Schulze, Dallas (17 page)

She fixed Gavin with a stem look. “I don’t ever want to hear
mention of bad blood again. Do you understand me?”

He goggled at her a moment longer in silence and then swallowed
hard. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Good. Now, let’s go see what this town has to offer. The
mercantile is generally a good place to start. Not for merchandise so much as
for information and for meeting people.”

“I don’t see why you expect to meet people at a store,” Gavin
said.

“Because people tend to gather in such places. Besides, I want to
purchase some ribbon to brighten up your sister’s gowns.” Glancing down at
Angel, Lila frowned at the starkly simple dress the child wore. The robin’s egg
blue muslin certainly suited her delicate coloring and the quality was above
reproach, but that was all the gown had to recommend it. “They’re much too
plain for a child her age.”

“I like ribbons,” Angel said, giving Lila a smile of dazzling
sweetness.

“Do you?” Lila brushed her free hand over the little girl’s golden
curls. If Gavin presented something of a puzzle, Angel was simplicity itself.
Lila couldn’t imagine a child who was easier to love.

“Red ribbons,” Angel suggested. “And some for Cassandra too.” She
held up the simple rag doll that was her constant companion.

“Red?” Lila winced at the thought of trimming the blue dress with
red ribbons. “How about red ribbons for Cassandra and maybe some rosy pink ones
for you?”

Angel’s delicate chin firmed. “I like red,” she said, showing the
streak of stubbornness that Lila had seen a time or two before.

“We’ll see what they have,” she said diplomatically. Hopefully
she’d be able to persuade Angel to accept a more suitable color. If not... She
shuddered at the image of red ribbons on robin’s egg blue. “Come along now.”

She took Angel’s hand in hers as they stepped off the boardwalk
and into the dusty street. This second view of Paris was no more impressive
than the first. The Frenchman who’d named the town must have been unbearably
homesick or remarkably optimistic. This collection of frame buildings fronting
onto a dirt street bore no resemblance to the famed City of Lights that she
could see.

There was a bell over the door of Fitch’s General Store, and its
cheery jangle announced their entrance. Lila paused just inside to let her eyes
adjust. After the crisp sunlight outside, the interior of the store seemed dim.
Fitch’s looked much as she’d expected. It wasn’t as polished and tidy as the
mercantile back home nor was it as organized. Stacks of canned goods mingled
with bolts of cloth and a display of men’s hats similar to the one Bishop wore.
There was a potbelly stove in the center of the store. No fire burned within it
today but she guessed that, during the colder months, it would offer
much-needed warmth. Winters in these mountains must be difficult, she thought,
repressing a small shiver.

Also as she’d expected, there were a goodly number of customers in
the store. There was a man paying for his purchases at the counter, two elderly
gentlemen hunched over a checkerboard next to the cold stove, and three women
standing beside a table that held bolts of fabric stacked in colorful disarray.
Behind the counter was a tall, thin man of indeterminate age.

A profound silence followed the bell’s announcement of their
arrival. All eyes turned toward the door, and the newcomers were examined in
minute detail. Lila felt Gavin edge a little closer to her and bit back a
sympathetic smile. As the daughter and sister of politicians, she was somewhat
accustomed to being the focus of all eyes. But even for her it was not
comfortable. For a child who’d never even attended school, it must be an
alarming experience. But apparently not for Angel. Looking around the store and
finding all eyes on her, she blessed her audience with a singularly sweet
smile.

“I want a red ribbon,” she announced, confident that everyone else
would find this information as interesting as she did.

Lila couldn’t have come up with any better way to break the ice if
she’d planned it. The laughter that followed her announcement put an end to the
awkward moment. Mr. Fitch, for that’s who was behind the counter, assured her
that he could provide her with all the red ribbons she could possibly want. The
two old men gave rusty-sounding chuckles and then returned their attention to
their checker game, and the burly man who’d been paying for his purchases
immediately added a handful of stick candy to his order and presented it to Gavin
and Angel. “With your permission, ma’am,” he said, looking at Lila.

