Schulze, Dallas (35 page)

Assured that there were no unfamiliar faces among the people he
could see, Bishop stepped off the boardwalk and into the street. If Lila and
the children were still in Fitch’s, he was going to send her home. No doubt
she’d argue. She argued about damn near everything, but this was one argument
she was going to lose. If Lang was one of the men Bart had seen get off the
train and if he was looking for a fight, which seemed a near certainty, he
wanted his family well out of the way. Whatever the outcome, he needed to know
that they were safe.

He was almost across the street when he had the sudden sensation
that he was being watched. Slowing his stride, he brushed his coat back from
the butt of his gun in a casual-seeming gesture. His every sense was tuned to
trying to locate the source of his uneasiness. If Lang
was
watching him,
would he make his move now or wait for a time when there were fewer witnesses?
The answer might depend on whether the man wanted to avenge Augie’s death or
make a reputation by being the man to outdraw Bishop McKenzie.

“McKenzie!” The voice came from behind him, loud and booming,
holding a blatant challenge, demanding attention from all within earshot and
answering Bishop’s question in a single word.

***

Lila and the children had been on their way out of Fitch’s when
she’d seen Bishop crossing the street toward them. She’d hesitated a moment,
not anxious to see him. She was still annoyed with him. It wasn’t just his
harshness with Gavin, though she certainly thought he’d been rougher on the boy
than circumstances warranted. But she was also still angry over the way he’d
ended their conversation. She was
not
accustomed to people simply
walking away from her without so much as a by-your-leave.

But, annoyed or not, she could hardly avoid him forever, and she
certainly didn’t want to give the children the impression that she was angry
with their father. Bridget could say it was a good thing for children to know
that their parents sometimes disagreed, but it went against everything Lila had
been taught. Pinning a cool smile on her face, she reached for the door. Before
she could open it, she heard someone call Bishop’s name, the voice coming
easily through the door.

Something in the tone as well as the way Bishop’s shoulders
suddenly stiffened had her hesitating again. She saw him turn slowly, his hands
held slightly out from his body. Voices carried easily in the still, clear air,
making it easy to hear what was said.

“I’m McKenzie,” Bishop said, his voice cool as a mountain lake.

“Thought you might be.” Lila located the speaker as he stepped off
the boardwalk in front of the Red Lady Saloon, he was shorter than Bishop but had
the kind of barrel-chested build that generally denotes a man of considerable
physical strength. He wore blue denim pants that looked as if they could use a
good wash and a faded blue shirt. A red kerchief was tied around his throat and
a battered tan hat was pulled low over his face. Two guns sat low on either
hip, and she could see that he had the holsters tied down to his leg. He looked
tough and dangerous, and Lila felt a twinge of uneasiness. There was something
about the way he was walking toward Bishop ...

“I’m Dobe Lang,” he announced, his tone making the name a
challenge. “I understand you killed my brother up Dakota way.”

“Could be.” Bishop shifted toward the middle of the street and the
other man followed suit.

“I heard tell you cheated him in a card game and then shot him
down when he called you on it,” Lang said This time, there was no mistaking the
taunting tone of his voice. Lila’s hand dropped away from the doorknob. She
didn’t completely understand what was going on but she was suddenly afraid.

“Your brother’s death was of his own choosing,” Bishop said. He
was now standing in the middle of the street, facing his opponent. “He had a
run of bad luck and thought killing me might change it. He was wrong. You don’t
have to make the same mistake.”

Lila thought the other man looked less sure of himself, but if he
did, it was only a momentary doubt. His teeth gleamed white beneath the brim of
his hat. “The only mistake Augie made was thinking he was faster than he was. I
always did say he was going to get hisself killed one day.”

“You were right. There’s no reason for you to do the same.”
Bishop’s voice was level, quiet, and almost soothing. “Just walk away and we’ll
forget this ever happened.”

