 
Satin and Spurs

By Reeyce Smythe Wilder

Copyright 2018 by Mellissa Lopez St. Louis

Smashwords Edition

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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Satin and Spurs
Chapter One

Christ, he found her!

She was dead now. There was no more escaping the inevitable. Voices echoed from down the hall and the floorboards creaked as several footsteps approached. Leah cracked open the door. The barest light escaped into the room. Her eyes, large pools of terror and moisture, studied the duo's advance. One was the owner of the saloon beneath, a wisp of a man who had jumped at her offer to rent whatever accommodations he could provide. The familiar form that followed him made the blood run thin in her veins. She exhaled through her mouth before she latched the half-rotted door and fled to the window. It was fortunate for her that the small storeroom was located upon the first floor and was just a foot or so away from the ledge that led to the balcony and the back stairs. She was halfway through the window, unable to avoid all the jagged edges of the broken pane of glass when a faint knock echoed. Sweat dotted her brows even as she found time to mutter curses and quickly assess the lengthy, bloody scrape her leg now boasted.

"Miss Carson?"

Hearing the alias she used made her voice crack. "One moment Mr. Hicks!"

With fire in her steps, she darted across the balcony and bounded down the termite ridden stairs. It took moments to retrieve her horse from the front of the building, and saddleless, she mounted and sank her fingers into the chestnuts mane before riding as if the devil and all his legions were after her.

In the vacant street, she heard the thundering roar of curses and knew her escape had been a close call. His bellow slammed into her. She cut a glance over a shoulder and kicked the horse harder, pushing the mare into a hard gallop. Terror made the distance between them seem too close.

It was the beginning of autumn. The night's temperature had dropped impossibly low, and with the wind lashing her violently head-on as she demanded nothing less than ultimate speed from the mount, she had a hard time feeling her nose and thinly compressed lips half an hour later. Still, she rode. Beneath the folds of her dress and petticoat, she felt the powerful stretching and contracting of exertions the horse maintained. Each thunder of hooves reverberated through its body and impacted into hers. Before long, exhaustion set in, for as of one week ago she had never ridden bareback. Now the muscles of her inner thighs were tight and cramping, and her fingers were locked, almost frozen stiff buried deep in the horses' mane. She allowed only the mildest modicum of fear to show in a single drop of tear.

How far could she possibly get at this hour of the night without any form of protection against the cold? If Spencer could have found her so far west and in so short a space of time, where wouldn't he find her? She started covering her tracks when she accidentally saw him lingering close to a boarding house she rented a room at several days ago in the second town she stopped at. She had not expected him to follow, but once she realized he had no intention of returning without her, Leah began to be more careful. She changed horses at every town, kept to herself and used many different aliases. She had even travelled by coach in the hope that she would be lost in the daily throng of faces. It had only been two weeks since she escaped, but already she had begun to map out a life for herself, even if it was all just in her head – dreams with no way of being realized. They were a source of distraction, a means of getting her fears of being found focused on pleasant things that calmed and gave her a small sense of hope.

Hope that quickly disappeared like all the sensation in her toes.

By the time she spotted the faint lights flickering like a beacon in the darkness up ahead, Leah found the icy air difficult to breathe. She counted the seconds that rolled by, anticipated with more dread than relief the warmth of some small dark corner she could inhabit for the night. It never occurred to her that she would have to also find a place for the horse until she halted to a stop at the entrance of the large barn. Ahead, a sprawling homestead stood, making a mockery of the modest homes she had come to associate with cattle country. Only one light beamed from a front window, and her sigh was broken and unsure when she gently nudged her mount forward and pushed open the door to the barn. Moonlight preceded her, and it took only a moment for her eyes to adjust to the darkness therein. Saddles polished to a high gleam hung on the wall facing the door. Straw was stacked neatly in heaps in a row. There were barrels of what could have been grain or run, she did not know. The only thing that caught her eyes was the empty stall to her left and the clean, fresh hay. Still, she dared not dismount. The effort proved too much, and she needed to be ready to flee if Spencer found her.

Shivering, she led the horse to the darkest corner she could find and was startled to hear the snorts and snickers of the other mounts. Heart thundering wildly, she leaned herself against the wall and stroked the wet shoulder of the mare. A soft snort between its heavy breaths was her reward.

Mere minutes slipped by before the sound of thundering horses raced passed the barn. The noise of her own heart almost drowned out the sound. Cold-sweating despite the chill, Leah clung to the mount and dared to breathe. And strained to hear when Spencer's voice carry in the still night.

***

Bishop Sheridan had never been a man of many words. Most of the time he found them difficult to express and not much worth the effort. That was why when he spotted the dark shadow of a rider disappearing into the barn from his place near the bedroom window, he did not bellow for his brothers or make a ruckus. That could be done after he loaded his shotgun on his way out. He took his time about the act, ensuring that each shell was nestled in the barrel. When he pulled on his trousers and boots, he did so with unhurried confidence that bespoke of an un-anxious character. He slipped his arms through the sleeves of the well-worn jacket and settled the hat on his head. He had more than one suspicion of who the intruder might be.

In the many years he lived on the ranch, he encountered from lawmen to outlaws, even runaways. Experience taught him it was always better to be safe than sorry. The sixteen gauge double-barrel shotgun that sat snugly in his palm assured him of that safety. He tested the weight and swung it upon a shoulder before reaching for the door.

Down the hall and to the left and right respectively, Pete and Jake slept. A single knock on each door roused both men quickly enough. Jake was the first one to poke his head in the hall. Bleary-eyed and sleep tousled, he reeked of stale beer and day-old tobacco.

"What time is it?"

Bishop didn't respond but issued a command instead. "Get your gun arm ready."

No further questions were asked. He continued down the hall in the easy saunter that was his. By the time he opened the front door and paused on the porch to inhale the cold air, he was not surprised to see a trio riding hard toward the house. With deceptive calm, he leaned against the bannister and waited. Behind him, Jake ventured and joined him in the chilled night.

"Expectin' company?" he asked coolly.

Bishop grunted a non-committed reply and descended the four steps that led to the yard when the men reigned in. In a sweeping glance, he assessed them. Dressed in suits that reeked of sophistication and expense, they all bore the same wind-tossed, antsy appearance – especially the man who nudged his mount farther forward. In the darkness, there was nothing more to distinguish on his face but harsh angles. Maybe it was the rigid way he held his shoulders or the too-tight grip he applied upon the reigns to bring his slightly skittish mount under control, but Bishop instinctively disliked him.

"What can I do for you?" he greeted softly.

"We're looking for a woman. She might have passed through here minutes ago. If you've seen her, maybe you could tell us which direction she went."

Bishop shifted from one foot to the next and offered nothing but a confused frown. Jake left his perch upon the porch to step into the faint glow of the first quarter moon. "A woman?" he repeated, his tone reflecting his disbelief. "At this time of night? In rustling country?"

The visitors' horse danced beneath his tightened grip. Bishop studied him the way one would study a poisonous snake. There was a hard edge to him, something that didn't sit right. And if the shadow that concealed itself in the barn was indeed a woman, who was she? And more importantly why was she on the run? What had she done?

"Afraid so," was all the stranger offered. His dark eyes clashed with Bishops'.

"Is she wanted by the law?" Jake delved.

"It's a personal matter – my wife, you see. Nothing you boys should be concerned about."

Ah. So that explained the haste and the hunt. He might have pointed him to the barn as he was tempted to do at the moment. He had no right, no desire to get in between the domestic disputes of a married couple. If the man wanted his wife back, who was he to get in the way? Still, his gut tightened and he kept his mouth sealed. It was no business of his, but when a woman ran, she usually had a good reason.

"Ain't nothing out there for miles," he finally offered after a contemplative silence.

"You could check the Hastings," Jake volunteered. "They own a homestead five miles east of here."

The stranger's jaw ticked uncontrollably. The anger he exuded felt damn near tangible. When he finally managed to drag himself away from thinking, he nodded his thanks.

"My name is Spencer Grant. I'm staying at the hotel in town in case you see or hear anything."

Bishop returned the nod of departure and watched as they rode east. It was Jake who snorted and turned to go inside. "Must be one dumb ass woman, riding alone in the country like this," he muttered. The door slammed at his back.

Bishop stood for a long time alone in the yard. Each breath he took was measured, deep and slow. Only when the men had completely disappeared into the darkness did he turn to once again consider the barn. Large and spacious, it housed several horses and, if he was correct, one hunted lady.

Slowly he approached, the gun held upon a shoulder, breaths vaporizing as he went. There was much caution when he pushed open the door. Just inside the threshold, he paused to allow a few vital seconds for his eyes to adjust to the darkness within. Nothing stood out differently. The horses were quiet and accounted for, the saddles were present and there was no noise save those that were familiar to him. He stepped inside and stopped, only to realize that ensconced in the dark to his right, a horse snickered. Advancing, his footsteps silent, he pushed open the stall door – and grunted a curse when the horse reared, front hooves threatening to kick the life out of him. In a sweeping glance, he caught sight of the yards of fabric of a dress covering its rear. He reacted swiftly, snagging the reigns and forcing the mount under control. A very cold foot, bare of any shoes or boots, connected with his upper shoulder in a crazed attempt to pry his grip from the mount.

Bishop let go of the horse long enough to snag her foot and turn the shotgun toward her in an attempt to take the fight out or her. She froze and whimpered helplessly. In the darkness, he could not distinguish a thing about her.

"Please let me go."

The huskiness of her voice touched his agitated nerves and smooth them over. He felt stroked, petted, even as her voice trembled with fear. Something incredibly hot tightened in his stomach.

For a dull moment, everything within him protested. This was bad. The idea of having a woman, the wife of a husband who wanted her back hide in his barn, and with him knowing about it was a recipe for a gunfight.

And Bishop hated gunfights.

True, he carried a gun. But most men did not need to pull the trigger unless they had to. He had to only once. It was enough to make him swear that he never would again.

"I can't do that." Of course, he couldn't. No matter what the fire in his lower regions said. It might be too late to go to town now and take her back, but in the morning he would have all of this sorted out. "Get down."

She did so quietly, the fabric of her dress rustling in the stillness. From the moment her feet touched the ground, she fell into a dead faint.

Cursing silently, he approached. In all appearance, she looked to be asleep. He could see nothing but the length of hair that covered most of her face, all of which was concealed in the dark. He might have found a moment for sympathy when he realized that she must have been in quite a hurry to have ridden a saddleless horse, but sympathy was quickly replaced by confusion when he realized that her feet were exposed. That, if nothing else spurred him into moving. One firm hand took her foot and squeezed gently, horrified to find it tight and as cold as ice. Upon closer inspection, he discovered that she was bereft of coat and gloves.

The horse side-stepped as he continued his prodding. Reason dictated that he should at least attempt to wake her. In the back of his mind, he registered the cool feel of her skin against his fingers and the damp dress that seeped cold into her bones. The mass of curls adorning her head was thick and long and concealed most of her upper half. Awkwardly, he lifted her in his arms, a mighty feat considering he still held his gun and took purposeful strides that made short work of the yard. Before he climbed the steps, he bellowed for Jake once more. When the door opened and Jake spotted them, his eyes widened considerably.

"What the hell?!"

Bishop hustled inside and deposited her upon the sofa as gently as he knew how then took a step back.

He considered her from afar, took his time about turning up the flame of the lamp. Jake whistled softly. Bishop understood his awe. Although dressed in modest clothes, with no shoes and no coat, the woman before them was made by God for a man's loving. No amount of cold or exhaustion could conceal the full swell of her breasts that nearly spilt out at the top of her bodice, and he would not have been male had he not noticed how wide the rise of her hips as compared to her tiny waist. It took him a moment to focus his gaze upon her hair. Long, thick and a torrent of curls, it lay lashed across her face, shoulders and back in a mess that was all magnetic flame. When they moved, it was to exchange confused, albeit appreciative glances.

It was Bishop who lifted the rifle he held. Slowly, he pushed the curls aside with the barrel of the gun. The steel kept her at a distance, helped him forget how softly her body had meshed to his warmth moments before. The tendrils fell away to reveal what he supposed was the reason for her fleeing.

Jake's gasp was strangled but loud enough to hear. Bishop allowed the gun to fall. The full impact of what he saw hit him square in the chest like a bucking bull. Memories returned, vague screams that had haunted him almost every day of his life, muted voices that held faces he had long ago tried to forget, and failed.

Anger built and stopped in his chest as he surveyed the damage done. One eye was discoloured. Above it, a scabbed wound that would leave a scar mocked him in the flickering light. Her nose did not appear to be broken, but the slight swelling there suggested that it had been hit hard enough to produce blood. He was not aware when Jake left to summon Pete. When the second eldest was ushered in, he adjusted the spectacles on the bridge of his nose and dared not move any closer.

"What happened to her face?" he blurted absently.

Jake pushed him forward and folded his arms across his chest. "That's what we'd like to know."

Pete advanced to kneel on the floor and leaned forward an inch before rising once again. "Doesn't take a scientist to see she was beaten – and choked."

"The hell you say?" This from Bishop. His eyes had taken on the look of a haunted man.

Pete nodded and scratched his short-cropped hair quickly. "The bruises around her neck. Faded, but there. Who is she anyway? Why is she here?"

Jake filled him in on the events of the night and turned once more to the woman on the chair. So far, Bishop had done nothing but seethe and remember. A heavy hand on the shoulder brought him once more to the issue at hand. What were they to do with her?

"Set her up in my room," he heard himself say coarsely. "Let her rest. Tomorrow we'll find out everything we need to know."

Chapter Two

A heavy weight settled upon her as her mouth was covered. Panicked, she tried to scream but her throat was closed and she could not suck in air into her lungs. He was stifling her! She battled against his form, bucking violently but to no avail. He was too heavy, his hips pressed hard and harsh against her soft centre, grinding obtusely as he spoke obscenities in her ear. Tears leaked from the corner of her eyes as she thrashed, and when he finally managed to remove his hand to molest her tender breasts, she sank her teeth into his lips that lowered to capture hers. Alcohol, strong and overwhelming stung her nose, but no matter how much she fought, she could not dislodge his heavy frame, could not overpower him to regain control. Her inner thighs burned with the strain, her eyes refusing to open even as she shouted and begged and wept for mercy. And still, he fondled her, ripped the chemise from her body as his hands groped each limb hungrily. Her wrists felt broken where they were pinned against the bed above her head.

"Please! Please don't do this!" Her voice was hoarse and feeble. She hiccupped and sank into despair as his touch branded her like a searing poker. "Please let me go!"

"Shut up!" he snarled, wrenching her arms behind her back. Her back arched up, displaying her shaking body like an offering. "Everything you are belongs to me girl. All you have to do is lie there and take me like the good girl I raised you to be."

Her mind screamed in panic even as her body stiffened against the journey of his fingers. He squeezed her legs and pinched the flesh of her buttocks painfully, ignoring her cry of protest, ignoring the way her heart thundered so loudly she swore it would beat right out of her chest, ignoring the desolation that filled her eyes as she looked at his face drenched in darkness. How had she come to this? But no amount of hope, no amount of praying and no amount of begging and crying could save her from the invasion of fingers that sank into her dry core. Her gasp of pain was drowned out by his growl of frustration.

"You're not ready for me yet," he stated. He even sounded slighted.

"Please..."

He touched her again, forcing his finger inside and cursing roundly when he was met with nothing but resistance. "I can still take you. Still make you mine. But I want you gently."

She clamped her mouth shut and nodded, willing to bargain her soul if only to get him off of her, to get him to stop stroking her. After what seemed like a lifetime later his fingers clutched her pinched features and forced his tongue into her mouth in a ravaging kiss that made bile burn at the back of her throat. And just like that, he was gone.

Leah gasped and refused to open her eyes even as she registered she was having another nightmare. A cool wind blew in from the window and shocked her feverish flesh so that she trembled from spasms of chills to wiping beads of sweat from her forehead because of the fever. Curls clamped to her face and neck, making her feel miserable and in dire need of a bath. She cracked her eyes open slowly, recalling vividly exactly when and where she had stopped to rest, and who chased her. She had no recollection however of being led to the large wooden bed she occupied, nor did she recall exactly who found her. She realized with increasing panic, everything from the moment she had hidden in the barn to her waking was a complete blank.

The familiar signs of terror returned. She tossed the heavy quilt aside to discover that she wore only a worn over-sized shirt that fell to the bottom of her knees. Heated fingers scanned her weak body.

Oh, God! He had finally been able to seal her fate!

On quaking knees, she stood. Wild eyes wide, she darted to the door. She needed to escape, to run as far away as fast as possible. If she stayed, she would have to marry him now – there would be no choice than to bind herself to that monster!

The room dipped and swayed, and in a stumble, she all but crashed through the door. The corridor stretched on forever, and she stubbed her toe to manoeuvre a table when she made it to the living room. There was no one present. Leah sent a prayer skyward, hoping that she could hide better next time, hoping the effort it took to steal a horse was worth the risk.

Lightheaded suddenly, she stumbled again. Her form came into contact with a small counter that housed nothing more than a soiled cup. It fell to the floor and clattered deafeningly loud. A pulse throbbed agonizingly in her head. She clenched her eyes and attempted to get her bearings. The broken splotches of light behind her lids turned until she could no longer balance her weight. Just as she made contact with the floor, the front door opened. In the bright sunlight, the figure of a man rushed to her side. Fog, exhaustion and fear aided with her vain attempt at a fight. Her hands felt heavy and un-corporative, and although she looked the stranger in his face, her eyes hurt too much from the glare behind his back to see his features. She knew this was not Spencer. Spencer was not nearly as tall, nor did he smell of coffee and fresh tobacco and leather.

And Spencer definitely would not lift her into his arms the way this man was doing now. The hot feel of his hands upon the bare back of her legs shocked some of the astonishment out of her. Through a headache, fatigue and a fever, she battered the hard wall of his chest with whatever strength that was left.

"Simmer down lady," came the softly spoken command.

The steel in his voice demanded obedience. She stilled instantly. Body shivering in terror, she clutched onto the front of his shirt and tried to speak. The only sound she seemed capable of making was a croak. In a flash, he was back in the bedroom and laid her upon the sheets. Still, she trembled, seeing but unseeing, hearing but unable to comprehend. He said something more, something urgent it would appear, for it was followed by a long stream of curses. Had she been any more coherent, she might have blushed. Instead, she sank her fingers into the sheets. There was no way of stopping the spasms that claimed her body. All the while the stranger tried to calm her, for his voice was a lull, a melody.

Warm hands stroked her hair. In due time her heartbeat slowed. Subconsciously she realized Spencer was not there. Her lips felt parched and the effort to swallow resulted in agony. She blinked, noticing only a blurred image still at her side.

"Am I dying?" she forced through her tight throat.

"I sure hope not," came the tender, amused drawl.

She closed her eyes and sighed in disappointment. "Crap."

***

Bishop rolled the whiskey glass in his hand and stared at the golden contents. Each time the floorboards creaked his head snapped up, anticipating her appearance or that of Pete's.

He always thought of himself as a self-controlled man. In his boyhood years, he had been the one who always analyzed the consequences of his actions even before he acted. He was always the one with the level head, always the one with a plan. His plans hardly ever failed, for he was always able to put emotions aside and allow them to act only as a motivator and nothing else.

His past, however, was something he thought he had dealt with. His demons were supposed to be resting where he had buried them years ago – besides his mother's grave on the hillside in town a few odd miles away. Yet each devil had been resurrected upon the sight of the woman sleeping in his bed. He clenched his eyes and downed the whiskey in one shot.

Pete joined him just then.

"Her fever's gone," he announced casually. If he noted his brothers' heavy sigh of relief, he made nothing of it. "I gave her something to help her rest. Usually works on people as well as horses, so she'll be out until morning." Bishop nodded and took his time about refilling the glass. "When she wakes, then what?"

He faced Pete squarely. "We find out what happened."

Pete hesitated and adjusted the spectacles on his face. "This isn't our business Bish. Her husband's looking for her. You should let him know she's here."

The muscle in his gut tightened of their own accord. "And have her face bashed in again?"

He wasn't the most educated of men, but he wasn't stupid either. The lady ran because someone had taken a fist to her, and he didn't have to guess as to whom. There was fear in her eyes that afternoon; fear that was raw and intense reflecting behind a pool of tears. Bishop had known that fear, had lived it, and had seen the manifested results of it. To face it once again had forced that once primal need to protect surging within him, and in the seconds it had taken him to settle her between the sheets, he had made a decision based on emotion rather than reason. As long as she was under his roof, married or not, he'd make sure she wasn't getting hurt.

"You don't know if he did it," Pete argued tonelessly.

Bishop snorted and drowned the shot before heading toward the kitchen. "She'd have gone to him for protection if it wasn't. Didn't happen that way."

"You shouldn't get involved."

"She's been here for two days. The way I see it I'm already involved."

Pete frowned but said nothing more.

Bishop exited the house, glad for the evening chill that cooled some of the fire in his blood. He adjusted the hat atop his head and considered the barn and corral. Before he died his old man lost the ranch in a game of poker one night to a wealthy businessman who settled in California. Five years ago Bishop was able to re-purchase not only the ranch but also the hundred and fifty acre stretch of pasture along with it. At that time it cost him everything he'd saved, but he was determined to make a success out of the place – and himself. Now, a self-made man, he owned and operated the ranch as shrewdly as he did everything else in his life. He had even invested in Pete's education to see him study to become a veterinarian – the only one in town, a profession that was earning his brother much money and the promise of a bright future.

Jake, on the other hand, was well contented to work on the ranch. Motivated and wildly impulsive, he managed the everyday affairs that kept the workers happy and the ranch soaring on the wings of success. Bishop balanced the books, paid the bills and invested.

Now, if he was not careful, he risked letting the past dictate the course of his future. He considered the risks involved. Sooner or later her presence would be the talk of the town. Already the hired hands brought in gossip from the saloon. A man back east was looking for his wife. Some mentioned adultery, others said she stole a horse. A horse thief was worse than a murderer in these parts, and Bishop was forced to recall how he had found her – half-frozen with no shoes on a saddle less mare. Maybe it was all true, but he planned to ask her himself. In any event, a man had the right to punish his wife anyway he saw fit, just as he had the right to dish out his brand of judgments of what was right and wrong.

To his way of thinking, a woman didn't deserve to be beaten, no matter the nature of her crime.

He dipped into his pocket and produced a small sack of tobacco and paper. In the unhurried way that was his, he rolled a cigarette, leaned against one of the posts in the small verandah and put it between his lips before lighting it. One booted foot was propped behind him as he exhaled a stream of smoke, carried away by the evening wind. Soon the men would be back from mending the northern fences and rounding up the cattle. Only a few would camp out to ensure rustlers didn't herd them off. As the sun started to dip below the western horizon, his mother crossed his mind as she often did these past two days.

A delicate woman, Margaret Sheridan had been the best seamstress in town. She had in some ways garnered her form of independence when her talent was discovered. Although every woman in town knew the fine art of sewing, Margaret was always able to give handmade garments that extra added touch that made dresses fit exceptionally well. As soon as the other housewives started ordering their clothes made, she saved enough to leave town and live more than comfortably further west when the time came.

Bishop, only twelve at the time, silently understood her reasons. She didn't have to tell him why she had secured all of their clothes in the wee hours of the morning, had never uttered a word when four coach tickets were hidden in one of his trouser pockets. She only instructed him to ensure that he and his brothers were dressed in time for the one o'clock coach.

All would have gone smoothly had it not been for his father's unexpected arrival. Bishop had heard the horse thundering into the yard long before his harsh bellow echoed throughout the small house. There was no time to get to his mother, no time to try and reach for the shotgun she had safely concealed behind the cabinet of fine glass.

Jake was only two at the time, crying in fear when the shouting began. And Pete was a six-year-old introvert, cowering in a corner with his hands over both ears.

He had taken them outside, a few yards from the house where her screams were only distant echoes. He recalled staring at the house with clenched fists and tears streaming down his hot cheeks, wishing he was not so small or weak, wishing he could protect her. Unfortunately, there was nothing a rangy, twelve years old could do but watch and listen.

He blinked and flicked the cigarette onto the ground, hating the helplessness that made his limbs go numb each time he entertained the memory. There was no undoing the past, no undoing what had already been done.

There was only the present. And he'd be damned if he stood by and allowed it to happen again.

***

Spencer Grant glanced at the gold pocket-watch in his hand and snapped it shut in agitation. His hard brown eyes assessed the dusty run-down excuse of a town and cursed Leah to the worst possible demise. He hated this town. He hated leaving his comfortable house in North Carolina to endure hours on horseback at the gruelling pace the men he'd hired to assist him in finding her set. He hated that he had to come in search of her himself. He hated the looks of ridicule he would have to endure if he failed, and he hated that he feared Vince Carter to the point of being driven to desperation.

He slipped the watch into his pocket and turned abruptly toward the door. The room he rented at the roach-infested hotel was nothing more than a box with thin walls that housed a bed, a half-rotted wardrobe, a bedpan, a small table and chair, and a basin for washing. The floorboards creaked with each step and he had discovered early on that if he was to survive in a place like this, there were certain rules he had to adhere to.

The west was lawless, so a man-made his law by a set of codes he carved out for himself. Thus far, he had done an exceptional job at playing the wounded spouse, especially when it was believed that the conniving little wretch had resorted to stealing horses. After all, a horse thief was lower than dirt, and he needed folks to believe her unworthy of any kind of respect or admiration her beauty was sure to encourage. He would be justified when they saw her face, and they would not look at him with censure. After all, some thought it was only a weak man would hit such a beautiful woman.

But Spencer was not weak.

And the beating was deserved.

She had no respect for him, not the fact that he cared for her when her father died, not the fact that he offered his name to ensure that the lump sum that would be handed over to her on the day of her wedding would not be squandered, and not the position of prestige she would hold as the wife of a prominent businessman. Many things motivated him. To own such a beautiful woman would ensure that he never doubted his self-worth. To have control of her funds would ensure the initiation of the negotiations he was on the brink of closing. Then there was the matter of repaying his debt. He planned to marry soon. When Leah became his wife, he would be able to clear off every cent he owed and still invest the way he wanted to. Instead, he stood in the small, dinged foyer of the two-story building, inhaling tobacco and dust and turpentine among uneducated men, most of which brandished guns on their hips and overlarge hats upon their heads.

Most times Spencer felt himself a part of the theatre. The clerk he paid well to ensure a bath each morning and night looked at him in askance when he paused directly beneath the cheap replica of a chandelier. He ignored him and continued on his way, stopping only on the boardwalk.

Spencer thought himself a forgiving person. He had forgiven her many crimes in her younger years when adulthood had yet to grip her and make him ache. But with maturity came understanding, a certain level of reasoning he believed she should have accepted and applied to their already tense relationship. Her duty was to obey him in submission. Or it would be, as long as he retrieved her in time for the wedding. He had posted the invitations on the very day she left him. To have to cancel now would be humiliating. And with losing a bride, he would more than likely lose a finger or two if the Carters caught up with him.

Or worse.

He adjusted the choking necktie and glanced down the only street toward the loud music and laughter at the saloon. Frank Barlow and Jeremy Higgins would no doubt he there, satisfying their taste for whiskey and women. He hired both men upon his arrival at the first backwater town he came to - one an ex bounty hunter, the other just plain mean. They were for protection mostly, and for tracking. Spencer was good at neither, but he had the resources and the smarts to use it.

On the night before they had ridden out again to the homesteads that were scattered around the town. No one had seen her – not even the horse. A deep chest mare the toothless man at the stables had told him. She paid for the beast in cash only a day before and had given herself the name Rosie Carson. A common name, he had to admit. But no one could forget her face or her bruises. That alone aided in tracking her. He thought by now she would have attempted to pawn the diamond he had given her since it was the only thing of value she took. He could find no trace of the ring, for this far west it was worth a small fortune and would easy to track. It was safe then to assume it was still in her possession – if it had not yet been stolen.

With the dawn, he would ride out again, for she could have gotten far without being observed. A beautiful woman alone on horseback was a hard thing to miss. The only conclusion he surmised was the simplest one – she was very close to town, and one of the ranchers knew about it. The trio already ruled out two suspects that day when they had all but kept their distance and observed the cowboys from afar. On each ranch, he had offered a generous amount of money to the man who could provide him with any information that would lead to her whereabouts. He was met with disappointment each time.

The heel of his boots stomped an even staccato on the boardwalk then on the stones of the street in the short distance to the saloon. The one-room bar held several small tables, all of which were occupied by gambling men. Women dressed in brightly coloured revealing costumes paraded amongst the lot, serving shots of whiskey and accepting coins for a few minutes in the rooms above. The air was thick with the haze of cigarette smoke and boisterous laughter.

He strolled in with a twitch of the nose and twisted his mouth in disgust at the several unidentifiable stains upon the scratched, dirty floor. Someone hocked and spat close to his feet. Bile rose in his chest. When he found her she would be sorry she cost him weeks of discomfort and torture. At the bar, he settled himself. The bartender, an old-timer with a bald burnt head and a hawk-like nose poured him a shot of whiskey. He savoured the burn upon his tongue and cringed. The scotch was cheap and watered down. With a scowl, he pushed the glass away, unfinished. Tonight the saloon was packed. Sweaty, unwashed bodies bumped into each other. The breeze that filtered in through the opened windows served no other purpose than to circulate the cloud of smoke and the stench that emanated like a living entity across the room.

Spencer leaned against the bar and considered each face at his leisure. Lost in thought, he only realized that another man had joined him when he ordered a drink. He considered him, from his well-worn dirty boots to the hat atop his head and decided that he might as well make good of his time. Most of the hands upon the homesteads were in town for the weekend. Reeling in another potential worker to play informer could not hurt.

"Pour another round for my friend here," he ordered good-naturedly. The cowboy considered him with cool blue eyes that were emotionlessly flat. Spencer nodded toward the gamblers and grinned. "Do you play cards?"

The cowboy took the drink and shrugged. "I'm not much of a gambling man."

Spencer crossed his feet at the ankles, his pose relaxed. "That's too bad. With me on your side, we could have made some real money tonight."

"Nah, I've got enough cash for whiskey. Reckon I don't need any more right now."

"A man always needs more money," he informed casually. "Since you're not a gambling man, I take it you're a hardworking one?"

The cowboy offered a little smirk. "Something like that."

"How'd you like to make an easy hundred dollars?" At this, his brows quirked up. Spencer continued. "I'm sure by now the entire town knows about my plight. My wife took off – and she's stolen a lot from me. I have to find her, and I'm offering a small reward to anyone who can tell me where she is."

The cowboy studied him thoroughly, the smile on his face now dry and mocking. "Assumin' she's even still here, you mean?"

"She's around here somewhere. It's just a matter of time before I find her. Besides, the word is out that I want her back. There isn't a place for her to hide."

"What'd you say your name was?" the cowboy asked by the way.

"Spencer Grant. And you are?"

"Just a rover," he said shortly. From his pocket, he produced a few coins which he dropped onto the countertop. With another dry smile, he adjusted the hat atop his head and met his eyes directly. "I'll keep my eyes open."

Spencer nodded his thanks and watched as the man sauntered from the room. Only then did he observe the pair of colts that hung excessively low on his hips. At the door, those assessing eyes met his once more, a look that judged more than speculated. When he was gone, Spencer turned to the bartender.

"Who was that?"

"That there's Jake Sheridan. He and his brothers run the Sheridan spread four miles east of here."

Spencer leaned back and snickered softly. The Triple S was the first place they had stopped the night her trail went cold. He recalled only vague features of the men he encountered there but was certain this Jake person was not the one who had approached him in the yard. This one directed him further east.

Jaw clenched, he brooded silently. Tomorrow he would pay these Sheridan brothers a kindly visit. And if they were indeed keeping her hidden away, God help them all.

Chapter Three

Bishop was more than prepared for the men that rode onto his property the following day. Just after noon, the trio called his name from their perch upon their horses in the centre of the yard. He exited the house unhurriedly, a light frown pleating his brow.

"Howdy," he drawled. He did not miss the tell-tale bulk of a gun concealed beneath the folds of a blanket across the lap of one of the men, nor the hard look in their eyes. They came looking for trouble.

"Mr. Sheridan," the one named Grant began. Bishop felt his blood pulse through each vein in his body. Had he faced the man one day ago, he might have given into the impulse and beat him to a pulp. Instead, he kept his expression neutral and waited. "Do you remember me?"

"Reckon I do."

"Good. Now I'm a fair man, a businessman like yourself, and I suppose by now you've heard that I've offered a small reward to anyone who can tell me the whereabouts of my wife."

"Hundred dollar bill, ain't it?" he taunted softly.

"You can help me, can't you Mr. Sheridan?"

Bishop frowned again. When next he moved it was to push aside the tail of his shirt just enough for the sunlight to reflect upon the silver handle of the gun propped upon his left hip casually. "You implying something?"

Spencer paled only slightly before he continued. "This is the only place she could have stopped. Now I'm not accusing you of anything, but maybe if you let us have a look around, we can leave and I'll have peace of mind."

"What makes you think I give a shit about your peace of mind?" he asked coolly.

The man flushed beneath the heat of his stare and tried a different approach. "If there's nothing to hide, it shouldn't be a problem."

Bishop snickered. "This ain't the city boy. You can't trespass on a man's property and demand to search his home. Now get off my land before I have to ask you again, and I won't do it respectful-like."

Spencer took one long, hard look at the house and nodded with finality. "She's here. And you're a fool to believe a word she's said. She'll steal everything of value and disappear. Do not be outmanned by a pretty face Sheridan. You're a man of the world. You know the tricks of a woman."

Bishop's hand fell lower to his hip. One of the men eased his arm for the gun beneath the bulk of blankets strapped to his mount. Behind Bishop, a shotgun cracked. Jake aimed a double-barrel directly upon the source of the threat.

"When you have proof your woman is here, come back with the sheriff," Bishop warned in a raspy voice.

"You heard my brother," Jake said, approaching in long, steady strides. "Now get!"

Spencer met Bishops' eyes with rage and a promise of revenge before angrily turning his horse and, followed by the guns for hire, thundered away.

Jake lowered the shotgun and exhaled in a huff. "Haven't had that much excitement in a long time."

Bishop studied the cloud of dust that was left to settle and covered the colt with the fabric of his shirt once more. "The chestnut she rode in on. Bring it to me."

Jake frowned but did as requested. Bishop waited at the door of the barn and stroked the fire in the coals he had lit. When Jake returned, he grabbed a rope and gently took the horse down, careful to bind its legs, his hands as gentle as his voice.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Jake offered, hesitant even as he assisted. Bishop sank the branding iron into its rump. The horse whinnied and snorted. Jake stroked its velvet nose as Bishop considered his handiwork then met the eyes of his brother and dropped the iron noisily, the look in his eyes daring him to challenge his decision. Jake did so without flinching.

"This ain't none of our business y'know."

Bishop glanced outside, his jaw clenched stubbornly. "I reckon it might not be."

Jake massaged the back of his neck. "This ain't like that thing with Walsh."

Mary Walsh had moved into town with her husband and young daughter Anna four years ago. The quiet woman had been accepted quickly, for she appeared a model member of the community. She was seen sitting in the pews every Sunday morning, her daughter was always early at the schoolhouse, ever so often bearing home-made pickles for the teacher, and her pies rivalled even Millie's. Millie, the young school head-mistress was the first one to observe that Anna bore marks of violence on her skin. She had tried to question the child about it, which resulted in endless tears of fear. It was through the grapevine that Bishop became aware of it. Everyone told him to keep out, to mind his own business and let the man discipline his child the way he saw fit. But Bishop could do nothing but put himself in the little girl's shoes. And when he finally saw her one Sunday at church with one side of her mouth swollen at a yellow bruise upon a cheek, he had all but dragged Mr. Walsh from his perch two rows from the alter and had issued an ass whopping that broke his nose, dislodged a tooth and cut his eye.

Reverend Jones had demanded Bishop to confess his sins – one did not solve their problems with violence in the house of the Lord, especially on the holy day. Walsh still boasted the scar and would do nothing but turn the other way when he saw Bishop now. That was not very often, for Bishop made it a habit of keeping to the ranch and minding his own business. Nobody seemed to care that his wife and daughter never suffered another blow, or that they smiled and talked more.

Bishop cared. Each Saturday a jar of pickles always found its way into the order of food supplies he collected at Mac's Mercantile. There was no doubt in his mind that he did the right thing. He let Jake know as much.

"This is different. She's at your house. What'll happen if he turns up and finds her sleeping in your bed? You'll have a gunfight on your hands."

Bishop nodded. "Reckon I should have my gun arm ready then."

Jake huffed in frustration. "It's principle Bish. You can't keep another man's wife holed up here in the name of doing what's right simply because you ain't got the right to protect her!"

Bishop met the spark in his eyes with chilled ones of his own. "You didn't wish someone would rescue Ma all those nights Pa beat on her?"

Jake turned away and gently kicked the dirt with a toe. "I wished Pa dead."

"He got dead. Now I ain't saying my way of doing things is right. Just saying it ain't all that wrong either."

Jake struggled with that logic until he finally nodded. "I just hope you know what you're doing." He turned away to attend to the horse.

Bishop headed to the house and looked up to find Pete considering him in the quiet way that was his. "She's up," he announced shortly.

"She doing any better?"

"Some. No fever, no delirium. Just afraid."

He nodded and made to venture inside before hesitating. "She said anything?"

Pete focused on Jake's movements across the yard. "That she's hungry." When Bishop made to move again, Pete stopped him. "You should give her a minute. She requested her dress back."

