Schulze, Dallas (37 page)

As if sensing her gaze, Bishop turned away from the window, his
eyes meeting hers. “Good morning.”

The prosaic greeting surprised her though she couldn’t have said
why. It wasn’t as if she’d been expecting a declaration of undying love.

“Good morning,” she responded, pleased that she sounded just as
normal as he had. If he wanted to act as if nothing had changed, that was fine
with her. She sat up, careful to keep the sheet pulled over her breasts. He
might be comfortable standing about half naked, but she had been reared to
believe that modesty was an admirable trait.

She watched uneasily as Bishop moved toward her. Surely he wasn’t
thinking about climbing back into bed with her. True, it was barely even dawn
and there was no reason for either of them to be up so early, but there was
something downright scandalous about the idea of him getting back into bed. His
hands dropped to the waist of his pants and Lila felt color flood her cheeks.

“I’ll make some coffee,” she said, turning her head away and
scooting toward the opposite side of the bed. But before she could get her legs
untangled from the covers, she felt the mattress dip beneath Bishop’s weight
and then his fingers closed around her arm, tugging her gently but inexorably
back into the middle of the bed. Though she sensed that, if she resisted, he’d
release her, Lila allowed herself to sink back against the pillows.

“Running away?” he asked quietly. He leaned on one elbow, next to
her, his expression shadowed and difficult to read.

“From what?” There was less scorn and more uncertainty in the
question than she would have liked.

“From me.” He brought his hand up and brushed a lock of hair back
from her face. His fingers brushed across her mouth, touched lightly on the
pulse at the base of her throat, and then, in a move that stole her breath,
slid beneath the sheet to boldly cup the heavy globe of her breast. “From
this.”

“Bishop!” She gasped in shock. “You... We can’t... It’s morning!”

“I don’t know of any laws against a man making love to his wife in
the morning.” His thumb brushed across her nipple and Lila felt her bones start
to melt. “And if there are, I promise not to tell the law,” he whispered as his
mouth closed over her, smothering her already weak protest.

***

The morning was somewhat more advanced and Lila lay snuggled close
against Bishop’s side. She told herself that she should get up and get started
on the morning’s chores, but she couldn’t seem to find the energy to move. She
felt pleasantly tired and drowsy with contentment. Her head on Bishop’s
shoulder, she slid her fingers through the thick mat of hair on his chest.

She considered the idea that she was becoming a wanton, but at the
moment she couldn’t seem to get up much concern about the possibility. Here it
was, with daylight definitely creeping into the room, and she was lying wrapped
in Bishop’s arms as if it were the most natural thing in the world, which was
how it felt.

“No more talk of separate beds,” Bishop said quietly. It wasn’t a
question but Lila answered as if it were.

“No.” The word came out on a sigh. She’d been so sure she was
doing the right thing, so sure she needed time to get to know him, time to...
To what? She didn’t know anymore, she admitted to herself, though she’d
certainly never say as much to him.

They lay without speaking for a few minutes. A sunbeam found its
way between the curtains and painted a bright arrow of gold across the
floorboards. If she shifted her head an inch or two, she could see the chair
that held the door closed and the splintered wood of the frame where the latch
had broken. Lila didn’t move. She didn’t want to think about Bishop kicking in
the door. Or about the stunned disbelief in his eyes when Gavin rushed to her
defense. For a moment he’d looked utterly vulnerable, something of a shock
considering he’d just stood in the middle of a dusty street and killed a man.

Like it or not, the memories were there, spoiling her fragile
contentment. Lila stirred restlessly.

“The children will be up soon,” she said. “I should get breakfast
started.”

Bishop heard the tension that threaded through her voice and knew,
as surely as if she’d spoken out loud, exactly where her thoughts had turned.
It had, he supposed, been foolish to think they could just forget everything
that had happened the day before. Not with the broken door staring them in the
face, not to mention Dobe Lang’s body cooling at the blacksmith’s. And then
there was Gavin. He’d done a particularly good job of not thinking about his
son.

“It’s time I was up and about,” he said. As he eased his arm out
from under Lila, he sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. Staring
at the bright slash of sunlight on the floor, he spoke without looking at her.

“I didn’t go looking for Lang. He brought the fight to me.” He had
never before felt the need to justify himself to anyone, unless it was the law
in whatever town he happened to be in. But he couldn’t get the image of Gavin’s
face out of his mind.

“I know that.” He felt the bed shift as Lila sat up. “And Gavin
knows it, too,” she added, as if reading his thoughts. “He was thrown off
balance by what happened. We all were. He knows perfectly well that you would
never hurt me.”

“Does he?” Bishop turned to look at her, one knee crooked on the
bed. “What about you?”

“Me?” Lila looked at him in confusion.

How many times had he imagined her just like this? Bishop asked
himself. Her hair tumbled over her shoulders like a fiery waterfall. Her green
eyes soft and smoky, her mouth slightly swollen, and her skin flushed pink in
the aftermath of their lovemaking. He could crawl back between the sheets and
pull her into his arms without her offering so much as a whisper of protest.
Her surrender had been complete, without reservations. There would be no more
talk of separate beds and waiting until after the baby was born. She was his
wife in the fullest sense of the word. No more sleepless nights. No more
indulging in daydreams more suited to a boy of Gavin’s age than a grown man. He
had what he wanted.

So why wasn’t he happier about it?

“Do you think I’d hurt you?” he asked her.'

“I know you wouldn’t.” Lila’s response came with reassuring speed.
She reached out and set her hand on his arm. “I trust you, Bishop.”

