Bayou Bishops Box Set: Books 1-12

CHAPTER 6

Sahvrin sat on the edge of the pier, needing to think about what was coming but His Petite took up all the space in his mind. They’d decided to use the guns as leverage, ship them to the heart of the swamp then lock the Roulettes out until they gave up the guilty and their blood to pay for the crimes. They’d get the royal treatment at their Weigh Station before they got the luxury of death.

Agony welled up in him again at what his angel said about why they beat her. Beat half to death for trying to help a child. And without even looking or seeing it, he knew after that meeting, his brothers were taken by her, battered condition and all. She was different and you’d have to be blind not to see it. But they were not taken with her like he was, not hardly.

His father insisted he take four more days to take care of her. Felt like he’d been sentenced. Damned to Heaven and only allowed to observe, not partake.

He’d develop a plan and stick to it. She needed to rest, eat, get fresh air, and that was it. And he needed to be that protector he’d neglected to be from the beginning. He was getting his chance to make up for that horrific mistake. But if he was going to survive, he’d have to be that Bishop she’d met. His Saint Sahvrin was too soft, too giving and she was too vulnerable and hungry for everything to not devour that and him whole.

Just from the little experience he had with her, she’d be a difficult patient. Her kindness and selflessness and wanting to help with everything while being too fucking sexy for his celibacy vows was like kryptonite. Fighting demons was a lot easier than fighting this angel. Not even the hard-ass Bishop was equipped but it’s all he had.

She was not an option on his life menu that he could or should contemplate. That idea needed to be shot dead. She was still recovering from trauma, she was still very young, and she was not cut out for swamp life. And she was especially not cut out for the demands that came with his leadership of The Twelve.

****

“So, are we clear?” Sahvrin asked from the kitchen after giving His Petite the strict schedule she had to follow.

“Very clear,” she called. “Think like a zombie, lay like a zombie, walk like a zombie.”

“It’s only four days,” he said, getting her dinner while realizing they were already having their first confrontation. “You must agree.”

“I agree,” she assured. “And after four days, I can start doing things to get stronger?”

“Yes, after four days, I’ll allow you to do more.”

“I get to do more than nothing?” She eyed the tray he brought to her. “Am I allowed to eat on the couch?”

He stepped aside. “Yes.”

“Thank you, sir,” she muttered, scooting out of the bed. “All of this is very kind of you,” she said on the short trek to the living room. “I don’t want you to think I’m ungrateful, that’s not what this is.”

“I know what this is. It’s you being unable to let others do for you without returning the favor somehow.”

She sat on the couch, looking up at him while he set the tray on her lap. “That’s a good trait, I thought.”

“Not when you need to heal, no.”

“Well, I know my own body and ability better than anybody.” She picked up her spoon, smelling the delicious aroma.

“Ma Petite.”

She looked up at him.

“You took a two hour shower the very next morning after I found you half dead. That’s not knowing your body’s abilities.”

Her mouth opened for a couple seconds. “I went that slow because I knew my ability.”

“And you prove my point by missing the point. You shouldn’t have showered.” He ended the discussion and walked back to the kitchen for his own food. “You know I admire your strength, but there’s a difference between being strong and being stupid.”

“Okay,” she cried lightly from the couch. “I get it. I just…don’t like feeling useless.”

“You’re not useless.”

“Yeah? What am I good for?” she wondered around the food in her mouth, pausing with a dramatic ‘mmmm, this is so good.’ The orgasmic tone made him smile while challenging him.

“Tomorrow, I have work in my shop.”

“What shop?” she asked.

“The one in my back yard.”

“I never got to see the back yard yet.”

“You’re free to stroll the docks, but beyond that, ask me.” He made his way to the sitting area, taking the single chair near the couch.

“Docks? Is there more than one?”

“The dock surrounds the house and has piers leading to small pieces of land.”

“Oh how neat,” she said, smiling and doing that mmmm again. “You must show me how to cook when I’m better. I can at least do that. And clean, I’m very good at cleaning.”

“I’m sure you are,” he said, not looking at her. She was too easy to stare at and once he started, it was hard to stop. The fact that she was oblivious made it easy which didn’t help.

****

Beth woke up and stretched, so relieved to not encounter excruciating pain. She still hurt but nothing like those first three days. The smell of food lifted her head and she looked around, wondering what time it was. She didn’t hear anything which meant Sahvrin might be already working in his shop. She forgot to ask what he did in it. Guess she could stroll and find out.

She made her way out of bed, forgoing a shower since she’d had one before bed. Dr. Bishops orders. A long one. Hot as she could take it. She decided on the red dress today and worked it over her head after her bathroom business. She regarded her hair in the mirror with a sigh. Seemed more stupid by the day. Especially in the heat. She got the brush they sent with the clothes and the little baggie of hair accessories. She’d spied a hair clip three times too small. But the hair ties worked.