Bishop grunted and opened the door. He didn't want to think of ladies dresses and all the fragile under things he was hard-pressed not to notice hanging on the clothesline out back to dry. Needing to take his mind off the topic, he busied himself with whipping up lunch.

***

Leah ran her fingers through her tendrils as she swiftly braided her hair, her eyes once again scanning the bedroom. When she woke an hour before, it was to this strange place, a strange bed and with no memory of where she was or how she got there. Her first thought was that Spencer had found her, but then vague memories that could have been distorted dreams returned – of a cool cloth being pressed to her head, of dried sheets being tucked around her body and of a soothing voice that lulled her back to sleep when nightmares plagued her.

The doctor found her standing in the middle of the room, dazed and confused. Or so he formally introduced himself when he blushed and turned his back. She did not realize she wore only a shirt. Modesty had not been high on her list of priorities.

Now, with her face washed and her toilette attended to, Leah took her time observing her surroundings. The room was large enough to house a very comfortable bed, a small wardrobe, a dresser and two tables. One held a pitcher and a bowl, the other, an oil lamp. On the dresser, there was a bag of tobacco, a small comb, a pocket-watch with a broken chain and a box. Nothing was out of place, and not a speck of dust covered the floor. It was the cleanest room she had slept in since her journey began. The rumpled sheets on the bed mocked her, and she quickly set to work, smoothening and straightening until there was not a creased line left. When the pillows were buffed and the shirt she had slept in well folded, there came a knock on the door. Her heart beat just a tad bit faster. She still expected Spencer in the back of her mind. But Spencer never knocked. Maybe it was the doctor, whose thoughtful blue eyes were soft and full of understanding, whose short-cropped sandy blond hair spiked and defined his pretty features.

"Come in." Her voice was strained and fell short of a croak.

Another man strolled in. Almost as tall as the door, he stood at what could have been six feet four inches. Dark hair fell upon his forehead and curled around his ears. A day or two growth of beard shadowed his jaw and neck. Cool grey eyes met hers, and for the life of her, she could not bring herself to think. They arrested her, demanding that she dare not flee as she instinctively felt the urge to do. A tremor swept through her, intense and heated, followed quickly in the shadow of fear that forced her to step back. A pair of dark brows were slashed across his forehead, shading those deep-set eyes, brows that were presently pulled into a frown. He moved to the dresser and deposited a plate and a cup. Only then did she smell the aroma of the food he brought.

"Pete said you were hungry," he drawled evenly. A flicker of surprise lighted her eyes. His voice...deep, well-modulated. She recognized it from her brief moments of consciousness. To think that he had been the one playing nurse-maid made her blush crimson. Her eyes fell from his face instantly.

"Aren't you going to eat?"

She considered the thick slices of bread and the pile of eggs. Many slices of bacon fried to a crisp were loaded to the side. The cup of coffee steamed encouragingly. She moved forward with as much grace as she could muster and hesitated, thinking twice about sitting on the bed. The setting was too personal, and she did not want any move she made to be misconstrued as an invitation. He might have helped her, but he was a man. And she had learned a hard lesson once – people were not to be trusted.

She considered him warily as he made his way to the windows and pulled the old curtains aside to allow the sunlight in. Only then did she make her way across the room to attack the meal and savour the coffee. It was strong enough to make her hair stand up. All the while her eyes stayed on him. He folded his arms across his chest and those quicksilver eyes assessed her in a cool perusal. There was nothing suggestive or remotely disrespectful in the way he scanned her features. He looked at her the way he might have looked at a wounded horse – ensuring that all was well.

She clasped the cup between both hands and brought it to her lips again, drawing in the heat and pretending nonchalance as he advanced to stand about four feet away. She needed the tremor of her fingers to stop. Shame might have forced her eyes to the floor, but instinct borne of survival forced her to keep him within her sight. No doubt he was curious about the marks on her face. Self-loathing near consumed her. Only a fool would allow themselves to be so thoroughly abused. That anger sparked the need to speak, the need to take his mind from the many scenarios she suspected might be formulating in his head. The hot coffee scalded her throat as she gulped it down. Besides, she had already lost precious time. The doctor informed her she slept for two days and had suffered a fever. Two days! She should have been halfway to California by now.

When she tried to clear her throat it was to snag whatever form of courage she could find to continue holding his unflinching gaze. He considered her carefully with casual patience that belied curiosity. Leah wiped her heated hands down the wrinkles of her dress, her face shaded a dull plum hue. To have been found, to have been attended to by such a handsome man may have been a more pleasant surprise if her face was not marked. It was embarrassing.

Before the shame could force her to fold within herself, she took a deep breath. "You cared for me these past two days." Her voice sounded shrill and unused, and she found that she could not maintain such direct eye contact because of the watery way he made her knees react, so she looked everywhere but his face. "Thank you for your hospitality, but I must be on my way."

"That's impossible right about now."

Her breath hitched. Everything within her quivered. Did he mean to keep her against her will then? Maybe Spencer had already gotten to him. Maybe at any moment now he'd come barging through the door, this time with a strap. Lord only knows how many times he had threatened to use it. Frozen still, she sank her fingers into her skirts and dared to search his face. His lips manipulated a match upon which he chewed slowly. Taken aback, she frowned, unaccustomed to such. Nonetheless, it was a habitual practice, for his tongue transferred the stick from one side of his mouth to the next expertly. A full lower lip boasted a scar to the left corner, and she briefly wondered if he too had been taken a fist to. Still, she doubted he would have accepted it in cowardice. He would have fought back, and judging by the sheer size and built of him, the offender might just have suffered considerably more.

His nose too sported a scar across the bridge, but it was when she met his eyes, she stopped breathing. His pupils dilated, enhancing the black against the grey – a grey that became as fierce as thunderclouds. Sunlight streamed in through the window, filtered through the length of his feminine lashes and cast a shot of light through his orbs. One moment gunmetal, the next slate. She held her breath. He blinked.

Snapped out of her trance, she flushed and cleared her throat awkwardly. She struggled to recall the last thing he said and brought the haywire of emotions under control in her chest before allowing her almost breathless voice to be forced through her throat. "Why is leaving impossible?"

His hand moved then. Instinctively, she flinched and attempted to block his advance. Her reaction was accompanied by wide-eyed terror, a terror that forced her heart to beat so hard she feared it might erupt.

Bishop stood frozen. Ever so slowly, he allowed his hand to fall. With deliberate care, he took a step back, then another. Hurt nicked at his heart and his ego. She had expected him to hit her. Even now, her glassy eyes betrayed tears. Her head hung low and peeked up at him through damp lashes. Long delicate fingers massaged a wrist nervously. For an instant, anger reared its head. What right had she to expect such violence from him? So far he had done nothing to earn her distrust. Then he recalled Spencer Grant, and the hard edge of his eyes melted away. The black eye she was given showed signs of fading, though she would have to live with the discolouration for a while yet. Even with the several scars on her face, she was stunning. There was a need in his heart to put her mind at ease, a desire to make her see that she had nothing to fear from him. He knew too, that she would not believe him. He sighed heavily, his stomach wrenched with sympathy. As with most things, actions always spoke louder than words.

"You ain't got shoes," he said thickly in response to her earlier question. Her head darted up and ever-green water-logged eyes met his with surprise. "Reckon you can't go walking around barefoot." She considered his feet, shod in dusty work boots. He leaned forward to follow her gaze. "Won't fit. They'll blister your heels – very unpleasant. How about you rest and I ride into town and get you a pair?"

The hesitation was on her face. She was thinking – hard. Bishop could see the way she weighed her options while a tiny tooth bothered her pink lower lip. Jesus help him, she was something. Standing at around five-six, the top of her head came up to his chest. Red hair caught the sunlight, reflecting shades of aged wine. The braid, so tightly done, fell across a slender shoulder to drape upon a breast, swollen and soft. Bishop did not doubt as to how her body would fit against his. She was full where she needed to be and slender everywhere else. Creamy skin was flushed pink where the sun had not tanned her bronze. She was burnt in some places as well – the tip of her nose, her forehead. All in all, she was a fragile package, one that needed to be cared for, looked after. It was a miracle she survived a single beating. The lady had strength behind the curtain of fear. And fear followed her every step. It was obvious in the way she held her body, the way her eyes did not hold his for long, the way she shifted nervously as if she did not know what next to expect. She looked like a cornered hare. Bishop pushed down the urge to embrace her. If he attempted that, she might scream blue blazes.

"Size six," she muttered, looking at him with a mixture of distrust and embarrassment. "I wear a size six."

His heated gaze swept over her once more before he nodded. "I'll be seeing you for supper then."

She nibbled her bottom lip and a choked out word of thanks as he took his leave. As soon as the door closed, Bishop heard the definite click of the lock. He reached for the hat he left on the small table in the hall and paused long enough to consider the door.

His father was a hunting man. Very often he would ride out with men cut from the same cloth and spend days in the mountains. Bishop recalled the peace that covered the house during that time of quiet. Those were the days of riding down to the river and pulling his pants up above his knees, of catching fish and teaching Pete the finer art of swimming. Those days of relative freedom ended one year after his mother died. He was old enough to go hunting. Bishop didn't want to turn down the offer for fear of yet another beating, and for the fact that this was an opportunity to learn how to shoot – not just old tin cans or a post, but a moving target.

The first time he aimed his shotgun at a deer, he felt powerful and saddened. He had killed the buck, but not before he read the sheer terror in its eyes, not before he felt sorry he had to take its life for practice. If given a chance, it would have sprinted into the trees. And he had no doubt that the woman he left shaking like a leaf would do the same. After all, she had the same look in her eyes as well.

In the barn, he met Pete performing his usual check-ups on the horses. The mare, now branded with the Triple S, snickered softly and danced nervously to the side. Bishop removed his hat and knocked it into shape unnecessarily. Pete wiped the back of his hand across the beads of sweat dotted upon his upper lip and tipped the brim of the hat back a notch as he cocked his head in interest. "Did she say anything interesting?"

Bishop looked off toward the house. "Didn't ask anything."

"What are you going to do? Grant said he'll be back. Do you want to get into a gun-fight over a woman you don't know?"

"Reckon not. But seeing as how I'll get into it anyway..."

Pete tossed the rag he held and stood, sighing heavily. "Did Jake try to talk sense into you?"

"Yep."

"Are you going to listen to him?"

He tapped the hat on his knee and exhaled with extreme patience. He could not fault his brothers their concerns. If anything, it was unfair that he remained adamant about having her stay, about keeping her protected when he not only risked his own life but theirs as well. Still, he could not allow her to leave. Her innocence, her vulnerability, her fragility all seemed enhanced because of her beauty. For that alone she would no doubt become the prey of many harsh men – men like Grant. The muscle in his jaw worked where he chewed a twig, lending his features a hard edge.

"Jake said you're doing this because of what happened to Ma," Pete continued in a softer tone. "We support you if that's the case. No man should beat on a woman like that. But things will get complicated because she's married. How do you intend to keep him away? The law's on his side."

Bishop didn't reply immediately. He settled the hat upon his head once more and nodded before shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "I'll be back late," was all he said when he walked off. They were right. No matter how dangerous Grant was, there was no way he could help her without risking all their lives in the process. And even if there was a way to legally keep her away from him, Bishop was certain he would be looked upon as the wrong party. He took his time about saddling the mount and led the stallion outside. Pete was just about headed out of the barn.

"Reckon you should keep an eye on her," he advised thickly. "She's as spooked as a mare. Don't let her leave."

Pete adjusted the spectacles on his nose and frowned. "I can't imprison her Bish."

"Stall her then."

"How?"

He clicked softly and nudged the horse forward. "Tell her I'll be back with the shoes."

The door slammed and Jake exited the house with a plate and a hefty slice of apple pie. "Where's he going?"

"To get shoes."

"What's wrong with the ones he's got on?"

"They're for Leah. He said we should keep her from leaving."

Jake grunted. "What are we supposed to do? Hog-tie her?"

Pete allowed an impatient frown and shrugged. "Do you think there'll be trouble in town?"

Jake glanced toward Bishop's figure slowly shrinking in the distance. "I should go with him. Just in case."

Ten minutes later, he followed.

Chapter Four

The afternoon sun made its way across the sky and was partially concealed behind cotton-ball clouds that held the promise of rain. Bishop guided his mount with an expert hand as they entered the town. Settled in lush foothills, the towns-folk lacked for nothing. Several streams ran through various homesteads, hunting was always good and more trappers ventured to sell and trade their furs closer to the hills. The coach brought in visitors and those who passed through every two weeks. Many people chose to stay. Bishop remembered one stranger describe the valley as a slice of paradise. On any other day, he would have agreed. Now however, with the people considering him from the corner of their eyes, some with open scrutiny of a mixture of curiosity, doubt and condemnation, he felt it could have very well been the road to hell.

"Is everyone unusually tense today or is it just me?" Jake joked softly behind him. Bishop kept his face emotionless and continued along the street, only reigning in in-front of Mac's Mercantile. "It'll be suspicious, you buying ladies boots."

"Then we get Millie to do it," he replied in a mutter as he spotted a slender form headed their way.

Jake offered a beaming smile for the lady who approached from the boardwalk as while they dismounted. She responded with a warm grin that rivalled his and linked her arm through his swiftly. "You boys are asking for trouble, riding into town," she chastised, guiding Jake into the mercantile behind Bishop.

"What did we do?" Jake snorted.

Millie removed her arm and turned to Bishop. He leaned most negligently against the counter, his gaze direct and open. "Now you tell me the truth Bishop," she began sternly. "Rumor has it that Spencer Grant's wife is hiding out at the Triple S. It isn't like you to get involved with married women. What's going on?"

Bishop removed the hat and sighed heavily. Already his brothers might be in potential danger because of this. As one of the oldest friends they had, he did not think it wise to involve Millie. Still, there was the matter of purchasing ladies boots. He had no choice. "Reckon Grant wants her back and she ain't of a mind to go."

Millie's freckled face frowned intensely. "Did she say that?"

"If you had a husband that gave you a black eye would you go back to him?" Jake dropped.

Her eyes widened considerably. "Is she okay?"

"Scared mostly."

"That snake!" she snapped before her voice lowered conspiratorially low. Jake leaned forward instinctively to hear her hushed words. "He has the whole town believing she's a thief. Stole money and even encouraged the affections of other men. The only reason a posse hasn't ridden out is that the town remembers what happened with Mr. Walsh and why."

"So we should expect trouble?" Jake asked swiftly.

Millie shrugged, bothering her bottom lip. "For now, I don't think so. But each day that goes by he's winning over the sympathy of more men. You have to find a way to stop this before it gets out of control."

All the while, Bishop listened, his focus outside upon the glaring sunlight and the folks that walked by. A small town, the population was around a hundred and fifteen, more men than women. With intense winters and unpredictable summers, it was a place for only the stout of heart. He tapped the hat upon his knee and turned to Millie's soft hazel eyes. Millie Brown was the most unpretentious women he had ever had the privilege of knowing. As children, they played together, had earned themselves a switch or two, had even fought together and for each other. She was the only one allowed within their tight-knit circle. It was not until puberty descended did they fully accept that Millie would indeed one day become a woman. It was also around that time she showed her affections for Pete. As far as Bishop knew, there had been at least three offers for her hand in the past, a few of which came from affluent men from the east and south. But each proposal was turned down. Everyone knew Millie had her heart set on Pete.

"She needs a pair of shoes," he offered softly when she and Jake paused in their conversation long enough to breathe.

Her eyes sparkled with keen interest. She offered a playful smile. "Must be some lady to drive you out here to buy shoes."

Jake gaffed and earned himself a hard look before he swallowed a laugh.

"Nothing like that. Just figured shoes will come in handy."

Millie nodded. "Well don't worry about it. I'll get everything she needs and ride out later to drop it off."

"It's already late," Bishop reasoned. "It'll be dangerous riding back at night."

Cunning eyes searched his through a thick fringe of brown lashes. "Well, you could always let me stay the night and set me up in Pete's room."

Jake thundered laughter, coaxing something of a shadowed smile from Bishop. Another thing Millie was, was bold. Bishop counted it as honesty. Jake adjusted his crooked hat, still grinning.

"He'll have a heart attack no doubt," he chuckled.

Millie's smile vanished. "He will not!"

"Or he'll run."

"That's a terrible thing to say," she huffed, turning him down the aisle and depositing the basked she carried in his arms.

"You scare the hell out of him," Jake jibed, following closely. "You need a man who'll know what to do with you when the day's done."

"Oh? Enlighten me."

"Put you to work making those apple pies I love so much. Speaking of which..."

Bishop shook his head as he listened to their banter before exiting. The wood creaked beneath his feet. To his left, Mrs. Jennings and her daughter paused long enough to smile. He tipped his hat at their hesitant greeting and retreated a step to allow them to continue along their way before vaguely twitching his nose at the scent of unwashed bodies. He had spent most of the ride into town thinking about the best way to deal with the situation. Thus far, seeing the sheriff was the only thing he could do without further provoking a reaction from Grant.

Sheriff Tobias Callahan was close to retiring at the age of fifty-five. Still fast on the draw, cowboys from far and wide had grown to respect him not only as a lawman and a firm believer in justice but as the keeper of the peace as well. He never used his gun unless he had to. For that alone many respected him.

Bishop found him focused on several sheets of documents on a corner table. The white-haired man looked up and studied him with assessing eyes full of wisdom. "I was wondering who would come to see me first," he offered, nodding to the vacant chair against the wall. "Thought it might be Grant."

"Should have been, seeing as to how he wants his wife back so bad."

"So you have her."

"Reckon I do."

"Boy, you're asking for trouble," he growled. "If what they're saying is right, then I've got no choice but to arrest her. She's lucky these here are God-fearing folks or else they'd want her hanged!"

Bishop's eyes hardened instantly, and when he sat, it was to lean forward and tap his fingers upon the desk with an impatience that he rarely showed. "There won't be a lynching."

"She's a horse thief."

"There ain't no proof of that."

"It's his word against hers. And he's had a damn good start convincing everyone of it."

Bishop nodded. "Reckon he can have his hanging if he can prove she stole a horse."

The sheriff leaned back and rested linked fingers upon his stomach, searching his serious countenance. "It's time you tell me what's going on."

Bishop recalled the terror upon her face a mere hour before and removed his hat to rake fingers through his hair. In a nutshell, he related how he found her and why he couldn't bring himself to send her on her way. And there was, of course, the issue of a pair of boots.

The sheriff smirked and huffed a dry sigh. "I see where you're coming from. But it ain't a crime for a man to beat on his wife."

"It should be. Most men out here don't hit on their wives."

"They're not from around these parts."

"Reckon a woman's still a woman no matter where she's from."

"What do you want me to do? Now that you've confessed to having her holed up out there if Grant comes in here with a trigger-happy posse demanding his wife, I won't be able to stop him."

Bishop fondled the brim of the hat slowly in silence before nodding at an unspoken conclusion. "Come with me," he suggested smoothly. The sheriff shook his head impatiently. Bishop was not to be deterred. "I haven't spoken to her about why she ran – maybe if you were there she'd feel safe enough to talk."

"Bish, look," he leaned forward, "this ain't Walsh, and it ain't your Pa. You can't offer your protection to a married lady and expect her husband, no matter how bad he is, not to react."

"I know."

"Good. Because you're looking to get dead. You're too involved, and you're going about it the wrong way."

"What's the right way then?"

The sheriff rubbed some of the frustration from his eyes. "Go to the hotel and tell Grant to pick up his wife."

Bishop returned the hat to his head unhurriedly and stood his full height. "Thank you for your time." There was a finality to his words, a quiet stubbornness the sheriff was well accustomed to. It spoke of no compromise. As he reached the door, the man cursed beneath his breath.

"I'll ride out later," he offered stiffly. "But if she's lying, if I find any proof that she's done what he said she's done, she'll be spending her first night in that cell."

Bishop spared a glance toward the tiny dark cell in the corner of the already small space and tightened his grip on the door handle. "Reckon you'll need a confession to do that, or proof – neither of which she can give you." He tipped his hat to take the sting out of his words and closed the door at his back.

Across the street, Spencer Grant watched him from the front of the saloon. The two henchmen spat in the dirt upon spotting him. When Grant crossed the street, they followed three steps behind.

"Well, if it isn't Bishop Sheridan," he began coolly, rocking back on his heels. "Your business with the sheriff must not have gone so well judging by the look on your face." Bishop took full control of his already agitated temper and turned away. "Soon everyone in town will know you're hiding another man's wife. I'm sure she's been asking you to let her go, hasn't she? Are you holding her against her will Sheridan?"

Bishop froze in mid-step and curled his fingers into a fist. The gun on his hip felt heavy, odd. He had worn a gun-belt on ceremony. Now, he wished he had walked with his shot-gun instead. Still, no matter how deserving of having a healthy dose of buck-shot in his ass, Bishop forced himself to continue along his way. True, men were shot for far less, but he had his brothers to think about, and now, the petrified lady who took refuge beneath his roof.

"I'm coming for her Sheridan. And you can't do a damn thing to stop me."

Bishop wished he did not believe that.

***

The house was silent. From the moment Leah's eyes darted open, she realized that there was no rambunctious laughter, no muted sounds of broken music being pounded on a piano, no scuffles and no heavy knocking of bedheads against thin walls. Silence greeted her. For a dazed few seconds, she relished the warmth of the bed and the aching satisfaction of her muscles, but it was only when she chanced a glance outside did she sit up swiftly.

Already night had fallen, a deep inky black that housed millions of stars dusted generously like sparkling freckles. Drawn to the window, she took her time about crossing the room. The wooden floorboards sent cold shock waves up her body. Someone had closed the windows but had forgotten to pull the curtains. The uninterrupted view was stunning. With a speckled sky like this one, Leah allowed herself to dream. She recalled her final year at the finishing school she attended in England upon her eighteenth birthday. A necessity, Spencer said, to ensure that only the best suitors graced her doorstep. It had not taken her long to discover that there would be no suitors. All the dreams of attending a college of Arts, or marrying well and having a grand house on Grosvenor Square were dashed to pieces. Instead, she ran for her life like a fugitive, driven to the very edge of civilization, forced to once again put herself in a situation where anything could happen. Her eyes fell as she made to turn away, and caught sight of the figure that made its way across the yard.

Slightly breathless, Leah felt a small tingle in her chest. Bishop walked in the unhurried saunter that spoke of a man accustomed to getting things done in his own time. Hat on his head, he measured off lengthy steps as he crossed the yard. Leah's eyes fell to the breadth of well-muscled shoulders. In the moonlight, she could see the dips and planes of his chest and stomach. Mouth dry, she leaned further forward. In his hand, he held his shirt, and it was only when he neared the rear entrance of the house did he stall to give it a good shake.

Leah realized only then that the button to his trousers were undone. Blushing, she could not bring herself to look away – not when he took his time about securing the shirt on his body, and not when he righted his pants. Just then his head darted up. She did a swift side-step and pressed a palm to her thundering heart. She was being foolish, for no lamp burned in the room, so it was unlikely that she had been caught staring.

A door slammed. She darted across the room and flung herself upon the bed, all the while trying to calm her heartbeats and the terrified breaths she took. There were echoed footsteps which paused directly in front of her door. Her breath hitched in her chest at the soft knocks that followed. Skin flushed, she inhaled a deep breath and, with slightly shaking hands, pulled the door open a little too aggressively.

Upon meeting his eyes, the blood which flowed just beneath her skin heated tenfold. Her eyes fell instantly, darting to his chest, his trousers, his dusty boots, recalling the ripple of muscle in the moonlight and could not focus upon the mellow drawl of his voice.

Finally, she observed the lamp behind him, burning a small flame. Golden rays framed him, and when he paused in patience for her response, she realized his earlier statement was not a statement, but an inquiry.

Embarrassed, she tucked a flyaway lock of hair behind an ear and offered a waved smile. "What?"

No expression touched his features, but soft amusement coated his orbs and she felt even more discomforted knowing he silently laughed at her. "I wondered if you'd join me outside to talk."

There was a seriousness in his tone she could not escape, and it was obvious that although he asked, it was meant to be more than a request. Lips compressed, she gave a quick nod and passed him rather swiftly when he stepped aside to allow her exit. In the hall, she stopped and took the lead once more when he gallantly gestured for her to proceed. He felt close, and although she found her legs heavy and cooperating, no doubt an effect of her nerves, she kept a steady pace for fear that he would accidentally walk into her. Her skin burned with just the thought.

Vastly annoyed upon the direction of her thoughts, she accepted the offered seat and kept her back ramrod straight. Hands folded neatly upon her lap, she waiting with the tension of a rattler. True, Bishop Sheridan was a handsome man, but thus far, she was not lucky where handsome men were concerned. There was a hardness to him, a stern finish that seemed permanently embedded within the frown that brought the dark slashes of eyebrows together, shadowing the steel of his intense eyes. All in all, he frightened her. Still, the attraction she held for him was fierce. That baffled her. Maybe it was sheer exhaustion and the fact that he offered his home while she recovered that aided her in appreciating his finer qualities. It had been so long since someone cared for her, took care of her without an ulterior motive. Or maybe he did have a motive.

She cast him a suspicious glance and found he already poured two shots of whiskey and stood with an offered drink.

"Thank you." She swallowed it in one go. The glass paused halfway to his mouth in silent appreciation before he raised the bottle and poured her another. Leah did not usually imbibe, but tonight she needed to calm her heart, nerves and mind. She had spent enough time in saloons to see that whiskey had a way of either mellowing a man or getting him hyped enough to draw a gun. She hoped she would at least find her voice to, as he put it, 'talk'.

By the end of the second shot, he poured a third. She coughed, pressed delicate fingers to her throat and slid the glass upon the table that appeared suddenly very close to her knees before realizing he had not even sipped from his glass.

Too flushed and warm to be embarrassed, she blinked and met his eyes – only to find that seated as she was, she needed to crane her head a good way back to stare into his face, for he stood beside her. He studied her well, his eyes scanning her face for several long seconds, the drink forgotten between his bronze fingers. When the seconds felt like hours, his eyes lingered upon her lips. She saw that expression, or one resembling it, upon Spencer's face too many times in the past to not understand that the thick curtain of smoke that turned his eyes thunder-cloud grey was desire.

She recalled again his short walk across the yard and the way the blue glow of the night sky reflected off his chiselled frame and imagined with the scotch still hot in her belly that to be desired by a man so beautiful could never be a bad thing.

She smiled.

***

Trouble.

That's what she was.

Bishop ground his teeth before forcing himself to turn to the closed window. Even now, with her facing his back, he knew the flame from the lamp set her hair on fire, knew that her bottle-green eyes were dewy with drink and open, innocent, knew that if he were not careful, he would give in to the impulse and taste her lips.

He drowned the drink and poured another quickly. Lord, he needed to get his thoughts focused on the matter at hand.

"Mr. Sheridan?" Her voice was clear, if only a little high-pitched, and he took his time about turning to once again face her. In that one moment, when she sat just so, she reminded him of precious gems tucked away in a private hideaway. Something to be kept safe, something rare. "Are you alright?"

He removed the hat and settled it upon the chair he had no intention of occupying. The soap Millie added to the several packages she charged to his account at the mercantile was a pleasant surprise. She smelled faintly of lavender. Her hair was brushed to a high shine, and she wore a new dress and boots. Bishop did not want to even think about what other items were purchased, and he did not care. Every cent spent thus far was well worth it.

"Reckon I will be in a minute or two," he heard himself mutter. His voice broke mid-sentence and he shifted awkwardly. He could count on one hand how many times he had felt discomforted by the presence of a beautiful woman. "I ain't one to mince words. And I reckon talking about your marriage is asking a lot." He exhaled and decided he needed that seat after all. The time on his gold pocket watch read seven fifty-seven. The sheriff was yet to arrive.

Shifting to adjust himself comfortably, he leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees and contemplated the amber liquid that was being rolled aimlessly in the glass. Her husky croak saved him the necessity of tact.

"M-my marriage?"

There was fear in her voice and a distant look in her eyes. He didn't know if it was from shock or pure terror. "Your husband's looking for you."

Her lips trembled as she knotted her fingers together. Nothing could help the rush of liquid that filled her eyes. Bishop looked away. An emotional female was one thing he was used to – high strung mares, hot-tempered cows, but a woman? He felt like a blind man fumbling in the dark.

"Did he do this to you?" he ventured gently.

Her eyes focused upon him and when she blinked, teardrops blazed a trail down her face. She responded with a thick question of her own. "Is he coming for me?"

"He will sooner than not."

She was on her feet in a flash. "Then I leave tonight. I trust my horse is still here?"

"Whoa there," he said, standing. "Lets you and me figure this out first."

She shook her head with finality as she brushed moisture from her eyes. "There's nothing to figure out. I must leave before he forces me to-"

Her shallow hiccup brought his dark brows low over his eyes. "Forces you to what?" He could see her hesitation as clear as he could read the indecision on her face. Her eyes darted this way and that – everywhere but his face. "I know you don't trust me. But I want you to."

Her little half-stifled gasp was not lost to him. Disbelief was prevalent in her orbs. "I can't. I will not involve you in this."

He made to touch her arm, to delay her from taking another step back, but changed his mind and nodded instead. "I understand. But you've been here four days, and I reckon he knows by now I lied when I said I hadn't seen you the first night he came calling. That makes me involved."

She paled instantly and swallowed several times to dislodge the swollen lump in her throat. "He was here?"

"Twice," Bishop nodded.

A frail hand flew to the back of the chair for support and the other to her head. He was at her side in a flash. "It's alright. Sit."

"No." Curls bounced with her refusal. "I have to go before he comes back."

"Christ lady. You're running from a man who is hell-bent on getting you back. Have you thought about what he'll do to you if that happens?"

A dark shadow of despair fell over her face and for several seconds she was silent. A memory haunted her maybe, or an imagined scene still to be lived in the future.

"Every day," came her hushed confession. Bishop's heart wrenched painfully. She was wounded, alone, afraid and desperate, and there was nothing he could do to help if she refused to trust him. On the verge of frustration, he decided to use another approach.

"Do you know where you're headed?"

She hesitated. Distrust was written all over her face. "I'm not sure."

"What about supplies?"

"Supplies?"

"Provisions, money, a horse."

"I have a horse," she informed quickly.

"Won't get far on a stolen horse."

Confusion reflected upon her face. "My horse was stolen?"

Bishop settled himself in the chair once more. "Reckon he has the whole town believing you stole it."

For a moment she stared at him as if he had suddenly sprouted horns, then she allowed a nervous laugh. Bishop watched her humour change to hesitation, then shock. "You're not being funny."

"Afraid not."

A new wave of fear shot through her, and she fumbled until she found the seat she too had vacated in such haste, only to occupy it once more. "Horse thieves are hanged," she whispered to herself. "But I bought the mare. From a toothless old man two towns back. He charged me ten dollars, and only because I told him fifteen was too much."

There was no doubt in Bishop's mind that she told the truth. "A bill of purchase will easily dismiss his claim."

Crestfallen, her shoulders fell. "I left everything in the saloon when-" She could not complete her sentence. Instead, she took a breath and forced her eyes to his. "I don't have it."

Bishop deposited his glass and passed a hand over his face. With a shaking voice, she braved to ask, "What else has he lied about?"

"You tell me. That you robbed him of money and valuables. That you've been unfaithful."

"Unfaithful?" she repeated once again, laughing nervously. Bishop allowed her time to come to terms with everything he said. Slowly, she buried her face in her hands and groaned in despair. He shifted and leaned forward, wanting to comfort her, hesitant to do so. "D-do you believe him?"

When her tear-filled eyes fixed on him, he felt himself come undone. "No." The confidence in his voice made her shudder anew.

"Why? How do you know I'm not guilty of all the things he said I did?"

Tender warmth swirled in his eyes as a soft smile brushed against his lips. "I trust you."

Stunned, she considered him closely. "You don't even know me. I can ride out of here with your best mount if I'm of a mind to."

"I know you can," he smiled indulgently.

She flushed, for he was right. She was no thief. "I'm not an adulteress either."

He rubbed the back of his neck in discomfort. He didn't want to think about her with Grant or anyone else, so he hadn't given the rumour much thought. Now that she spoke, he had a vivid image of her, naked and on the verge of rapture with his name on her lips. Heat erupted in his stomach and he shifted. She must have read his discomfort as doubt, for her eyes took on a look of determination.

"It is impossible to be unfaithful to Spencer." Her tone was forceful. He shrugged. Hell, even if she had committed adultery, he couldn't blame her. No woman deserved to be treated so. Her loyalty confused him and he admired her all the more.

"Okay," he muttered. "But I'm not the one that needs convincing. When he comes for you, if you don't go nice-like, there'll be shooting'."

"That's why I need to leave now." Again she was on her feet. "I can go back to Carolina. He'll never think I'll turn back." Bishop followed her hasty pacing with thoughtful eyes. All the while she planned, her tone dropped as if he was forgotten. "I'll purchase a ticket to England. I have friends there."

"If he followed you across the land, there's nothing from stopping him from finding you across the sea."

Stunned, she faced him, eyes wide in hopelessness. "Then all is lost."

Shoulders hunched forward, Bishop could take her sorrow no longer. He stood slowly and joined her at the window. "Was he always like this?"

She shook her head. "Sometimes...but there was nothing I could do about it. I had no place to go..."

He understood the feeling only too well. "But you made a stand now. Why?"

"If I stayed, he would have forced me..."

"Forced you to what?"

Wide eyes, so deep and intense finally lifted to lock upon his. "To marry him."

Bishop stopped breathing momentarily and frowned in confusion. "What?"

Leah hugged her shoulders and allowed her eyes to fall before she found the courage to repeat herself. "Spencer and I are not married. And we never will be."

Chapter Five

Bishop watched the play of emotions that crossed his brothers' faces as they considered him from their seats across the table. He was just about done telling them what he learned the night before. From the look of things, neither Jake nor Pete believed a word he said. Neither did the sheriff. The man had knocked on his front door that morning and came straight to the point of the matter. Leah was still asleep, and Bishop used this time to hold a much-needed family meeting.

"What kind of man would go through all this for a woman that ain't even his?" Jake echoed everyone's thoughts boldly. "I ain't buying it. She's his wife. Either that or he's dog-gone lost his mind!"

Pete adjusted the spectacles on the bridge of his nose and exhaled slowly. "There's only one way to know if what she's saying is true. We have to send a telegram to Carolina and request a copy of the marriage certificate."

Jake scoffed. "But that could take weeks to get here - time we don't have."

"It's the only way to find out the truth."

"She ain't lying." Two pairs of eyes met his. They fell silent at the soft determined look he shot their way.

Sheriff Callahan stood his full height. The spurs on his boots jingled and echoed, and when he spoke, even Bishop paused to listen. "Reckon this is a mighty fine mess you boys got me into. It was an easy open and shut case yesterday - today I'll have to do what Pete here suggests and get the magistrate involved."

Bishop nodded agreement. If waiting Grant out was what they needed to do until they got hard evidence to clear Leah's name, then that's what he'd do.

"I'll talk to him when I get back into town, send a telegram east. I don't want no trouble while all this is being cleared up, so I'll talk with Grant too." When he turned to Bishop, there was wariness in his faded eyes. "Reckon once this is done he'll know for sure she's here."

"I'm not afraid of him."

Jake huffed. "He'll be a damn fool to try anything."

"He'll be desperate," Bishop interjected quietly. "There ain't no part of me that doubts what she says. And when that letter comes back stating she ain't no man's wife, he won't like it none."

The sheriff planted the hat on his head and sighed heavily. "I'll talk with Mrs. Brown and see if I can get her to come on out here and act as a chaperone. Won't have the lady's name sullied more than it already is, especially if she's telling the truth now." He cast a pointed glance toward Pete. "That would mean Millie would join her, of course."

Bishop's lips twitched at Pete's blush and Jake's snicker before walking with the sheriff outside.

"I appreciate what you're doing, trying to find out the truth."

The old cowboy leaned against the railing and studied the toe of his dusty boots. "If it were anyone else I wouldn't be too concerned about all this. But I know you. If something ain't right you'd just go off and get yourself killed trying to fix it."

Bishop didn't dispute the fact. Callahan descended the three steps and mounted the horse with more agility than his age required. "Stay out of town until this thing gets cleared up. I don't want no trouble with Grant."

"And if he comes looking for trouble?"

"Let's hope he ain't that stupid."

Bishop tipped his hat and watched as he became a speck in the mid-morning sun.

***

Spencer crushed the cigarette he smoked beneath the toe of his expensive riding boots and slowly exhaled a stream of foul-smelling smoke through his nostrils. His eyes held the sheriff's in a battle of wills. So that was the plan then - to confirm that they were man and wife legally. Spencer felt his patience and years of masterful planning spiral out of control. How could she do this to him? After everything he had done for her, the ungrateful wretch! He had taken her in after the death of her father - she would have been homeless had it not been for his ruthless calculations. Each day it ate at his soul that she spent yet another night under the protection of a man - a stranger she did not know. He didn't particularly care what happened between the two. Hell, he knew the corruptions of the flesh well enough not to hope that she would come to his bed pure. What mattered to Spencer was keeping that information hidden from everyone else - especially those whose idle tongues might start tales that would be unmistakably taken back home. A man had his reputation to consider after all. As things currently stood, there was no way he could show his face in respected circles without her on his arm as his wife. If only things were different if the men he owed were different...

Spencer ground his teeth hard and forced himself to nod innocently.

