Schulze, Dallas (34 page)

If Bishop had been asked what he wanted for Gavin’s future, his
only answer would have been that he wanted the boy to find whatever happiness
the good Lord might have intended for him. The last thing he’d have wished was
for his son to follow in his footsteps.

His skill with a gun had both kept him alive and cost him his
life. A man with his reputation had few choices. Unlike other men, he couldn’t
simply live his life and let people assume his honesty. He had to come down
firmly on one side of the law or the other. He could be a peace officer or he
could be an outlaw. There were no other paths open to him.

If Bishop could give his children nothing else, he wanted to give
them choices. And here was Gavin, standing in front of him, telling him that he
wanted to throw those choices away, that he wanted to walk the same lonely path
his father had taken. The thought created an anger in him like nothing he’d
ever felt before. Something of what he was feeling must have shown in his face
because he saw the last traces of color drain from Gavin’s face, leaving his
eyes almost painfully blue in contrast to the pallor of his skin.

“You’re a damned fool.” He spoke low and hard, each word coming
out with the force of a blow. “The last thing in the world you want is to be
like me. Guns aren’t toys for little boys to play with. If I ever catch you
with a gun again, I’m going to put you over my knee and take a switch to your
backside until you can’t sit down for a month. Do you understand me?” ‘

Gavin nodded. His body was so rigid that it seemed to Lila a
miracle that he could manage that much, but it wasn’t enough to satisfy Bishop.

“I want to hear you say it!” he snapped, his tone so harsh that
Lila felt herself flinch away from it, even though it wasn’t directed at her.

“I understand,” Gavin said, barely moving his lips.

“Go to your room.” Bishop’s voice didn’t soften at the boy’s
acquiescence.

Lila caught a glimpse of Gavin’s eyes as he turned toward the
house. Though his expression remained rigidly controlled, there was no
mistaking the sparkle of tears in his eyes. It was the first time she’d seen
him even come close to crying, and her heart broke for him. She rounded on
Bishop as soon as the door shut behind him.

“Don’t you think you were a little harsh with him?”

“Stay out of it,” he ordered her shortly, not taking his eyes from
the gun in his hand. His peremptory tone struck sparks off her temper.

“I will not stay out of it! I am as close to a mother as that boy
has and I will not stand by and let you terrorize him.”

Bishop lifted his head. “Terrorize him? I’m trying to keep him
alive. Or do you
like
the idea of him playing with guns?”

“Of course not! But I don’t think it’s necessary to scare the life
out of him, either. He was trying to impress you. Didn’t you hear him say that
he wanted to grow up to be like you? Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

“It means he’s a fool,” Bishop said with a snarl. His hands
tightened around the old gun until his knuckles whitened and Lila almost
thought the steel might bend with the force of his grip.

“It means he looks up to you,” she said sharply. “Most men want
their sons to look up to them.”

“Well, I’m not most men.” He thrust the gun into the top of his
belt and turned to look at her.

“What’s wrong with him wanting to follow in your footsteps?” Lila
demanded. “You’re an officer of the law. It’s a perfectly respectable
profession.”

“He didn’t say he wanted to be a lawman. He said he wanted to be a
shootist. He’d be better off dead,” he said flatly.

“Don’t say that!”

“You don’t know what it’s like out here. You don’t know what it’s
like to spend your whole life wondering when someone is going to come along
who’s a little faster than you are or maybe they’ll catch you with the sun in
your eyes. You don’t know what it’s like. Things are different—”

“If you tell me again that things are different here than they are
in Pennsylvania, I’m going to scream,” she snapped, interrupting him without
apology. “Maybe I don’t know what it’s like and maybe things are different here
but one thing I do know. If you’re not careful, you’re going to drive Gavin
away forever.”

“Better that than see him live my life,” Bishop said coldly.

Without waiting for her response, he turned on his heel and walked
away, effectively ending the conversation. Lila stared after him, her mouth
half open in disbelief. She was still staring when he disappeared around the
corner of the house. He’d just walked away in the middle of a conversation! Her
breath leaving her on an infuriated huff, she stalked across the yard, her
petticoats rustling a furious accompaniment to her stride.