Whatever hesitation he might have felt earlier, Dobe Lang was
clearly set on his chosen path now. “I don’t reckon I’ll do that. I figure your
luck has done run itself out, McKenzie.”

“It’s your funeral,” Bishop said, sounding more weary than angry.

Still only half comprehending what was happening, Lila pulled
Angel closer against her, turning the child’s face into her skirts. She reached
for Gavin but the boy was just beyond her grasp, his nose all but pressed
against the glass on the door, completely absorbed in the drama taking place in
the street outside.

Fitch spoke from behind her. “I’d move away from the window, if I
was you, Miz McKenzie. Bullets ain’t always real precise about where they
land.”

His words gave a name to her fear, made her realize what was
happening outside. Bishop and the other man were about to start shooting at
each other. Though it seemed incredible that such a thing could happen in the
middle of the street in broad daylight, there was no doubt that that was what
was happening.

“Gavin! Come away from the window.” She didn’t know whether he
chose to ignore her or whether he was so absorbed in the drama about to take
place that he didn’t hear her. Without taking her eyes off the men outside, she
reached for the boy again, intent on pulling him out of harm’s way, but it was
too late.

Dobe Lang’s hand dropped to his side, coming back up with a pistol
in a move so fast, it was almost a blur. Expecting to see him fire and then see
Bishop fall, Lila cried out. Or she tried to. No sound made it past the knot in
her throat. She took a half step forward, the danger forgotten, her only
thought to stop what was happening.

Bishop hardly seemed to move but there was suddenly a gun in his
hand. Lila saw the weapon jerk, heard the solid report as he fired. Dobe Lang
froze in place for a long, slow moment, his pistol raised but silent. Lila had
the ridiculous thought that the sound of Bishop’s gun had frightened him into
stillness, that this was all going to end right there and then without
bloodshed. A red stain suddenly blossomed on Lang’s shirt front, turning the
blue fabric an odd shade of purple. He stared at Bishop with an expression of
shock on his face, as if amazed to find himself dead, and then his knees
buckled and he dropped to the dusty street, silent and unmoving.

Lila stared at the body through the wavery glass of Fitch’s front
window. Her mind refused to absorb what she’d just seen. It was the first time
in her life that she’d been witness to violence. It didn’t seem possible that a
man was dead and she’d watched it happen. Even more impossible was that her own
husband had been the one to kill him.

Lila pulled open the door of Fitch’s and stumbled out onto the
boardwalk, only half aware of Gavin following her out. Her attention was all
for Bishop, who was kneeling next to the fallen man—the man he’d just killed.

Bishop heard the bell over Fitch’s door ring, the cheerful jangle
harsh in the unnatural stillness that had descended over the street. He lifted
his head and saw Lila standing on the boardwalk, her face stark white, her eyes
wide and shocked. Angel clung to her skirts, looking uncertain and scared.
Gavin stood beside his sister, staring at Lang’s body, his face as white and
shocked as Lila’s.

“Look long and hard, boy,” Bishop told him as he stood. He
gestured to the body at his feet. “This is what you think you want. And this is
where you’ll more than likely end up.”

Gavin swallowed hard, his complexion turning slightly green.
Angel, frightened by the tension in the air as much as by the shooting, which
she only half understood, began to whimper and turned her face into her
stepmother’s skirts. Lila shot Bishop a look of loathing before scooping the
little girl up. Balancing Angel on her hip, she put one hand on Gavin’s
shoulder, pulling him with her as she all but ran from the scene.

Bishop stood and watched them go, aware of a hollow emptiness in
his chest.

***

It was late afternoon when the shooting took place. It was long
after dark before Bishop made his way home. There had been arrangements to be
made and reports to fill out. Half the people in town had felt it necessary to
give him their versions of what had happened, just in case he was unclear on
any of the details.