"So be it. But I want justice for what those Sheridan's have put me through when this is over. My way."

The sheriff planted the hat on his head and nodded. "Justice is all well and good Grant. You just hold out on it until I hear from back east."

And he walked away.

Spencer cursed blue blazes. His eyes squinted against the afternoon sun. He had to find a way to get her back before the truth of the matter surfaced. At least he had a little bit of time to formulate a plan and put it into action. And in the process, he would do his damn best to crush those blasted Sheridan brothers.

***

The evening brought with it a haunting silence. Leah paced the breadth of the room for the millionth time, restlessly nibbling a thumb-nail. All-day long she had debated whether or not to venture outside. There had been strange voices in the house, working men who trotted up and down the halls heavily, laughing and making coarse jokes. Bishop delivered to her breakfast and lunch, and now that dinner time was near, she could not smell the usual scents that would waft from the kitchen to tease her appetite. She glanced toward the half-eaten plate of baked potato and beans that had served as her mid-afternoon meal. Although not hungry, she, despite herself, looked forward to the one-sided conversations they usually had. He never lingered too long, just to enquire about how she felt. Now, having to face the evening alone, she realized the only reason she stayed cooped up in the bedroom was fear.

What if Spencer showed up unexpectedly? There was the haunting feeling that he would suddenly arrive and snatch her when she least expected. Inside this room was safe. Here she was surrounded by not only the walls of the house but of the knowledge that Bishop was never far away. His freshly laundered shirts were neatly folded on the bed. She found several that needed mending and had busied herself sewing on a button here or patching a tear there. All of them were worn and coarse as if he'd had them a long time. Life here was considerably different from what she was accustomed to back east. Things seemed simple, less complicated. And somehow happier. One thing was for sure, it was not for the feeble at heart. Which was why she hoped that Spencer would soon expire - from his efforts, from the sun, she did not care which.

But all the same, she was tired. Of hiding most of all. Of cowering in the dark, hoping he would vanish from her life for good. And then she was angry. At herself. At him. At the fact that the room wasn't large enough. And at the hot tears that made her eyes smart and sting. At her father who died and left her to face Spencer alone. Suddenly claustrophobic, she made a beeline for the door and jerked it open. Her courage faltered just as quickly as it appeared. The hall was dark. No light burned. Heartbeat thundering, she poked her head over the threshold and glanced into the living room. The aftermath of dusk kissed the furniture in shades of blue and black. Tentatively she emerged, taking small steps of hesitance that brought her to the living room and kitchen. Several oil lamps were spotted, and she hastily made her way into the kitchen where she fumbled until she found a box of matches. There was not a lamp that wasn't lit by the time she was finished, and as she attempted to adjust the shade on the last of them, the door to her left slammed open.

Nerves already working overtime, she jumped a foot out of her skin and gasped. The shade slipped from her fingers and broke against the counter, slicing her finger in the process. Blood dripped from her hand. Hot tears stung her eyes.

Jake was at her side in a flash, a tight frown on his face. "Jesus! Are you alright?"

His hand was upon her shoulder and the tightness in her throat began. She looked into his face and flinched before stepping back. But he caught her shoulders with firm fingers and held her steady, his scowl deepening.

"P-please!" she cried. Everything within her panicked. The roaring in her ears drowned out even the sound of her pitiful plea. He was too large. The room was too small. She could not find air to breathe.

"Come over here."

Leah started to tremble so badly she did the only thing she could – she screamed.

Bishop felt the hair at the nape of his neck stand on the edge the moment that soul-wrenching scream pierced the silence of the evening. He thought of Leah instantly and slid the shotgun from the saddle before pounding his way up the steps and into the house. Leah was thrashing against Jake, her cries so pitiful, he felt his fall to the floor in terror.

"Take your hands off her." His voice was as calm as a deep pond, but there was no mistaking the authority in his tone. Jake obeyed instantly, but only after pulling her away from the broken glass. He looked scared and shocked all at the same time.

"Christ Bish, I was just trying to prevent her from stepping on the splinters."

But she was beyond hearing. Instead, she stood in a corner, hot tears leaking from her eyes. Bishop didn't know whether to go to her or to continue standing just inside the threshold while she sobbed in broken intervals.

"Jesus." This from Jake. He was flushed and his eyes became haunted as he looked her over again.

"See to the horses."

He darted out of the house as fast as his feet could move. It was Bishop who shut it softly, his deep grey eyes taking in the scene while pulling out a chair - and sat. She should have been insulted that he did not offer her the seat, but instead, looking down into his eyes instead of up, she felt in control, and less intimidated. "Let me have a look at your hand."

Leah's face burned red in humiliation once she finally had the impending panic attack under some control. He was only trying to help her, to save her foot and the pain the shards would have no doubt inflicted. He was at her side, tall and strong before her, not touching her, but comforting with his presence all the same.

Her finger was offered. His gloves were discarded on the table and gently, with more tenderness she thought possible, he inspected the damage done.

"Does it hurt?"

"No." Truth be told, she couldn't feel anything except the sting of slivers of terror and the heat of mortification.

Amusement lit his eyes. From his pocket, he produced a bandanna. Using one end, he dried away the blood there. "Jake meant well."

"I know. I didn't mean to upset him. He just took me by surprise," she cut a glance outside and sighed in defeat. "He looked angry."

"Not angry. Concerned."

"Because of my finger?"

"Yes. And himself."

He caressed her palm with a warm thumb, meeting her waterlogged eyes squarely.

"Himself?" It was barely more than a whisper.

"How would he explain to me that you got hurt with him right there?"

Warmth flooded her and she glanced away, unsure of the butterflies that claimed her stomach. "It was no fault of his. He startled me. Nothing more."

"Then I'll tell him to be more careful." She caught his eyes again - intense and earnest. Before she could formulate a response, he released her hand. She let it fall as if it was on fire. "I have something for you." The saddlebag upon the table was rummaged through, and he presented her with something that smelled divine. She accepted the brown paper bag and smiled. A loaf of bread and sweet cakes, honey and butter, and a box of green tea from England were deposited on the table.

"Mac said a mighty fine lady like yourself would like all that."

"Whoever this Mac fellow is, he's positively the smartest man I know."

"Reckon I'll tell him you said that."

She made to move, to get herself a knife and a saucer and probably a cup when his large hands spanned her waist and jerked her forward. Her gasp was inaudible. She found herself staring down into thundercloud eyes, so grey, so beautiful, she was momentarily lost. Fear was gone. Despite her better judgment, she trusted this man.

"Be careful of the broken glass," was all he said before gently releasing her once more. Then he stood, and towered over her like a cedar, not breaking eye contact even as she felt herself falling. "I'll clean it up. Sit."

And she did, without a word of protest, as he busied himself cleaning up the splinters and discarding it. Leah didn't quite know what to make of him. He could hurt her she knew. Spencer was half his size and he did considerable damage. How much more would this man hurt her if he tried. And yet there was an easy manner about him that spoke of an even temper and she dared to believe kindness. So far he had done nothing to prove his intentions toward her bad. When he returned, it was with a plate and a steaming cup of water. She prepared the meal in silence, watching him ever so often beneath thick lashes when she thought his focus was elsewhere.

What Leah did not know was Bishop observed her just as intently. The feelings she stirred in his chest were still very new to him. Like the fear he felt when he heard the glass shatter and the helpless, panicked plea she sent Jake's way moments before. Truth be told he had been furious. Instinct told him to tear his hands away and deliver a good pounding. To get the message across, 'do not touch', but common sense won as it often did with him, and he knew instantly that his brother would never lay his hands on a woman. Knew that she was like a doe, frightened by almost everything. Knew that she simply reacted because of her past. Looking at her eat, he allowed himself to think upon Grant. Despite the sheriff's warnings, he had ridden into town that evening to secure whatever they would need for the weeks ahead and had even gotten himself a small artillery. He had spoken to Millie and her mother, reassured by the news that the sheriff had already stopped by that morning, and that they would both be arriving tomorrow afternoon for their extended stay. He waited until she had eaten, until she sipped the tea she seemed to delight in, made a mental note to always have a ready supply of it in the pantry before rising to shrug out of his jacket.

"Spoke to the sheriff today."

Her eyes widened slightly. "Did you tell him everything?"

"Had to. That's the only way he would understand how dangerous Grant is."

Her fingers tightened around the cup until her knuckles turned white. "And what did he say?"

"He's going to find out the truth. We just have to sit it out."

She swallowed the lump in her throat. "How long do you think it will be before he finds out?"

"A couple of weeks."

"Spencer's not going to be happy about that," she confided softly.

"He's not my concern."

"He should be," she cautioned, unable to look at him. Bishop leaned against the countertop and crossed his arms over his chest, his ankles crossed as he considered her. "You've said it yourself. He's dangerous. When I think about the things he's done, what he's capable off...it was never my intention to put you and your brothers in harm's way."

"I'll take care of it." He read the uncertainty on her face and couldn't help his next words. "I'll take care of you."

She looked away quickly and hid her blush behind another sip of tea. Bishop bit back a smile. There was nothing better than hearing she belonged to no one. It put thoughts in his head one day ago he had no business thinking. Thoughts of how his hands felt on her body, of how tantalizing her hair smelled, of how she would look in the future sitting in that chair with a child in her arms.

Stunned, he looked away, finding the figure of one of the cowhands crossing the yard very interesting. Where the hell had that come from? Marriage and a baby were not in his plans right now. He planned to do what he'd been doing from the time he put a bullet through his father's chest - take care of his brothers. They needed him until they were responsible enough to look out for themselves. Just like her.

And that was the only reason he said what he said. It had nothing to do with how tied up in knots he became when she was around, and it had nothing to do with how terrified he was of Grant riding onto his land and laying claim to her. A woman he desired.

"This will all be over soon," he tried to comfort when she said nothing to interrupt his thoughts.

"I hope so. But still, sitting and waiting seems fruitless. I feel as if I should be doing something."

"You're keeping safe. That's more than enough. Let the law handle the rest."

Jake's heavy footsteps echoed from the verandah, alerting them to company. When he opened the door this time, he did so with a caution that forced a small twitch to Bishop's lips.

"Yum, bread and -"

"You ate at Millie's last I recalled," Bishop interjected softly. Jake grinned and directed a killer smile toward Leah who blushed profusely beneath the level of his direct stare.

"That I did. But far be it from me to pass up the opportunity to have dinner with a beautiful young lady."

He hooked his foot around the leg of a chair and pulled it out expertly. Before his behind could hit the seat, Bishop spoke.

"Reckon that east fence you've been meaning to fix is done."

A guilty flush stained his cheek but was quickly covered by the look of a mischievous boy when he cut a glance at the man standing there, seeming idle as he took his time wrapping a cigarette. "Didn't get around to it yet."

"It's late. I want it patched first thing in the morning. Take Pete with you and two other hands. Reckon he'll be happy to be out of the house with Millie coming and all."

"Millie?" Leah couldn't keep the curiosity out of her voice. He used the opportunity to tell her about the Browns and their purpose in coming. "Oh! Well, why wouldn't Peter want to be here?"

Jake snorted, planting the hat back upon his head. "When she gets here you'll understand."

Such a vague answer. All the same, it would be nice to have women to talk to. She would no longer feel stifled in the house by herself, and maybe it would make waiting for the letter from Carolina more bearable.

Chapter Six

Millie and her mother arrived a little after noon the following day. The moment was marked by her not so soft greeting that she could hear from the kitchen behind the closed door. Leah peeped through the curtains and spotted the very petite Millie Brown. Her hair was braided tightly and coiled to the top of her head, and she smiled and laughed with an overly attentive Jake. But it was only when Bishop crossed the yard to greet the pair did she notice the softening of his eyes. He smiled a real smile and took her hand within his large ones before pressing a familiar kiss there. Something akin to jealously tightened in her stomach, and it took her a moment to recollect herself. She had no reason to be jealous. These people were helping her, they were saving her very life. If anything she should be more than grateful. Still, it took a moment before the unwarranted hurt could be tucked away, and just in time too, for the door opened. Keen hazel eyes met hers instantly, and she prepared herself to be greeted with hidden hostility. Instead, a bright, open smile was presented. Millie was short, delicate, and tanned to the point of being burned. That did not take away from how pretty she was, or the fact that Bishop seemed very fond of her. Even now as he followed her into the house, his hand rested upon her back. Leah smiled tightly.

"Leah, this here's Millie. She and her mother will be staying with us until the whole thing with Grant is cleared up."

"Hello," she greeted lamely.

"So you're the lady that has Bish all tied up in knots," Millie said, her eyes twinkling. Leah felt heat settle in her cheeks as his amused gaze fell upon her. Behind the duo she could hear the laughter of another woman, her voice chastising and full of affection as Jake escorted her in. A short, plump woman, Millie's mother smelled of cinnamon. Leah inhaled the comforting scent deeply and was only too happy to escape Millie's probing gaze to dip into a small curtsey as the woman beckoned her forward.

"A pleasure to meet you, ma'am."

"Let me have a look at you." She stood and hesitated as warm, gnarled hands cupped her face. Deep green eyes searched hers, dimmed with age, but no less sharp. "Such a beautiful girl. You don't worry. My Millie and I will stay here until that no good snake crawls back east. If by then you don't find yourself a decent husband, you can contact whatever family you have or stay with us."

Leah blushed again and mumbled a gracious reply.

"Oh, something tells me she'll find a husband first," Millie chimed in, glancing toward Bishop. He pursed his lips and looked away. Jake returned at that moment, his arms packed with several bags.

"Lord Millie, what do you have in these bags? Rocks? You're not moving in here permanently you know."

"Maybe Pete will have a change of heart and propose before I leave."

He gaffed loudly. "Yeah right."

She swatted him across the arm as he led her down the hall.

"Better make sure those two don't kill each other," the older woman offered.

"Jake will set you up in Pete's room. He's already cleared out to the bunkhouse with the rest of the hands."

She chuckled whole-heartedly. "Well, he can rest comfortably knowing I'm here to keep Millie in check."

Bishop planted the hat atop his head and smiled that rear smile. "And I thank you kindly."

She chortled down the hall.

"I should thank you for doing this," she said softly, listening to Millie's squeal and Jake's thundering laughter.

Bishop winced. "Folk won't take too kindly to me if I continue to let you stay out here with no one to look after you."

She took a seat and listened to the sounds of laughter with envy. "How long have you known Millie?"

"All my life. Found trouble and a licking together. She's like family."

"You are lucky to be surrounded by family."

His deep eyes focused upon her and she looked away, remembering her father. Very slowly he reopened the door. "Walk with me."

Firm, tender fingers were offered, and when she placed her hand in his, he tucked it safely in the crook of his arm. To the west the sun hung low in the sky, dusting the land pink and orange and mauve. They strolled toward the stream that cut to the back of the house.

"When I was a boy we used to play out here," he began softly, releasing her to choose a few smooth stones at his feet. "I'd bring Pete and Jake when my Ma'd been hit." He tossed the stone and watched it skip on the water. Leah bit her lower lips and listened to the splash. He was silent for a while before continuing. "One day he beat her so bad he killed her. I was only twelve. Couldn't shoot, couldn't fight worth damn. But I promised my brothers I'd take care of them, and I promised my Ma I'd make him pay for what he did. Then one day he raised his hand to Jake and Pete. I shot him dead."

"I'm sorry."

"I ain't. He deserved to die. I was just the lucky bastard to put him six feet under." He handed her several small stones, all of them smooth and flat in her palm. "And I found myself sleeping better once he was gone."

"Will you teach me to shoot so I can bury Spencer next to him?"

His soft laughter was deep and comforting, and she blushed heatedly when he stood behind her form. "Your hands are much too delicate to be stained with blood," he said. "Can I?" She nodded and felt his warmth envelope her when he held her wrist and guided her hand. "Lift and flick," he directed, then stepped away. She missed his closeness but followed his instructions. The stone skipped twice before sinking to the bottom. Her smile was excited when she turned to him.

"Did you see?" He nodded, his eyes unwavering. She skipped the stones again, and gradually her smile died. "He won't leave me alone you know."

"Why do you say that?"

"I've known Spencer since I was ten. When my father died he became my guardian. What could I do but obey? He was always good to me. I looked up to him as a brother. But as I got older, he became...ugly. His words, his actions. He hit me, forced me to do what he said. Put a ring on my finger and bullied me into accepting an engagement I did not want or care for."

"There is nothing he can do to hurt you. I won't let him."

She turned to him and searched his eyes and smiled a small smile that warmed his heart. "I believe you. But I've already put you and your family through too much. Now Millie and her mother are involved in something that should not concern them. As soon as we hear from Carolina, I'm leaving."

He paused in his steps and took his time contemplating the water and the fallen leaves that danced at his feet in the wind. "If that is what you want."

"What I want is to be free of Spencer's shadow."

"Stay until spring at least," he heard himself say softly. "Hopefully he'll ride out as soon as we confront him on the matter of your lack of marriage. You'll have enough time between now and then to get yourself together, gather your thoughts and decide upon where you want to go from there."

"To England. My birthday is soon, and I'll be coming into my estate and accounts once I'm twenty-one. The lawyer told me once that papa left me a pretty penny. I could travel for years and years if that's what I wanted."

Bishop lead her back to the house and stood in the front yard, the breath he took heavy. "Seeing that we're holed up here for the next couple weeks, how about joining me for a ride in the morning?"

"Alright."

"I'll come knocking early," he warned, then released her hand slowly. "You go on inside and warm up. There's something I got to do."

She hesitated but obeyed, a small smile still playing around her lips. When her shadow disappeared inside, Bishop turned to the bunkhouse. Sure enough, Pete was there with one or two of the hands that chose to skip the saloon that night.

"Millie's here," he offered.

Pete blushed and turned away, pointedly busying himself with shining a saddle. "I heard."

"Don't fret yourself none. I need a favour."

"Okay. What is it?"

"You'll need a fast horse."

***

Four soft knocks echoed in the room. Leah cracked open her eyes and groaned as she noted with some reservation it was still dark outside. And ridiculously chilly. Pulling the blanket off the bed, she wrapped it around her shoulders and stood, her eyes dazed with slumber, her feet as heavy as lead.

The moment she pulled open the door her heart skipped. Bishop faced her, his smile long in coming as his gaze swept her tousled form from head to toe.

"Told you I'd be calling early," he stated gently. Self-consciously she combed her fingers through her tangled hair and tried in vain to conceal her toes. "Do you want to go back to bed?"

She shuddered deliciously and quickly shook her head, her blood hot in embarrassment.

"I'll be waiting then."

She nodded and slammed the door before sighing in breathless anxiety. With a rush of energy, she dressed and tamed her hair, braiding it so tightly it pulled at her scalp. With a freshly washed face that put some colour in her cheeks, she donned boots and a coat before braving the hall and met him lounging in the kitchen, drinking coffee.

"Where are we going?"

He poured her a cup. "You'll see."

The brew was strong and bitter, but she drank it all greedily, hot and steaming, and felt the heat diffuse through her body and ward off the bite of the morning. When he gestured for her to follow him, she did so with an excitement she had not felt in a long time. In the yard, a familiar young man stroked and spoke in soft tones to two mounts.

"This here's Payne," he introduced briefly. The boy, no older than her, greeted her with a grin when she smiled and offered his hand to assist her down the three steps. She accepted, delighted that finally she would be allowed an outing, even if it was cold. Bishop was there to help her into the saddle, and when he was mounted, he led her into the darkness away from the house.

He urged the mount into a little trot, forcing her to keep up. Leah did so with ease. There was no conversation between them, and it seemed like forever they rode. All the while her eyes looked at the sky, inky black and dotted with millions of stars. They rode into a little valley that teemed with trees and an icy stream. When he reigned in, she too stopped.

"From here, we walk."

"Walk?" She looked around. It was still dark, but for the faintest blush to hit the sky through the canopy above. Her mount danced in response to her hesitance.

"We leave the horses too."

Leah felt the heat of his hands upon her long before she decided to continue with the outing. He flung a bag over his shoulder and secured the horses before taking her hand. There was nothing intimate about his touch. His steady fingers guided her toward a well-worn track that ascended a small rise. The earth was hard beneath her feet and before long she felt a burn in her legs and thighs.

"Do you need to rest?"

"No," she huffed breathlessly, pressing forward, meeting his pace. And was only too grateful when he slowed and said nothing more. By the time they broke the tree line, Leah was short of exhausted. She propped her hands upon her hips and inhaled so deeply her lungs threatened to explode.

And they did when she caught sight of the rising sun on the horizon.

Golden hues erupted across the sky and slowly chased the gloom of darkness into the corners of the woods. The valley looked beautiful, housing small streams that glistened like ribbons of silk. Something snickered, stomped, and she frowned, squinting her eyes to spy a brilliant horse. As the rays of sunlight slowly put him into the spotlight, she could see his sandy coloured coat and the thick, long mane that tangled in the wind. His head tossed proudly as he sniffed the air, then nickered and stomped. Out of the trees below, slowly and obediently, his harem appeared.

Leah gasped in delight, about to explode into a tumble of words and chatter when Bishops finger touched her lips.

"If he hears you, he'll take them elsewhere."

She stopped breathing and met his gaze. Long lashes filtered the sunlight there, melting his gunmetal eyes into liquid fire, molten and intense. She could not pull away, not when his thumb lingered upon her parted mouth. Her lips felt dry, and on instinct, she licked them - and accidentally touched her tongue to the finger he was in the process of removing. The hiss that whistled through his teeth was audible. Heat travelled through her slowly when he leaned forward, and she realized she was not only frightened but anxious as well. Inches from her face, he paused.

"I want to kiss you Lee, but I want to know that you want to kiss me too."

Could she do this? Could she give in to the temptation and curiosity that had ridden her hard from the moment she set her eyes on him? She trusted him. If he wanted to hurt her he would not have made the effort to bring her out here and ask so nicely. She nodded, tried to appear only partially excited at the prospect, and whispered, "Yes."

There was a tenderness to the first caress, the first meeting of lips. Unschooled, Leah sighed and took the chance at pressing her fingers against his whipcord form that held stiff with resistance. The only kisses she'd ever experienced were nothing but brutal mashing of lips intended to force her submission. This one coaxed and begged, seduced her tongue as he brushed his over her lower lip and nipped gently. She held her breath, uncertain of her role exactly and cracked her eyes open to meet his heavy-lidded gaze.

His eyes were fierce, the predatory intent banked behind his control. Though it seemed highly erotic looking into his searing gaze as his lips danced with hers, she could not bring herself to avert her eyes. She felt naked, exposed emotionally in a way that left her feeling all too vulnerable but strangely empowered. He stroked her jawline with light fingers, angling her head so that he penetrated her mouth just so. Leah shuddered in delight. She ignored the pulse of her heart that started to beat just a little faster and the way warmth spread through her body and made her feel as though a slow pressure started to build. Tentatively, she licked his lips the way he did hers and was rewarded with a sense of complete satisfaction when he inhaled sharply through his nostrils and moaned. The sound stroked the sensitive nerve endings on her skin the way one stroked a feline.

His touch trailed from her ear to her neck and shoulders. When his hands rubbed the length of her arms she revelled in the heat there and found herself tip-toeing to meet his lips. He was the first to pull away.

Drunk with desire, she lifted her gaze in wonder. She never knew a touch could elicit such pleasure. And she found that she wanted to kiss him again. Before common sense and reasoning could deter her she captured his lips greedily, confused when he stiffened at the onslaught. Instantly she stepped back, ashamed, thinking that maybe she did something he did not want her to do, and bowed her head.

"Why'd you stop?" he rasped, yet to reach for her.

Leah shook her head and looked away. Her emotions were haywire and her thoughts focused on only him. "You – I didn't want to offend you."

He looked her over, assessing for all the heat in his gaze, and slipped his hands into the pockets of his coat. "I wish I could tell you what I want to, but if I do you'll be scared and the last thing I want is for you to be afraid of me."

She frowned. "I'm not afraid of you." Well, maybe a little. She was afraid of the things he made her feel.

"No?"

"Of course not."

His eyes fell lazily to her lips again. "Come over here then."

Anticipation raised the temperature in her blood and she did so without the slightest hesitation. This time when he kissed her, there was no holding back. This was not the kiss of a seducer but a conqueror. He pushed and pulled, demanding her willing surrender with pure talent and no force. Leah whimpered the moment he trailed his lips upon her jawline and her neck. She was agitated and breathless. From the moment his seeking tongue found her collarbone she gasped and pulled away, almost stumbling with the force of her escape, her body shocked with the intensity of sensations.

Panting, he met her eyes. Leah clutched onto her skirts and considered the man before her, standing in the sunlight, kissed senselessly and looking quite - predatory. She was reminded of a wild beast, barely controlled and dangerous, and felt her heart quiver in fear and, God help her, desire. The raw yearning in his eyes was shuttered with effort, and slowly he relaxed, retreating once again to the half-smile and silence that once comforted her. Now, she wasn't so sure.

"I'm sorry I frightened you." She heard the sincerity in his voice.

"You didn't."

"Then why did you pull away?"

There was a soft challenge in his words, one she knew the answer too and said so just as quickly. "I frightened myself."

His eyes flickered with understanding. "We'll go slower next time."

She swallowed hard. Everything within her felt weightless, drugged and euphoric. "Will there be a next time?"

"Do you want there to be?"

"Yes..."

His gaze fell to her lips and back again. "That's good to hear." When she made no move, he offered his hand. "Come here." Her steps were heavy, and he pulled her into his embrace. The winds lifted, and below, the wild stallion raised his head to consider the couple that spied upon his mistresses in the early morning.

Chapter Seven

Bishop didn't know what woke him first \- the screams of panicked horses or the thundering curses of Jake as he raised the alarm that the stables were on fire. He darted off the chair in a flash and almost collided with Millie as she too came running from the safety of Pete's room.

"The stables-"

"Stay inside." He wasted no more time, but grabbed the neglected jacket and did a haphazard job of shoving his feet into worn boots. As soon as he leapt into the yard, raw emotion lodged in his chest. The blaze of the fire consumed almost half the stable, the flames climbing high as cold winds swept the black smoke skyward. Men littered the yard, shouting orders as some attempted the backbreaking job of dousing the fire. Others braved death to save the horses that were tethered within. One of the hands, a young man now out of boyhood, stumbled toward him, his eyes wide with panic.

"Payne is still in there!"

Bishop wasted no time. His feet flew across the yard as adrenaline and fear fueled his determination. The heat from the flames penetrated his flesh before he entered. Wood cracked and sang, and the smoke, thick and black, near blinded and choked him. He pulled his shirt over his nose and looked around desperately. The building could not be saved. If he did not find Payne soon, they might both die.

"Payne!" he shouted above the roar of the fire. "Payne!"

To his left, the breaking beam above fell, and with it, the flames came crashing down. Bishop flung himself away. Hot ash coated his hands and the side of his face as he fell. On the ground, he coughed, and it was there he spotted the fallen man. Struggling to breathe, he pushed himself to his feet and stumbled through the soot to reach the boy. A man in his early twenties, he appeared unconscious. Bishop took quick shallow breaths and heaved him upon his shoulders, feeling the burn of his lungs intensify. Each muscle strained, and he moved forward, intent upon escaping the flames when the scream of a trapped horse drew his attention to the stables. It was on instinct that he moved. The mare danced and kicked, her wide frightened eyes wild and reflecting the fire that surrounded them. Bishop whistled a command, one she disobeyed promptly, for fear and instinct guided her now. With much effort, he calmed her long enough to fling the man's weight upon her back and, with waning strength and the beginning of racking coughs, pulled himself up behind him. Head low, he kicked her forward brutally and was rewarded with a whinny of consternation as she darted through the flames in a show of courage he was silently grateful for. The wind was a curse as well as a blessing, for it swept in through the door and showed him the way out. He held his charge steady and smelled his singed hair as the mare broke through the climbing wall of flame that, if he had hesitated another moment, would have been impossible to breach. The instant cold air slammed into his form he released his hold, and both he and Payne slammed into the hard earth. The mare was taken in hand by another. Several men rushed to their aid, shouting with anger and concern.

Bishop watched through dazed eyes as they attended Payne, some of his closest friends with more worry than others. Jake's hands were upon him as he was offered a ladle of water. He drank greedily and heaved hungry breaths, staring at the bright building that burned like a furnace.

"Jesus Bish, I thought you were a goner!" Jake offered when he finally got a hold of himself. Bishop was too busy trying to expel smoke from his lungs to respond.

He closed his eyes and tried to focus, but his nostrils still burned like hell, and his eyes felt less irritated closed, so all he did was lie there, allowing the cold to seep through his clothes and into his pores. When at last he opened his eyes, it was to see Jake's forlorn expression.

"How the hell do you suppose it happened?"

He shook his head and sighed heavily before struggling to sit. The hands had dispersed into several groups. Apart from rounding up the horses, there was nothing anyone could do but watch it burn to the ground.

"Grant," Bishop croaked.

Jake's eyes, sharp and full of instant fury, snapped like the flames themselves. "We ain't about to allow him to get away with this."

Bishop shook his head, still taking his time to breathe. "Just a suspicion."

"A damn good one if you ask me. You just say the word and I'll pump him with so much lead he'll-"

"We have no proof," he interjected quickly, knowing full well the temper his brother carried to a fault. "Now help me get up."

Jake shouldered most of his weight and guided him to the house. On the porch, he spotted Leah. Her hair was a torrent of curls down her back, framing her pale face and overly wide eyes. From the moment she spotted him she darted down the steps and flung herself against his form. Jake took a step back, a cheeky grin on his face as Bishop cast him a stern glance. He kept his tongue in his cheek as he turned away to herd Millie and her mother inside.

"I thought you were dead," she whispered. Her nails sank themselves into his chest and caused him to wince anew. With much patience, he dislodged her fingers and linked them through his.

"Far from it."

Tears reflected the moonlight above, and when she kissed him it was in full view of the hands. Bishop did not hesitate to taste her, nor did he care that when her hands touched his face, he was in much discomfort. She sniffed and pulled away, looking over his features.

"Your hair is burnt, and your skin is - oh!"

"Don't you worry none," he tried to soothe. Hell, it hurt to talk. "I'll take me a bath and look as right as rain come morning." She did not seem convinced, even as she considered with horror the building at his back, engulfed with fire. "There ain't nothing we can do about that now. Let's go inside."

"Spencer did this. It's the only way he knows to scare you into letting him come for me." She looked at him and stepped back then, her lips quivering. "I don't expect you to lose your livelihood for me."

His face remained impassive. "I ain't losing anything."

She wrapped her arms around her shoulders and shook her head. "You lost your barn. Jake said there were twenty horses in there. If they had perished...And what about that man? He almost died. You almost died."

Bishop leaned forward and kissed her again, chaste and reassuring. "He didn't, and neither did I. I told you I'll take care of Grant. Trust me."

"I do. But I don't trust him. What if he had burned the house - with everyone in it?"

His hackles raised, and not for the first time, saw Grant the way she did. Bishop nodded and allowed her to help him up the steps and through the door. There, Millie fussed as she heated water and Jake drew him a bath. Mrs. Brown clucked and fussed, busying herself with making strong coffee and a hearty meal for the hands that still lingered in the cold outside, but Leah said nothing more. Bishop didn't like that she kept her eyes focused through the glass window panes, and he didn't like when he spoke to her, the smile she offered was overly bright and not at all convincing. He could not blame her for being concerned, but one way or another, something had to be done about Spencer – soon.

***

Leah could not bring herself to sleep. The night wore on in a flurry of activity until all that was left was the aftermath of the fire – and the remnants of everyone's exhaustion. She dressed warmly and took a perch on top the balcony rails, considering the hands as they lingered in the yard, sleepy-eyed but too worked-up to find their beds. Besides, Jake rode to town at sunrise to rouse the sheriff. Everyone wanted to be around for his visit to tell their version of what happened. Leah pressed her hands to her lips and exhaled a heated breath there. Guilt, she discovered, was not the only thing to dominate her thoughts, but also, concern.

How could she have been so foolish? She should not have allowed this to go on – staying here, involving good people in a fight that was not theirs...kissing Bishop. Hot tears stung her eyes. That was something she could not do again, no matter how much she longed to stay or be held in his arms. Her presence served no good. He would lose his livelihood because of her, and eventually, he would resent her for it.

Common sense told her to stay, to sort through her thoughts, but another look at the barn was the final nail in her determination to leave. There was no other way. She would not return to Spencer, but she could run again, this time head back east. It was only a few months until she inherited. Only a few more months of hiding. All in all, it sounded like a good plan, and she was so intent on plotting her way back east that she did not hear Millie approach until a hand waved before her eyes.

"Oh!"

"Hey there." Millie grinned and plopped down next to her, shivering elaborately as she did so. "Nothing like a good old chill to keep you up. How are you doing?"

Leah felt her smile pull tight. It was very discomforting. "I'm alright. How's Bishop?"

Millie waved a hand of dismissal. "As strong as a horse. He's having breakfast. Maybe you should come inside. It's mighty cold out here."

"The cold is good. It helps me think."

"Oh? What are you thinking so hard about?"

She shrugged and snagged her lower lip with a little tooth before exhaling in a puff. "Spencer. The barn. Bishop and his family. You and your mom. Planning my next move..."

Millie gave a non-committal grunt. "Well, don't make too many plans because I'm sure Bish is making some of his own."

Leah tried to smile but failed miserably. "What would you have done?" she finally braved to ask. "If you were in my shoes...what would you have done?"

Millie thought long and hard before she met her water-logged gaze. "He's a bully. He preys on you because he sees you as weak. What you need to do is show him that you're not."

"What do you suggest?"

There was a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. "Make a stand."

She shook her head quickly, her heart rate thundering just thinking about it. "Spencer is dangerous. Look at what he did to the barn!"

"He's going to do much worse only if you let him. But don't worry – you have us now."

Millie took her hand and squeezed her chilled fingers in a show of support. "Now come on inside. Bish has already asked for you twice. Don't keep the man waiting. He's pretty sweet on you, you know."

Leah blushed and stammered, and allowed herself to be hauled to her feet and pulled inside. Bishop was just about pouring himself another cup of coffee. Her gaze swept him and noted each scrape and cut and blister on the skin that was exposed, and the guilt that was dampened by Millie's considerate words returned with a vengeance. But for his singed hair, he looked none worse for the wear. He could have died in that fire. He could have lost his life and she would have been responsible. Heat flared in his orbs when he finally turned to her, and although he offered a soft 'good morning' and nothing more, Leah knew that he too considered her with his unflinching gaze. She would do right by him and his family. She would leave, despite Millie's advice to stay and fight. As long as Spencer realized she was no longer staying here, he and his brothers would be safe.

Chapter Eight

The Sheriff showed up an hour and a half later flanked by his deputy and Jake. Bishop met him in the yard and nodded good morning.

"Your brother told me what happened. Are you alright?"

"I'm fine. So is everyone else. The only thing to get destroyed was the barn and everything in it."

"Did anyone see anything?"

"Shit Sheriff, the only thing we saw and heard was the horses screaming and the barn blazing," one of the hands offered. Slowly they gravitated toward the porch where the Sheriff finally dismounted followed by Jake.

"I'd like to take a look around the place if you don't mind. Bish," he gestured. The hands stayed with the deputy who seemed more than willing to listen to each rendition of the incident. Jake didn't follow but made his way onto the porch to be greeted by Millie. Their soft voices were drowned out by the men. It wasn't until they were almost in front of the smoking building that the Sheriff spoke.

"Jake shared with me your concerns. You suspect Spencer?"

Bishop nodded. "I got no enemies. It only makes sense he would try something this yellow-bellied to force my hand."

The Sheriff grunted and nodded before exhaling a heavy sigh. "Look, although all roads lead to him, I can't accuse a man when I ain't got proof. Before I rode out here I had his story checked out. He and his lackeys spent the entire night at the brothel raising hell. He has an alibi."

Bishop folded his arms across his chest and gazed at the embers at his feet. The man was right. Unless there were witnesses or Spencer confessed, there was no way they could accuse him. He ran frustrated fingers through his hair.

"What do we do now then?" he finally asked. His lungs still hurt from inhaling all that smoke and it was still uncomfortable to talk.

"Keep your head low and stay vigilant. If Spencer is behind this, he'll get cocky – make a mistake. That's when we'll catch him."

Bishop nodded, knowing that what was said made sense. There was nothing that could be done by the law right now. He would wait and watch and do his best to keep Leah safe.

"Any word from Carolina?"

The old man shook his head. "Not yet. Give it a couple of weeks. These things take time."

He squeezed his shoulder and made his way back to the small group that was now gathered in the front yard. In the porch, Jake, Millie and her mother looked to him with expectation. The only news he had was one of disappointment. He took his time in reaching them, tipping his hat in farewell as the lawmen rode away. The grumbles of the hands did not go unnoticed, but he said nothing as he joined the trio in the wooden porch.

"Well?" Millie spoke, her wide hazel eyes were concerned. "Are they going to arrest him?"

Bishop shook his head stiffly. "A man's innocent until proven guilty and all that. We need proof."

"But we know he's behind this," she continued adamantly.

Jake huffed. "The law can't deal with him but I can. I'll take a few men and rough him up – make him confess."

Bishop cut him a cold glare. "You keep your temper leashed. Now is not the time for rash decisions. The Sheriff's right. There ain't nothing we can do. Maybe increase patrols, let the dogs run at night. They'll raise a ruckus if anyone strange comes around."

Millie shook her head. "I'm with Jake on this one Bish. While we wait, he can do anything. What if he hurts one of us?"