“It’s very kind of you,” she said, smiling at him. She was not yet
accustomed to having people look to her to make decisions regarding the
children. With time, she would surely lose the urge to look over her shoulder
to see to whom they might be speaking.

As Gavin and Angel went to the counter to get their candy, the
three women abandoned the yard goods and approached Lila. She immediately
recognized Dot Lyman, her plump figure wrapped in a heavily decorated gown of
rose-colored muslin. The garment sported so many rows of tucking and so much
lace and ribbon trim that she looked like nothing so much as an animated
notions counter.

“It’s good to see you again, Mrs. McKenzie,” she said as they
neared. The genuine pleasure in her greeting made Lila feel guilty for her
uncharitable thoughts. “I hope you’re well rested? Traveling is so tiring,
isn’t it? Though how just sitting can tire one out is something I’ve never
understood.”

“I slept very well,” Lila assured her untruthfully. After all, her
lack of sleep had nothing to do with the accommodations. “Thank you for asking.
Your establishment is very comfortable.”

“Thank you.” Dot actually blushed with pleasure at the compliment.
“Clem and I do our best. Of course, we can’t compete with the fine hotels back
East. Not that there’s much call for that kind of thing here. Most of our
clientele asks for nothing more than a roof over their heads and a reasonably
clean bed. But we—”

“Really, Dorothy, I doubt Mrs. McKenzie is interested in hearing
about the problems of running a hotel.” The woman who spoke was nearly as tall
as Lila but outweighed her by at least forty pounds. The extra weight did not
make her look plump and cuddly the way it did Dot Lyman. Instead, it gave her a
certain imposing presence, an impression accentuated by the elegant severity of
the steel-gray dress she wore. The contrast between its stark simplicity and
the fussiness of Dot’s gown was almost painful to see.

“Of course she’s not.” Dot’s fair skin flushed painfully. “I don’t
know what got into me that I should ramble on like that. I guess it’s just the
surprise, you know. Having Sheriff McKenzie turn up with a family when we
didn’t even know he’d been married, not just once, but twice. I don’t usually
forget myself like that and ramble on about nothing,” she said, oblivious to
the fact that she was doing just that.

The woman who’d spoken before drew a sharp breath, no doubt
preparatory to blasting poor Dot for her foolishness, but the third woman spoke
first.

“Don’t worry about it, Dot. Your rambling makes for pleasanter
listening than some folks’ careful speeches.” Traces of Ireland gave a lilt to
her voice, and her hazel eyes were a warm and friendly contrast to the first
woman’s icy displeasure. “Remember, Sara, patience is a virtue. Besides, it’s
not as if Mrs. McKenzie is going to disappear on us, now is she? There’s plenty
of time for introductions.”

The gentle reproach made Sara’s mouth tighten into a thin line,
but it was the fact that she accepted the reproach that Lila found interesting.
Calmed, Dot was able to perform the introductions with laudable economy.

The tall, dark-haired woman with the cold eyes and tight mouth was
Sara Smythe. “With a ‘y,’ ” she clarified in icy tones. Her husband was
Franklin Smythe—also with a “y,” Lila presumed. He owned the Bank of Paris, Dot
said in tones of proper respect. Aware of Sara’s watchful eyes, Lila did her
best to look impressed.

The other woman was Bridget Sunday. She was barely five feet tall
and so fine boned that she looked as if a strong wind might blow her over.
Until you looked at her face, that is. There was so much life in her
expression, so much laughter in her eyes that any impression of fragility
immediately vanished. Her hair was unabashedly carrot red, and there was a
smattering of frankly unfashionable freckles across her nose. There was a kind
of earthy charm about her that made it hard to picture her as the wife of a
minister, but that’s what she was.

“Minister Sunday,” she said, wrinkling her freckled nose. “Can you
imagine it? I told Joseph that it was downright embarrassing to have a name
like that and go into the ministry. Better to be a bank robber, I said, but he
didn’t listen to me. So here we are.”