While she was no happier than he was about Gavin playing with the
gun, it hadn’t been necessary to be so harsh with him. Bishop had overreacted
to a ridiculous degree. It was perfectly natural for a boy to want to follow in
his father’s footsteps. Bishop should have been pleased, not furious. It was
all very well and good for him to say that he was concerned for Gavin, but she
hadn’t seen any evidence of outlaws lurking in the underbrush, anxious to prove
themselves faster than Bishop. She was starting to think that one of the ways
the West differed from the East was in the inhabitants’ propensity for
exaggeration.

She shoved open the back door and walked into the kitchen, her
heels creating an irritated tattoo on the wooden floor. And to think she’d been
starting to wonder if she’d been wrong to keep him at a distance. Hah! She’d
sooner kiss a rattlesnake.

Bishop glanced up from his desk in time to see Lila and the
children walking down the boardwalk across the street from the jail. His
fingers tightened around the pen he’d been using to scratch out a report. It
struck him, just as it did every time he saw her, what a beautiful woman his
wife was. She carried herself like a queen, all pride and grace.

She paused to speak to Dot Lyman. Seeing her smile at the other
woman reminded Bishop of how rare that particular expression had been for the
past few days. Ever since the incident with Gavin, the atmosphere at home had
been decidedly chilly, and Lila's smiles had not been turned in his direction.
It wasn’t until it was gone that he’d realized how much he enjoyed the warmth
that had been making its way into his relationship with his wife. But if she
expected him to grovel and beg her forgiveness, she was in for a surprise. If
he’d been harsh with Gavin, it was for the boy’s own good.

Not that Gavin appreciated that any more than Lila did, Bishop
thought, looking at the boy. Gavin had treated him to an exhibition of
sullenness possible only in a twelve-year-old boy. He hadn’t been talkative
before but now his conversation was reduced to monosyllabic answers given only
in response to direct questions. Bishop remembered Lila’s comment that he was
going to drive the boy away and wondered if maybe he’d already done just that.
Gavin’s body was still in sight but his spirit seemed to be somewhere else.

The only member of the family who was still speaking to him was
Angel, Bishop thought, his expression softening as he looked at his daughter.
While Bishop didn’t blame Gavin for the resentment he so obviously felt, he had
to admit that Angel’s easy acceptance was a welcome relief.

Across the street, Lila and Dot finished their talk and she and
the children continued down the boardwalk. They disappeared into Fitch’s and
Bishop returned his attention to the report he was trying to finish. He hated
paperwork. He’d damned near rather dodge bullets than have to pick his way
through the bureaucratic mess of forms and reports that accompanied even the
simplest arrest. He might have considered making paperwork part of his deputy’s
job, but Bart Lewis had never made it past second grade and could barely read
and write his own name.

He stared at what he’d already written, but his mind was elsewhere
and no matter how many times he read it, it didn’t seem to make sense. He
dropped the pen with a disgusted oath and glared out the window at Fitch’s.
He’d never, in his entire life, known anyone who could cut up his concentration
the way his wife could. When he’d been married to Isabelle, he’d never had any
trouble putting her out of his thoughts and concentrating on whatever task was
at hand.

Irritated with himself, with Lila, with the world in general,
Bishop pushed his chair back from the desk and stood up. Life had been a hell
of a lot simpler when all he had to worry about was getting killed.

Bishop was reaching for his hat when the door opened and Bart
Lewis came in. “Afternoon, Bishop.”

“Afternoon, Bart. Everything quiet?” he asked, half hoping to hear
a denial. Quelling a brawl would go a long way toward improving his mood right
about now.

“Pretty much.” Bart set his battered hat on one of the hooks and
ambled over to the stove. After lifting the battered enameled steel pot, he
poured himself a cup of coffee, black as ink and thick as molasses from having
simmered most of the morning. “I was at the station when the train came up from
Denver.”