Bishop leaned against the railing and nodded, his intelligent eyes thoughtful. "I understand. It's no longer just about Leah. It can be any one of us. I know you're scared – but I have to play this by the book. It's the only way I can keep myself out of a jail cell."

Jake turned away and said nothing for a moment. "And if he burns us all?"

"Then I put a bullet in his chest and deal with the consequences later before I let that happen."

"We can do that now."

"We can, but we ain't killers."

For a while they kept their gazes locked, and Bishop knew his brother thought of how quickly he had pumped their father full of lead all those years ago. There was no doubt in his mind he could do it again if it came to that. He wasn't a killer then and he wasn't one now, but he could become one pretty damn fast, and they both knew it.

"Alright," he conceded softly. "We do this your way."

Bishop nodded and smiled in Millie's direction. No one realized Leah was leaned against the closed door, her heart thundering like a stallion in her chest. Nothing could be done then. Spencer might be under suspicion but he was free to do whatever he pleased- free to return and hurt innocent people. Silently she made her way to the bedroom. The bed was neatly made and her clothes were folded there. Out of the garments he bought, she chose only a serviceable dress and boots, a coat and gloves and, from beneath his bed, secured an old oilskins was a shotgun. With shaking hands, she picked up the weapon and allowed her fingers to gently caress the cold steel. She had never shot a gun in her life. The bullets, she lined up neatly on the crisp white sheets looked clinical and deadly. She had every intention of taking it with her. When he found it gone maybe he would forgive her – if she didn't shoot herself first.

The knock on the door startled her.

"Lee?"

Panicked, she shoved the gun beneath the bed and the bullets under the pillow before clearing her throat. "It's – it's open."

Bishop walked in, bringing with him the smell of coffee and tobacco, and looked at her as if she was the only thing that mattered. "Are you alright? You haven't had breakfast yet."

She planted herself on the bed and fiddled with her fingers nervously. "I'm not hungry."

"Are you scared?" he asked, brushing strands of hair from her cheek with the back of his hand.

"Aren't you?"

"Yes – that you'll do something stupid." She looked away. He tipped her chin up and searched her eyes long and hard. "Millie mentioned you're thinking of a plan. I hope you know I'll never let anything happen to you."

"I know...but it's too dangerous," she whispered, wishing he would understand. "I can't let you take this risk for me."

"Why not?"

"Does Jacob want to risk his life? What about Millie and her mother?"

"They're family. That's what we do."

"But I'm not..."

Tenderly he cupped her cheeks and brushed the tears that escaped her lashes with a soft kiss. She clutched the front of his shirt and savoured the way he nuzzled her ear. "I have a plan that might work – if you're up for it."

She leaned into him and lifted her head, accepting the touch of his lips to hers. There was nothing hard and demanding about the caress – just a soft exploration, a slow sip of pleasure that enticed her to touch her tongue to his. His body stiffened instantly, but he did not move. If anything, his touch became lighter. Leah tip-toed and pressed her body against his, innocently seeking the recesses of his mouth. Curious fingers journeyed up his chest and to the muscles in his neck. There she threaded them through his hair, pausing only when she made contact with his now askew hat.

"Take it off," he growled, a deep husky command that startled her. She stiffened in his arms. He released her almost instantly, albeit reluctant, but did not move away. Leah found that she still clung to him. For a moment she searched his eyes. They were molten and intense, such a deep grey. A hot blush claimed her, but she bravely kept his gaze and tip-toed again. Surprise flickered in his orbs. He kept his hands curled into tight fists at his side and allowed her to kiss him.

"You're driving me insane," he confessed breathlessly when she finally came up for air.

"I'm sorry." She appeared everything but.

"You can kiss me anytime you want." A corner of his mouth kicked up and she felt her heart flutter. "Are you ready to hear my plan?"

She blinked and nodded, her fingers still entwined in his shirt. His hands found her wrists and stroked her skin there tenderly as he held her. "Will you marry me?"

All the heat left her in an instant. She pulled away and went to stand by the window, gazing at the barn that was nothing but a frame, smoke and black ash. "Marry you?"

"Only until we hear from Carolina. I've been thinking about this long and hard. I need to keep this family safe – Millie and her mother can go back home if we're legally wed, and Grant can't touch you. You'll be free to go into town or wherever else you'd like. When this whole business is cleared up we'll get a divorce. Nice and easy. It doesn't have to be a permanent thing."

She nibbled her lip tirelessly and finally braved to meet his eyes. "Divorce?"

He took off his hat and held it like a life-line. "It's the only way I can think of to keep you safe. My name will protect you. As long as you're my wife, Spencer won't be able to touch you. He can't demand you return with him based on his word because I'll have proof you're my wife. And when he heads out, we go our separate ways."

"Why?" she asked on a choke.

He frowned. "Why what?"

"I'm worth an exceedingly large amount. You can rebuild the barn or even buy several more homesteads if you wanted. Why let all of that go?"

"I don't see dollars when I look at you." He approached and touched her again, gentle and sure. "I see a woman who thinks about everyone but herself and I want to protect you. If that means having you only for a while, so be it."

She turned away again and took a fortifying breath. She could trust Bishop. He was nothing like Spencer. There was nothing cruel or brutal about him. So far he had done nothing but shown her respect. Still, she had known him for only a few days. It was one thing to kiss him. It was another thing completely to marry him.

"Can I think about this?" came her strangled reply.

"Take all the time you need."

"I can't be a prisoner again."

"You will always be free with me Lee," he promised. And though she saw it anguished him to say it, she believed him.

***

He knew the exact moment she left the room. She was quiet and quick, but very naïve. When she hustled down the hall under the canopy of darkness she did not even bother to look into the dark living room where he lay down with his hat half-way down his face. If she'd seen him she might have thought him asleep, but he was alert and very annoyed. When she opened the front door she hesitated briefly, then she was gone. He stayed there for a moment, trying to analyze the twisted, choking sensation he felt in his chest before allowing it to manifest into hurt. And he was indeed hurt. Hurt that she did not trust him enough to accept his protection. Hurt that she thought running was the only sensible option she had.

He stretched his feet and stood, propped his hat on his head properly and made it out of the house just as she was about leading a horse from the stable. One of his horses. With only a blanket on its back. In the moonlight, he noticed many things about her now. Like the small satchel she secured around her shoulder and one of his shotguns across her back. Anger slowly replaced hurt, but he clamped his mouth shut and stepped into her path as she struggled clumsily to mount with the bulk of the gun without the aid of a stir-up.

"A derringer would be a smarter choice," he couldn't help but offer when she couldn't get her weight upon the animal. She gasped and jumped, startled, and fell bottom first in the dust.

"Bishop!"

"What the hell are you doing Lee?"

She flushed and got to her feet, looking guilty but determined. "Saving you from more heartache and loss."

"I told you I ain't lost nothing that can't be replaced. As for heartache, you ride on out of here and there'll be no one to blame for that but yourself."

She swallowed hard and shook her head, her chin tilted upward stubbornly. "You don't understand. I won't be able to live with myself if anyone got hurt. All I have to do is leave. He'll follow me, then you'll be safe."

"What about you?"

"I have a gun."

His eyes caressed her standing there looking like a kitten ready to take on a jackal. It was not a reassuring sight. "Won't do you any good if you can't shoot."

"I'll learn."

"When?" he tried to reason patiently. "When he's already caught up with you? Did you load it already?"

She hesitated and brushed her fingers along the bag on her shoulder. He frowned and shook his. "Always have your gun ready Lee. Always. How long do you think it would take you to load it?"

"A few minutes." Confidence radiated from her tone.

"Too long. Any gunman can have it loaded and fired in seconds. You'd be hurt long before you even got it aimed right."

"I need to leave Bishop." Her eyes were large and pleading, and to his dismay, on the brink of tears. He hardened his resolve. She could not take care of herself. The bruises on her face were far from gone, and with the aura of naiveté she wore like a coat, it would not be long before some other advantageous man with an eye for pretty treasures and a heavy fist picked her up again. He couldn't, wouldn't let that happen.

"No."

She sucked in a breath and stepped back, the hurt in her eyes so pronounced it rubbed his heart raw. "You – you promised I'd always be free with you."

"A promise I intend to keep."

"By forcing me to stay here?"

"By keeping you safe enough to live another day."

She turned and reached for the horse so unexpectedly, it shied away from her grasp.

"Lee-"

"Don't!"

Bishop's jaw worked a slow grind. He tracked her in the tight circle the horse made as she brought it under control. "I'm not going back on my word. I'm asking you to trust me."

"I do trust you," she said miserably. "I – I like you, Bishop. But I know Spencer. He will do anything to get to me. Even if it means hurting you. And I can't let that happen."

Emotion made it difficult to speak, but he crossed the short distance between them and stroked the velvet nose of the horse.

"That's how I feel about you too." His soft confession came out choked. "So you see why my heart won't let me watch you ride out of here and into trouble."

"Will you lock me in the house?" she dared to ask, her heart constricting painfully.

"Of course not. But if you insist on leaving, I reckon the only thing left for me to do it come with you."

For a moment she was silent, then she looked at him, and he felt the ground shift beneath him. There was awe on her face, realization and regard. Hell, she looked at him as if he was a hero. A lump developed in his throat. He swallowed the discomfort and offered her his hand in silent askance.

"I can keep you safe Lee. We can get married, get rid of Grant, and you can leave whenever you're ready. No strings attached. I just need you to trust me."

Her eyes searched his intently, clearly torn. "It sounds so easy."

"It's not. But I'm asking you to do it anyway."

Slowly, after much deliberation, she slipped her fingers between his. Bishop exhaled his breath in a huff and tightened his hold on her, afraid to pull her in close in case she ran again, afraid if he didn't the thundering of his heart would never ease. But he didn't have to do anything because she willingly buried her face in his chest.

"Everything will be alright," he whispered in her hair.

"How do you know?" she whimpered. "He might kill you."

"It'll take a lot more than a man like Grant to kill me. And if he does, I got two brothers who're going to make damn sure he's put in the ground right next to me."

"Don't say things like that."

He smiled and pulled back, tilted her chin up to meet her eyes. "Kiss me and give me your word you won't run again."

A shudder claimed her, but she tiptoed and pressed her lips to his. Bishop could have roared with the little sign of trust given to him, but instead, he savoured her touch and the knowledge that although she gave her trust slowly, it was still just the beginning.

Chapter Nine

Two days later Leah found herself perched next to Bishop on the hard bench of a buckboard with the rising sun already warming her face against the early morning chill of the wind and the ranch fading into the horizon at her back. She kept it in her sights until it was nothing but a speck and swallowed hard, trying to soothe the dryness of her throat. She was held under his oath not to say a word to anyone. Bishop did not want tongues to go loose in town when the hands were in their cups to give Spencer any reason to do anything rash, so they departed that Saturday morning when the men were still hung-over in town from Friday night's whoring. Millie and her mother were angels. The wagon was packed with enough food to sustain them neigh on a week. They were nothing but supportive, offering reassurances in the moments she thought fear would overcome her newly found courage.

"Are you alright?"

She glanced at his face quickly and hesitated. He asked her that more times in the last two days than he had the entire time she'd been there. "Yes."

Her voice cracked and she cleared her throat before clutching the shawl around her shoulders. "How long before we get there?"

"By sundown."

She fell silent again, thankful that he didn't ask any more questions. Instead, he brushed her face with the back of his hand and pressed a tender kiss to her temple before focusing on the trail once more. There was nothing aggressive about him, she determined. Oh, he was surly with his brothers sometimes, and there were moments she had seen him upset and annoyed. His voice, although never raised, carried such authority that grown men squirmed when met with his stare. She respected him, more than she ever respected anyone in her life. Her face heated as she thought that maybe she could fall in love with him. Could it be that he could love her? She glanced at her hands, soft and unblemished, and considered the chipped nails on her fingertips. Spencer had claimed to love her once upon a time, but she saw how quickly his love for power led to her beatings. Part of her wanted to believe above all else that Bishop would never abuse her like that, but there was still doubt, still hesitance that resided within her chest. To trust him to protect her when his brothers and Millie and her mother were around was one thing...but to marry him, to give herself over to his care completely, to give up her rights...that was something else.

She kept her mouth shut and her thoughts to herself until the noon hour when he thoughtfully pulled aside beneath the shade of a tree.

"We can eat here if you'd like, or we can continue driving."

Each step forward brought her to the ultimate goal of becoming his wife. She clutched the shawl once more and offered a weak smile. "Let's eat here."

He dismounted and gathered the food Millie prepared, and offered her a chicken sandwich, still warm beneath all the linen it was wrapped in. It smelled delicious and tasted like cardboard in her mouth. His heavy sigh interrupted the silence.

"Do you want to turn back?"

She met his gaze swiftly and choked. The series of humiliating coughs rendered her face red and made her eyes water, but he tapped her back and waited with amusement tipping his lips even as he offered the canteen. She drank greedily. The mouthful of bread choked down her windpipe.

"But – but I thought..."

"You're not particularly excited," he said softly. "I understand it's not the ideal wedding. There was no time for a proper ceremony. I know it means a lot to a woman to make a fuss over these things."

He thought she was upset over not having a dress and a hundred guests? The irony of it made her croak a dry, humourless laugh.

"I'm not excited because I'm terrified!" she exclaimed, then thought she should not have said as much, for his eyes darkened, and when he turned away, she felt lower than dirt. Her fingers found his wrist and she boldly stroked the tender skin there hesitantly. "I want to believe you will never hurt me, Bishop. But there is a part of me that is broken. I have never seen you angry so I don't know what to expect from you. And I still can't understand why you're doing this when I've brought nothing but trouble to your door."

He slipped his fingers through hers and brushed away the frown that marred her forehead. "I don't think there's anything you can ever do to get me angry Lee. And if I do get mad, I won't ever beat on you. I'm not my father."

She sucked in air and closed her eyes. "I didn't mean – I never intended to..." She sank her teeth into her lip and shook her head woefully. "I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize. Your concerns are justified. But you'll grow to trust me eventually, and I'm willing to wait."

She lowered her head, but not before he ducked and captured her lips in a mild caress. It was a soft kiss, one that made her feel safe, and suddenly she longed for the fire that burned in her belly when his mouth became demanding. With no concern for reason, she kissed him back greedily. His eyes opened wide in shock, but he did not linger to give her what she wanted and invaded her mouth with his tongue. The moment his hand held her head firmly in place she stiffened. He gentled his touch and released her, but did not disengage his lips. Leah could never understand how he knew when to let go, but she appreciated that he did. The slow exploration of his tongue against her lips had her sighing.

"Open your mouth," he demanded in a whisper. She obeyed, wondering what it felt like to have his hands caressing her body as he sucked gently upon her tongue. It was erotic, his playful nibbling at her lips. The scruff along his jaw-line scratched and tickled, and she giggle when he left her lips to explore the underside of her ear. From the moment his mouth latched on, heat blossomed throughout her body and she gasped, so shocked by the sensation she clutched his jacket and froze with baited breath. He pulled away, his eyes at half-mast and looking quite contented with himself.

"What – what was that?"

He kissed her lips again. "One of the benefits of marriage."

She flushed to the roots of her hair. "B-but we're not married yet."

Her naiveté endeared his heart to her even more. "We'll remedy that as soon as we get to town."

Like a dash of cold water, his words took the stars from her eyes. "Do – do you mean to claim your rights as a husband?"

Her voice was nothing but a squeak.

Bishop twirled a lock of her red hair around his finger and considered the fear on her face. For a long time, he simply studied her. She was a virgin, of that he had no doubt, but he had glimpsed in her the heat of passion of a woman, and he would be a damn fool if he did not attempt to claim that passion for himself. Still, he promised her a marriage in name only until she stated otherwise. He would not break his word or her trust.

"Claim them?" he murmured, tugging her curl gently. "No. I want you to give them to me."

She blinked as if trying to fully understand his statement. "Give them to you?"

He nodded. "Yes. I want you as hot and bothered for me as I am for you. I want you to come to me on your own, so when I finally get the pleasure of having you naked it my arms, I'll know you'll want to be there, and you'll not turn back."

The image he planted in her mind made her turn as red as a plum. She recalled his bare-chested walk across the yard days ago, and how the moonlight reflected off his rippling body and wondered how he would fit against her, and if his kisses would make her want to unfurl like a flower beneath his touch.

"If you want this for real, all you have to do is come to me," he whispered upon her lips after another breathtaking kiss. "But be warned Leah, once you do, everything you are will belong to me, and I won't ever let you go."

She watched his eyes harden ever so much at his declaration, and instead of fear, her toes curled.

***

True to his word, they rode into the little town tucked away in the foothills of the Rocky Mountains just before the sun went down. It was very small indeed, consisting of only one road that housed a small bank, a bakery, a stable, a post office, a mercantile, a small church and a saloon. Folks stared and offered hesitant smiles and acknowledgements as they passed by. Leah squirmed under the scrutiny. Bishop stopped the horse outside a neat two-story house painted white, complete with a fence and the remains of a beautiful garden to the front. He helped her down and secured two bags before leading her through the wooden gate and up the stone path. His knock was loud and brief, and moments later a middle-aged woman opened the door.

"Evening Ma'am. My wife and I are here to secure a room."

Leah applauded herself at showing no reaction to his blatant lie but smiled at the direct scrutiny that was directed toward her. Seeming pacified, the women offered a warm smile and opened the door a bit more.

"Come in. I have a room available. And you're just in time for supper."

Bishop nodded his thanks and followed her in. Leah muttered a thank you when they were led up a staircase and down a narrow hall. The floors shone with fresh polish and everything was very clean. Bishop opened the door and dropped the bags at his feet before turning to smile at the matronly hostess.

"Perhaps while I settle the account my wife can have a hot bath before she eats."

"Of course. I will have two of the girls bring in the tub. Follow me."

She left them without a backward glance, and only when he offered her a boyish grin did she blush and look away. "You're terrible. Where do you suppose you're sleeping tonight?"

He considered the bed and shrugged. "You can sleep below the sheets and I will sleep on top of them." She hesitated, and he smiled and relented instantly. "Don't fret. I'll get a room at the saloon."

She held her breath. Yes, the saloon had rooms. As well as whores. She worked at a salon not too long ago, so she knew all there was to know about what went on there. He turned away and her fingers sank into his arm quickly.

"Isn't there a hotel?"

He shook his head. "Small town."

"You will not spend the night in a bawdy house."

Her voice must have held a note of steel, for he considered her in surprise before his face softened. "It's the only other place that offers a bed."

"And loose women."

"Are you questioning my fidelity already?" She looked away, not wanting to see the amusement that already made him smile. "There is no need to be jealous. I have eyes only for you."

"Then... you will stay and sleep on top of the sheets."

He was silent for a full minute. She peeped at him beneath her lashes and saw the raw hunger in his eyes before he blinked. It was leashed instantly. "If that is what you want."

"It is."

"Then so be it."

The panic and jealousy in her chest were released instantly, and she did not move until he exited the room and closed the door at his back. The woosh of air that escaped her lungs made her weak in the knees. What had gotten into her to behave so possessively? This was a marriage in name only, she reminded herself. He was free to come and go as he pleased. But the mere idea of him finding pleasure at the hands of another woman made her stomach sour. He was handsome, and finding a willing partner to share a warm bed would not be a problem. She went to the gossamer curtains and pulled it aside gently to consider the dark street below. For a long time, she stood there, thinking about her behaviour and the decision she was about to make in the morning. When he strolled down the path and climbed up on the buckboard once more, there was a quickening of her heart when for a moment, she thought he meant to leave her. Instead, he turned into the yard and to the back of the house. A knock at the door forced her to steady her relieved breath. Two young girls no more than twelve or thirteen greeted her warmly and between them dragged a tub across the room. They left and returned a moment later with a screen, and half an hour after, Leah was neck-deep in soapy suds with a sigh on her lips. She washed thoroughly in the hot water, and only when it grew tepid did she climb out. Soft, clean linen was provided for drying, and she took her time in changing into one of the dresses Bishop bought for her at the mercantile. Her mass of curls here tangled and unruly, and it took all of fifteen minutes to tame the curls with a brush. She wrapped her hair severely in a bun to the back of her head and allowed the stubborn tendrils to frame her face before considering the bruise around her eye. It was faded now, nothing more than a yellow tinge in the lamplight. At least her hostess won't observe it tonight to offer any words of comfort in private when she thought no-one was around. She stood from the bench and winced. The bath relaxed every muscle in her body, and now that she was more or less comfortable, each ache from the day's journey was pronounced ten-fold. Her rump hurt the most, but her back suffered from discomfort, as well as her shoulders. She glanced toward the bed and considered taking a short rest before heading down to dinner. She was hungry, but at that moment sleep was the only thing on her mind. She flung herself upon the sheets and stretched in contentment before yawning. Just five minutes, she told herself and was asleep in three.

Bishop knocked for the third time on the door and shifted impatiently before calling her name louder this time around.

"Lee, open the door, it's me."

No reply. Irritated with thoughts of Spencer heavy on his mind, he turned the handle and walked in slowly, taking in the scene before him before a smile broke his lips. Leah's face was half-buried in the pillows. Her hair was pulled back from her face, giving a perfect image of her profile, and like so many other times before, he was stunned by how attractive she was. The bathwater she used smelled of soap and scented oils. He kicked off his boots and stripped to his birthday suit before immersing himself in the water. It was cool and it felt divine. For a long time, he stayed there washing the dust from his skin. It had been a while since he'd had the opportunity to soak in a tub. By the time his hair was washed and he was sparkling clean, the water was almost as cold as the chill outside. He dressed in trousers and a loose-fitting shirt and deposited his hat on the bedpost above her head. With each breath, her back rose and fell, and it was a long time coming before he found the strength of crawl in beside her. Almost instantly she turned and pressed her face into the hollow of his neck. He froze and dared not move. Instead, he allowed her to find a comfortable position before gently wrapping his arms around her body. She felt perfect, snuggled against him. Her warmth seeped into his pores and he delighted in the soft tendrils of hair that tickled his neck and throat. Her flesh was pale against his tanned skin, her hands blemish less compared to his gnarled fingers. He chanced to squeeze her, and she emitted a groan of protest but did not awaken. By noon tomorrow, she would be his, and God help him if his heart did not rejoice at the fact. He had no intention of forcing her to do anything she didn't want to, but so far she did not reject his kisses. With a little more time, he had no doubt she would also accept his touch. If she wanted to leave, although it would leave a hole in his heart the size of his fist, he would let her go. But for tonight she was in his arms. He kissed her lips softly and did not find sleep until it was well after midnight, anticipating the moment she became his wife.

***

A man was holding her tightly.

Leah's eyes flew open instantly, the remnants of a panic-induced nightmare still brushing against the outskirts of her mind. Darkness swallowed her so she was left with nothing but the feel of a hard behind suffocated against a large hard chest. Powerful legs bracketed her body, pinned her so that she could not move even when she tried. First instinct made her stiffen and fling her head back, and before the terror seized her the way it did the first time she was caught in a similar situation, she started to scream.

A hand covered her mouth followed by a long string of colourful curses. Leah got her arms free as soon as he pushed her away and tried to get up. Tangled in the sheets, he made contact with the wooden floor with a loud thump and a groan. Leah scuttled across the room, tears streaming down her face even as she heard a familiar voice calling her name at a distance.

"Christ Leah, it's me!"

She could see nothing but shadows and only her own thundering heart echoed in her ears – until a match was struck. There, for an instant framed in flame, was Bishop.

All the fight left her body and she slumped to her knees, trembling. In the hall hurried footsteps echoed. A harsh knock was fast to follow.

"Mr. Sheridan is everything alright?" The landlady's tone held a note of steel even as she dared to rattle the doorknob.

Bishop grumbled and did the honours of unlocking the door. "My wife had a nightmare. But she's awake now. No need for concern."

The woman considered Leah crouched on the floor and frowned, apparently not quite satisfied with his explanation. "Would you like a cup of tea to settle your nerves child? Or a shot of whiskey?"

Leah shook her head, trying to brush the hair from her eyes as she got to her feet. It would serve her no purpose to appear weak in front of strangers – or Bishop. "Thank you, but I'm fine now."

The woman cut Bishop a quelling glance before turning away. He closed the door and lit a lamp before meeting her gaze. Leah buried her face in her hands. He would interrogate her now. He would pry until she had no choice but to lay bare all her shameful secrets. She would have to relive every moment in just the retelling of it. As daunting as it was, Leah decided against hiding from this. Although her palms were sweaty and she amassed all her failing courage, she made her way to the bed and sat there, contemplating the best way to start. What was she supposed to say?

"Tomorrow's going to come quickly enough. How about we go back to sleep?"

Stunned, she breathed in through her parted lips as he simply took to his side of his bed and lay down. He crossed his ankles and reached for the hat he'd deposited on the bedpost earlier that day. "Reckon we'll leave the light on." And with that, he settled back, covered his eyes and relaxed.

Leah leaned back awkwardly, staring at the roof. "Aren't you curious to know why I panicked?"

His soft grunt followed a heavy sigh. "Figure you had a nightmare again. You cry out in your sleep a lot."

Her face warmed. They had never shared a room before tonight. He always slept on the chair in the living room back at the homestead. Was she that loud so that he knew of her dreams then? What about Jake? Did she wake him with her cries as well?

"I didn't mean to disturb you."

"You didn't."

Clinical silence followed, and with it the need to say something, anything that might explain the words she battled to find. And felt only relief when his soft snore echoed in her ear. Tentatively she turned to her side and watched him. His breaths were deep and even, and in sleep, he appeared quite young. His lips were full and begged attention. The hat he wore cast shadows upon the planes of his face. For a long time, she lay there, unable to find sleep and needing the security of the warmth of his embrace. Slowly she shifted closer to his side and rested her head on his chest. He smelled of leather and tobacco and coffee, and very discreetly she pressed her nose to his shirt. The dull echo of his heart lulled her heavy thoughts and it was a long time later when she finally allowed her tense body to relax did sleep come to steal her worries.

Bishop knew the exact moment she became lost to exhaustion. One moment she was sniffing and touching him as if her life depended on it, and the next she went out like a light. He tipped his hat back and dared to stroke her hair. He'd never in all his years seen such stark desolation as he did in her eyes tonight. The helplessness near crippled him. Whatever ghosts haunted her dreams came violently, mercilessly and put him in a mind of a murder. He knew Spencer hurt her, knew that getting over the physical trauma would take a long time. But by God, if what he suspected was true, he would plant a bullet right in his balls for daring to touch her.

Her sweet breaths were warm and deep, even against his neck, stirring to life illicit dreams and visions that couldn't have come at a more inopportune time. The erection resting heavy between his thighs throbbed painfully. He shifted and adjusted himself, needing to clasp the woman at his side close but was afraid she would wake up to find him hard and ready. She didn't need any more frights tonight. Instead, he took his comfort by the warmth he drew from her and the smell of lilacs that always seemed to linger in the air whenever she was around.

He would worry about Spencer and chasing her demons after their wedding tomorrow. When he was her husband. And when he had every right to kill the bastard if he needed to.

Chapter Ten

At ten o'clock sharp Leah found herself standing in front of the priest at the small white-washed church nestled on a hilltop just on the outskirts of town. Bishop had wasted no time in requesting their marriage ceremony performed after the morning service, an hour of which she sat through with her hands sweating despite the chill. Now that everyone had gone home, the elderly man considered them with a critical hawk's eye that unsettled her. She tried to smile, but her cheeks ached and she had no doubt it looked at insincere as she felt. Panicked butterflies were still wreaking havoc within her belly.

"Your man here told me you wished to get married. Are you ready girl?"

She swallowed the large lump in her throat and nodded before opening her mouth. "I am." And it was the truth, albeit a terrifying one.

"Don't look as if it's the end of the world child. Marriage is a sacred institution, witnessed by the Holy Mother and blessed by God Himself."

She shifted, hesitated, and glanced at the image of the Blessed Virgin ensconced in an alcove not far behind the altar. The priest gestured for them to follow him, and on the podium that was nothing more than a step up, he reached for the bible and smiled a practised smile. Then he began to speak.

She felt Bishop's fingers slip through hers and met his eyes quickly. There was a tender smile on his face, his eyes full of many reassurances. Within his dusty jacket he held open, he presented her with a single rose blossom, bereft of leaves or thorns. Surprised, she gasped and accepted the half-crushed flower.

"You look beautiful," he endeared.

Leah blushed, not believing a word he said. She wore the same dress he found her in a three weeks ago and the pair of soft fur boots he bought her upon their first meeting at the ranch. Her hair was coiled atop her head in a bundle of unruly curls that softened the harsh lines of uncertainty in her face. There were still bruises around her eyes though, and if the priest made any note of it, he said nothing.

"You look handsome too," she whispered. And he did. It didn't matter that he wore the very same jacket or the same breaches, or that the shirt against his skin was faded from many washing. She noted with pleasure that morning he had taken his time to wipe the dust from his boots and spurs and had carved the bristles from his face, leaving only a well-defined beard which she loved. It seemed such an intimate thing, sitting on the bed in nothing but her chemise watching him avidly shave. He offered only a warm smile whenever he glanced her way in the mirror, and when he was done, she stroked his beard and kissed him soundly. Now, as he met her eyes, the same heat of desire erupted in her stomach again. In a few more minutes she would become Mrs. Bishop Sheridan. It was a frightful but exciting thing.

"Mr. Sheridan, do you take Miss Cummings to be your lawfully wedded wife? To have and to hold, to love and to cherish, in sickness and in health, in riches and in poor, forsaking all others, till death do you part?"

He paused long enough to dig in his pocket and slip a heavy gold ring onto her finger. "I do." There was no hesitation, no pause. It fell from his lips in such affirmation that her toes curled. She believed he meant every word.

"Miss Cummings, do you take Mr. Sheridan to be your lawfully wedded husband? To have and to hold, to love and to cherish, in sickness and in health, in riches and in poor, forsaking all others, till death do you part?"

Hot tears stung her eyes and when she blinked they streamed down her face. "I do." It was a broken whisper that made her want to faint. The grip of his fingers tightened in a show of support.

"Then I pronounce you man and wife. Mr. Sheridan, you may kiss your bride."

She quivered when he leaned forward, held her breath when he stroked away her tears and closed her eyes against all the uncertainty she held in her heart. His lips met hers tenderly, respectfully, and she was surprised when he pulled away without slipping his tongue in her mouth. One arm wrapped possessively around her waist and he turned to the priest and shook his hand slowly.

"Thank you Reverend," he said, returning the battered hat to his head.

"Don't thank me yet boy. Let's go over here where we can get your mark on the marriage certificate."

Half an hour later Bishop signed his name upon the sheet of paper in large sprawling letters. The priest turned to her. "You sign next to his right there."

She accepted the quill and met his eyes in hesitance. "Do I sign Cummings?"

"Sheridan." It was Bishop who answered her question. "Leah Sheridan." The way he said it made her blood heat delightfully. With shaking fingers she signed her name. It looked strange, and she supposed it would take some getting used to, but it was better than Leah Grant.

The priest made them sign again, logged the date and time of the ceremony in a large book, and presented Bishop with the document with a smile on his face.

"Congratulations Mr. and Mrs. Sheridan," he said, shaking both their hands. Leah thanked him kindly as he walked them to the front door. There, Bishop said his goodbyes and offered his arm. She took it quickly, thankful for his assistance in walking down the four wooden steps into the yard. At the buckboard, he lifted her into her seat and she held her breath but said nothing. It seemed now that they were married he touched her for everything. It was not a bad thing that, and she found that getting accustomed to all this attention might be easier than expected.

"We leave in the morning," he informed turned the mount in the direction of town. Leah stroked the only piece of jewellery on her hand and said nothing.

"I can afford something better, but I'll have to order it."

Her face paled. Did he assume her silence meant she was not pleased? She slipped her hand through the crook of his arm and bravely leaned her head on his shoulder. "Don't," she pleaded softly, so much emotion in her chest she choked. "I'll have no other ring but this one. It's just that...when Spencer proposed the engagement ring felt heavy. It was a burden to bear. But this is...different."

His nostrils sank into her hair and his chest inflated tenfold. "Different in a good way I hope."

Wide green eyes met his, full of wonder and so beautiful, he had to kiss her. She accepted his lips, even kissed him back, and when he pulled away, she offered a cheeky smile.

"Well, at least that was better than at the ceremony."

Bishop chuckled and tucked her against his side. "I didn't want to have you unleashed inside the church. It would be a damn shame."

She flushed red and squeezed his arm. They indulged in conversation back to town. All the while her mind was focused on how well his practised mouth taught hers. By the time they arrived, he dismounted and assisted her to the house where the hostess was just about done putting together a private lunch in their room. Leah was both surprised and pleased and did not miss the few dollar bills that changed hands at the door before he locked it at his back.

"There aren't any of the fancy restaurants you're accustomed to back east," he informed, pulling out a chair and encouraging her to sit. "But she's a hell of a cook."

Leah had a hard time controlling the thunder of her heartbeat. He sat and uncovered her plate, and she gasped at the delicacy of steamed vegetables and quail upon the dainty china. Bishop knew his way around a well laid out table, and they shared the meal in comfortable silence. All the while she stole glimpses of him from beneath a hooded gaze. There was silver peppered in his beard, and his hair was combed and left to curl at the back of his neck. He had removed his jacket and hat before he sat, so the play of muscle beneath his shirt snagged her attention each time he moved. She already knew from being held in his arms that he was as hard and unyielding as a tree trunk, and his hands were full of corns and bruises, but they stroked her tenderly and never once touched her in violence. An image of what they would look like, naked flesh to naked flesh flashed in her head, and she swallowed suddenly, only to find that the half-chewed mouthful went down the wrong way. A glass of wine washed it down, and although he said nothing, he considered her with curiosity and amusement.

"Are you okay?"

She nodded and redirected her attention to her plate. Okay? Everything about her body burned. Her nipples were hard and aching, her blood boiled, her cheeks were flushed and it had nothing to do with her bout of coughing just now. And most humiliating was the fact that the secret place between her thighs ached and pulsed and forced her to fidget until she almost lost her appetite and -

A part of her cursed the fear inside. He was her husband now. He had a right to her body. But he would never force himself on her, and she did not want him too. Still, the cool distance he maintained should have eased her doubts and fears. Instead, it only fueled her frustration.

She pushed her plate away and indulged in two glasses of wine before initiating conversation.

"Thank you for doing this..."

He pushed his empty plate aside, leaned back and locked his fingers upon his chest. "Doing what?"

"Marrying me."

He grinned the first all-out grin since she met him and his eyes twinkled. "Trust me when I say Mrs. Sheridan, it was my pleasure."

"Spencer will not like this."

For a brief moment, a frown pleated his forehead. "Come here, sweetheart." The endearment encouraged her to take his hand and when he settled her upon his lap, she did not make to move. "Grant be damned. I have proof in my pocket that you're my wife. Until he can prove otherwise my main concern in keeping you safe. Now, we've got the rest of the day before we go back to that fight, so for now, I want you focused on more pleasant things."

"Like what?"

"Kissing me."

She giggled and leaned forward, tasting his lips, nibbling just as he taught her to, and settled further onto his lap to get better access to his mouth. For a long while, that was all she did. Breathlessly, she tore her mouth away from his and met his smiling eyes. She looked away shyly. "I like kissing you."

"Really?" he teased, removing hair from her neck and shoulders. "You know, there's much more to kissing than just mouth to mouth."

"Is there?"

"I can show you if you want. Are you up for it?"

There was a slight challenge in his tone, and she nibbled her swollen lips. "Just kissing?" He nodded. "Alright."

"I want to hold you. Can I?"

She considered how he sat, with her skirts sprawled across his legs and his hand resting on the table. The other elbow was flung over the back of the chair. Her breathing quickened at the prospect, and she nodded, not trusting her voice to speak. She thought he might have crushed her body to his, but he started to stroke the length of her spine and slipped his hand behind her head to angle her mouth just so. When his tongue invaded in a passionate exploration, all the tension melted from her body. He kissed her with the purpose of stealing her breath, and when he finally allowed her to come up for air, his lips trailed a blazing path down her neck where they lingered for a long time. Love bites were delivered, and he found the soft, sensitive spot behind her ear and lavished attention there, not pausing or stopping when she clutched the lapels of his shirt and started to whimper in wild delight. Her body burned, and a hoarse plea escaped her lips. She had no idea why she begged or what she begged for. A shock of sensation swept through her when his hand, now free of her hair, cupped a breast and squeezed gently. She arched forward, permitting him without saying a word, and gathered the courage to thread her fingers through his hair and pull him closer still. He paused long enough to lift his head and meet her eyes. His orbs were stormy grey, dark and intense and just as lust-filled as hers. His fingers stroked the laces at her bodice. She held her breath when the bow came apart. Still, he waited for her denial. She said nothing. The bodice came undone and he pulled it down reverently. She blushed and waited with heated expectation, her face turned away as he inspected her bare breasts as a man starved. The heat of passion was beginning to fade, and she would have pulled together her dress if his tongue did not taste her pebbled nipple at that moment. Fire licked through her, merciless and lightning-fast. There was no time to protest, for already his mouth descended and it was all she could have done not to fall off her perch on his lap.

