Sara that she missed the
startled look Bishop shot at her. If it wasn’t such a foolish idea, he’d have
said she was angry on his behalf. He rolled the idea over in his mind, only
half hearing Joseph’s reminder that forgiveness and tolerance were good,
Christian traits.

Bishop couldn’t remember the last time someone had felt the need
to defend him. Certainly no one had done so since he reached adulthood. The
idea that Lila might feel he was in need of defense was ludicrous. She didn’t
even
like
him, for God’s sake. Still, the thought lingered in the back
of his mind, reminding him that marriage was a great deal more complicated than
he’d ever imagined.

Neither of them noticed Gavin giving his father a thoughtful look.
Seeing the blatant hero worship in his friend’s eyes had made him see Bishop in
a new way, as someone with an identity completely apart from his family.

Since there was no formal school in Paris—teachers being in short
supply west of the Mississippi—Gavin joined the lessons Joseph Sunday taught
his own children. With Gavin gone a few hours each day, Lila was left with only
Angel to care for. The little girl was remarkably self-sufficient for her age,
content to play by herself if she had no other companionship.

Of the four of them, Angel was the one who’d most easily adapted
to the cataclysmic changes in her life. Gavin still regarded both his father
and Lila with the wariness of a young wolf, but Angel simply accepted them both
with the same ease with which she seemed to accept everything else in her life.
Lila envied the little girl her equanimity.

Still, a few weeks after her arrival in Paris, Lila was surprised
to realize that she was not unhappy. She liked Colorado, liked the raw newness
of it, the feeling that something startling might happen at any moment. While
she still didn’t see the dangers that Bishop insisted lurked behind every
corner, she had to concede that it was nothing like the sleepy town where she’d
grown up.

In Beaton, saloons did not jostle elbow to elbow with more
respectable businesses. Bearded miners did not swagger down the street,
shouting that they’d hit the mother lode and offering to buy drinks for anyone
who cared to join them. Bishop told her that the mother lode generally turned
out to be nothing more than a tiny pocket of gold and the miner would spend a
winter’s earnings within his first forty-eight hours in town and then spend a
night or two in jail sobering up from the celebration.

In Beaton, ladies of dubious character did not boldly enter a
store and shop next to more respectable citizens as if they’d every right to do
so. Nor did those same ladies lounge on the balcony of their house of ill
repute, dressed in scandalously cut garments and calling out invitations to men
passing by on the street below.

Naturally, Lila deplored such behavior but she had to admit, even
if only to herself, that after a few weeks in Colorado, Pennsylvania was
starting to seem quite dull.

Certainly that term did not apply to her life these days. Turning
over in bed, she stared up at the ceiling. She was restless. It was late and
she should have been asleep hours ago. The mantel clock in the parlor chimed
midnight, its soft tones adding to her restlessness. Spring fever, her mother
would probably have called it, Lila thought as she sat up and swung her legs
out of bed. Perhaps it was the warming weather and the increasing hours of
daylight that had inspired this sudden attack of restlessness. Or maybe it was
the fact that Bishop had not yet come to bed.

Though she certainly didn’t welcome his presence in her bed, she’d
grown accustomed to it. She might fall asleep alone, but when she woke in the
middle of the night, he was always there. Though she was loath to admit it,
there was something comforting about having his large frame lying next to hers.
It gave her a sense of safety, of being protected. Tonight, when she woke and
found him gone, his pillow untouched, she hadn’t been able to go back to sleep.

She pulled on her wrapper, smoothing one hand absently over the
slight swell of her belly. It wasn’t that she was worried, she told herself.
Bishop was certainly well able to take care of himself. And it certainly wasn’t
the fact that, in thinking about those bawdy ladies and their softly voiced
invitations, it had suddenly occurred to her that Bishop might be tempted. An
argument could even be made that, if he were tempted, she’d have no one to
blame but herself. But there was no reason to think that he’d succumb to their
charms only after midnight. As he’d so vividly demonstrated a few weeks ago,
lovemaking was not an activity limited to the hours of darkness.

Lila slid her feet into a pair of soft slippers. No, she wasn’t
worried about him and she wasn’t concerned that he might be, at this very
moment, breaking his marriage vows. She was just thirsty. That was why she was
having trouble sleeping. A sip of water and she’d be able to go right back to
sleep.

Moving quietly so as not to wake the children, Lila left the
bedroom. After tiptoeing down the hall, she came to an abrupt halt when she saw
the flicker of lamplight coming from the direction of the kitchen. So Bishop
was home after all. Relief washed over her, leaving her almost weak in its
passing. It was frightening to realize how much she’d come to depend on him.