He’d listened to each and every one of them, nodded in the right
places and thanked them for their insights. And all the time, he was thinking
about the horror in Lila’s expression, the loathing in her eyes. Despite all
his warnings about the violence that was often a part of life on a frontier
that was barely even half tamed, it was obvious that she’d had no real comprehension
of what he was telling her. She’d still believed that Paris was just a slightly
rougher version of Beaton. The shooting had given her a painfully graphic
demonstration of how wrong she was. He’d have given a great deal for her to be
able to hold onto her misconceptions.

Bishop let himself into the house through the back door and stood
in the dark kitchen for a moment, absorbing the quiet. He hadn’t had a moment
alone since the shooting and his head was filled with the babble of voices, all
of them saying the same things.
It was self-defense, Sheriff Seen it plain
as day. You didn’t have a choice. Man musta wanted to die something fierce,
bracing Bishop McKenzie like that. Damned fool.

Damned dead fool, Bishop thought. He reached up to take off his
hat, his movements slow. Damn Dobe Lang and all the fools like him. He dropped
his hat on the table and thrust his fingers through his hair. He was
tired—bone-deep weary, a weariness of soul more than body. It wasn’t the first
time he’d killed a man and it might not be the last, but each time it happened,
he felt a little less human, a little less alive.

Dobe Lang hadn’t been a particularly appealing example of
humanity. Nor had his brother. And both men had walked into their own deaths
with their eyes open. They had, as had been pointed out to him repeatedly,
given him no real choice. It had been his life or theirs. He sure as hell
couldn’t pretend that he’d rather be lying in a pine box in the back of the
blacksmith shop, awaiting burial tomorrow. But that didn’t mean he didn’t
resent the fact that he was left to five with the results of the choices they’d
forced on him.

“Hell. I’m getting too damned philosophical in my old age,” he
muttered. Thrusting his fingers through his hair again, he left the kitchen, moving
quietly through the house. The children had probably been in bed an hour or
more ago, but he was a little surprised that Lila had gone to bed, as if
nothing had happened. The way she’d looked at him this afternoon, he found it
hard to believe that she had nothing to say about the shooting.

A glimmer of light beneath the bedroom door told him she was
awake. Bishop hesitated a moment, half tempted to turn and go back the way he’d
come. He was in no mood for yet another postmortem. He didn’t want to hear that
the shooting had been his fault or that it hadn’t. He just wanted to put the
whole blasted incident behind him. On the other hand, if he’d learned one thing
about his wife, it was that she was not easily discouraged. If she had
something to say, she’d say it, if not tonight then tomorrow. He might as well
get it over with.

When the door didn’t open, it took him a moment to realize that
she’d locked him out of their bedroom.

Anger rolled through him and his reaction came without thought. He
took a step back and, without a second’s hesitation, slammed his booted foot
into the door just above the latch. The wood splintered but held, and it took a
second kick to complete the job. The door slammed open with force enough to
send it careening back. Bishop stepped into the opening, putting out one hand
to block the door as it bounced off the wall.

Lila stood next to the bed, tall and slender in her white cotton
wrapper, her hair falling over her shoulder in a thick, flame-colored rope.
With the lamp behind her, her face was in shadow, making it difficult to read
her expression. But he didn’t need to see her face now. He’d seen it this
afternoon, seen the loathing in her eyes. His anger disappeared as quickly as
it had come, leaving him unbearably tired.

“I told you once before that I won’t tolerate locked doors between
us,” he said quietly, reminding her of their wedding night.

Lila started to speak but before she could say anything, Gavin was
there, darting past Bishop and into the bedroom. He placed himself between
them, facing his father, his eyes bright with a mixture of determination and
fear.

“Leave her alone! I won’t let you hurt her.”

There was a moment of stunned silence, broken by Lila’s shocked
exclamation. “Gavin!”

She hurried forward and put her hand on the boy’s shoulder. He was
rigid with tension, his attention never wavering from Bishop. Father and son,
they confronted each other. Bishop looked as if he’d just been kicked in the
chest, all the air knocked from him.