"Bishop!" she gasped in a whimper. His growl of delight that frightened her before only added fuel to her fire. In a flash he had her repositioned. She straddled him now, not caring that his hands travelled up the hem of her skirts and peeled away the garters there. Everywhere ached, everywhere burned and for the life of her, she could not stop the wave of madness that seized her. Hot hands found her bare bottom and he jerked her forward suddenly, pressing her core to the hard ridge that was bulged most uncomfortably in the laces of his trousers. Leah arched back as he peeled away her dress and rubbed herself upon him wantonly, shamelessly. He hissed and cursed, and in an instant, his shirt was discarded and her fingers found the soft strands of hair on his chest. How the yards of fabric ended up over her head and on the ground at her feet she would never quite know, but when his hands traced the contours of her body and grasped both breasts to tease the pointed peeks there, his mouth recaptured hers greedily. He rose. The chair scraped back and tumbled to the floor, and with her knees clutched upon his hips, he rested her upon the bed.

From the moment the heavy weight of his body came down on her Leah's eyes flew open. Hot flashes seized her, and before when his lips and fingers and brought pleasure, it made panic surge. His lips dipped lower than her breasts now, tasting her skin so that icy fingers danced upon her body. Frozen, she could not move. He must have sensed the sudden change, for he too stilled and lifted his head. The look in his eyes was lust-ridden and full of concern.

"Lee?"

"Please!"

Her broken whimper had him off of her in a flash. She turned to the side and curled herself into a protective ball, giving him her back.

"Lee, I'm sorry. I got carried away."

She shook her head. This was not his fault. None of it was. But how could she make him understand? How could she express the shame in her chest? She felt the weight of the mattress shift as he moved away, heard his footsteps about the room. He righted the chair and returned to her side.

"Lee..."

She blinked tears from her eyes and swallowed to moisten her dry throat. "The first time he came to my room I had just finished telling him that I'd never marry him. He needed to make a point. To prove that I was wrong. I couldn't fight, couldn't get him off me no matter how much I struggled. I begged him to stop and he did – but he made me promise to marry him and to stop defying what he wanted. So he spared me that night." She took a fortifying breath and continued before she lost her nerve. "After that, I started sleeping with my door locked. He let me know what he thought of that idea pretty quick the night he broke it down. He had the locks removed the next day. One of the maids used to keep me company when I was too afraid to stay by myself. We fell asleep and it was dark when he came in one night. He was drunk – I smelled him from the moment her screams woke me. He beat her. He beat her so bad Marie couldn't get the bloodstains out of the sheets for weeks." Everything stilled it seemed, and all she could hear was her heartbeat. When he made no further inquiries, she continued. "I tried to see her later that day, but they told me she was gone." She sniffed and wiped her damp nose, reliving the memories that haunted her night and day. "I don't know if she left or..." She glanced over her shoulder and met his gaze.

He made to touch her and hesitated. "I want to hold you. Is that alright?"

She nodded and accepted the warmth of his hands as he pressed his body against hers, all the while, heart-wrenching sobs left her breathless.

Chapter Eleven

Bishop pulled on a cigarette and exhaled a stream of blue smoke skyward, stealing glances at his silent wife the entire while. She sat upon the buckboard bench dressed in a simple dress he bought for her before they left town, complete with shawl and gloves. Her hair was braided and twisted into a coil atop her head, and she fiddled with her fingers in the preoccupied way she had done all morning. They left town at sunrise, silent and distant, and although he wanted to tell her everything that happened was not her fault, he did not, simply because she looked damn embarrassed every time he spoke to her. They shared not a word on the four-hour ride. Now, almost noon, he had stopped to take care of nature's call and to fortify his strength with much-needed tobacco before he headed toward the buckboard again. Enough was enough. And he would let her know it.

"Are you afraid of me?"

She glanced his way quickly and shook her head. "Of-of course not."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Then maybe you won't mind sitting a bit closer then."

A small smile broke the tension on her face and she obliged him. He wrapped his arm around her. The sigh she presented warmed his heart. He flicked the reins and the horse started moving again.

"I'm sorry about Grant," he said after a long pause. She stiffened, but he held her firmly to his side. He considered her head and the hair there, so red it hurt his eyes in the sunlight. "Look at me, sweetheart." She lifted her chin, and her eyes, soft and beautiful were dazed with unshed tears. The kiss he stole was nothing but a brush of lips. "I don't know what happened to your maid, but I know if I were to meet her this moment I'd owe her a great debt because she saved your life. I want to make every bad memory you have of Grant disappear and replace them with good ones. I'll never hurt you like that. I know last night I got a little out of control, but –"

"We both were," she interrupted, cupping his cheek and offering a smile. "And it was nothing like...before."

"Then what triggered the memory?" She hesitated, and when she paused and lowered her head, he tipped her chin up with a finger. "I need to know so I never do it again. I love kissing you. Every inch of you is sweet, and you like being kissed. So if you want to explore it more, the last thing I want is Grant popping up when I'm the one whose arms you're in."

His words made her blush, but he could see the thoughtful consideration in her eyes. Finally, she nodded and looked away. "You – you were heavy...on the bed..."

Ah.

He nodded. Of course. Grant had pinned her down, and although their love-making was of a completely different tone, she must have felt the same helplessness. He took a mental note to give up control between the sheets until she was more comfortable with the idea and stroked her arm gently. "I understand."

"You do?"

"Of course I do."

She snuggled into him more, trustingly. "Bishop?"

"Yeah?"

"Do – do you think we can kiss like that again when we get home?"

Everything lower than his belt stood at attention instantly. "Do you want to?"

She nodded quickly. "Oh yes please."

"Then we will."

He held her close and enjoyed the silence now. Talking was not necessary, and he loved the fact that she did not fill the silence with meaningless words. They ate lunch, not bothering to stop. He kissed her periodically, and she returned the gesture with innocent greed. By the time they crossed onto Sheridan land he was warm and very aroused, and couldn't wait until they retired that evening to the privacy of his bedroom.

Jake was the first one out the house to greet them when they pulled into the yard. "Well if it ain't Mrs. Sheridan," he teased good-naturedly. He rounded the buckboard intending to help her down, but Bishop beat him to it.

"Why don't you unload the bags for me," he suggested softly, casually, and Jake's eyebrows raised in question. He shook his head in dismissal and took her into his arms. She started to protest, for the few men that lingered in the yard looking at them with grins on their faces. "They're going to find out sooner or later. Besides, it's a tradition that a husband carries his wife over the threshold."

Millie and her mother waited excitedly inside the living room when he entered, and as soon as he set her on her feet, the vivacious woman rushed forward to embrace her in a warm hug. "Congratulations Leah! I'm so happy for you."

"I knew you'd do the right thing sooner or later," Millie's mother said as Bishop leaned down to accept an affectionate kiss.

Leah blushed and looked quite discomforted, but Millie gave her no time to hesitate and pulled her along, chatting a mile a minute. Jake dumped the bags inside the door and nudged Bishop, a mocking grin lighting his eyes.

"I never thought you were a marrying kind of man. It's a good look on you."

Bishop considered his wife, uncomfortable with the number of questions and attention she was getting from Millie and her mother as they sat in the kitchen, pouring coffee. Her eyes were bright, her cheeks flushed, and every-so-often she winced whenever Millie made a remark she no doubt found unladylike.

"Not sure if it looks as good on her though."

He cut his brother an icy glance and earned himself a chuckle. Jake raised his hands in surrender, smirking. "Just yanking your chain, man."

"Any news from the Sheriff?"

"Nada. Been hearing that Grant ain't too happy none and lets everyone know it too. He's been talking a lot of shit around town. Word is when he proves she belongs to him, he'll plant a bullet in your chest."

Bishop met his concerned gaze and concentrated his focus once more on the woman he married. "If she belongs to him I deserve to be dead seeing as how I'll be guilty of bigamy and all."

Jake thundered laughter, earning himself a scowl. Leah turned her attention toward the sound of his teasing and Bishop caught her eyes. She smiled uncertainly. He would not concern himself about Grant. Tonight, if she was willing, he would make her his.

***

Bishop always prided himself on being controlled. As he sat with his back pressed against the headboard of his bed and watched with fascination as his wife slowly brushed the tangled length of her hair, he wondered secretly if tonight he would be able to hold back the lust that burned like a bush fire in his belly.

Christ, she was beautiful. All soft flesh, flushed with the knowledge that he awaited her pleasure. And he had no doubt she knew his thoughts were less than honourable. Her eyes would meet his shyly in the mirror and then flitter away in uncertainty. He knew how to be gentle, how to coax, how to wait. And he knew deep within his heart if he had to wait a hundred years to claim her he would do so happily...but the waiting, he had to admit, was sheer torture.

Long moments went by in silence so that the tension in the room became thick with unspoken awareness. When he could take her procrastination no longer, he offered a reassuring smile.

"Are you coming to bed soon?"

Her hands stalled mid-stroke and she self-consciously returned the brush to the table. "Sorry." A tooth bothered her bottom lip miserably. She seemed to fumble for words. Bishop took pity on her.

"Can I hold you tonight?" Her eyes met his then, deep and wide and hesitant. "Nothing more unless you want me to."

At her quick nod, he opened his arms and waited as she crawled to his chest. He pulled her closer and settled himself on the pillows, marvelling how easily her breasts pressed against his chest, how much she trusted him even as she shyly stroked his chest through the material of his shirt.

"Do you suppose I can kiss you again?"

To say he was stunned at her boldness would have been an understatement, but he already suspected that once her confidence was regained, she would not necessarily always be so manageable.

"You can kiss me anytime you want sweet," he heard himself say, not recognizing the coarse brush of his voice.

She innocently tilted her face up and met his lips with hers, untrained and innocent and so compellingly giving, he felt a groan move up in his throat. Their lips moved in unhurried strokes, each savouring the other, nipping and nibbling, tasting and teasing until Bishop found himself pulling back gently for air. Her eyes were closed, and her nostrils slightly flared where she sucked in breaths, and her lips, swollen and slightly parted, dared him to kiss her again. He did not disappoint, this time trailing his lips across her delicate jaw to the sensitive hollow behind her ear. All the while she whimpered and gasped, running her fingers across his shoulders and along the length of his arms greedily. Bishop was not so generous with his hands. If he touched her at all, this would not end as a chaste kiss.

"I have never quite met a man like you, Bishop Sheridan," she confessed between gasps. He pulled away and twirled her curls, rubbing the locks between his fingers, brushing the ends along her face as if it were the stroke of an artist's brush.

"And I've never met anyone more beautiful."

He was delighted to see her blush, thankful she did not find him lacking the sweet words he knew women loved to hear.

"I would rather you thought me intelligent than beautiful," she finally murmured. Her eyes followed the absent lines her fingers made against his neck and collar bone.

"You're both."

"If I was half as smart as I like to believe myself I would have found a way to get away from Spencer sooner."

Her voice broke, and Bishop scowled fiercely. He tried to school his features and cleared his throat, hating that she hurt, hating that he could not take away her torment.

"The important thing is you made a stand before he got his way. Although it rubs me the wrong way how much you've suffered at his hands, I'm glad you ran now and not sooner."

Astonished, she studied him curiously. When he made no move to elaborate, she asked, "Why now?"

He closed his eyes and continued to rub his hand along her back, pausing at the base of her spine to journey up again. "You ran straight to me."

Leah held her breath and could not help the faint shudders to spread through her body. The way he said it sounded most possessive. Who would have thought she would find herself draped dressed only in her nightgown across the body of a man willing to do more than fight for her?

The absurdity made her giggle softly. He squeezed her tenderly before inhaling the fragrance of her hair.

"Millie told me you are a marksman of sorts. Have you worked for the army then?"

Completely thrown by her out of the blue question, he shook his head briskly. "Nothing like that. Pa was a hunting man. Learned to shoot from him."

"Your brothers also?"

"Pete was too young and Jake was a baby. But they learned. I made sure of it."

"Will you teach me?"

He shook his head, and when she turned away, he tilted her chin so that their eyes were forced to meet. The helplessness he saw in her orbs made his heart tighten in dread.

"Your hands are too innocent to have blood on them. You have me for protection. You don't need a gun."

"And when you are not here?"

"I will always be here."

She nibbled her lip again. "And if I decide to leave when this entire ordeal is over? Would you want me unable to defend myself when I make my way?"

He clenched his jaw and closed his eyes against the thought of her leaving, knowing it was indeed a strong possibility, knowing it would tear him apart.

"No, I won't," he croaked.

"So you will teach me?"

His sigh was heavy, and when he spoke again, his tone was pained. "I'll think about it."

She snuggled deeper into the crook of his arm and took her time about tracing the lines of his face. Each brow was duly worshipped, his crooked nose, the fullness of his lips, his face that boasted a day's worth of beard. It seemed like forever before he finally looked at her. She could see he battled with whatever question hovered upon his lips.

"I gave you a promise to let you go when the time comes," he began slowly. "I did not count on it being so damn hard."

"It will be difficult for me too."

"Maybe you can stay," he offered thickly. She stiffened in his arms and tried to push away, but he held her firm. "I will never force you to stay against your will Lee. You have my word on that. But I'll try my best to change your mind while I have you."

He kissed her then, deep and sure. It did not take much coaxing for her body to relax again, all the weariness seeping through his form. Hungrily he devoured her lips, and when he tangled his fingers in her silken hair it was to meet her eyes with lust burning in his orbs.

"I want to kiss you, Lee. I want to kiss you the way we kissed last night."

Her response was a breathless, "Yes..."

Fingers of steel wrapped around her arms and hauled her upon his body. She was pressed deliciously against him; quivering belly against the rock hardness of his stomach, full lush breasts against his taunt chest, and mile-long legs entwined with his powerful thighs. Her curtain of curls concealed her face in shadow, teased with the dancing flame of the lamp, and Bishop drank in the sight of her. His touch was a brand as he stroked her body through the thin material of her clothes, and when next he lifted his head to capture her lips, she coyly turned away. A heated tongue blazed a trail down her neck and lingered impossibly long along her collar bone, eliciting breathless gasps from her lips and encouraged him to untie the already slack laces of the front of her dress.

Mercy, her fair breasts spilt out. Bishop did not wait. His mouth covered one peaked nipple then the other, rolling the firm bud between his lips and lavishing attention upon one while his hands squeezed and fondled the other shamelessly. Her fingers thread through his hair and pressed him harder still against her chest, and her whimpers, broken cries of delight, made his blood boil all the more.

"I need to touch you," he rasped, sucking in air through flared nostrils. "I need to touch you everywhere."

Lost in feeling, she did not protest when he sat up and pulled her flushed against his body. Her core met the harsh projection of his erection and he captured her lips again, taking her cries of delight within himself and revelling in it. Everywhere he touched and stroked, and pushed her bodice down so she was naked from the waist up. Somewhere in the frenzy he too lost his shirt, and when his hands gripped her ankles, it was with tender instruction that he insisted she kept them locked behind his back. Hands made hard by calluses, the evidence of many years of hard labour glided with slow intent up the length of her stain legs and curved around the swell of her rump. Never did his lips leave her flesh, tasting, nibbling, licking, purring and grunting his delight as each exquisite inch of her was revealed. Her skirts came undone, and there, completely naked in the lamplight with her hair rumpled and her body hot and agitated, Bishop pulled back long enough to commit her image to memory.

This was his woman, his wife.

Fierce possessiveness like he'd never known swept through him then, and when she opened her eyes to meet his, gone was the shy virgin whose blush reminded him of her innocence. Only lust and hunger reflected in her green orbs, so sultry, so pure, that he could do nothing but give her what her body demanded of his. He caught her lips between his teeth and suckled there tenderly, his eyes kept open to learning every reaction he wrung out of her. Tentatively, as he stroked a thumb over a sensitive nipple, he busied his other hand stroking the tender flesh along her inner thighs repeatedly, getting her accustomed to his touch.

"Do you ache Lee? Do you ache and burn?"

"Oh yes..."

He rocked forward, pressed his erection to her very wet core. "Are you burning up here?"

She gasped at the contact and all but mewled. "Let me ease you. Let me cool the fire there."

At the first brush of his fingers through her impossibly wet satin curls, she gasped in shock.

"Bishop!"

He stroked her tenderly, taking his time as he found her swollen bud. She shuddered and leaned back, gripping his knees so that her breasts were pressed forward like an offering, hair draped upon his thighs, exposed and open to his greedy, devouring gaze.

Her entire body was flushed and plump, and with rhythm only instinct could bring, she rode upon his fingers shamelessly.

"God you're perfect," he grated out thickly. "I'll make this good for you Lee girl. Just keep doing what you're doing."

And she did not stop until she shattered. Bishop knew the moment she reached her peak. She erupted in a delightful cry that he silenced with greedy lips. Shaking, she gripped him until her fingers shone white in the light. Bishop took to her lips again and was quick in undoing the laces of his breeches. He was hot and heavy and in so much agony it was a miracle he did not spend himself like an untried schoolboy.

"We're not done yet beautiful," he informed softly, lifting her gently to probe her core. "Hold onto me tight. I need inside of you. But you have to take me in. Nice and slow."

She eased down upon his erect, pulsing shaft and Bishop clenched his eyes and saw stars. Jesus, she was tight! His breath hitched and he groaned, fondling her breast and rump delightfully.

"Do it again Lee."

And so she did, each time sinking a little deeper, gasping and pausing to become accustomed his girth. Bishop thought he would lose his mind. Every instinct he possessed screamed for him to pull her onto him, to sink himself inside her molten heat mercilessly until he was spent. But he needed control like never before tonight, and if it took all night for him to fit then he welcomed the torture gladly.

"It won't fit," she lamented, but he would have none of it. His fingers found her sensitive bud again, and there, mercilessly he flicked his finger and teased her breasts, whispering words of encouragement and praise until she was on the verge of shattering and, unable to control the buck of her hips, she plunged herself upon him. Duly impaled, Bishop held her tightly against his chest when she made to move.

"Please!" she cried. He cooed words of comfort.

"There is always pain the first time, sweetheart. But I promise you it only gets better."

She shook her head and would not meet his eyes.

"Let me kiss you again. Touch you." Not waiting for a response he stroked her again, increasing pressure as he slowly pulled back and eased forward in even strokes. Before long Leah was riding him in slowly, rotating her hips as he held perfectly still. Bishop could not bear it. He leaned back on his elbows and watched in fascination as pleasure rippled its way through his body, settled heavily in his balls and degree by slow degree, built in his shaft. He could feel himself being pushed over the edge and gripped her wide hips, strummed her core once more and was rewarded with a cry of delight and total abandon.

"Faster Lee," he groaned and rocked her then, up and down until there was nothing but her wet heat.

"Ah, shit!"

Even as his seed was shot into her she did not stop but found her release again moments later when all he could have done was watch her through half-lidded eyes that were heavy with ownership, sexual pleasure and contentment. Breaths coming in tandem to his racing thoughts, she licked her lips and leaned forward to taste his. They kissed tenderly for a long time, basking in the warm aftermath of their intimacy. She fell asleep with him still inside of her that night, and as her soft snores echoed in the night, Bishop's fingers sank into the creamy flesh of her body tightly.

Yes. He told her he would never keep her against her will. But that was proving to be very difficult indeed.

Chapter Twelve

Jake pulled heavily on a cheroot and flicked the stump away before exhaling a thick stream of blue smoke and adjusted himself quickly. He needed to be away from the house tonight, especially since the voice of his sister-in-law's cries of pleasure was stamped upon his brain and was in no time soon going to give him peace. At first, he tried covering his head with the pillow, then because his mind often went into overdrive, he began imaging exactly what Bishop was doing to her to elicit such sexy moans – not an image he would feel comfortable with when next he saw either one of them. So, cursing his smutty thoughts, he decided he needed a little action of his own. He'd bury himself in the paid company of a whore and get every penny's worth.

With a grin, he pushed off the wall and turned down the boardwalk that led to the saloon. It was more or less quiet tonight, being so damn late and all. And he would bet his bottom dollar his favourite girls were already occupied with other customers. Still, he was sure to find someone willing to show him a good time for the right price.

The moment he stepped into the street, blinding pain took him to his knees. His head felt split open. He grunted and raised his head, stumbling to his feet in an attempt to get into a fighting stance, and was rewarded with a right hook in the jaw. The punch sent him back first into the dirt. The tip of a large boot was rammed into his side, and with a bellow borne of agony and rage, he snatched the offending foot as it came into contact with his ribs again, launching a kick of his own. His assaulter doubled over, and Jake forced himself up. Headfirst he tackled him into the ground, gaining the upper hand all of a few seconds before something broad and heavy made impact with his back. The piece of wood shattered with the force of the blow and sent him reeling. Face buried in the dirt, he tried to lift his head. Another boot connected with his face. Coughing blood and dust he wheezed and groaned again in agony when the bastards started kicking him. Weak and outnumbered, Jake curled into a protective ball and grunted in agony each time one of them got him in a tender spot. He did not know how long it lasted. When he no longer had the strength to hold the pose he relaxed and bellowed when someone, he could not see any faces now that both his eyes were swollen shut, yanked his head up and spat in his face.

"Mr. Grant sends his regards."

He fell face first and vomited profusely when they took turns kicking him again until he finally passed out.

***

Bishop heard his name being called from somewhere far away and had to blink several times to wake himself up. In the background, he was aware of one of the cowboys knocking frantically at the door, but he couldn't quite bring himself to move. His wife was spread across him, her tender breasts crushed to his naked chest and the blanket covering only her legs. The dip of her waist and rise of hips were left for his appreciative gaze. He caressed her naked rump and followed the dip in her back until his fingers were threaded in her tangled hair.

His wife.

The hard glint of possession in his eyes would have frightened her had she been awake to see it. The pounding continued, and with an impatient sigh, he disengaged himself from her body, silently cursing, and pulled on a pair of pants and a shirt. He wanted nothing more than to make love to her again, to taste her, to familiarize himself with her body, to reward her trust with pleasure that would keep her begging for more. He planned to do so too, just as soon as he dealt with their visitor. As quietly as he could, Bishop jogged down the hall and through the living room, the knocking getting louder and more impatient.

Millie had just made her way into the living room, a frown on her face. "Who is that? He near gave Mama a heart attack with his shouting."

"What's all the racket about?" he demanded casually the moment he yanked to door open. Millie was at his back a few feet away.

On the verandah stood one of his hands, red-eyed with the stench of stale whiskey and woman on his skin. "Boss, sorry to be waking you, but someone got a jump on your bother late last night. He got beat up real good. His face is all busted."

Bishop stilled instantly, his body went rigid. Millie gasped and pushed her way forward, her eyes large and full of fire.

"Which one?" she demanded. "Jake or Pete?"

"Jake. I found him behind the saloon this morning coming home. Got him on his horse and brought him home."

"Where is he?" she snapped.

"In the bunkhouse. He was just waking up when I left him."

Millie was out of the house and in the yard within seconds.

Bishop was not so hasty to move. He studied the horizon for a moment, his jaw working, eyes hard flint. The anger that threatened to erupt in his chest had to be kept in control. If he did not deal with the swell of emotion within him before he looked at his brother he would act rashly, and Bishop was never rash. Instead, he tried to level his thoughts and nodded, no matter how much his stomach clenched with the need to reach for his gun.

Slowly, he slipped his feet into his boots, took his time about buttoning his shirt, and reached for his hat. Only when he stepped outside did he hear Millie shouting orders to have hot water, clean rags and a needle and thread brought. Her voice broke several times.

"How bad is he?" he managed to choke out, refusing to look at the cowboy in the event he noticed the moisture that touched his eyes.

"He'll live."

Bishop strode with purpose toward the bunkhouse, thankful that Millie managed to bully everyone out. He spared her pale face and tear-stained cheeks a glance before he looked at his brother, and felt pure fury rise like a beast within him.

His entire face was discoloured, his eyes swollen shut, his mouth so busted up his lips were swollen and cut and definitely in need to stitches. His nose was broken, and there were marks and bruising from his head to his hips. Bishop stepped back, unable to look upon his battered body. Even from where he stood he could hear him struggling to breathe.

Jake was ten years his junior. He had always taken care of him. He taught him to fish, hunt, shoot. He taught him to tie his laces and bullied him into washing his plate after dinner, something he still refused to do. From the moment he could walk, he spoilt him rotten. Maybe it was to make up for all the times their father hit their mother, maybe it was to be the best substitute father his brothers needed. He took care of them both.

Guilt rested heavily on his shoulders. While he was making love last night, his brother was fighting for his life.

Face resolute, he turned away.

"Bishop?" Jake's voice was raw.

Millie sponged away the dirt and blood that began to crust on his battered face. She hushed his attempt at speaking. "What trouble did you get yourself into now?"

He tried to laugh but ended up coughing instead. "Ain't my trouble darling," he stated huskily. "Bish...Grant will be wanting his woman back." Bishop held his breath and cocked his head, listening but refusing to look at him, unable to look at him. "They told me he sends his regards."

Hands fisted and close to trembling, Bishop swallowed the cry of anger. "Take care of him, Millie."

She looked over her shoulder. "Where are you going?"

Bishop did not answer. With determined strides he made it to the house, not caring that his footsteps carried too loud. When he opened the door to his room, Leah was sitting on the bed looking like a woman well-loved, naked and beautiful with a heart-wrenching smile on her lips and adoration in her eyes. She bothered her lips when she saw the murderous look on his face and hesitated.

"A-are you alright?"

He nodded, unable to tear his eyes off her, unable to get the image of his brother's beaten body out of his mind.

Grant will be wanting his woman back.

Just the mere thought forced bile in his throat. He stepped forward and sank fingers of iron into her arms. She whimpered, cowered, and became stiff in his arms when he yanked her to his frame and plundered her lips as a man starved. The kiss was a brand, a mark of ownership, and when he finally released her, she gasped for air as if suffocating.

"You belong to me now Lee. You gave yourself to me. You're my woman."

When he released her it was to hate himself a little more for putting that spark of fear in her eyes. She did not question him, not when he dressed, not when he reached for his shotgun, and not when he kissed her again as if his very life depended on it.

"Stay put. I'm going into town for a bit. Millie and her Ma are still here, and the hands won't let anything happen to you."

She swallowed hard and sank her fingers into his hair, her eyes large and wet with tears. "Y-you swore you would let me go...that it would be my decision."

His heart clenched. All of his fears seemed magnified then, and with stiff resolution, he turned away. As he settled the hat on his head at the door, she whimpered.

"Bishop?"

He paused, worked the muscles in his jaw for what seemed like forever before he exhaled. "I'm a man of my word Lee. When the time comes, if you want to leave, I won't stop you."

Leah felt something hollow out in her chest when he walked away at that moment. He did not look back or grace her with his warm gaze, and no tender words or reassurances were offered. Instead, with his back straight and his hands gripping his gun, he walked away in total control.

Or so it appeared.

Leah was not so caught up in her fears that she did not notice the fury that burned in his gaze or the lines of strain that fanned out at the corners of his eyes. There was also his declaration. She belonged to him he said. Not so long ago he indeed warned her that if she gave herself willingly, he would never release her. Still, he said he would.

Frowning, she took her time in dressing, her mind full of questions as she ventured into the hall and bumped into Mrs. Brown.

"Oh!"

"Ah girl, that man will put an end to this whole thing long before that letter from back east gets here."

A frown pleated her brow. Only then did she notice the woman's cloudy blue eyes wet with tears of distress. "What's wrong? Is Millie alright?"

The woman sniffled and shook her head. "That Spencer Grant is a mean one."

She gasped, choked on her spittle in the process, her breaths suddenly too painful to inhale. "Did – did something happen to Millie?"

"It's Jake. Someone bashed his face in last night. He's in a bad way. My Millie's in the bunkhouse tending him now."

Leah pressed a fist to her chest and sank her teeth into her lower lip, trying to stem the need to cry out in distress. She backed away and shook her head in denial. With lightening feet she darted from the house and into the yard, making a beeline for the bunkhouse, uncaring that the hands stood back and watched as her careless curls streamed like a banner behind her. From the moment she pushed the door open she skidded to a halt. Millie cast her a preoccupied glance and continued crooning soft words to the man lying on a make-shift cot.

Leah took one look at his face and cried out in horror. On leaden feet, she advanced. Jake, whose face once held a flirtatious tease and a delightfully wicked smile, was unrecognizable. There was no place on his body that was not bruised or smeared with blood. It even crusted his hairline.

"This is all my fault," she whispered thickly.

Millie snorted and shook her head with fierce conviction. "Stop blaming yourself. This is that bastard's handy work. Not yours."

Leah clenched her eyes tightly and did not hear her words. Suddenly, she spun around, panic in her chest. "Where's Bishop?"

"Gone to town I'm guessing."

"Town?"

"The message was very clear according to Jake. Grant sent his regards. There's only one way for a man to answer to that."

She did not hear Millie cry her name or the curses that followed her when she darted into the yard and returned to the house. There, with a thundering heart, she pulled the old tin box from beneath the bed. Her fingers fumbled, and when she finally got it open, she froze in disbelief. The shells she concealed there were gone.

Still, she could not allow him to die because of her. There was no doubt in her mind that Bishop could hold his own in a fair fight. But Spencer did not fight fair. He proved as much when he sent his hired men after Jake.

This was all her fault. If she had left the moment she opened her eyes when Bishop had found her, no-one would have gotten hurt. If she had only had more courage, had stopped living in fear. Now her brother-in-law was wounded and her husband, a man who had shown her nothing but tenderness and understanding since the moment she laid eyes on him, might get himself killed trying to avenge his brother and trying to protect her.

No. She had to put a stop to this. She would not allow any more innocent people to get hurt because of her. She would go to Bishop, talk to him. Hopefully, he would see reason, and when they returned, she would allow him to make love to her one last time. Bishop was right. No matter where or how far she ran, Spencer would always come after her.

There would be no more running.

This had to end now.

Chapter Thirteen

Leah had all intention of intercepting Bishop on the way. She did not anticipate the objections that several of the hands would make, nor did she anticipate the ten minutes she spent convincing several of them that their boss was in trouble if she did not stop him soon. When three of the men finally agreed that saddling a horse was the only way to ensure she arrived in town without sore feet (she had begun to walk when all else failed), one of them agreed to accompany her for safety.

By the time they entered the town at a gallop, she was frantic, her eyes overly large in her face and scanning the many faces for any sign of trouble – any sign of Bishop.

"There's his horse at the saloon. Better you stay here. I'll just let the boss know you're here."

She nodded and guided the gentle mount deeper into the alley. It would not do for Spencer to see her, unprepared and unexpected. She watched with bated breath when her companion dismounted and secured his horse. Moments later, he disappeared inside.

The instant she lost sight of him a merciless grip jerked her from the saddle and into the dirt. Spluttering, she looked up to see a heavily muscled man sporting a dark moustache and a cruel smirk.

"Well if it ain't Mrs. Grant," he purred. Even with his height she still got a whiff of stale tobacco. The disgust must have reflected on her face, for his smirk transformed into a sneer, and it was with a harsh hand did he haul her to her feet. "Get up you little whore. Grant will be so happy to get you back I wager he drops a few more dollars my way."

Leah opened her mouth to scream and choked on her tongue when his dirty hand spanned her face. She battled with his hand as panic seized her. He wrapped his free arm around her midriff and hauled her behind a building. Everything within her felt ready to explode, and her lungs threatened to burst from lack of oxygen. Once out of the public's eye, he removed his hand and clutched her face, squeezing hard. Tears of mortification stung her eyes when he jerked her forward.

"You shut that pretty mouth of yours, and I promise I won't hurt you too much before I take you to Grant."

His thumb, calloused and caked in dirt, brushed across her trembling lower lip. Leah jerked back, her stomach recoiling. When he laughed it was dark and mocking. "We'll see what happens to that pride of yours when your husband gets his hands on you."

"When my husband comes for me you'll be dead men," she hissed, her voice quivering. He studied her with intelligent eyes and chuckled again, this time there was a genuine interest in his tone. "Christ, this is going to be good."

A shrill whistle echoed through the quietude of the trees.

"Dam it Frank! I can't take a piss in peace without you bothering me for some shit!"

A slim built man came out of the bushes adjusting his trousers and stopped dead in his tracks at the sight of her. His eyes widened in understanding. When he grinned, it was to reveal several missing teeth.

"Jesus Frank, ain't she a thing of beauty."

Frank's fingers tightened upon her arm when she made to pull away. The newcomer manhandled her face and forced her to open her mouth. He inspected her teeth the way one would a horse, scrutinized her flushed face and pressed his nostrils in the tendrils of her hair.

"Hands off. Grant won't be pleased none with you fondling his woman."

Jimmy leered. "She's done accustomed to it. Ain't you?"

Leah swallowed the bile that rose in the back of her throat at the strong stench of unwashed bodies and urine that stained their clothes and skin. Although frightened, the only comfort she allowed herself was that Bishop was safe. They would take her to Spencer, and he would take her back to Carolina. It mattered not that he might beat her, or even lock her away until she agreed to marry him. All that mattered was no one else got hurt on account of her.

She was dragged along and lead to a horse. There, hastily mounted before Frank, she kept her back rigid and blinked back hopeless tears as they quietly escaped.

***

Bishop ground his teeth in frustration and tapped his foot impatiently. He was tired of waiting on the Sheriff to come back from wherever it is he had gone to. Absently he rubbed the tender spot in his chest that hurt on the inside. Leah wanted to leave.

He inhaled deeply through his nostrils and leaned forward, the gun resting on his thighs. He considered his hands, hard and calloused, and rubbed them together slowly in a circular motion, trying to come to terms with all the violent thoughts that raced through his head. On the hasty ride to town, he wanted nothing more than to storm into the hotel and demand justice for his brother. To hell with waiting on the courts, to hell with patience and the law. In his heart, he desired nothing more than to keep his family safe.

But if he shot Grant, would the tender emotion he'd seen in Leah's eyes each time she looked at him die? If she showed her that part of him, would she run the same way she now ran from Grant? Those thoughts made him pause long enough to take him to the saloon where he drowned several whiskey's, and eventually, led him to the sheriff's door. Slowly, he rolled a cheroot, distracted and hurting. The instant the door was slammed open he darted to his feet, gun in hand. There, Payne stood. Clear eyes were wide with worry, and from the moment they landed on him, he hesitated in what Bishop knew was fear.

"Boss!" he breathed, then swallowed hard.

Bishop's fingers tightened around the barrel of the gun, and at that moment, he held himself stiff as a board. "Is it Jake? Is he dead?"

The man removed his hat instantly and shook his head, cleared his throat several times before he looked away. "It's the missus."

Bishop's knees went instantly weak. He gasped, his face pained, eyes so full of emotion the other man could not keep eye contact. "Lee?"

"She'd seen Jake, took it upon herself to come to town to keep you from finding Grant. I left her in the alley by the post office and went into the saloon when I saw your horse tied there. But when I came out, she was gone."

Lethal, soft, he near shook with fury. Bishop strode up to him until they were nose to nose. "Why the hell did you let her leave the ranch?"

.Payne considered his dusty boots as if expecting to find the answer there. "She threatened to walk if no one allowed her a horse. I figured she'd be safer with one of us..."

Bishop cursed beneath his breath and shook his head in denial. No. This could not be happening. Spencer did not have her. Maybe she wandered off. She was somewhere in town and he was going to find her.

"Go check Mac's," he instructed frostily. "You better pray to God she's okay Payne."

Payne was at his heels, his steps hasty as he moved to obey. Bishop did not lose a moment. He scoured the town, starting with the hotel. The clerk there took one look at the expression of rage on his face and stammered a greeting.

"Grant. Where is he?"

"In – in his room."

"Room number?"

"T-ten."

Bishop charged up the stairs and ignored the man's protest. There was a fire in his heart and blood in his eyes. He kicked in the door, hinges and all. He did not know what to expect, but an empty room was not it. Bags stood neatly in a corner and the bed was perfectly made. He strode in and looked around. Methodically he scattered the contents of the bags on the bed, finding nothing of importance. Thundering footfalls echoed in the hall headed his way and he aimed the gun at the doorway.

Payne paused, his breaths coming fast and heavy. "One of the women saw Jeremy and Frank high-tailing it out of town with a red-headed woman."

"Which way?" he croaked.

"Said they took the old trail headed north."

Bishop all but ran down the steps and out of the hotel. "Get back to the ranch."

"I ain't leaving you to go alone. It's my fault they took her."

"Do as I say, boy. Some womenfolk need looking after. And you take care of my brother."

Payne nodded and watched as Bishop mounted up and rode hell-bent for leather. Following the old trail that led across fields and meadows until he came to the edge of the mountains, he paused long enough to scratch his mount behind the ears and study the land. He knew these woods, knew this land, and there was nothing out there except wild forest, deer and grizzlies. For a moment he took a deep breath and allowed the sounds of the wind filtering through the branches of the trees to calm him. Strange the men took her up this way. Spencer would no doubt try to get her back to Carolina the first chance he got, and although Bishop had no problem with following her across two states and then some, he did not know what would happen to her during the journey. Would Grant lay his hands on her? Did she already have bruises on her skin again?

He ground his teeth and snarled, fear, fury and frustration ready to combust in his chest. The breeze eased, and with determination, he nudged his mount forward. By the time he spotted the sunlight reflecting off the barrel of a gun between the tree trunks some distance off, it was too late.

***

Leah opened her mouth to scream and fought for all she was worth when Frank shoved a stained, dirty cloth in her mouth. He twisted her arm behind her back painfully and dared her to move. She crumpled to her knees, knowing if she pushed him, he would very well dislocate her shoulder. Before them Spencer stood, his eyes hard and full of blood-lust as he took careful aim at Bishop's chest. Panic seized her. All she thought about was Bishop dying, and thick, choking nausea settled in her chest. In a burst of daring she did not know she possessed, she flung her head back and caught her captor square in his nose. He released her and stumbled back, stunned. In those few precious seconds, she slammed her weight into Spencer's back. A gunshot rang out when he bucked forward, colliding with the tree trunk he used as a barrier. Leah bruised her face as she made contact with the dirt. She spat the cloth out of her mouth and screamed for Bishop with all the waning strength left in her body.