“Anything interesting?” Bishop made it a habit to keep an eye on
who came and went in the town. Sometimes it was possible to stop trouble before
it got started simply by making his presence known.

“John Sinclair come back from seein’ his kinfolk in Virginia.”

“Yeah?” Bishop turned his hat between his fingers and wondered if
he should go across and say hello to Fitch. He hadn’t seen the old man to talk
to in a while, and now was as good a time as any.

“He spent a night or two in Denver and said he heard tell of a
fellow asking round about you. Fellow name a Dobe Lang.”

Bishop had been looking out the window, but now his eyes jerked to
Bart’s face. “Lang?”

“That’s what John said.” Bart’s thin face looked worried. “Didn’t
I hear tell of you havin’ a run-in with some fella named Lang somewhere in
Kansas awhile back?”

“Dakota Territory,” Bishop corrected automatically. “I guess you
could say we had a run-in. He braced me and I shot him.”

“Self-defense?”

“So they said.” Which didn’t make Augie Lang any less dead.

The two men were silent a moment.

“You reckon this Lang fella askin’ about you is some kin to the
one in Dakota?” Bart asked, articulating the question in both their minds.

“Odds are.”

“There’s quite a few folks know you’re sheriff here in Paris,”
Bart pointed out.

“Then I guess he’ll find me sooner or later, won’t he?” Bishop
felt the familiar mixture of anger and frustration at the thought. When was it
going to stop? All he wanted was to be left in peace, but apparently that was
too much to ask.

Six months ago, Augie Lang had been on the losing side of a poker
game. Bishop had been lucky—which had made him the obvious target when Augie
was looking for someone to blame for his losses. There had been a moment, when
the other man found out just who it was he’d accused of cheating, Bishop had
thought his reputation might work in his favor for once, might convince the kid
to back off. But Augie was young and far more conscious of his pride than his
mortality. Worse, some fool had probably told him that he was faster than most
and he’d seen a way to save face and achieve fame, all with one bullet.
Unfortunately for him, the bullet that found its mark was not his.

Lang had been a belligerent young man who’d seemed unlikely to
endear himself to anyone, but Bishop supposed that even the most obnoxious man
had family who objected to someone shooting a hole in him. Leastways, it seemed
Augie Lang had someone who’d been interested enough to look up his killer. A
brother maybe? His father? Someone intent on revenging his kin’s death. And
maybe hoping to grab hold of a little of the fame that had slipped through
Augie’s cold, dead fingers?

“There was a couple of fellas got off the train that

I didn’t recognize,” Bart said, looking worried.

They looked at each other. Either of the men could be Lang. Or he
could arrive on tomorrow’s train or the one the day after that. Bishop felt the
familiar tension settle between his shoulder blades. Everything that had
happened these past couple of months had almost made him forget who and what he
was. He’d been so busy getting used to being a family man that he’d stopped
looking over his shoulder quite so much.

“You see where either of these fellows went?” Bishop asked as he
set his hat on his head.

“One of them went to the hotel. I didn’t see what the other one
did,” Bart said apologetically.

“No matter. If it was Lang, he’ll find me soon enough. I’m going
to go take a look around.”

“You want me to go with you?” Bart asked as he pulled open the
door.

Bishop glanced back at him, surprising a look of genuine concern
in the younger man’s eyes. Damned if the kid wasn’t worried about him. “Thanks
but I think you’d be better off holding down the fort here.” The last thing he
needed or wanted was for Bart Lewis to end up caught in the line of fire. He
stepped out on to the boardwalk, pausing to allow his eyes to adjust to the
bright sunshine. If Lang had come to kill him, he’d certainly picked a nice day
for it, Bishop thought as his eyes scanned the street from under the brim of
his hat. It had rained the day before, a light, early-summer shower that had
served to settle the dust without leaving mud behind. Today the mountains
shouldered their way up to the pale-blue sky, only a few tattered remnants of
clouds catching on their peaks.