Lila chuckled, delighted by the other woman’s sense of humor.
Sara’s mouth tightened further still, something Lila wouldn’t have believed
possible.

“A calling to the ministry is a gift from God,” she said
repressively. “I hardly think one can compare it to robbing banks.”

“I’ve no doubt there are bank robbers who consider their
profession something of a calling,” Bridget said imperturbably. “Isn’t that why
we’ve hired Sheriff McKenzie? To protect us from folks with that kind of
thinking?”

“Humpf.” Sara’s snort was a masterpiece of genteel disdain. “I
never did approve of hiring a gunfighter. Seems to me there’s a risk of finding
you’ve asked the fox to guard the henhouse. No offense meant, Mrs. McKenzie,”
she added with barely perfunctory concern.

Lila had known more than a few women like Sara Smythe. They
frequently organized charitable committees, a laudable occupation in itself but
one they took on more to allow them to exercise their bullying personalities
than because of genuine civic concern. It had been her experience that it was
better to set them back on their heels at the outset rather than to let them
think they could run roughshod over you. Not to mention that she hadn’t been
raised to stand idly by while someone insulted her husband.

“What is it I shouldn’t be offended by?” Lila asked, arching one
dark brow in question. “The reference to my husband being a gunfighter or the
implication that he might have criminal tendencies?”

It was said with such a pleasant smile that it took a moment for
the other women to realize what she’d said. Out of the corner of her eye, Lila
saw Dot’s mouth drop open and saw Bridget’s eyes widen in surprise, but she
kept her attention solely on Sara. The older woman couldn’t have looked more
shocked if a lamppost had addressed her.

“I... Well, I simply meant that... I didn’t mean to imply...” Sara
caught herself in midsputter. Taking a deep breath, she drew herself up to her
full height, which was still an inch or more shy of Lila’s. “Naturally, I
didn’t mean to suggest that Sheriff McKenzie’s ethics weren’t above reproach,”
she said with careful dignity. “If I implied otherwise, I sincerely apologize.”

She knew exactly what she’d implied, Lila thought. What’s more,
she’d meant every word of it. Whether she actually believed Bishop was less
than honest was another question, but, at the very least, she’d hoped to make
Lila uncomfortable. Lila wondered how much Sara liked finding the shoe on the
other foot. Under other circumstances, she might have nodded coolly and made
her departure. But this was her home for the foreseeable future, and, in a town
this size, it would be foolish to begin a feud the day after her arrival.

She softened her smile and allowed the chill to fade from her
eyes. “Perhaps I’m overly sensitive,” she said. “We’ve had so little time
together and you know how new brides can be.”

Her response gave Sara a way to save face, which was more than she
deserved. Lila could see that knowledge in her eyes, along with a new wariness
as the other woman considered the idea that she might have underestimated her.
There was a moment’s silence as the two of them weighed and measured each
other. It was Sara who looked away first.

“I really must be going,” she said, glancing at her companions. “I
have a great many things to do today. It was a pleasure meeting you, Mrs.
McKenzie. We must have tea together.”

“That would be lovely,” Lila said, sounding so sincere that she
nearly believed it herself.

“Lovely.” Sara’s thin mouth twitched in a smile that didn’t reach
her eyes.

“I’ll go with you,” Dot said. She nodded to the other two women,
eyes darting nervously across Lila’s face as she hurried after Sara. The door
shut behind them with a crisp jangle of bells.

Lila looked uncertainly at Bridget Sunday, wondering if she’d
offended the minister’s wife. To her relief, Bridget’s eyes sparkled with
amusement.

“I didn’t think I’d live to see the day when someone would set
Sara Smythe back on her heels.”

“That wasn’t my intention,” Lila said, a little uneasy now that
the moment was past.

“Not to worry.” Bridget waved one small hand in airy dismissal.
“She earned it. And I’ve no doubt it did her a world of good into the bargain.
She’s a tendency to run roughshod over anyone who’ll let her. It won’t do her
any harm to be brought up short. As my husband would say, a bit of humility
never hurt anyone.”