"Get up!" Spencer hauled her up, his fingers like claws in her arm. He turned to the man that was hidden on the ground in the overgrown weeds and grinned victoriously. Leah blinked back tears. Helplessness leaked out of her.

"Noooooo!" Her screams were deafening. Spencer snatched her face and squeezed her cheeks abusively. She stared at him with hateful eyes and spat in his face, her lips trembling in fury.

"You murderer!"

He forced her head back so that he met her waterlogged eyes squarely. "Why don't we go say hello to your lover?" She pulled away from his hold and ran awkwardly toward the clearing. He turned to Frank. "Tell Jerry to mount up. We have a long ride ahead of us."

Leah already stumbled through the trees, her vision blurred as she made a beeline for the rider-less horse. On numb feet she stopped short, and all but collapsed on his blood-stained chest, weeping uncontrollably.

Bishop blinked against the sunlight and tried to speak. He knew he'd been shot when an invisible force slammed into his chest and knocked him into the air and in the grass. The dull echo of the gunshot clamoured in his ear the same moment he felt numbly at the hot blood that streamed from the wound. Heat spread like a fire through him, the pain so excruciating, it took his brain a full minute to wrap around the fact that he was indeed shot and helpless on the ground. Leah was there now, her voice a high pitched wail that hurt his ear bells. She did not touch him with her hands, but showered his face with wet lips and mumbled words of apology and distress. Behind her, Grant strode forward, the look on his face one of murder.

"You ever pull away from me again you little whore, and I'll disfigure your face so badly no man will think about coming to your rescue again!" he bellowed, yanking a handful of hair and forcing her to her feet.

She flinched in pain and cried out his name. Everything within Bishop reacted, needing with violence to protect her. Instead, he watched helplessly as Grant dragged her a few feet away. He did not hear when the two henchmen arrived. They looked at him with hard, bloodthirsty eyes.

"Let go of me!" Leah railed, her attempts at kicking Grant useless until her knee made contact with his groin. He bellowed in agony and backhanded her so hard she pitched back and fell as he cupped himself.

"You did this!" Grant wheezed, reaching for her again. "All I needed was your blasted signature! All you had to do was marry me! Didn't I warn you never to run from me, Leah?" He forced her upon the horse and mounted behind her, wincing and wobbling as he went. The gun was then directed to Bishop's head. "Look at him! He's going to die because of you! You're going to make me kill a man because you were too damn stubborn to realize your place! If I'm a monster it's because of you!"

"Please," she hiccupped, shaking her head desperately. Her hand was outstretched and pleading. "Please, I'll do anything...please..."

Bishop bellowed in rage within his head, his eyes so hot they felt ready to explode.

"You will marry me when we get back home, sign over your estates and forget any of this ever happened, or so help me I'll send you to the grave with him." She nodded, her face crumpled in defeat. Grant slipped the gun in his jacket pocket and continued to breathe through his teeth. "The bastard will die anyway."

Bishop could only follow them with his eyes until they were completely out of sight, and stayed there, prone and in pain until blackness finally claimed him.

***

Spencer stabbed at the cooked fowl in his plate and muttered darkly, no doubt unimpressed with the humble fare at the hotel. They travelled for two days and nights until he announced the need to sleep in a soft bed and relieve himself without having the inconvenience of digging a hole first. Leah played with the meal on her plate, her brain working overtime in an attempt to come up with a plan to stop Spencer - one that might work. That afternoon when they arrived in town he'd paid Jerry and Frank and sent them away. She no longer had to endure Franks' nasty snarls or Jerry's too familiar hands on her body.

Spencer had changed. There was a hardness and wariness in his face as he scanned the room several times during dinner. He drank greedily of the whiskey although he complained he couldn't wait to get home to reacquaint himself with the good stuff, and every-so-often he would look at her with much more than anger or suspicion. There was the beginning of lust in his eyes.

Like now, when he caught her studying him from across the table. He was burnt from the sun, his eyes cold and emotionless save the heat directed toward her. Leah repressed a shudder of revulsion and hid her emotions behind a sip of water.

"I forgot how beautiful you are," he offered softly. Leah was not fooled by the tender baritone of his voice. Not when his eyes were like a snake's, cold and hard.

"You were too busy plotting," she returned in the same caring tone, laced with sarcasm.

Impatience made him huff a breath. "Everything I have done so far has been in your best interest."

"Hitting me? Forcing engagement? Bullying me? How is any of this what's best for me?"

He leaned back and cast a look around when her voice rose slightly. "Keep your bloody voice down. And just remember who you'll be marrying once we get home. Take a look around you, Leah. There're no cowboys here to help you this time."

His words ignited the pain of seeing Bishop gunned down anew. It had taken hours and many miles of convincing herself he was alright before she was able to tuck away the agony that would no doubt numb her stiff if she gave in to the panic and grief. And if he lived, she prayed he would not come after them. This time Spencer would not spare him.

"I don't need anyone's help." Her voice was calmer than her shaking insides.

He tossed the soiled napkin on the table and leaned back, his gaze mocking. "Well now. A few weeks out here on your own and suddenly you have a back-bone. I don't know if you're growing up or just plain stupid for antagonizing me."

She took another drink of water, pushed her plate away and stood. "I've lost my appetite. I'm going to bed now."

She made to move, to get away from him before she lost her nerve and near jumped out of her skin when his fingers wrapped around her wrist. Their eyes clashed. Leah pressed her lips in a firm line to bite back the tremble of fear there. But Spencer knew she was still afraid of him. The smile he gave was one of affirmation.

"Don't get too comfortable tonight Leah. For years I've kept you pure for myself. I expect to sample the goods now that you've acted like a whore."

Hot humiliation burned in her cheeks and she jerked her arm away before finding her voice. "I'd rather sleep with a rattler."

His smile disappeared and he too stood up. This time, he hauled her to the stairs that led to the first floor. Another couple was in the process of descending, and Spencer used the opportunity to wrap his arm around her waist and pull her close to his body. To everyone else they looked the perfect couple, his sandy blonde hair complementing boyish good looks when he chose to grin.

"Get your hands off of me!" she snapped softly, fury making her voice shake. But he dragged her down the hall and opened the door to the room he rented for the night. Leah gasped as she was flung upon the small bed. He kicked the door closed and turned the key in the lock. He was so busy making a show of unbuttoning his jacket, he did not see when she slipped the small, serrated knife into the laces of her wrist from the small table beside the bed.

"How many times did you sleep with that rancher," he taunted, tossing the jacket aside and starting to undo the waist-coat. Leah inched her way toward the window, refusing to let panic get the better of her. She was helpless beneath him once. She was not about to let it happen again.

"Enough to know the difference between passion and rape."

He stilled as if she slapped him and thundered laughter. "Rape?" he mocked, shrugging out of the waist-coat and pulling the shirt from his pants. "I never raped you. Not yet, anyway."

Her blood crawled, and she found her feet frozen when he stalked her. His fingers were harsh and unforgiving when he gripped her shoulders. She looked him over. There was a snarl on his lips and his teeth held a yellow stain. His skin was flaky and pale beneath his neck, and his beard, which was usually shaved clean, now grew in patches along his jawline.

"I'll kill you before I let you touch me," she whispered thickly. He jerked her forward, smelling of whiskey and gravy and two days of sweat that turned her stomach.

"Try it," he hissed, then kissed her. Leah gagged but stiffened her spine, accepted his wet tongue that swept inside her mouth with a vengeance and allowed the handle of the knife to slip into her palm. He groaned into her mouth. Leah wheezed in a breath the moment she lifted the knife and brought it down upon his shoulder. He bellowed in pain and pushed her away. She stumbled. Her hip made contact with the side of the table but she made a mad dash for the door. He managed to pull the knife out of his back, his grunts of pain and disbelief echoing in the background of her head as she tried to turn the key in the lock. Nerves on edge, the key fell out and clattered to the floor.

She was on her knees in an attempt to retrieve it when he sank his fingers into her hair and yanked her to her feet brutally. The slap she collected sent her reeling, but he hauled her up again. The room spun. Pain darkened her vision for a brief moment. He lifted his hand again and slapped her across the face once more. Blood flooded her mouth. Leah spat and moaned, struggling to push him away when his fingers snaked around her neck and compressed her wind-pipe. She gasped painfully, feeling her feet leave the floor as he dragged her up the thin walls.

"I'll take the fight out of you!" he snarled, slamming her forcefully against the wall so that the back of her head hit with a resounding crack! Leah sank her fingers into his face and tore there, using her nails like claws. He bellowed and cursed to high heaven when her thumbs found his eyes.

She screamed in anger, already half suffocated. The determination came from the rage and pain and frustration of being a victim, and she sank her fingers into his eyes with all her waning strength. He cried out and flung her aside. Her face made contact with the floor. Dazed, she could not stand. In between blessed darkness and consciousness, she heard him swearing and grunting in pain, and doubled over with tears in her eyes when he rammed a polished shoe in her stomach.

"You cut my eye you bitch!" he screamed, kicking her again. Leah did not move. She stayed on the floor with blood dribbling from the corner of her mouth and crippling pain in her stomach. The satisfaction of hearing him lament over the eye she bruised with her broken nails drowned out her misery until eventually, minutes later, she blacked out.

Chapter Fourteen

Sunlight stung her sensitive eyes. Leah kept her head lowered and followed Spencer as he made hasty steps toward the stables where he put up the horses for the night. Although her body ached each time she moved, she kept her teeth in a slow grind and ever so often brushed her gloved fingers across the swelling in her face. The dark veil that covered her entire face acted as much more than protection from the sunlight. Even she knew that it was uncommon for a woman to wear a veil that completely shielded her features, but it was a necessity according to Spencer. He did not want to air their dirty laundry in public.

She snorted and tried to shrug away from his touch. His fingers only sank deeper into her arm. After a moment of standing stiffly, she relaxed, her eyes scanning her surroundings in an attempt to spot something she can conceal within her dress and use as a weapon. He spoke to the stable master and exchanged a laugh or two in polite conversation, and it was then she noted the small carving knife negligently forgotten upon a fence post outside. Gathering her courage, she cleared her throat and tilted her head toward Spencer.

"I need some fresh air."

He scowled and looked around. "We're leaving in a moment. Surely you can wait that long."

"I've been beaten and choked. My husband was killed and you're kidnapping me across two states to marry you. I think you can find it in yourself to allow me some free air."

Her tone startled him, and just as quickly, suspicion took over his features. "Fine. But if you talk to anyone or try to run-"

"I'm too embarrassed to show my face to anyone and I'm too sore to run."

He snorted and released her quickly, confident in his swiftness and strength should she prove difficult, and turned his back, dismissing her as if she was not worth his time.

Leah exhaled a relieved breath and strolled outside, taking her time to feel the warmth of the sunlight seep into her pores. It gave her strength to linger by the fence post and nerve to sneak the knife into her reticule. All the while she kept her back turned to Spencer. She tried her best not to draw attention to herself, and when he called her name, she pretended not to hear.

"Leah!" he called again, this time at the door, his nostrils flared in impatience. "Come along. Our horses are ready."

She obeyed and took her time about mounting while a young boy brushed the horses to a healthy shine. They left the small town behind, Leah riding at a much slower pace than Spencer. With each step she winced and locked her jaw, refusing to allow him to know how badly hurt she was. Ever so often he cast her an impatient glower and snapped for her to hurry up, but there was no way she could push her horse and not feel as if her insides were breaking anew. With each jolt and cry of pain, Leah planned. She would attack him tonight when they rested in the evening. The weapon in her reticule gave her the confidence she needed to believe she could carry this off. She needed to get away, maybe leave him stranded without horses or coin and go into hiding again. After a fortnight she would be able to claim her inheritance legally. She would never have to see him again.

"Come on Leah," he hustled once again, his face twisted in a frown of impatience. When she made no move to hasten her pace, his gloved hands tightened. "Do you want to ride with me? Because that can be arranged."

She swallowed some of her pride and looked away. "I hurt everywhere."

"Well, it's your fault. So stop complaining and let's get a move on. The sooner we get home the sooner your bruises can be treated."

She stared a hateful hole into the back of his head as he turned. With determination, she nudged the horse into a canter and kept her whimpers to a minimum. The pain was a point of focus. She could not think about Bishop without tears moistening her eyes, could not think about her future with Spencer if she did not find the courage to fight him or smarter still, escape. Both left her depressed and hopeless, so instead, she concentrated on each twinge of agony she suffered. For hours they rode, sometimes at a canter, other times when he looked over his shoulder and saw the pale pallor of her face, a walk. But never did they stop. Not until they arrived at a clearing an hour or so after the sunset.

Spencer dismounted quickly and grunted, muttering to himself as he unsaddled his horse and rummaged through the bags that he'd brought. Leah had yet to dismount. Exhaustion weighed upon her, making her back ache and her limbs as heavy as lead. It wasn't until he had a fire going did he stand and frown.

"In case you haven't noticed we're sleeping here tonight. Because of your slow pace, we were unable to make it to the next town."

Leah took in the scene carefully, her groggy brain registering Spencer's bags and blankets scattered around the fire. He carried all the supplies, everything she would need to see her warm and fed.

She carried something a bit more vital than that – her need to survive. There was no way she could take him down with a knife. Her last attempt proved to be a fiasco, and if he put his hands on her in violence again, she might not come out of it alive.

"Why do you want to marry me so much?" The question came out of nowhere. But her body and brain were overloaded. She was just tired.

He must have read sheer exhaustion on her face because shockingly, his stance relaxed and he offered a small smile. "Because I love you."

She laughed softly, a musical sound that was throaty and full of mockery. "Please, let us not do that. Let's not lie. Not now. Not after everything that's happened. You have what you want. I'm headed back to Carolina with you. Can't you tell me the truth now?"

He weighed his options and approached, taking her feet from the stir-ups with firm fingers that made her blood crawl. "Your inheritance. I want your inheritance."

She blinked. "So this was about money all along?"

When he did not respond, she met his eyes. Her body felt hot suddenly, her swollen face pulsed with new pain and her insides, so tired just moments before, was fueled with rage. But she contained it, allowed it to flow through her when he reached up to help her down. She guided the horse away from this form. His eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"What are you doing?"

"So that's what's it been about all this time? Forcing me to get engaged? Hitting me? Shooting Bishop? Just money?"

Disgust reflected in his orbs and he snarled. "Just money? Only the rich will say it like that. Unlike you, I wasn't born with a silver spoon in my mouth. Everything I have I worked for!"

"And possibly killed for," she whispered. There was only condemnation in her tone.

"Yes," he confirmed smoothly. "That too."

"You're a greedy bastard, Spencer."

"Greedy? Do you think this is all for something as mundane as greed?" His laughter was wild and full of self-mockery. "All I ever wanted was to own my own business. I had to get money somehow, so a few well-placed bets seemed like the only way to venture on an opportunity that came along. The only opportunity. I lost everything because I trusted someone I shouldn't have. So I borrowed. Now I have to pay it back."

She blinked and shook her head, her face pinched. "Why didn't you tell me? I would have loaned you the money."

He reached for her and dragged her off the horse, his face burning red in humiliation and anger. "Loaned? I'm done with borrowing Leah. When you become my wife everything you own will belong to me. I'll be able to get those Carter bastards off my back and start fresh. No more owing the world, running for my life like a rat."

She choked on her spit and tried to yank away from his grasp. "The Carters? As in the Carter Cousins?"

He turned away and kicked aside an old tin cup. "Now you understand. They will kill me if I don't return every cent I took."

"How much?" she croaked, her voice thick in disbelief and fear.

"That's none of your goddamn business."

"It is my business. It's my inheritance that will be paying it back." He spun so quickly she did not have time to escape. Instead, she lifted her eyes to meet his squarely. "If you're going to hit me again then do it quickly. Things can't get any worse from here on out."

"No?" he snarled, twirling a lock of her hair around his hand. "What do you think will happen to you if I don't deliver what is owed?"

"Nothing," she breathed, numb now, forcing her panic to abate. "Nothing will happen to me because I don't owe them a dime. You do. And when they come for you, I hope to God they kill you slowly, so I can watch then drain every last breath from your worthless hide."

Leah couldn't help herself, not the words that tumbled from her mouth, and not the heavy she took to her head that covered her in darkness.

***

The grandfather clock in the hall downstairs echoed the dull gong of exactly eleven strokes. Leah had yet to find the peace of sleep. For the hundredth time since her arrival thirty-nine hours ago, she traced the lines of the faded cotton quilt that was at least ten years old with tanned fingers. Spencer locked her in the chamber the moment they crossed the threshold. She was dazed, numb on the inside. Her eyes were swollen from ceaseless crying during their five-day ride, tears that provoked him to violence. Now, she boasted two discoloured swollen eyes, a black and blue jaw and a loose tooth. She nudged it with her tongue and winced slightly. The God awful soreness in her side, however, was from her most recent beating a little over two hours ago. As soon as he had tossed her into the room and locked the door, she was awash with feelings of self-pity, pain and most of all rage. In that rage, she had smashed everything in her room – the mirrors, the jars, the exquisitely expensive perfumes he'd gifted her through-out the years. Spencer no doubt heard the report from one of the help hours later when he finally returned to the house and charged into the room. His face contorted with rage when he surveyed the damage done.

When he reached for her it was with wordless fury. There was no one to lend a helping hand except Marie. She had flung herself at Spencer, tearing at his face with nails. He shoved her away from him so violently that she crashed against the mirror and shattered it. There she lay unmoving, groaning in pain while Leah tried desperately to reach for her, all the while blocking her blows. Leah had rolled herself into the smallest possible ball and protected her stomach and head. Blow after blow took a little more of her self-worth, and the tears she shed burned a path of humiliation down her face. She replayed each blow in her mind, feeding her hatred passed the point of terror. When it was over and Spencer pounded his way through the house cursing so that she was sure the entire street heard him, it was the butler who came through the doors, his eyes haunted. Everything was a blur, from the other housekeeper's help as she hollered in pain when they settled her on the bed and cleaned her wounds to her choked voice when she called for Marie. They half-carried her out. Her eyes held a lost, vacant look even as they coaxed her feet to move. In the recesses of her chest, her broken heart ached anew. Memories of Bishop rose to the forefront, but she stamped them down quickly. Any thought of him would weaken her. She could not allow herself to cry more, to grieve, to fall into the hands of despair the way she yearned to. Despite only having been his wife for a few days, she would never forget the quiet intensity of the man or the fact she carried his name. She was Leah Sheridan, and she had experienced his love and seen his courage. He was fierce, knew he commanded many men, knew he was respected by those who knew him...and she knew although he always treated her like a tender thing, he would have expected her to fight back.

She became alert when footsteps echoed in the hall, and once she was convinced Spencer would not barge into her room, she allowed a moment to rest her heavy, swollen eyes.

And awoke to inky darkness with her large hand clamped firmly over her mouth.

She could see nothing and found her limbs too exhausted and in agony to move. Panic did not rise in her chest though. Instead, she stared into the dark and exhaled heavily through flared nostrils. Her fingers wrapped around the wrist of the visitor and she gently moved the hand away.

"I won't scream," she promised softly, hoarse.

"Good, because I'd hate for anyone to find me here this time of night."

She gasped and made to sit up, then froze. White hot and electric, the pain seized her. Still, as she took her time leaning back, she couldn't help but speak. "Peter...What are you doing here?"

He snorted and gave her fingers a comforting squeeze when she refused to release his hand.

"Rumor has it that Grant's back in town with his fiancé. Wanted to see for myself."

"I'm not here by choice," she whispered. "How's Bishop? Please tell me the bullet didn't hit anything vital."

He paused and considered her in the dark for a long while.

"Peter?"

"Bish was shot?"

She frowned and tried to sit up straighter. "You-you didn't know?"

Pete shook his head and removed his hat, his hair rumpled when he bowed his head. "Jesus. When did this happen?"

Quickly, Leah explained everything. He listened without interrupting for a long time. "But I don't understand. Where were you all this time?"

"Bish sent me out here to find out about Grant."

Tears shone in her eyes. "H-he did?"

"I've been here since. I got wind of a talk that he was back with you in tow and needed to see for myself. Do you know why he brought you back?"

She exhaled and nodded weakly. "He owes some really bad men money."

"Really bad men," he scoffed softly. "That's putting it nicely."

"What did you find out?"

Pete hesitated. "I'd rather not get into the details with you. Some things a lady's not supposed to hear. Bish will box my ears in if I upset you."

Leah smiled, her eyes wide and shining with tears. "Bish isn't here. Besides, I've been through far worse than an inappropriate conversation."

He offered a shy smile and shook his head. "True. But that's not why I came. Do you want to stay here with him? Or do you want to go back home?"

"Home?" she croaked, swallowing hard.

"I can take you back. By the time Grant finds you, time will be up for him. No more guardian, no more marriage. Besides, you're already married to Bishop if what you told me is right. So by law, right now, as my sister-in-law, I have more right over you than he does."

She laughed and reached for his hand, then winced and groaned in pain.

"What's wrong?"

Leah breathed in deeply. "I – I can't move."

He was silent for a moment, then fumbled around the room following her directions until he found an oil lamp that was deposited on the bedside table. He struck the match and turned the flame up. The first look at her face evoked horror in his. She cast her eyes away. She knew what she looked like. There was nothing remotely resembling her pretty pink cheeks or wide eyes. She was a mass of cowardice and ugly bruises.

"Jesus!" he croaked, tilting her head this way and that. "Does anything feel broken?"

She exhaled heavily, tiredly. "I don't know. My sides hurt worst of all. And my pride."

He deposited his hat on the bed and bent over with a professional air. "I have to check for injuries and see if they go deep. Right now, moving is out of the question."

Panic tightened around her eyes. "But Spencer-"

"Don't worry about any of that right now. Just let me figure out why you're hurting."

Gently his fingers probed her body, listening to her protests and cries of discomfort, gauging the seriousness of her injuries with soft apologies. When he pressed her ribcage, she cried out and sank her nails into this forearm.

"You have a few bruised ribs." Leah could not respond. The intensity of the agony was overwhelming. "I can bandage it for you. You can't move until it's healed."

He took his time, offering soft words of comfort as he tightened the linen around her torso. Leah offered a soft chuckle. "Marie will not be pleased that you ripped our best bed sheet to shreds." At the sudden memory, her eyes went wide. "Oh! You must check on Marie. She tried to help me, but Spencer...She might be hurt."

"Of course." He finished, then helped her pull down her nightdress. "Bish will hit the roof when he sees what that bastard did to you."

Worry clouded her vision. "H-how do you know he's not dead?"

Pete shook his head and reached for the neglected hat. "It'll take more than a bullet to keep him away from you. No matter what he has to do."

"You don't understand. I saw him fall...saw all the blood."

Pete considered her tenderly in the dark for a while, his eyes compassionate, knowing. "Have faith Leah," was all he offered when he stood. "Stay in bed for as long as you can. Where do I find your friend?"

She gave him directions and moments later, her bedroom door clicked closed. She stared at the flame in the lamp and sniffed tenderly. She would take in the advice and rest tonight, and tomorrow, she would do the only thing she could to ensure that Spencer never bothered her again.

Chapter Fifteen

It took much persuading to convince Marie that joining her the following morning was not a necessity as she gave in and agreed to cut away the mass of hair on her head. No matter how beautiful, Spencer always snared her by the hair to keep her in place for his beatings. Since it served no purpose than a frivolous one, it needed to go. Now she covered her head with the hood of the coat and gripped her father's cane in her hand tightly, thankful it was still kept locked away in his office that was now tainted with Spencer's belongings. Still, it served its purpose as it offered her the support she needed to walk all of eight blocks. A carriage would have been easier by any stretch, but considerably more painful too, so instead, she took her time and kept her face averted from the curious eyes that attempted to catch a glimpse of her face. A dark laced veil helped, but there was nothing that could be done about her red hair except hope it was not as uncommon as everyone seemed to think. By the time she arrived at the large, wrought iron gates she was sweating and tired, and in much discomfort. Two men sat just inside the pillar of the stone wall engaged in a game of cards. She approached and knocked the cane on the gate loudly. They looked up, surprised it seemed, then curious as they ventured closer.

"I'm here to see the Carter Cousins."

Interest piqued, one of them grinned. "All of them?"

His comrade chuckled.

Leah put her weight on the cane and heaved a breath of impatience. "Alright, how many cousins are there?"

"Three in all."

"I want to see the one in charge then."

"And who shall I say is calling?"

"Grant."

They exchanged a look and pulled open the gate. Leah swallowed her apprehension and followed them up the long drive that led to the house. And what a house it was indeed. Sitting just on the outskirts of town, it boasted a large yard and, now that she no longer just stole a glance at the gardens from outside the walls, hundreds and hundreds of beautiful flowers. Stunned, she paused.

"It's a sight, ain't it?" one of them asked, taking in her awe.

"It is. I didn't think men who ran such an um...lucrative business can love flowers so much."

"It's not theirs. It belongs to Shannon."

Leah didn't bother to inquire anything further. Instead, she focused on breathing and grinding her teeth. They led her up the ten steps – she counted each step as it brought her sharp pains to her sides – and instructed her to wait in the foyer. Both disappeared down the hall.

Leah took that time to speculate, taking in the finely carved staircase and the paintings that hung on the walls. Nothing was out of place. Everything was polished to a high shine and spotlessly clean. And quiet. She looked around, daring to step forward in the direction the young men had taken.

And jumped out of her skin when the echo of a gunshot resounded through the house. Blood suddenly cold, she watched in shock as the door to what could have been the study opened. The young men both reappeared, and between them, they dragged the body of a third man. She stumbled back, her fingers pressed to her throat in panic. One of them met her eyes through the veil and nodded in the direction of the open door.

"Vince will see you now."

She watched them mutely, unable to bring her legs to move as they dragged the dead man through the house and into the back. A sweep of blood was left on the floor. Hesitantly, she paused, considering whether or not to escape, but decided against it. This was the only way to secure her safety. There was nothing else to do.

Taking a deep breath for courage and trembling in her shoes, Leah advanced. Each time the cane knocked on the floor it echoed. It sounded too loud in the mocking silence. At the entrance of the door she paused, bile in her throat at the blood there.

"Don't have second thoughts now poppet. You've made it this far."

The voice was deep, well-modulated and boasted an accent she couldn't identify. Still, in a show of bravery, she stepped over the trail of blood with as much dignity as she could muster and advanced into the room. Sitting behind a large desk strewn with paper and ledgers was a man who made her want to cower in terror. The sight of him was ghastly at best, with one side of his face so grotesquely scarred it appeared his lips were carved in a permanent snarl. The other side boasted some minor scars as well, but she imagined what he would have looked like had whatever happened to his face not happen.

"Are you done?" he snapped.

She jumped and held her breath, gripping the cane with both hands as she held it before her. "Forgive me, I..." She cleared her throat and began again. "I'm here on behalf of Spencer Grant."

"Grant sent you did he? Let me guess, to pay off his debt on your back."

Humiliation burned her face and she shook her head quickly. "Of course not. He doesn't even know I'm here."

His face grew violent now, and when he stood, Leah took a step back. He was a head or two taller than even Bishop, with wide shoulders and a frame that shouted pure male.

"Please..."

"Stop it with the begging. You've been standing there for less than thirty seconds and you've apologized twice already." He was more annoyed than angry. "If Grant didn't send you with my money why the hell are you here?"

Her eyes fell to the gun resting negligently on the table at his wrist and she swallowed hard. "To – to repay his debt."

He took in her attire from her hood to her veil, expensive dress and boots and finally, his eyes rested on her cane. "Sorry poppet. But my appetites run deep. I don't want to add to your injury."

She shook her head and blushed when she realized exactly what he meant. "Not like that. I – my inheritance. I'm here to give it to you. To pay off his debt."

Stunned, he studied her, and when he moved it was to slowly circle the desk. He sat there with one knee bent and his arms on his thigh, contemplating her so hard she squirmed.

"Do you love the bastard so much then?" he quizzed, his tone full of mockery and disbelief.

"Love?" she croaked, cleared her throat, and offered a weak smile half concealed by the veil. "Love did not bring me here this morning."

"What then?"

She hesitated. Still, she knew there would be no easy way. Slowly, carefully, she lifted the veil and met his stare squarely. Something flashed in his eyes when he looked her over. Emotions crossed his face so quickly she did not have time to analyze any single one. And just like that, his expression was closed again as he considered her, this time, with a hint of amusement.

"So you repay what he owes, I leave him alone and he leaves you alone. Is that how it goes?"

"Yes." Her voice quivered.

"No."

Stunned, her jaw dropped. "What? I – I don't understand."

"Humor me. I take what is owed to me and Spencer gets away without any consequence to pay. What happens then? Do you think the scars will disappear and you'll forget what he did? Do you think he'll let you go?"

Tears stung her eyes. "I don't know. I just want this over with. If paying you back means he'll forget about this entire wedding, then so be it."

"Oh," he mused. "Now things are getting interesting. So he's marrying you for the inheritance. And you want nothing to do with him."

"Hence, the bruises," she whispered thickly. "So please, in less than a week I'll be twenty-one. When I come into my inheritance, it's yours."

"Don't you want to know how much he owes before you give away your financial security?"

"I don't care."

He laughed bitterly. "Spoken like someone who never earned a penny she has. If you knew the worth of a coin you wouldn't be so quick to give up."

"Give up?" she snapped, at an end at her patience now, allowing her growing temper to get ahead of her. "Is that what you think? Look at me. I endured this for years and when I finally ran, he followed me. He shot my husband. Kidnapped me. I have two bruised ribs and there isn't a place on my body that isn't discoloured." She flung the hood from her head and ran her shaking fingers through her cropped locks. "I cut my hair so he would never again..." She hiccupped. When she dashed tears from her eyes, she met his again, this time, with fierce determination. "Is it true that you occasionally hire out your men?"

Intrigued, he cocked his head. "Yes."

"Then if you will not accept my inheritance, what is your price to see that Spencer never bothers me again?"

A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "You're a bloodthirsty lass for all your naiveté."

"I want justice done. For myself and my husband. You get your money, and I get him gone. We both win."

He nodded slowly. "Come here."

Leah swallowed hard and stiffened her spine when he cocked a challenging brow. She paused less than a foot away. He reached behind him and presented the pistol. Leah considered it heavy in his hand.

"Do you know how to use this?"

She shook her head.

"I figured not. You were stupid to come here. If I were a different kind of man..." He snorted, took the cane from her hand to prop it against the desk and folded her shaking fingers around the handle tightly. "You cock the hammer and aim here," he pointed the gun to his forehead, "or here," then pressed it to his heart, "and you pull the trigger. When he falls, do it again until you've got no more bullets left."

Leah tried to breathe and found herself struggling. The idea of having him killed seemed like a brilliant one at the time. Now, with the gun in her hand, she wasn't so sure. Especially since he expected her to do it.

"His debt has nothing to do with you, but whether or not you continue to let him bash your face in is totally up to you." He stood then, returned the cane and turned his back abruptly. "Close the door on your way out."

Leah slipped the gun in the folds of her dress and turned away to adjust her hood and veil before she made it to the door. There, she paused, considered the blood on the floor and cleared her throat. "Will it be...messy?"

"Killing is always messy."

She sank her teeth in her lip to keep from crying out and managed a confident walk out of the office long enough to close the door. There, her knees almost gave out from under her. Tears she could no longer hold back leaked down her face.

"Oh, are you alright?"

Leah wiped them away quickly, embarrassed so should be found so, but not before the lady in question touched her arm in concern and got a good look at her face. She gasped, horrified, and looked upon her with compassion. "Oh, you poor dear. No wonder you're crying. Come along then. I'll pour you a drink."

She couldn't speak, couldn't believe she now possessed a gun given to her by the Carter Cousin himself, couldn't believe she could pull the trigger. She followed the woman blindly and allowed herself to be seated in the back porch where the wind was cool and the butler was ordered to return with two glasses and a bottle of sweet red wine.

"I'm Shannon Carter, by the way," the woman offered when the silence stretched to what seemed like forever.

"Leah," she offered, cleared her throat and tried again. "Leah...Sheridan."

Shannon studied her intently for a moment. The butler returned with the wine, poured them two glasses then left.

"I hope you don't mind me asking, but did my brother make you cry so?"

Leah frowned and turned to her then, seeing her for the first time since she sat. "Brother?"

"Yes. The only one I have," she joked.

Leah nodded. She could see the resemblance now. Shannon was stunning in her beauty, with a cynical twist to her lips that could smile as easily as a snarl. But her eyes, an odd shade of blue and brown, were kind.

"He...he's difficult to understand," she confessed after a moment. Shannon laughed.

"That's the understatement of the year. But I'm happy someone else shares my opinion of him."

They fell into silence again. Leah finished her wine and attacked the bottle again.

"So you're Leah Sheridan?" Shannon mused. "Any relation to Pete Sheridan?"

Surprised, she looked up. "You know Peter?"

"We've been acquainted. So, are you his wife?"

Leah shook her head, the gun heavy in her pocket. "His sister-in-law."

Shannon considered her again. "Do you want to talk about what's bothering you?"

Leah laughed so hard tears fell from her eyes until all she could do was weep. Shannon held her hands and squeezed ever so often, not asking any questions but offering her support all the same. Finally, when there were no more tears to cry, Leah poured her heart out and told her everything. She did not seem surprised or even shocked but listened as if she heard such matters each day. When Leah could speak no more, Shannon smiled.

"I wouldn't hesitate to kill him you know," she said softly. "You've endured many beatings, Leah. You need to protect yourself. What if you're pregnant?"

Leah sucked in a sharp breath and jerked back as if slapped, her eyes wide in disbelief. "I – I can't be. It was only one time..."

"Listen to me. Once is all it takes sometimes. I know these are personal matters but think about it. What kind of life would your baby have if he continues to hurt you? Who's to say he won't hurt-"

"No," she shook her head, fire in her blood at the idea of being swollen with Bishop's baby. "I'll never let anything happen to the child. Besides, I can't know for sure yet."

Shannon nodded understanding. "Alright. I'm just showing you from another perspective is all. If you won't keep yourself safe, how are you going to protect a baby?"

Leah forced herself to stand, her brain working overtime. "I-I have to go."

Shannon stood, her face drawn in concern. "If you ever need somewhere to go, you'll be safe here."

"T-thank you for-for everything."

She made it through the house unseeing and down the drive, the pulse in her leg and the prick of agony in her chest now forgotten. Why hadn't she thought of that before? Was she so immature, so very naive that she did not understand that, even now, she could be carrying a child?

She made it to the gate. There, dismounting from his horse, was Pete. He took one look at her and offered his arm. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to pay off Spencer's debt."

Surprised, he paused. "And?"

"And the bastard said no."

Pete coughed into his hand. "I see."

"He gave me a gun and said I should shoot him."

"Er...I don't think Bishop will-"

"Bishop might be dead. I have to keep myself safe until I know for sure."

In understanding, he nodded. "Of course."

"It's only until my birthday," she whispered, accepting his help as he helped her get on the horse. "Then this will be over."

"I can get you out of here."

"I'm not running any longer."

He noted the fierce determination in her eyes and smiled his silent approval.

Her eyes narrowed in on him quickly. "What are you doing here?"

Pete kept his tongue in his cheek and shrugged. "Just passing by."

Leah knew he lied, especially when he considered the house with a look of longing on his face.

Chapter Sixteen

The city was busy, full of smoke, noise and ceaseless chatter. A living, breathing thing that pulsed with energy and life. Bishop rode into town with one thing on his mind – getting his wife back. He'd spent days travelling, resting only at night and despising the fact as it took away the time he considered vital, despising the wound in his chest that pulsed and bled and, had he not been changing the bandages regularly, probably would have caught an infection by now. His eyes, cold, hard and sharp took in the faces that looked at him as something of a curiosity. Each man was dressed in stylish clothing, with jackets and waistcoats and bow ties, and each woman walked in the streets as if about to attend a fancy dance, so unnecessary the fuss and fluff. They whispered behind opened fans and paused to speculate about who he could be, with his wide-brimmed hat pulled low over his eyes and his dusty jacket, soiled and old and worn. The shotgun strapped to the side of his horse got the attention of many too, but Bishop did not care. It was necessary for his visit. The one concealed beneath the blanket behind him on the saddle was insurance, as was the pair of colts on his hips.

He came with insurance because as far as he got from Pete, this town was run by one of the most bloodthirsty men in the state. His pockets were deep, his contacts went way high up the political ring, and he was no man's fool. Grant owed him more money than Bishop had ever seen in his life, and he wanted what was owed to him, in cash or blood.

Bishop didn't want Grant to die – he needed him dead. He had his honour to protect, and the honour of his wife. Those hours bleeding in that field, hoping and praying as the moon shone on his face that she was fine, that Grant kept his hands off of her, that her spirit was not broken in despair. Christ, he was such an idiot! Getting shot drove the nail home – he loved her more than anything. And as her husband, he failed her. He should have listened to Jake when the stables were burned, should have ridden out and taken justice the western way. Instead, Jake couldn't move so critical were his wounds, he was left for dead, Pete could end up hurt if he was not careful enough and Leah...

He clenched his jaw and reigned in, his blood so hot in his veins he felt feverish.

