Schulze, Dallas by Gunfighter's Bride Page A

had
started out to marry one man and ended up married to another.
    “I’m sure I can find it,” he told the butler.
    “Then I’ll say good night, sir.”
    “Good night.”
    Bishop waited until Thomas had disappeared toward the back of the
house before he started up the stairs. Mrs. McKenzie. It wasn’t going to
be easy to get used to hearing Lila referred to that way. It had been a long
time since he’d heard that name used. Which brought up another problem, he
thought uneasily. His unexpected marriage could solve almost as many problems
as it was causing, although it was doubtful that Lila would see it that way.
He’d have to talk to her tomorrow before he left. There were things she needed
to be told.
    Bishop reached the top of the stairs and turned down the hall that
led to west wing of the house. He was not nearly as familiar with Lila’s room
as Thomas had assumed but, as it happened, he didn’t have to rely on his memory
to find it. His steps slowed when he saw the familiar black bag sitting in the
hallway.
    He stood in the hallway a moment, staring down at his bag and
feeling his temper edge upward. Knowing it was a waste of time, he reached out
to try the doorknob. Locked. Bishop drew a deep breath and considered his
options.
    He was tired. He’d been traveling for days. He’d been punched,
lost a good friend, and married a girl he barely knew and wasn’t at all sure he
even liked. He hadn’t had a whole lot of time to contemplate what the future
might be like, but he’d always thought that it was a good rule of thumb to
start as you meant to go on. And one thing he knew for sure was that he did not
intend to let his new wife have everything her way. He had the distinct feeling
that she’d already had more of that than was good for her.
    He knew, as surely as if he could see through solid wood, that
Lila was wide awake and staring at the door, wondering what he was going to do.
Reminding himself that it had been a difficult day for her as well, Bishop
grabbed a firm hold of his temper and tapped on the door.
    “Open the door, Lila,” he said in as level a tone as he could
manage.
    There was a lengthy pause and he wondered if she was going to
pretend to be asleep, but then she spoke, her voice muffled but audible.
    “Go away.”
    Without giving it a second’s thought, Bishop smashed the heel of
his boot against the door. The lock yielded and the door flew open, slamming
back against the wall with an echoing crash. He stepped into the doorway.
    Lila was sitting up in bed, her green eyes huge and startled in
her pale face. Before either of them could speak, a door down the hall opened
and Douglas and Susan ran out of their room.
    “What the devil do you think you’re doing?” Douglas demanded.
    Ignoring him, Bishop strode to the foot of the bed, his eyes on
Lila’s face. She watched him with the expression of a rabbit facing a
diamondback, her fingers wrapped around the covers, her knuckles white with the
force of her grip.
    He let the silence build. Lila could feel her heart pounding in
her chest. When she’d put his bag outside the door, she hadn’t given much
thought to his reaction; she simply hadn’t been able to bear having it in her
room a moment longer. The last thing she’d expected was that he’d kick in her
door and stride into her room as if he had every right to be there. The
frightening thing was that he did have the right.
    He loomed at the foot of the bed, huge and dark and angry. She was
suddenly, frighteningly, aware that, a few hours ago, she’d given herself, body
and soul, into his keeping. If he chose to beat her, the law would say he had
the right. Not that she thought he’d beat her. Not really.
    He leaned toward her and she flinched back from the blazing heat
in his eyes. How could she ever have thought they were cold?
    “Don’t ever lock a door against me again,” he said.
    The soft order sent a shiver up Lila’s spine. She swallowed,
trying to think of