From the look in her eyes, Lila was nearly as surprised as he was
by the soft admission. Bishop stared at her, caught off guard by her worried
look on her face. Was she actually worried that she might have hurt his
feelings? He tried to remember the last time someone had worried about hurting
him, but he couldn’t think of an occasion. He started to say something, though
he didn’t know just what, but before he opened his mouth, Lila sucked in a
quick, startled breath. Her hand left his arm to press against her side.

“What is it?” Fear made his voice harsh. The baby. Obviously there
was something wrong with the baby. Even as he was reaching for her, easing her
back down against the pillows, his mind was presenting him with a dozen ghastly
scenarios, all ending with, at best, her losing the baby and, at worst, Lila’s
still, white body being lowered into a grave. And all of them his fault. He
shouldn’t have made love to her this morning. He shouldn’t have made love to
her last night. Seeing Dobe Lang killed had upset her so much that she was
going to lose the baby. He’d frightened her when he broke down the door.

“I’ll go get Zeke.”

“Bishop.” Lila caught his arm before he could leave the bed. Her
grip was surprisingly strong for a woman on the verge of death. “I don’t need
Zeke. I’m all right.”

“You gasped.” The fact that his heart was still racing made the
words an accusation.

“The baby moved. It startled me. There’s nothing wrong.”

“You can feel it move?” His eyes dropped from her face to her
stomach, his disbelief plain to read.

“Yes. The first time it happened, I thought something was wrong,
but Bridget told me not to worry. She says it’s a sign of a strong, healthy
baby.”

“Does it hurt?” Bishop was still staring at her stomach.

“Not really. At first, it was a little like a butterfly fluttering
its wings, but it’s gotten considerably stronger than that the last couple of
weeks. Would you ... if you’d like, you can feel it yourself.”

“Me?” He shot a disbelieving look at her.

“If you ... put your hand on my stomach, you can sometimes feel it
push against you.” Color tinted her face and he knew she was embarrassed at
having suggested that he touch her. He suspected she might prefer it if he
declined her invitation, but the idea of actually being able to feel his child
move inside her was too fascinating to resist.

Easing his hand beneath the sheet, he set his palm against the
soft swell of her belly. Lila’s blush deepened but she took his hand in hers
and moved it to the right a few inches. Almost immediately Bishop felt a
flutter of movement. It was so subtle that he might have thought he was
imagining it. But then it came again, a weak pushing against his hand, there
and then gone in an instant.

“He moves quite a bit. Bridget says it’s a good sign, that the
more he kicks, the healthier he is.”

“It could be a girl.”

“Would you mind if it was?” Lila asked.

“Mind?” Bishop lifted his eyes from where his hand still rested on
her stomach. “Why would I mind?”

“I thought men preferred sons,” she said diffidently.

“If I was a farmer, maybe, and was hoping to raise a crop of field
hands.” The baby was still now and he reluctantly slid his hand out from under
the sheet. “My father was a farmer and he managed well enough with just two
sons.”

“Your father was a farmer?” Lila couldn’t have been more surprised
if he’d said his father could breathe underwater. Bishop arched his brows in
acknowledgment of her reaction and she flushed. “I just never pictured you as a
farmer.”

“I wasn’t. But my father and brother were.” During the journey
from St. Louis to Denver, she’d asked him about his family, thinking that it
might be nice to know something about the man she’d married. He’d told her that
his family was dead and then got up and walked to the other end of the car,
effectively ending the conversation. But he seemed in a more talkative mood now
so she risked another question.

“What happened to them—your family, I mean?”

“Cholera. I left home when I was sixteen. I hated farming. Hated
every clod of dirt that went under the plow and every stalk of wheat that came
up after the field was planted. When the war broke out, I was among the first
to join up.” His mouth twisted in a bitter smile. “I’d like to say it was
because I wanted to preserve the Union, but the truth is, I thought going to
war would be the quickest way to get away from the farm and find myself some
excitement. I guess you could say I found it. After the war, farming didn’t
sound like a bad occupation. But my parents and brother had been dead for
almost two years. The house was gone and someone else was farming the land.”

His flat recitation gave the story an impact that a more dramatic
telling could never have matched.

Lila sought for words to express her compassion but could only
come up with the most banal. “I’m sorry.”

“It was a long time ago,” Bishop said, as if time had erased the
pain of loss. But Lila knew that, while time might heal the wound, the scar was
always there, a permanent reminder of what was lost.

“The ache never quite goes away though, does it?” she said,
speaking half to herself. Her parents, Billy— their deaths had left a gap in
her life that could never be filled. Lately added to that ache was the fear
that, through her own reckless disregard for society’s rules, she might have
lost her brother, also. “Nothing can replace your family.”

“Thinking about Douglas?” Bishop asked, reading her thoughts with
disconcerting accuracy. “Have you heard from him?”

“No.” Admitting as much made her brother’s silence seem that much
more final. Holding the sheets to her breast, she sat up and reached for her
wrapper, which lay across the foot of the bed in a tangled jumble. She didn’t
allow herself to think about Douglas very often. It hurt too much.

“You’ve had letters from Susan,” Bishop said. She felt his eyes on
her as she pulled the sleeves on her wrapper right side out.

“Yes, and Douglas always sends his love. Or so she says.” She
didn’t believe that for a minute.

“He just needs time,” Bishop said, but the words were hollow
comfort.

“Does he?” Lila swung her legs over the side of the bed, allowing
the sheet to drop as she pulled her wrapper on. It was silly to worry about
modesty, considering all that had passed between them, but old habits die hard.

“Douglas knows who was really to blame for what happened.”

She felt the bed dip as Bishop rolled off the other side. Glancing
over her shoulder, she caught a glimpse of his lean body as he bent to pick up
his pants. She looked away quickly and slid off the bed, tugging her wrapper
snugly around her body.