The small house that Pete rented for an exorbitant amount of money was situated a few streets away, and by the time Bishop arrived, it seemed his brother already had company. By the hostility among the men, he guessed it was an unwelcomed company.

Three men stood in the yard, none of them armed as far as Bishop could tell. They spoke quickly, one of them shaking a fist and cursing, and all the while, Pete simply nodded, his hat between his fingers idly.

Bishop was off the horse in a flash and took his shotgun with him, toting it on his shoulder in a façade of negligence.

"Howdy folks," he purred, his voice rusty from thirst.

Pete bit back a smile and cleared his throat before making introductions. "Gentlemen, this is Bishop my brother. Bish, these are the Carters."

Bishop shifted his weight and considered each face blandly. Handsome men with the pale pallor of city folk, but he did not let his guard slip, not when their eyes were coated with experience in bringing the pain. The leader of the group stepped up to him boldly, not at all put out by the sight of the guns.

"You need to tell your brother here to stay away from my cousin," he spat viciously. "I warned him once. I'm doing it again. There won't be a third time."

"I'm sure whatever Pete's been doing there's no harm to it."

"I'll cut you down," he continued to threaten, pointing Pete between the eyes. "Don't come around the house again. Vince might find it funny the way you make puppy eyes at her, but a lot of us don't. You understand me Country?"

"You need to step away from my brother son," Bishop drawled, his face a mask of impatience.

"Your brother needs to remember his place, and it's not with Shannon."

With that, he turned away, motioned to his men, and left. Bishop considered the trio as they disappeared in the crowd before meeting Pete's eyes in a query.

"You get in a fight over a woman? You never even spent the night at the brothel back home."

Pete blushed and put his hat back on casually. "They were just blowing off steam."

"Should I be worried about this?"

"C'mon Bish. I'm a grown man. I can fight my own battles. Speaking of which, I spoke to Leah this morning."

Bishop swallowed the thick saliva that settled beneath his tongue. "How is she?"

Pete guided him inside and closed the door before helping him out of his jacket. Bishop winced when he moved his shoulder. His shirt was soaked through with blood where the wound had re-opened – again.

"She thinks you're dead." He went about the business of retrieving his bag of medication. "Sit down."

Bishop obeyed, accepted the bottle of whiskey handed to him as an after-thought and took a liberal swig. "Hope you told her otherwise."

"I tried. Open your shirt let me see that." Bishop did as requested and winced. Pete scowled at the damage done. "Who stitched it up?"

"I did."

"The bullet?"

Bishop shrugged. "Got it out."

"You sew like shit."

He snorted, took another drink and closed his eyes. "Grant?"

Pete said nothing as he worked, and finally, when the wound was clean, properly stitched and bandaged, he washed his hands in clean water and sighed heavily. "Haven't seen him since he came back, but since Leah went to Vince and told him everything, he's not too keen on picking Grant up until after the wedding."

Bishop frowned in confusion. "She's already married."

"Everyone thinks she's a widow, remember?"

"Who's this Vince?"

"Head of the Carters. A nasty piece of work, or so everyone says."

"And Leah went to him?"

Pete smiled. "Yeah."

Bishop cursed softly. "Is she alright?"

"She's...different. But in a good way. She and Vince's sister are friends now. They had breakfast for the last couple of days at the café across the street. I see them from the window at nine."

"Why is she sticking around? If she can leave the house why's she staying with that asshole?"

Pete leaned back and rubbed his hands together before adjusting the spectacles on his face. "She's done running Bish."

He ground his teeth painfully. "Good for her. But she can't fight Grant. He had his boys do a number on Jake. He's busted up pretty bad. Left Millie looking after him."

Pete's face turned pained for a moment before he looked away, then decided upon sharing something he might have thought better about. "I think she's going to kill him."

Stunned, he paused. "The hell you say?"

"Yeah. Vince gave her his gun, could you believe? Told her to shoot the bastard if he put his hands on her again. She plans to do it. So she's staying."

His temper did a slow burn for a long time. "That son of a bitch," he snarled, eyes alight with living flame. "She can't even hold a gun, let alone shoot one. What the hell is wrong with him? What kind of man puts a weapon in the hands of a woman?"

"A smart one."

Bishop met his eyes and stood instantly, his face flushed in fury. "I'd be real careful what I say to me right now if I were you boy."

Pete held out his hands in surrender and stood too, his eyes full of understanding. "Look, I get it. You didn't want her killing anyone, you didn't want her around guns. But she was helpless when she ran from him the first time and she was helpless when he shot you and brought her back. She can't win him with her fists, and she's not about to blind him by sleeping with him."

Bishop turned away at the mere thought of her with someone else. Pete continued softly, now the voice of reason.

"Vince refused to kill Grant because at the end of the day he wants his money, but he gave her a chance to defend herself."

"She could get killed!" he roared, his ear-bells ringing. "Did you think about that or were you stupid enough to encourage this nonsense?"

"She's family. I want her safe too. But this is a battle she has to fight."

"She's my wife. And it'll be a cold day in hell before I let her have to be forced to make that decision."

Pete sighed heavily and watched as he reached for his gun. "Where are you going?"

"To get Leah." He snapped. "It's time to put an end to all this bullshit."

Pete grabbed his jacket and hat and quickly followed him out the door.

***

Bishop wasn't exactly sure what to expect when he finally got to the house, but such a grand residence was not it. The walls were made of brick and stone. Flowers lined the path that led to the door and a nice wrought iron fence wound its way from the gates to the side and back of the yard. He dismounted and tipped his head back, watching the moulded windows to the front and the fine lace curtains that danced to and fro in the wind. Pete walked ahead of him and knocked on the front door. He followed at a slower pace, his heart constricting in his chest and locking off the airflow to his brain. Day after endless day on the trail, and finally he would see her, hold her, make sure she was safe.

And he would take her away from here. Home if need be, where there were no men to give her guns and no Grant to beat on her.

A maid opened the door and showed them in. They stood in the foyer in silence. Bishop looked around. Everything in the house was fine. Expensive. Compared to the homestead, it was a manor.

"Peter?"

He turned around slowly, the gun suddenly heavy in his hand. She met his eyes and her face paled, so much so that he thought she might drop in a dead faint. Instead, tears filled her eyes, so incredibly green, they sparkled like gems.

"Bishop?"

He tipped his hat, his stomach doing cartwheels. "Howdy Lee."

Her feet flew across the distance and she charged into him like a cannonball, crying out with such glee he felt ten feet tall. He embraced her, ignoring the pain in his chest that hurt like hell-fire, and held onto her for a long time. Tears soaked through his clothes, but he did not care. She was warm and smelled like lavender and she was his.

"I thought you were dead," she hiccupped, so overcome with happiness she refused to release him even when he tried to disengage. He rubbed her back in long, soothing strokes and whispered words of reassurance and love in her ear. He nuzzled the sweet spot in her neck and kissed her lips long and easy. Pete coughed and muttered a fast excuse before going to the other side of the room to inspect a painting on the wall.

"Your wound?" she asked, finally stepping away to run her fingers along his chest. He winced and shook his head.

"It's fine." His ran his fingers through her short-cropped hair and looked momentarily anguished. "What happened to your beautiful locks?"

She looked away, touching her head self-consciously. "I – I know it's not conventional, but I didn't want Spencer snatching me by my curls anymore. It's easier to run if he has nothing to hold onto."

Bishop's heart broke. He tipped her chin back and scanned her over, noted every bruise on her face and how beautiful she still looked.

"Unconventional looks good on you." He kissed her again. "Come on. I'm taking you home."

"What? What are you talking about?"

"I'm taking you home."

She blinked several times and nibbled her lip in that tantalizing manner that had him thinking about kissing her again. "Bishop...I-I can't go back."

Stunned, he shook his head. "Of course you can. You're not safe here with Grant. He kidnapped you, Lee. You have to come with me."

She released his hand and turned away. Bishop felt his entire world tip, off-balancing him so that he could not fully understand why she refused to leave. He followed her into the living room and stood just inside the doorway, his eyes reflecting confusion and no doubt hurt. But what he felt was anger. She must have read it there in the way he held his shoulders and ground his teeth because she couldn't fully meet his eyes when she finally stopped wringing her hands together long enough to sit.

"I know what I have to do to end all of this," she began shakily.

His eyes went half-mast. "Killing Grant changes nothing."

"How do you know-"

"Pete told me about your heart to heart with Vince what's his face. That bastard had no right."

Her breaths were coming quickly now as she considered him, and Bishop could see a war of emotions on her face. Although her features were pinched, he prayed she did not cry. He could never be the one to make her cry. Her anger won out.

"He did nothing wrong. I deserve a chance to protect myself."

"By killing him? By getting yourself injured? A gun is not a toy Leah."

"And my safety is not a game."

He strode forward, crouched to the balls of his feet so that he could meet her eye to eye.

"Look, I understand."

"If you understood you would know why I need to do this."

"I know why I need to do this. You're my wife. I failed you. I'm sorry. You don't know how many times I died thinking about if you were okay. But I promise you here and now that I won't let anything ever happen to you again."

"None of this is your fault," she whispered, stroking his face tenderly. "I've been at his mercy or years. I don't want that anymore."

"Neither do I. So we need to be logical. Come home. I'll deal with Grant, I swear it."

Hot tears leaked from her eyes. "I'm sorry Bishop...but I can't."

His jaw ticked once, twice, and when he finally stood, he reached into his pocket and presented her a stained piece of paper. Leah unfolded it slowly and pressed her lips in a firm line. It was their wedding certificate. There were dirty lines and creases in it as if he'd read it many times. There were even a few faded bloody fingerprints. Leah swallowed hard.

"This started as just a ploy to buy time," he choked hoarsely. "But it became something more for me. I love you. And if you expect me to walk out of here knowing you're willingly putting yourself in danger in the hope of killing a man who won't think twice about hurting you, think again. Pack your bags. You're coming with me."

Furious, she crumpled the paper, her entire form shaking as she stood. "You swore to me that if I married you, you'll let me go when this is over."

"And this is me keeping my word. It isn't over. Not until Grant is dealt with. Not until I make sure he can never hurt you again."

"I can do this," she whispered pleadingly. "My birthday is three days away. Once I inherit my estates he can't force me to marry him. I'll be free of him."

"No."

"Bishop –"

"Don't make me repeat myself, Lee."

She flinched back as if struck and shook her head, her fingers gripping her skirts until they were stark white. "You're no different from him."

That hurt. He reached for her, brushed escaped strands of hair from her face and flicked away the tears that bathed her cheeks. "You'll only receive pleasure at my touch, Leah. One day I hope you can forgive me. But I'll take your safety over your forgiveness anytime. You have an hour to get your things. Pack light. If you're not ready we leave with the clothes on your back."

He watched her do a mental battle, decided against opposing his word again and turned away. She darted passed Pete who stood silently in the doorway, a sad look in his eyes.

"I need her safe," he croaked, not trusting himself to say more.

"She knows."

"Have I turned into Grant?" he asked thickly, facing the window unseeingly.

Pete shook his head, hands in his pockets. "No. You're doing what any husband would do."

"Then why do I feel like such a bastard?"

"She's a woman. She'll always make you feel that way."

He sighed and raked his fingers through his hair, groaning at the pain in his chest. A knock sounded at the front door. The same maid who had granted them entry arrived moments later and ushered in the man who had an hour or so ago threatened Pete in front of his apartments. The newcomer paused upon setting eyes on Pete, but Pete paid him no attention. He was too busy looking at the woman standing in the foyer. Bishop took her in with one sweeping glance, from the thick coils of her black hair to the long-lashed striking eyes that were slightly tilted up at the corners. She was beautiful in her way if her mouth were a bit softer around the edges, but something in her expression became tender when she saw Pete. Bishop cocked a brow and sent his brother a knowing look. The man shrugged, concealing his blush well.

"Is this why you wanted to come here? You knew he was going to be here?" her companion shot, although his eyes never left Pete.

"Oh shut up Tony. I came to see Leah. Pete's her brother-in-law. Of course, he'll be here."

Pete tipped his hat in greeting and gestured to Bishop politely. "Hello, Miss Carter. I'd like you to meet my brother, Bishop. Bish, this is Vince's sister."

Bishop tipped an imaginary hat and nodded his acknowledgement. "Ma'am."

"So you're Leah's husband," she mused softly.

Bishop nodded. "I am."

"Does she know you're here yet?"

"Yes ma'am, she does."

Shannon smiled. Bishop blinked. It transformed her face instantly. He could see why Pete was smitten. "Pete must have learnt his manners from you. I swear he has never once called me by my name although I've begged him to."

Tony snorted, received a glower form her and sighed impatiently before taking a seat. "You came to see Leah. Do that and let's get out of here. You know Vince doesn't know we left the house."

She straightened her spine, her smile disappearing. "Vince is not the boss of me."

"Yeah well, he's the boss of me. And the last thing I want is him getting all upset for shit, so see Leah then let's go. Hustle up."

She requested the maid escort her upstairs and cast one tentative glance toward Pete before quitting the room.

"So Country, your brother came to take you home?" Tony provoked, pouring a stiff drink.

Bishop ignored him and listened absently to Pete's response. Upstairs a door opened, and female voices echoed in muffled excitement before nothing more was heard. He just hoped Leah packed faster now that she had company.

Chapter Seventeen

Spencer kept to the shadows of the room choked with second-hand tobacco smoke. He couldn't hear his thoughts with the amount of boisterous laughter and cursing that echoed in the din, but each night he crawled out of the small room he took to renting on the opposite side of town and sat at the back of the gentleman's club nursing a strong drink. Here he heard everything from the gossiping mouths of the Carters gunmen when they came in for women. Like the fact that Leah found the courage to visit Vince herself, no doubt to cry on his shoulder and hope he'd be moved by the tears of a woman.

He scoffed and took a sip of the strong rum, his eyes stinging. Then there was the news that a cowboy was seen visiting the Carter house several times that very week with an interest in Vince's sister. At first, he thought it must be Bishop, but he quickly changed his mind on that possibility. There was no way he could have survived. If the bullet wound hadn't killed him, bleeding out would have. And Bishop was dead. He was certain of it. Still, he took no chances, so some discreet inquires later he discovered that it wasn't Bishop, but his brother.

Spencer sniffed his disgust. Another brother then, because he told his boys to make damn sure the one they beat couldn't move for a nice long time. And this Peter fellow, a doctor by what everyone said, not only visited the Carter girl but was also seen escorting Leah around town a few times as well.

He drained his glass and ordered another drink, his brain working overtime. He knew Leah wouldn't run when he left her secured at the house simply because she was too bruised and scared to do so. Besides, no good ever came of her visit to Vince. The man was cold. He wanted his money back, and if that meant staying out of Spencer's personal life to ensure he secured the funds, then so be it. It was all business, after all.

Leah's birthday was in three days. Each hour drew him closer to the point of panic, but he could not go through with the wedding ceremony like this. Vince would invite himself. No doubt the entire Carter gang would be there in the pews. He needed to do this sooner.

He touched his pocket to reassure himself the special license was still there. It took him two days to secure it and a considerable amount to make sure the marriage was registered when the deed was done. It would happen tonight in the small parish church outside town. Tonight because Spencer didn't want any unwanted visitors or delays. He'd marry Leah and on her birthday, sign over every cent he owed to Vince. Then he'd have time to plan the wedding of the decade. Whatever was left he would invest in shipping and trade, and in a couple of years when he was filthy rich and respected among the wealthy, Leah would never doubt him or look at him like garbage again. She'd finally give him the respect he deserved. Willingly.

He took another generous drink and paid his tab before making his way through the back exit. For a moment he simply inhaled the evening air. He felt good about his plan. There could be no failure now.

He took his time crossing town, keeping his eyes sharp for any of the Carters, and when he arrived at the house, he paused. Tied to the fence outside were two horses. One of them he knew all too well. He darted into the yard and sent a curse heavenward. Couldn't that man simply die? And now he was here of all places. Fury made him want to charge in and finish the job. He should have emptied his gun in the bastard while he was lying on his back in the dirt.

Adrenaline pumping, Spencer headed toward the back door. As soon as he entered the kitchen, the cook's eyes opened wide in surprise and fear.

"Mr. Grant!"

He shushed her instantly. "There are two men here. Where are they?"

She hesitated. "In the living room, I think."

He pushed the door open and glanced into the hall quickly. "And Leah?"

"Upstairs."

"Good. Take them a bottle of whiskey. Don't mention me. Just keep them occupied."

"But-"

He snatched her arm and jerked her forward, his fingers sinking into her flesh. Her eyes stung instantly. "Do you understand me?"

"Yes."

He released her and slipped out of the kitchen. The servant's passage was a narrow staircase to the back of the kitchen area, one he utilized now. He made it to her room in half the time and slipped in quietly. Leah was there, dressed in her riding boots, sniffling and shoving garments haphazardly into a bag. He clamped his hand over her mouth and held her back to his chest brutally. She did not struggle as he expected. Instead, she simply sucked in air through her nostrils. He heard her wheeze.

"Don't scream," he instructed in her ear. She nodded. Spencer wasn't foolish enough to trust her. Instead, he spun her around to face him. The marks on her face were stark against her pale skin but the swelling was no longer visible. It was her hair though, that made him come up short. Gone were the long curls. Instead, she looked like an ill-kept stable boy, albeit a rather beautiful one. Her eyes were wide in fear, but there was something else too. Before he could put a word to it, she looked over his shoulder and opened her mouth. Spencer spun around just as Shannon strolled in, a dress draped in her arm.

"What the hell is this?" he snarled, tightening his hold on her arm. "Why are you in my house?"

Shannon, evil bitch that she was, assessed the situation quietly and smiled. "The way I understand it, this is Leah's house."

Spencer saw red, but still, he needed to think. No matter how much he would love to simply put a bullet between her eyes, he couldn't kill Vince's sister. Not unless he wanted to attend his funeral instead of a wedding. Snarling, he gripped Leah behind her slender neck and motioned Shannon forward.

"Get on the bed."

She did not move. "Vince will not like that."

"I don't care what that bastard likes! Get on the goddamn bed and stay there!"

"And who's going to make me? You?"

Quite fed up, he reached into the back of his trousers and pulled out a gun. With the weapon pointed at her, Shannon shrugged. "That changes things."

"On the bed."

She moved slowly, giving him a wide berth as he jerked Leah against him hard.

"I'm not going to hurt you, but you need to stay up here until we leave."

"Where are you taking her?"

Spencer's eyes flashed bitterly. "To ensure your dear brother gets his money back."

"Oh?"

"Just shut up Shannon."

"He will kill you, you know."

Spencer laughed low in his throat, dry and humourless. "Not if I give him back all I owe."

"I'm not talking about Vince. I'm talking about Bishop."

The smile fled from his face, leaving on his cold-blooded stare. "You're lucky you're related to that asshole."

"If that's my insurance, then you won't mind it if I do this." She screamed.

Spencer roared in rage and flung Leah on the bed as he leapt across the room to slap Shannon across the face. Shannon fell back, toppling bottles of perfumes and a chair as she connected with the floor.

"You bitch!"

She looked up at him from her place there, her eyes wide and red-rimmed, not in fear and panic, but pure rage. "I shall see you in hell!"

Already shouts were heard from downstairs, heavy booted feet thundering up the staircase calling out to both women in panic and concern. Spencer locked the door and looked around, his eyes falling on the window. There, he opened it quickly.

"Leah!"

She did not respond. In a frenzy, he spun around. And froze in shock.

Leah stood before Shannon, a gun held clumsily in her hands. Slowly, she lifted it to his person. She trembled, shook like a flame fighting the wind. Spencer gripped his weapon. The steel was warm in his hand.

"What are you doing?" he snapped. "Put down the gun and get over here!"

"Shannon!" Someone in the hall pounded on the door. Spencer swore to hell and back.

"Is that Tony?" he demanded. When Shannon made no effort to respond, he raised his gun. Leah cried out and pulled the trigger. Spencer knew he was shot from the minute heat blossomed in his arm.

"Shit!" he snarled, watching in disbelief as blood seeped into the sleeve of his shirt like a sponge collecting water. He looked at her in rage. "You shot me!"

"Leah!" Bishop's voice echoed in rage. Bam! Something large and powerful made a connection with the door from the outside. Bam! "Open this door Grant! Open the door!"

Shannon stumbled to her feet as soon as Spencer moved. All the while Leah fought tears as she struggled to hold her hands steady enough to cock the hammer back again. He was on them both before either one could accomplish movement. The gun was knocked out of Leah's hand the same time he connected his palm to her face. She fell the same instant Shannon tackled him, all fists and nails.

"Don't touch her you beast!" she screamed.

"Shoot the god damn lock!" Tony snarled in the hall.

Spencer flung her aside and snatched Leah just as another gunshot rang out, this time so deafening he winced. Splinters of wood scattered everywhere the same time another solid kick was delivered to the now decimated door. In the hall, three very angry men stood. Spencer pressed the gun to Leah's head snugly, his eyes wild, breaths coming so hard he thought his heart would explode.

Pete stood with his back pressed against the wall. He scanned the room, noted Shannon's position behind Spencer's back, and turned to Bishop. Whatever he said was met with nothing but an almost unperceivable nod, and just like that, he was gone.

Tony entered the room first without obvious care for his safety. "What the hell is the matter with you? Are you out of your bloody mind!?"

Spencer backed away, Leah's body held like a shield before him, her soft whimpers grating on his last nerve. He ignored Tony who was now on his right, fussing over Shannon.

"Did he hit you? He put his hands on you?" he was saying. She responded, what he did not know, for he only had eyes for Bishop. Bishop, who stood there blocking the only exit, a shotgun held so steadily. Aimed at his head. The man did not move, did not seem to breathe. He simply...waited. Spencer felt cold fingers walk along his spine.

"Are you going to risk shooting her cowboy?" he taunted, sweat trickling down his forehead. "Step away from the door."

"I don't think so."

"Then I shoot her!"

"Do that and you're dead."

"If I don't get the money for Vince I'm dead anyway!"

"Oh man, you're as good as dead whether or not you pay him back now." This from the ever-helpful Tony.

Spencer's hold on the gun tightened. "Shut up! Shut up! I'm done with all this bullshit! Now Sheridan, get away from the door or so help me I shoot her."

Bishop made no move. He couldn't. Not when he couldn't get a clear shot at Spencer. Not when all he could see was the gun pressed so harshly against the side of her head he was afraid to even breathe. From the corner of his eyes, Tony helped a shaking Shannon to her feet and headed toward him. He advanced a single step, making just enough room for the couple to slip by.

Spencer's breaths were harsh and uneven, and he looked like a man about to make a very desperate choice. Bishop relaxed his grip on the gun and straightened, ignoring the pain in his chest and the common sense that screamed if he lowered his weapon chances are he'd end up being shot again, and at this distance, maybe even killed.

"We could all walk out of this Grant," he began softly, using the tender voice he employed on his antsy horses. "All I want is my wife back."

Spencer gripped her even harder. Bishop ignored the arm that was locked across her chest. Her fair breasts were pressed so harshly against the front of her dress they near spilt out the top.

"She was never meant to be your anything!" he railed. "I took care of her! Practically raised her! All I need is a chance to make things right with Vince and start over."

"Then do that. Just let her go. I'm sure she'll sign over whatever you need if that's what you wanted."

He paused as if the notion never once crossed his mind. Bishop kept talking, his aim still focused although his shoulder and chest felt strained. He could feel his wound reopen. Pete would no doubt start to talk shit to him – again.

"Won't you sign over whatever he wanted Lee?"

She kept her mouth shut. Bishop sent her a pleading look, but still, she said nothing. Spencer shook her like a rag doll. "Answer him! Would you sign it over? Even after all this?" he demanded of her.

"I'd rather shoot you and see you dead!" she cried.

Bishop cut her a hard look and stole another step inside. Spencer laughed like a maniac in her head, and it was then Bishop realized he might very well be going insane.

"Stop right there!" he demanded, circling toward the door Bishop just cleared, refusing to show his vulnerable back or side. "We're leaving. You try to stop me and I'll give you her body."

Bishop followed with every step back he took, gun still aimed, neither man willing to give up. Leah was dragged down the stairs. Tony was still there holding a cold cloth to Shannon's abused face. And at the door, just across the hall, more men came thundering into the house. Members of the Carter gang, six in all, crowded the foyer. Each man was armed, each gun aimed at Bishop and Spencer.

"Where the hell is Vince?" Tony demanded, pulling Shannon to her feet and ensuring her to the safety of one of their own.

"I'm here."

Spencer swallowed hard. Vince paused in the doorway and took in everything with careful consideration before averting his attention to his sister. She met his gaze boldly. He touched her cut lip and swollen cheek with cold fingertips.

"Are you okay?"

She nodded but took a concerned look over her shoulder. He gestured for one of the men to take her home. As soon as they left the house, he strolled forward. Bishop had yet to look in his direction.

"So Pete said you're the husband," he drawled, interest piqued. "And you," he turned to Spencer, hands in his pockets. "You raised your hand to my sister?"

"She wouldn't shut her mouth!" Spencer spat. "Just like you. Always going on and on. Did you want your money? I'll get it. Just stay the hell out of this!"

As he spoke, Spencer moved more to the left. Bishop noted the open shot and took several deep breaths before lowering the shotgun. On his hip, a pistol sat heavily, and it was within a fraction of a second did it clear the holster and the deafening echo of the bullet leaving the chamber reported throughout the house.

Spencer pitched back and hollered in agony. Leah was on the floor at his feet, hands over her ears and a scream tearing from her throat. In those seconds Bishop did not think. He rushed forward, thoughts about her safety on his mind so that he did not see when Spencer straightened and took aim.

Another shot sang out. This time the bullet caught Spencer in his forearm. The gun clattered upon the floor and skidded across the room. Bishop swung his fist in a high arc and drove all the strength he possessed behind it, catching the man in the jaw. He went crashing back across the foyer table and onto the floor. At his feet, Leah wept. Still, he moved forward and jerked Spencer up by his shirt collar, only to drive him back into the floor with the strength fueled by rage. Spencer's struggles were weak as Bishop pinned him to the floor with a knee and drove fist after fist into his face until his hands were bloodied and sweat coated his forehead.

Spencer could not move. He groaned weakly, his entire face so swollen and cut up the irony was not lost to Bishop.

"I should kill you for touching her," he raged softly, then released him to slump on the floor helplessly. He stood and went to Leah. She accepted his hand and allowed him to take her into his arms, his chest hurting so bad he couldn't help the moisture that settled in his eyes. He stroked her head and ran his fingers all over her upper body, so terrified she was hurt.

"Christ you're alright," he gasped, and in one smooth motion, swept her off her feet and held her to his chest. She buried her face in the crook of his neck, struggling to catch her breath. Before him, the infamous Vince stood, the gun still in his hand.

"You should take better care of your woman. She almost got herself killed."

Bishop held her close, too relieved to have her alive and breathing in his arms to care that he was just insulted. Behind him, Spencer groaned. He cast a look over his shoulder, murder in his eyes, cold and harsh and unforgiving.

"Easy there cowboy. It's my turn now." Vince handed one of his men the gun and took his time unbuttoning his cufflinks.

He took a look at Vince then, only now noticing the burn scars that were grotesquely raised over one side of his face. With a single nod, he made to move, to take his wife away where he could tend to her wounds. "Time to go home Lee."

She stilled him with the gentlest touch. "Not until I know he can never hurt me again."

Bishop met her water-logged eyes and allowed the clarity of her request to flow through him like an electric charge. She needed closure, his wife. And by God, he'd give it to her.

Vince offered what could have been a cold smile and reached into his pocket. There, he pulled out a short blade, sleek and sharpened on both sides. It glittered wickedly in the lamplights.

His steps were casual as he made his way across to where Spencer was now attempting to get to his feet. Bishop kept his back turned, listening.

Leah's eyes were peeled over his shoulder.

"That's right. Get up Grant," Vince said. Spencer hollered but didn't have time to do anything else. "Time to give the devil his due."

"Go to hell Vince," he coughed.

"Yeah?" Vince chuckled. "Go to hell?" He slapped Grant several times about the face, light mocking slaps that only served to enrage and not harm. "Go to hell? Is that all you have to say after hiding like a rat in a hole? After playing on my good graces for almost two years?"

"You're not going to get an apology Carter," Grant wheezed, his eyes turning to Leah. She blinked a stream of tears onto Bishop's shirt. He held her tighter still.

Vince slapped him lightly again to regain his attention. "Hey, don't look at her. You don't get to look at her you piece of shit. Look at me when I'm talking to you." Tiredly, his head fell forward. Vince snatched his face and forced him to meet his eyes. "You think I want you to apologize? You hit my baby sister and thought I'd let it go? You just made this personal."

Then there was nothing but the sound of a blade penetrating a body too many times to count. There was a harsh lengthy gurgle as he choked on his blood, the heavy thud as the body connected to the polished wooden floor and the soft swish of the blade that was wiped clean on his jacket.

"Shit Irish," Tony choked, his face twisted in revulsion. "Why do you always have to make a damn mess of everything?"

"A perfectly good shirt, ruined." Vince winced at the blood soaking into his pristine white cuffs and motioned for one of his men to hand him a handkerchief as he nodded to the limp body at his feet. "Clean this up."

Bishop didn't know what Leah saw – an angry gang leader killing a man that owed him money, a brother seeking retribution for the hurt done to his sister, a man honouring a woman abused at his hands for one too many times, or simply a cold-blooded murderer enjoying the kill of his prey like any animal would. In the end, all he knew was that she rested her head under his neck again and her body went lax in his arms, and when she looked up at him, the ghosts that haunted her eyes were suddenly gone.

Vince came back in his line of sight, blood on his hands as he tried in vain to clean it off. The once white handkerchief was ruined. He reached into his pocket, withdrew a cigar, and chewed on the butt slowly. When he met Bishop's eyes, there was nothing but a cold, hard warning.

"I don't like leaving loose ends," he stated matter of fact. "What you just saw here makes you just that."

Bishop's arms tightened around Leah's body. "Reckon it didn't matter which once of us did it. The result is still the same."

The man considered him shrewdly. "Take your wife and leave town. You have what you came here for."

"I do."

"Don't let me see you around here again. I might think you're out to make trouble for me. And I don't like strangers much."

"Can't leave until Leah's healed."

Vince considered the way her moist gaze met his, full of satisfaction and maybe even thanks, and grunted something non-committal before he moved out of the way for the men to finish cleaning the floor.

"It's done." Leah's voice was soft and barely audible and full of relief. He took that as his cue to leave. Without a look back, he did just that.

Chapter Eighteen

The news of the gruesome killing of Spencer Grant was published in the papers the morning of her birthday. Leah sat at the table with breakfast unfinished before her and a cup of steaming tea at her wrist. She read through the details of her life, an article she agreed to have an interview done for the day before, and was torn now at the decision to expose the intimacies of her abuse. She would be under scrutiny now from many, and already some whispers deemed her a liar. After all, everyone in Spencer's circle knew they were engaged. He had done a brilliant job at ensuring everyone believed her to be besotted with him. And so she was the wrong one, the one who ran away to take a lover, a rebellious streak of the young maybe.

Romantic bullshit, Bishop snorted when he read it over breakfast. Although the Carter Cousins were implicated, no details about the debt or the fact that Vince was even present was mentioned. As far as the public was concerned, Leah eloped and married a stranger, and when Spencer finally brought her home to have the entire issue dissolved, her jealous husband returned seeking retribution – which by law, whether anyone liked it or not, was his right.

Leah folded the gazette shook her head in disbelief. "They refuse to acknowledge the truth."

Bishop sat beside her, shovelling eggs into his mouth. "We know the truth. That's all that matters."

"I'm coming into my estates today."

He swallowed hard and met her gaze, nodding. "Reckon you are."

She bit her lip and offered a little smile. "Thank you, Bishop. For everything that you've done for me. For coming out here...and keeping your word."

Bishop swallowed his cough with a few gulps of scalding coffee. "Ain't nothing Lee. You're my wife. I'll do much more for you. All you need to do is ask."

She said nothing further, but he knew. In his heart, he knew. And the knowledge that she was more than ready to let them go hurt so damn much he didn't know how to deal with the pain.

"Mr. Lancaster, my father's attorney, is coming by after lunch today to finalize everything. He thought it in my best interest to have the paperwork in order as soon as possible."

"He's right."

"And..."

He leaned back, his plate forgotten as he brimmed the cup with his fingers. "And you want to see about the divorce while he's at it?"

For a moment she said nothing. He could not meet her eyes.

"D-Do you want to? Get a divorce I mean." Her voice cracked.

Bishop offered his hand, and for all the pain in his heart, he smiled. Leah slipped his fingers there and waited in the silence. He caressed her skin and considered her fingers. The place where he'd slipped the simple wedding band was smooth. There was no indication it had ever been there.

"What I want doesn't much matter," he managed finally, softly. "I want you happy. It's all I've ever wanted."

"Even if it means letting me go?"

He nodded and stroked her face. She was stunning sitting in the morning sunlight. With such short hair, her features were well defined. Nothing hid her now. No flaming curls, no fear in her expression. Now, he saw simply a woman in control of her future. Pride bloomed in his heart as quickly as pain threatened to shatter it.

"Even if."

"You're a good man Bishop. The best."

A ghost of a smile touched his lips as he looked away. Yes, he might have been a good man. But not good enough to hold her heart forever. The thought was a daunting one. Still, he was a man of his word. She made no promises she never meant to keep. And as it turned out, in the end, neither did he.

"Let him have the paperwork ready Lee. You'll always be free with me."

Hot tears stung her eyes when he stood. A part of him wished he had the strength of another man, to take her into his arms and kiss her until she changed her mind. To make love to her until she confessed that what they had, despite the way it began, was something special. But he couldn't. If he touched her now, kissed her, he feared he would never again have what it took to let her go. He didn't know if it was strength or plain cowardice. And he did not care. Today, he could not give her more.

He cupped her face tightly and leaned forward to capture her lips. She would have let him. He saw the yearning in her eyes. Instead, he pressed his lips to her forehead lightly, then left.

***

"You look better." This from a very observant Shannon as she took a dainty bite of pie on her plate.

Leah smiled, enjoying the wind that kissed her face. They sat outside the small corner café as they did each day. It was the first time she'd been out of the house since Spencer's death. "I feel better."

"Good. Then you won't mind telling me what you're thinking so hard about." Stunned, Leah looked away. Shannon smiled slyly. "Come now, Leah. We've been through much in the short space of time we've been friends. What's wrong?"

She fiddled with the fork in her hand and took a deep, cleansing breath. "The lawyer came by this morning. I'm now an heiress."

Shannon clapped lightly in victory, her grin infectious. "Wonderful! But that can't be why you're so pensive."

"I left divorce papers for Bishop on the table before I left."

Shannon's fork clattered on the plate. "You did what?"

"I know!" Leah cried, tossing the napkin aside. "Maybe it was a very stupid thing to do. But this marriage was simply to buy time to prove that Spencer lied when he said I was married to him."

Shannon sipped her drink and dabbed the corners of her mouth with linen before huffing. "Well, I didn't see this coming."

"I've never been free Shannon. I've never travelled, never done anything at all without Spencer's approval. Now that I'm on my own, I want that."

"More than you want Bishop?"

She hesitated and buried her face in her hands, frustrated. She could not think straight, could not focus on anything except that maybe she had just made the biggest mistake of her life. Shannon reached for her hand and squeezed gently.

"Honey, you've done the most amazing thing you could have ever done, and that too while Spencer was alive. You met and married a man that loves you more than he loves anything else in this world. He married you to protect you, almost got himself killed coming after you, rode across two states and faced down a monster for you. And he's willing to let you go to see you happy. There's nothing more he can do to prove his love for you."

Hot tears stung her eyes. She dashed them away, her hands shaking. Shannon drew a breath and continued. "You can have all the adventures you want to. Who said you have to have them alone? Besides, if ever a man were to love me like that, I'd trade my idea of freedom for a new kind. The freedom to give love and get it back unconditionally."

Leah nodded. Shannon was right of course. She lived most of her life in fear. Now that she thought about it, it wasn't as simple as she made it sound. It wasn't just about travelling and experiencing life on her terms. She was still afraid. And that fear now included having her heart betrayed and broken by the only man she ever loved. It was natural she would not expect Bishop to continue keeping his word and loving her the way he did. But unlike Spencer, he'd proven his love time and time again, and she had done nothing but break his heart.

"I'm going to make this right," she said thickly, her brows drawn together in concentration. "I'm going to tell him how much I love him. I've only ever said it once."

Shannon nodded her approval with a cheeky grin. "Excellent."

Leah stood quickly, her stomach turning at the thought of him discovering the divorce papers that she had so foolishly left for him, her signature already boldly signed there.

"I have to go quickly, Shannon. I've been such a fool!" She adjusted the veil over her face and leaned down to kiss the woman on her cheeks swiftly. "Thank you!"

"I expect an invitation to visit this homestead you told me about," she replied quickly.

"Of course!"

Leah didn't hear her laughter on the breeze, not when she took off at a half-run down the street. She didn't see the looks of speculation she received, ignored those who pointed at her and whispered behind their hands and gossiped about the news they read that very morning. All Leah knew was that she needed to get home and put everything to rights. Fifteen minutes later she barged into the house, nursing her side as her father's cane echoed with each step she took. The front door was left open as she hustled to the study.

The document sat exactly where she left it.

She heaved a sigh of relief and stopped long enough to catch her breath.

And stopped short when she noted a small flower next to the ink well. The ink well that was usually kept on the other side of the desk.

Heart in her throat, she advanced. Tears stung her eyes. There, directly next to her signature, Bishop's name mocked her. The ink was quite dry, and she guessed he had discovered the contract moments after she left the house two hours ago.

"Bishop..."

She crushed the letter in her hand. Maybe he was still here. Maybe he'd gone upstairs to gather the few things he had brought. She almost tumbled into Marie whose hands were piled high with clean sheets.

"Have you seen Bishop?"

The woman frowned, her large eyes warmer than she'd seen them in years. "Mr. Sheridan? Yes. He asked for food for the road then left."

She choked on a cry and made for the front door again, ignoring Marie's attempt to stop her. She made haste to the apartment Pete rented a few blocks away. By the time she got there sweat dotted her forehead and her chest heaved, starved for air. Her sides and chest hurt, and although she thought herself strong enough to walk without the cane, her run proved she was nowhere healed. Her knocks were loud and demanding. Pete opened the door, stunned when she pushed him aside and all but flew inside.

"Bishop!"

"He's gone."

"No." She faced him, eyes wide and lips quivering. "He won't go without saying goodbye."

Peter scratched behind his ear and adjusted the spectacles on his face. "He thought it might be easier this way."

"Easier?"

He sighed, shaking his head. "I'm sorry Leah. He was just doing what you wanted. What you asked for."

Weak, she sank herself into the settee and stared at her hands, her face pinched in anguish. "This is all my fault."

Peter took the chair next to hers and shook his head, his presence comforting. "It's no one's fault."

"He must hate me."

"Well now, I can safely say he doesn't hate you. He loves you too much for that."

For a long while, she sat there wiping away tears, listening to the way her breaths wheezed in and out of her chest. And decided finally that this was one thing she would not let go of. She'd spent too long being a victim – she would not become a victim of circumstance or her selfishness.

"How long has it been since he left?"

"Couple of hours."

"How far do you think he got?"

Pete smiled and nodded, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. "Not far if you ride hard. Should catch up with him by nightfall."

Mind made up, she gripped the divorce certificate tighter still and stood, her face a mask of determination. "I need a horse."

His chuckle warmed her through and through. "Of course you do. Wait right here and we'll get a move on as soon as I get ready."

"No Peter. I need to do this on my own."

He hesitated. "You've been through so much. If anything were to happen to you-"

"I'll meet up with Bishop. There's no safer place for me. Besides, Spencer is dead. I'll be fine."

He debated for several long moments before he sighed in defeat and nodded.

***

By nightfall, Pete had said, even when she asked him over and over again if he was certain he knew the road Bishop had taken back west. He'd assured her repeatedly. And Leah, so concerned with catching up to him and making sure she fixed things, did not think to pack anything save the divorce certificate that was folded in her skirt pocket. She did not have a gun or a knife. She did not even have food. Of course, she carried money, but it was all for nothing if there was nowhere to purchase anything to eat. And while she fumbled to keep the cold from her fingertips by blowing hot air into her cupped hands, she could not figure out how she managed to survive a month ago on the same journey with so much less. At least now she knew where she was headed. Or she might have had a general idea. Come to think of it, she wasn't so sure Pete said west. He might have said south, then west. The rain started to drizzle then, and she looked toward the sky and wished she had asked Pete to join her. Still, with nothing but the starlight to guide her way, she pushed on, allowing the horse to set its own pace until her shoulders were stiff and her stomach growled in hunger. Coming after Bishop didn't seem like the best idea after all. Maybe she should have simply sent him a telegram. There must be a coach headed that way in the next couple weeks. She should turn around and plan this trip properly, then there'd be no exhaustion and hunger and rain to contend with.

If only she knew which direction was home.

Feeling quite put out with herself, Leah reigned the horse in and paused long enough to look around. There was nothing but dense trees all around. Nowhere to take shelter or rest. She kicked the horse into a canter and winced with every step for another three miles before she finally stopped again. Below the faint hum of the rain, there was the sound of distant music. Relief coursed through her. She could have a hot meal in her stomach, a warm bed to sleep in for the night and in the morning, she would think through her plan carefully. Fingers locked around the saddle horn, she counted the seconds that brought her closer to the music. Through the trees now she spotted a house sitting beside a swollen river. The firelight that burned there looked warm and cosy. She approached and dismounted in the mud before securing the horse and glanced up at the crooked sign that was once properly nailed beneath the protruding awnings. Some sought of mill then it seemed, for small boats were tied to posts along the jetty in the water.

Leah climbed the mud-splattered stairs, daintily lifting the hem of her soaking skirts from the mire, and slowly entered through the opened door. Not many people occupied the inside. Men mostly, so far gone in their cups they did not observe her in their presence. She took in the heavily muddy footprints that were marred on the floor and the sparse furniture – mostly barrels and pieces of lumber propped on crates – but it served its purpose in serving as tables. To the far end of the room, a man sat with his head leaned back against the wall and a bottle of whiskey in his hand. He drank heavily, didn't bother to open his eyes. But Leah would have known the breadth of those shoulders and the way he adjusted the hat over his face anywhere. Her heart pounded a little faster in her chest, and it took her a minute to swallow the sudden nervousness that clogged her throat. Now that he was just across the way, she no longer felt the cold or the burn in her empty stomach. Now, all that mattered was the fact that she was wet and ill-kept and her boots were dirty and her hands were soiled, and she probably smelled like last weeks garbage. She passed a self-conscious hand over her hair and winced.

She'd forgotten all her curls were now gone. It made her feel less feminine suddenly. Still, nothing could be done about that. She was here with one thing in mind – to get her husband back. Carefully she approached until she was standing less than a foot away. He looked magnificent, sitting there on the floor with one knee bent, holding onto that bottle as if he held a lifeline. He heard her approach despite the rain because she saw his head tilt ever so much, but he did not lift his head.

"Hello, Bishop."

He looked up then and must have doubted his own eyes, for he simply tipped the brim of his hat back and ran his eyes over her slowly. Her body burned everywhere his gaze touched. There was nothing tender or considering in his eyes tonight. What she saw was pure hunger and to a lesser degree, hurt.

"I must be dreaming. Or damn drunk."

His voice rolled over her already testy nerves and made her shudder anew.

"Drunk maybe. But not dreaming."

In a flash, his hand caught her ankle and travelled to her calf. Leah trembled anew, turning to see if anyone was observing.

"You're soft...and as cold as ice."

She stepped away from his touch and near stumbled back when he darted to his feet.

"Running away from me again?" he snapped softly. There was fury in his voice. She swallowed hard and forced her insides to stop shaking so much. This was Bishop. He would never hurt her.

"I came to tell you –"

He hijacked her mouth before she could pour out her heart and did not allow her to come up for air until they were both starving for breath. Leah didn't know when she had clung to his shirt for dear life or how the bottle of whiskey ended up leaking on the floor. One moment she was trying to speak and the next she was against the wall, his body shielding hers as he caressed and kissed her with desperation, with urgency.

"Sweet Leah...tell me you're here and I'm not imagining things." The raw agony in his tone cut straight through her heart.

"I'm here."

He nibbled her fingertips and tangled his fingers through her hair, and only when he pulled back did he seem to get a hold of himself to simply, really look at her. He observed her eyes and face, lingered upon her swollen lips as his thumb brushed and stroked her jawline and neck.

"How did you find me?"

His eyes were still fogged with desire and intoxication, but Leah did not care.

"I just followed the road I guess."

He frowned as if trying to figure out something that didn't quite make sense. "How'd you know to come north?"

Stunned, she blinked. "North? I thought I was headed west."

He considered her, wet and cold and starting to shiver and nodded as if it all made complete sense. "I should have known if you ever got lost you'd end up in my arms again."

She blushed and looked away, and he dipped his head to capture her eyes. "Why did you come after me, Lee?"

Leah swallowed the lump in her throat and dipped into her pocket. She pressed the divorce certificate to his chest. He did not look at it, but his jaw hardened and developed a tick.

"I'm listening."

She cupped his face and tiptoed and pressed a bold kiss to his lips with fierce determination. He froze, allowed her to explore his mouth, but did not attempt to kiss her back. Leah felt her heart crumble to pieces.

"Tell me," he finally growled when she pulled away. His fingers were locked tenderly in her arms. "Say it, Lee."

"I don't want you to leave," she croaked, her eyes wet and wide and reflecting all the conflicting emotions that churned in her chest. "I don't want this divorce."

Bishop pressed his forehead to hers, his breaths coming loud and harsh. "Are you sure?" he rasped, his eyes closed. "You need to be sure this is what you want. That I am what you want. Because if you change your mind, I'm not sure I can walk away so easy again."

"I want you. This marriage. Us."

He caught her eyes again, and whatever he was looking for he found because he slipped the document from her hand and ripped it to shreds before her eyes. It scattered to pieces around their feet and littered the wet, soiled floor.

"I love you, Bishop," she whispered. "I love you because you've given everything for me, because you're teaching me what it means to love the right way. I was so foolish thinking I would be better off alone. I spent so long dancing to Spencer's tune and following orders that I just wanted to make my own decisions for a change."

"You can still make those decisions Lee," he said thickly. "No matter what you wanted to do as long as you don't endanger yourself, I'll always support you."

She looked up at him through heavy lashes, damp with tears and rain and offered a cheeky smile. "Will you teach me to shoot now? I'm the wife of a cowboy after all. I need to know how to protect myself."

"I'll teach you to shoot, hunt, any damn thing you want sweet Lee. Just stay with me."

Hot tears stung her eyes. "I'm never letting you go again, Bishop. I swear it."

With a groan of sheer happiness, he pulled her against his chest and kissed her for all he was worth. Leah giggled when his hat was deposited on her head, and he took her hand to lead her hurriedly away from prying eyes and out into the now pouring rain. Together they ran across the half-rotted planks that led to a small boathouse. It was warm and dry, and when he closed the door at his back, Leah knew that from this moment on, she would never have to be afraid of his touch again. Heat seared her lower belly, and with her mind made up, she took her time slipping out of the dress.

Bishop felt his brain freeze as all the blood from his body rushed straight between his legs. Leah stood before him with her pixie short hair and the glimmer of love in her eyes – and the yearning of a woman who needed her man on her face. She took her time taking her clothes off, and although he wanted to hurry her along, maybe even help in the process, he simply leaned back against the wall with his arms folded across his chest and watched.

She needed to do this. Needed to bare her body to him on her terms. And damn did she have him all cross-eyed and burning up. Skin so smooth and beautiful kissed by nothing but starlight glistened with moisture. Her face was ethereal, profound in the dark, and her slender neck tapered to narrow shoulders. He took her in, her plump raspberry tipped breasts, swollen and begging to be caressed, her small belly and reminded him of how extremely soft and tempting she was. Thick curls concealed the part of her he needed the most tonight, nestled between thighs that were made strong by running. Wide hips slimmed to long legs that went on for miles.

"Bishop?"

There was a small tremor in her voice as if she were hesitant, unsure of herself now that she stood naked before him.

"You're breathtaking," he croaked.

She met his eyes in a show of bravery and he silently applauded her. When he undressed it was fast and careless. Her eyes ate him up from across the distance and dropped to the throbbing erection that lashed his stomach in anticipation. He approached her carefully, not wanting to scare her away with the raw need that he knew he could not completely conceal. When they stood a heartbeat apart, he did not touch her.

"Will you marry me again Leah?" he said when the silence wore thin. "For real this time?"

She pressed her hands to his chest and leaned her body flush to his. Bishop inhaled her breath and stroked the flare of her hips with a tease of his fingers.

"Yes," she whimpered. "Yes, I will."

He smiled in the darkness, his eyes bright and burning in hunger. "Legally, you're still my wife though."

"Yes."

"Yes." He kissed her long and tender, exploring the recesses of her mouth, drawing her tongue into his greedily. He wanted to consume her. It had been days of torture, days of needing her and being unable to claim her. He could wait no longer. His hands caressed and stroked everywhere, not giving her a moment to acclimatize herself to his caress, but overflowed her senses until she was a heap of gasps and moans. He nibbled her neck and pinched her rump, and when she jumped in surprise he pulled her to his hard form and ever so slowly sank to his knees. A shaft of moonlight intruded upon them, lighting him up as he looked up at her reverently.

"I've not had you in so long," he spoke, stroking the back of her leg as he bent her knee and placed it on his shoulder. Hesitantly she balanced herself on the crate she was now leaned against.

"W-what are you doing?"

"I'm going to make love to my wife. Properly."

His lips danced upon her knees then to her inner thigh. Leah gasped, her legs trembling in anticipation as heat coiled in her stomach. A tongue traced her vein on the inside of her leg until he reached her most private place, and it was there between her nest of curls did he dip the tip of his tongue. She cried out and tried to push him away but at her feet, he held firm.

"Open up to me Leah," he coaxed gently, running his hands along her legs. "I won't hurt you."

Leah closed her eyes and relaxed slowly. She was rewarded with a deep groan of pleasure. With careful fingers, he parted her nether lips. His breath came harsh and hot. She shivered when he licked her again. This time he used the entire length of his tongue.

"Ahhhh!"

Her nails sank into his shoulders even as she pulled him closer greedily. He lapped at her, developing a rhythm she could not keep up with. Tension and pleasure built until her hips responded on nothing but instinct and the need to feel him deep within her core became too much.

"I can't hold on much longer!"

"Don't hold back Lee."

She shattered. Blinding light exploded behind her closed lids. Weak, she couldn't support her weight. He was there in a flash to take her to the floor and draped her across his body like a living blanket. His lips found hers. She smelled her essence on his tongue, musky and feminine. "That was...amazing."

He chuckled and cupped a breast, pinched a nipple a little too hard. She hissed a breath and moved on top of him slowly. Her fingers trailed the length of his rigid erection. With a thumb, she discovered a bead of moisture at the tip of him. And bent her head to take her into his mouth just as how he did.

Bishop cupped her jaw and hissed a breath, his eyes focused on how perfect her lips drew him into her mouth. Her tongue stroked him shyly, and for a moment she met his gaze, hesitant and embarrassed. He flexed his hip up slightly, bounced her head up and down in wordless tutelage, and rewarded her most excellent effort with a groan of pleasure. Fingers were threaded through her short-cropped hair, and looking at her from this angle with her profile so perfect and the dip in her back smoothening out to a full rump, curved and enticing, Bishop couldn't stop the pumping action of his hips or the love that swelled and erupted full-blown in his chest. When he could take no more, he lifted her onto his chest and abused her lips hungrily, not pausing as he gripped her hips and guided her down onto his shaft.

He found her entrance, and ever so slowly, nudged his way inside. She moaned his name, and when he was buried to the hilt, she kissed him with much abandon. There was nothing she held back that night, nothing of herself she hid or refused to hold onto in fear. She rode him uninhibited, her body coming apart with his name on her lips and her body flushed and exposed to his possessive gaze. It didn't take him long to be driven over the edge. He groaned and clutched onto her tightly, knowing he might leave a bruise or two come morning. She collapsed upon him then, exhausted and breathing hard. He stroked the length of her back and the swell of her hip and tipped her chin to meet his lips.

"The best decision I ever made was making you mine," he whispered upon her lips.

Leah smiled. Her seeking hand journeyed south once more.

"I think it was a pretty good decision too."

He laughed into the night, a deep husky laugh that spoke of a man well satisfied with his woman in his arms, and allowed her to shamelessly mount him again.

Close to dawn when the rain stopped falling and all he could hear was the rushing of the swollen river and his heartbeat mingled with hers pressed to his chest, he slipped the tiny wedding band off the knuckle of his pinky and put in on her hand exactly where it was meant to be.

Chapter Nineteen

"Lord save me from foolish decisions ever again!"

Leah sneezed and blew her nose in a handkerchief before sniffling and sipping a hot cup of coffee. Occupying the seats directly opposite was Shannon and Marie.

"Yes well, I for one can't possibly understand how you ended up getting lost up there," Shannon said, folding her gloves neatly to one side.

Leah sneezed again. "Divine intervention according to Bishop."

"Or just plain old luck," Marie muttered, pouring herself another cup of tea.

She shook her head to get some of the cobwebs out and sighed heavily. "I feel horrible."

"You would. You rode for two hours in the rain before you even found him. Thank goodness. You could have met ruffians or thieves. I should have let one of my cousins go with you."

"Because the reputation of the Carter Cousins is so pristine?" she teased.

Shannon pursed her lips and cut her a chilling glance. "We may not have the best reputation but nobody dares to mess with us. Vince made sure when we settled here everyone knew we were not to be tampered with."

Leah nodded and pulled her feet up under her skirts to get into a more comfortable position. "He's done an excellent job at it."

"Of course there is always the odd fellow who thinks he can take us on. Like Spencer," Shannon stressed. "Look how well that turned out for him."

Leah suppressed a shudder. "Please, I never want to hear his name again. I've had to live my life burdened with him for too long."

Shannon nodded in agreement. "Of course dear. Forgive me. It's just that I keep going through it in my mind and I think, my God! He was a beast to be sure. That was the first time a man has ever hit me."

"And I'm sure it will be the last."

"Of course. But enough about that. Tell me about your plans. When do you plan to leave?"

Marie looked at her, saying nothing, listening avidly.

"Bishop refuses to travel until I get rid of this cold. If he knew I was out of bed right now he'd probably march me right back up there."

Shannon smiled and took her time buttering a piece of toast. "And you would like nothing better, I'm sure."

Leah smirked at her knowing grin. "We want to have a small ceremony when we get back. I'll purchase my dress here and everything else I'll need. It might take us a little longer to get there with the wagon and all, but he won't mind. Besides, it's not every day a girl gets to marry the man of her dreams. I'm so lucky to have him."

"And Peter? Would he be going back with you?"

Leah would have thought nothing of the casual way she asked but for the way her cunning eyes averted to the cup she demurely held to her mouth.

"He's coming along."

Shannon frowned and nodded. "Oh."

Leah smiled. "But he mentioned coming straight back."

Her eyes lit up like a flame even though her expression never wavered. "Did he say why?"

"He has some unfinished business he needs to see to. At least that's all Bishop is willing to say about it. But I think it has everything to do with trying to convince your brother he's good enough to call on you."

Shannon replaced her cup and kept her hands folded tightly on her lap in a show of control. "Did he say that?"

"No, but I've seen the way he looks at you. Do you have feelings for him?"

She turned to look out the window and did not immediately respond. It was then Marie excused herself under the pretence of having something to do. Leah frowned at her departure, but coughed again and cleared her throat. "What is it? Don't you like Pete?"

Shannon nodded slowly. "Very much."

"Then what's wrong?"

Her sigh was heavy. "I've seen this town destroy good people Leah. I've seen it happen to my brother, to my family. We weren't always like this you know. But this town changes you. All the men I've ever met reminded me of animals. Always hungry for more. More power, more business and more money. What they can't buy they take. What they can't take, they kill for. Then there's Peter. He isn't anything like that."

"And you don't want him to become corrupted?"

Shannon snorted and finished her tea. "Corrupted is putting it lightly. I don't want him to be destroyed."

"Life is about choices. Even I had to learn that the hard way."

"And I have to make sure Peter makes the right choice."

"What if you are the right choice?"

A sad shimmer touched her eyes. "I can never be. Not when I'm here. Not as long I'm a Carter."

Leah shook her head and leaned forward, her throat killing her even as she spoke. "I don't know how you see yourself Shannon, but you're not all bad. Maybe your brother runs a shady business, but he became one of my heroes when he killed Spencer. If that makes me a little bloodthirsty then so be it. And you became my friend. Without you, I'd never have gotten the courage to go after Bishop. You are who you are so be proud of it. I'm proud to call you my friend. Speaking of which, do you think Vince will come to the wedding?"

Thankful for the change of topic, Shannon shook her head and smiled. "I highly doubt it. Especially if he has to leave his precious mansion for more than a day or two. He hates to travel you know."

Leah shrugged. "Well, I hope that doesn't mean that you won't come. You're going to be one of my flower girls after all."

Shannon's laughter echoed throughout the room. "Of course I'll be there. I might even drag Tony with me just to torture him."

"I think that would be a grand idea."

"What about the house? Will you sell it?"

"Yes. I want to see if it can be done before we leave. Part of me wants to keep it because it's where I grew up with Father, but this is also where I suffered the most. I don't want any memories of that."

"Well, that's an excellent idea. Come to think of it I just might have a solution for both of us."

"Oh?"

"I've been living with my brother since...well, forever, and he's somewhat overbearing. I can't move without him dictating to me about something or the other, so I've been thinking that it's time I move out on my own."

Leah's eyes opened as wide as saucers. "What? Without a guardian?"

Shannon shrugged. "I'm rich and well protected by my family. My brother is my guardian, but I am also not a young miss whose virginity needs to be protected."

Leah's cup clattered even as she gasped. "Shannon!"

"I'm not saying anything to be ashamed of. I've been thinking about it a lot lately. I'm almost twenty-three. Most women are married with a whole heap of children by my age. I want to experience all life has to offer the same as anyone else."

"But what about Peter and..."

"Peter will never survive in a town like this Leah. He's too soft and sensitive, and although God knows how badly I want a bit of softness in my life I must be realistic. It's hard to open up to that and keep it safe when all my life I've known something completely different."

"So what will you do?"

"I'll purchase your house and move in as soon as you leave."

Leah shook her head slowly, concerned. "Your brother will not like this at all."

"He will have to become reconciled." Determination echoed in her tone. "Besides, I would like to see him try and stop me."

"A part of me is disappointed I can't be here to support you after all you've done for me."

"Never mind that. Just have your lawyer prepare the paperwork and let me take this place off your hands."

"I'll drop by his office in the morning." She considered the glow of the woman before her and nibbled her lip. "I would like you to keep Marie though. I know sometimes hiring new staff is necessary, but she's like a sister to me. I don't want her without support now that I'll be living across the country."

"Of course. She'll stay right here. I might even put her in charge of running the household. We can settle all the details before you leave. Now tell me about your wedding. When are you going to be purchasing the dress?"

***

Marie leaned against the door and fought against the sting of tears that burned to the back of her throat. So then, Leah had no intention of staying. She should have suspected such. After all, nobody would want to live in a house filled with so many nightmarish memories. She, however, did not have a choice. For all Leah's talk about loving her like a sister, she could not take her into her new life. She had a husband that loved her and a bright future. Marie would be a scar, a memory of a time gone by she could have done without.

Her heart tinged a little when she moved away to gather her cloak and umbrella. Now that Spencer was dead she was not afraid to leave the house unannounced. There were times in the last two days when she thought he would come barging through the front doors as was his habit, bellowing orders and making threats that made her cringe. But he was dead.

If only her mind would believe that.

She closed the door gently behind her and started to walk down the path that led to the street. God, how she hated this house. Every room held an unpleasant memory, and she could not wait to find another family that might consider taking her in. With all the publicity in the local paper, she doubted she would find it easy.

At the end of the stone pathway, one of the Carter cousins stood smoking while he talked to someone on horseback. She was familiar with him as he now accompanied Shannon on her daily visits with Leah. Tony. His name was Tony. He was quick to laugh and just as swiftly blew his top in a fit of rage that both scared and humoured her, but for the most part, he appeared harmless. It was the man he spoke to that snared her attention.

Vince Carter. He sat mounted on the horse with every muscle tense the moment he saw her heading toward them. Marie took him in with one glance. He would have been quite a handsome man had it not been for the ghastly scars that marked his face. And although she never once uttered a word of greeting, she couldn't help but obsess over all the tales she heard about him over the years. She knew he came from Boston, knew his family was wealthy, knew he was, for the most part, a favoured criminal amongst the politicians. Many in town disliked him, many loved him, and all respected him. Marie thought she understood why. He was who he was and he did nothing out of his way to please anyone but himself. He was ruthless too. She'd seen the amount of blood on the floor when Spencer's body was removed. She'd heard all about his direct kill from the butler who seemed aghast and fascinated with the man all at once. And she couldn't help but admire his strength. Her tongue touched her scabbed lip, a wound Spencer had inflicted before his demise. She was ever conscious of it. But a man like Vince Carter did not care if half his face was grotesque or if anyone looked at him in revulsion. He dared them too.

And Marie admired that tenfold.

By the time she made it to the gate, Tony exchanged his last words, nodded in her direction, and made a bee-line back toward the house. Vince looked down on her from his perch and seemed to study her face with an intensity that made her want to run away.

"Good afternoon."

She opened her mouth to respond and found only a croak came out. He did not smile. Nothing on his face welcomed conversation. Still, he waited in silence.

"Hello." It was all her brain could think to offer.

"What's your name?"

Marie gripped the umbrella tightly in her hands. "Marie. What's your name?"

He cocked an eyebrow incredibly high and offered a dry smile. "That's a new one."

Marie frowned. "Excuse me?"

"Someone who doesn't know me."

"I know of you."

He looked taken aback and his jaw ticked. Marie swallowed hard.

"Vince," he quipped, even as his thighs tightened around the horse.

Marie did not know what possessed her to study him the way she was. "Is that short for Vincent?"

"No. Why? Would Vincent have suited me better?"

She shook her head and glanced toward the sky that started to drizzle rain. "No. Michael maybe. But Vince is workable."

His lips twitched and she thought was must be holding back a smile. "Do you work for Mrs. Sheridan?"

Marie looked back at the house and hesitated. "For the moment."

That caught his interest. "Looking for a new position then?"

She considered his scars and smiled weakly. "Something like that."

"I take it you're familiar with my sister, Shannon?"

"Yes."

"Come by the house when the cowboy takes his wife back west. You'll be a companion to her."

Marie looked at him blankly for a moment, trying to figure out the turn in the conversation. When she did not respond, his grip on the reins tightened. "Nothing to say?"

Marie tilted her head up and watched the rain get heavy. The drops plastered his hair on his head and forced strands to curls around his ears. He was a man well accustomed to being obeyed. And Marie had quite enough of those.

"Thank you, but that won't be necessary."

He looked taken aback, but it was annoyance she read on his face. "Why? Can't stomach working for the Carter Cousins?"

Marie pressed her lips in a thin line of consternation. "I'll have you know that I consider you a God-send."

Stunned, his eyes fell to her lips. Her tongue touched the bruise there self-consciously. His nostrils flared, and when he met her eyes again, he looked like a man barely holding on to his restraint. "So you turn down a job offer from the man who avenged you?"

That made her chuckle. It sounded so foreign to her ear that she stopped short. "You avenged Shannon. I'm just happy he...met an early demise."

When he said nothing further, she shook her head and nodded in acknowledgement. "It was nice meeting you Mr. Carter."

"Vince. It's just Vince."

Marie smile tightly and turned away, not bothering to acknowledge the heat that spread through her body as he watched her leave.

Chapter Twenty

Bishop stroked the feathery curls that tickled his neck and chest, soaking up the warmth of Leah's body that was pressed flush against his. He'd lost count of the number of times they'd made love. A sense of deep satisfaction had settled somewhere in his heart, heavy and unmoving since the moment she had braved the storm to find him. Each day he looked at her he learned something new, something marvellous. A lamp needed to be kept burning at night or else nightmares plagued her sleep. Now, she no longer woke up screaming in fear, but his name. He was there unfailingly to hold and comfort her, and to reassure her that Spencer was indeed gone. And there was no place she would rather be than in his arms. She trusted him in a way she never did before now. She spoke of her father more and shared stories of the life they shared before he died. And there was fierce pride in her eyes when she introduced him as her husband wherever they went.

It was an odd thing, walking through the streets dressed as he was. But Leah couldn't have been more pleased, quick to show him off as a prize. He smirked, thinking he should be offended. But deep down he did not care. She belonged to him. If she asked him to walk with a bell around his neck he just might do it.

She stirred and stretched like a contented feline before opening her eyes. Bishop's breath paused the way it always did when she smiled. There was love shining in her orbs – a love so deep he felt undone.

"I can't wait to go home," she said, stroking his face absently.

He threaded his fingers through hers and kissed the back of her hand. "Won't you miss this place?"

"What's there to miss?"

He pulled her closer upon his chest and stroked the dip in her back. "All the fancy dinners and dresses. Your friends. The servants."

Leah chuckled and kissed his naked chest. "I'm not spoilt. Besides, I'm sure Millie will be more than happy to show me what I need to learn."

Admiration for her continued to grow in his chest. "You're so delicate. I guess I'm afraid you'll change your mind when we get back."

A flicker of concern darkened her face and she sat up, her shielding her breasts with the sheet. "Change my mind about you?"

He closed his eyes briefly and shrugged.

"I love you. Don't you believe that?"

"Yes, I do. But I'm not wealthy and I can't give you all the pretty things you're accustomed to." His stare was heavy and full of part happiness, part sorrow. "All I can give you is my love and the promise that I'll never let you down."

Hot tears stung her eyes. She flung herself into his arms and showered him with wet kisses. "You've given me more than that. You're teaching me how to love and live and enjoy my life. I've been a prisoner for so long...I have enough wealth for both of us. And if I miss the glitter of the city I'll throw the biggest, fanciest party and invite the entire town. All I need is for you to continue doing what you're doing. Just keep loving me."

His arms tightened around her. When he found her lips it was in no soft kiss, but one of demand. Leah returned the favour fiercely, stroking his skin, revelling in how different they were. When he pulled her onto him she felt empowered, relishing the feel of the throbbing member that pressed harshly against her stomach. To think several weeks ago she would have been terrified at the idea of making love. Now, with this man, that was all she wanted to do. He tasted of musky spices and smelled of tobacco. The scruff on his jaw had not been carved in three days, but it was a good look on him, and she loved the way it scratched her neck when he kissed her there. His fingers danced against her body, bringing her to a slow rise, introducing her to his art of seduction without overwhelming her senses. Each kiss was a sip, each caress a promise of an earth-shattering end. Her nipples were pinched gently before his lips found them, his tongue soothing and warm.

"Come up here," he offered in a husky baritone. Goose pimples broke out on her skin. Without waiting for a response he coaxed her body further up his until her knees were braced on both sides of his head and all that was visible was the wicked glint in his heated eyes.

Leah turned crimson at her provocative position. Usually, he tasted her standing up. Now, so exposed directly above him, she felt a thrill of control and sudden vulnerability.

"I won't hurt you."

She allowed him to guide her hands to the bed head. Her white-knuckled grip echoed the tension and anticipation. Cool air caressed her and she whimpered, and when his lips closed over her sensitive core, her head flung back in abandon. Hot arrows shot from the depths of her womb. Slowly, she pressed down, unable to control the flex and gyration of her hips. Bishop growled, stroking her legs and thighs. He teased her entrance with a finger. She whimpered the moment he entered, his tongue stroking her, suckling her until tremors claimed her body and she cried out in a release that left her weak. Slowly, he brought her down, tasting and licking, stroking and petting, and lifted her over his head. On her knees and still facing the wall, she trembled, pleasure still warming her from the inside out.

His weight came upon the bed. The hair on his chest caressed her back even as he pressed feather-soft kisses along her neck and shoulders.

"Leah?"

She leaned her head back and ran fingers through the hair at the back of his head as he spoke in her ear. "Hmm?"

"I want to try something."

Leah nodded, her breasts swelling in his hand as he cupped and caressed each one.

"Don't let go."

She obeyed, one hand on the bed head and the other clutching his head. He lowered himself just a little and the head of his erection nudged her core. Her eyes flew open in wonder.

"Like this?" The disbelief in her voice forced him to chuckle. It was a sound that warmed her heart.

"Oh yes. Just like this."

He slipped in slowly, his girth stretching her until she cried out in pleasure and gasped, his name on her lips like a refrain. Thunder rumbled in the distance, and the rain battered the window pane, reflecting drops of liquid shadow on their joined forms. Bishop couldn't hold back the fire that drove him and try as he might, he needed more than anything to hold her tighter still. His fingers sank into her flesh and she cried out. He clutched her hand instead and pinned her reverently to the wall, and there he drove them both over the edge. Her cries were drowned out by the storm. He drank the remnants of her strength from her lips until they were swollen and plump and bruised. When her back connected with the mattress, she groaned in delight.

"How many different ways can we make love?" came her innocent question only minutes later.

Bishop was still breathing deeply to calm his racing heart. "Many."

She looked up at him and coyly battered her lashes. "I can't wait to discover them all."

His laughter was heavy, heart-warming. When his hand made the purposeful journey down her stomach to cup her core, she gasped.

"I'll be much obliged."

And he sought to teach her all he knew over and over again.

***

The rain had been falling for the past four hours. The sky held a dismal cast of pregnant grey clouds that showed no intention of moving on. Pete was already packed and dressed in the clothes he rode into town with, now washed and crisply pressed. He should have been telling Bishop about his impromptu decision to leave ahead of them. The way he figured it, the faster he went home, the sooner he could return after the wedding. Instead, he found himself standing in the drawing-room of Vince Carter. And he was not alone. At the door two men stood guard, their faces stoic as they considered him kind of the way one would consider a pest that needed to be trampled.

Pete fingered the brim of his hat for the hundredth time and pretended interest in the dozen or so miniature paintings on the walls. He considered pouring himself a finger of whiskey then checked his manners. If they wanted him comfortable, someone would have offered by now.

In the hall outside heavy footsteps echoed. He turned to the newcomer, not surprised to see Vince himself, soaking wet and unconcerned.

"Pete, nice of you to join me."

Pete nodded and sat when he gestured for him to do so. Vince, however, remained standing to pour the scotch. Pete was not offered a glass.

"I didn't have much of a choice, truth be told," he responded softly, casually. Two of Vince's men had picked him up at his door, their invitation a command put nicely.

Vince nodded and smiled, but Pete was not fooled. There was no warmth in his expression. "My boys can be a bit rough around the edges. But you came in on your own two legs. That's an improvement by any standard."

Pete smiled and glanced once more at the men at the doorway who seemed to be quite comfortable listening in. Vince paid them no mind.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" he finally asked.

"I need you to do something for me," Vince began seriously, leaning against the table with his legs crossed at the ankle and a hand inside his pocket.

"A favour for you?" Pete joked softly. "This is interesting."

The smile on his face chilled by a faction of a degree. "A favour to yourself. Your brother and his wife are leaving town in a few days. I want you to go with them and, you know, make sure they get home safely."

Pete nodded, considering his hat from another angle before he smiled. "Reckon I'll be leaving today."

The news pleased Vince. "Bravo. I commend how you've taken the initiative."

"Earlier I get home, earlier I can come back."

Vince drained the glass and returned it to the tray noisily. "There's nothing to come back to here."

"Reckon I'll have to be the judge of that."

Vince met his gaze squarely, his face now shuttered as he considered Pete. And Pete, calm and easy-going, had yet to allow how much this meeting annoyed him show or change his pleasant tone.

"Let's be frank here Country," Vince snapped, patience wearing thin. "My sister is off-limits to any man I don't like. And given the fact that you came into town asking twenty questions about me, I never liked you. I never will. She's beautiful and strong, and she'll leave her boot marks all over your face. Don't waste your time."

Pete winced and frowned before he slowly adjusted the hat on his head and pushed the spectacles further up the bridge of his nose. "Here I was under the impression that you found me at least tolerable."

"What in God's name gave you that idea?"

"Well, I've called on her three times since I've been in town."

"Yes, because she likes you the way one might like a pet – a puppy may be, and your sister-in-law was the only common interest you both share. Now that Leah's leaving there's nothing for you here. So stay away from her. You got what you came for – this whole business with your brother and his wife are settled and Grant is dead. No more games."

"I never play games."

Vince strode forward, his face twisted in a scowl of annoyance. "You're a good kid Country. Don't make me regret tolerating you."

Pete refused to break his gaze, refused to look away as Vince stepped into his personal space and met him nose to nose. He had the look of a man well accustomed to having his word obeyed without opposition. In the back of his mind, Pete wondered if it was all worth it, being on the blacklist of a criminal well known for his preference for shooting first and asking questions later. So caught up in the confrontation, neither of them heard when Shannon walked in.

"Vince, what's going on?"

They both turned to her at the same time. She wore a dark cloak and was in the process of pulling off a pair of dainty lace gloves from her fingers. Vince slapped him on the back harder than necessary, his smile all teeth.

"Just saying goodbye to our friend here," he intoned. "He's leaving, headed back west. Isn't that right Country?"

Shannon entered and smiled a small smile before offering her hand to be kissed. He read the small flicker of hurt in her eyes even as he did not disappoint and took her fingers to his lips. Vince's scowl was heavy behind her back.

"Already you're leaving?" she asked. "Leah and Bishop aren't even packed yet."

Pete nodded and stroked his thumb over her fingers with tender consideration before allowing her hand to fall. "Forgive me, Miss Carter. But I have ends that need tying up back home."

"Business must come first as they say."

He nodded, his eyes warm. "Indeed it must."

"Well," she huffed, stepping beside Vince who shifted impatiently. "I wish you a safe journey."

Pete smiled and bowed again, hat in hand. "Thank you, Miss Carter."

"One of the boys will see you out," Vince announced, nodding to one of the men who stood guard at the door. Pete returned the hat on his head and met Shannon's eyes, and graced her with a warm smile that sent blood rushing to her cheeks. Vince cleared his throat pointedly, and he met his eyes.

They were hard and steady, coated in a warning and the promise of murder if he strayed from the plan.

Pete turned his back and allowed himself to be escorted out. If it was one thing growing up with two ornery brothers taught him it was how to perfect the Sheridan stubbornness. And he was damn glad he had a whole heap of it.

Especially now when he needed it most.

The End