She decided to go with two braids wrapped around themselves. It was childish but whatever. Not like he was looking. More like ignoring it seemed.

She slipped on the cute brown sandals that were only a little small and found a plate of food with a note on top of it on the counter. She smiled, picking it up. Eat all of it. Her grin crumpled at the curt message then returned full-blown when she uncovered the plate. “Wow.” Bacon, eggs, fried cubed potatoes…what was that pile of white stuff? She picked up the fork and moved it around then tasted a bit. “Mmm.” The buttery salty flavor danced on her tastebuds as she carried the plate to the couch, glancing out the window for signs of her strict babysitter.

She happily sat with her plate, holding it at her chest near her mouth. She didn’t mind him babysitting her at all. Pretty sure there wasn’t a time in her life that she didn’t feel more royal than at his little shack in the swamp. “Dear God, the man can cook,” she murmured with non-stop mmmm’s. Would be nice if she learned how to do that. She could follow directions pretty good but definitely had to have them.

****

Sahvrin mixed the final coat for the outdoor tub in the wheelbarrow. His Petite was still sleeping, which was good. Hopefully she stayed that way till he was done. She’d be able to test the tub tomorrow afternoon if the weather cooperated.

Small footsteps approaching on the back dock said he’d wished too soon.

“Oh, there you are. Morning! Or afternoon, I overslept.”

He straightened and his gaze did its usual inspection, starting at her face. The swelling was all gone, and the bruises were fifty percent less colorful making her fifty percent more beautiful. “Morning. You ate?”

“Yes, I’m stuffed.” She regarded the pier leading from her to him. “Am I allowed?”

“Yes. Just be careful, it’s wobbly.”

He watched her eyes get big as she stared at the fifteen-foot narrow walk with worry.

“I’ll help,” he said, setting his shovel down.

“No, I can get it,” she fussed, like he was taking one of the few privileges she had.

He paused and eyed her red dress, wondering where all her hair was while she navigated the bridge with both fists at her chin.

When she made it across, she hit him with her bright smile. “And I put my dish in the sink without even washing it,” she bragged, as if she’d waited to finish her sentence. “Pretty sure it’s more stressful not washing it than washing it,” she informed.

He turned back to his wheelbarrow with a grin. “Where’s all your hair, Ma Petite?”

“Oh, it’s still there. I just braided it and wound it up out of the way. And I was thinking how useless it is to have all this hair while in the swamp.”

He paused at the hint of her doing something to it. “You won’t always be in the swamp,” he reminded. “And you need it where it’s cold.”

He caught her looking at his sweat soaked shirt as he pushed the wheelbarrow to the tub. “Maybe I’m tired of living in the snow and ice,” she said.

Sounded more like a fishing statement. What was she fishing for? How he felt about that?

“Plus, I was coming here to see if I wanted to live here,” she reminded.

He dumped the bucket of mix. “Right. And your experience so far?” he teased, glancing at her.

She inspected one of the sitting logs nearby and sat. “It’s not been all bad.” She smoothed her hands over her dress. “Aside from the obvious nightmare, I happen to love it out here. Well, not here, here. I mean, I do love it here too, just in the swamp I mean, I love the swamp.”

He laughed at the mess she made with her words, while spreading the mix. “So you want to live in the swamp?” he said.

“I don’t see why not,” she said. “I wouldn’t want to live in town, that’s for sure.”

“You don’t know what you’re saying,” he assured.

“What? Yes, I do. What’s to know?”

“Oh Ma Petite,” he said, breathless. “The swamp life isn’t for northern women. The heat would likely kill you, for one.”

“I would adjust,” she argued lightly. “If I can survive extreme cold, I can survive the opposite?”

He laughed at that. “I would think it doesn’t work that way.”

“How would you know?” she challenged. “And it’s not like I’d be chained here, if I didn’t like it, I could leave.”

“Yes, you could,” he said, knowing that’s exactly what would happen.

“Doesn’t mean I would. There’s things I can do to adapt. Get a tan for one. Cut all this hair off is another.”

He straightened, looking at her. “If you cut your hair and change your mind, you won’t get it back for years.”

“It’s just hair,” she muttered. “I’ve been wanting a haircut for years. What’s the point of all this hair, it’s nothing but a hassle. More product, more time to upkeep, more annoying. Especially here.”

“Fine, cut your hair,” he said, not wanting to argue with her over it.

“You think? What kind of hair cut should I get?”

“None,” he said.

“You just said to cut it,” she cried.

“Because you seem bent on doing that, so do it.”

“So you don’t want me to cut my hair?”

He went to the hose and turned it on, rinsing his hands. “I don’t care what you do with your hair, Ma Petite. It’s your hair to do whatever you want with it. If you want to cut it all off, do it, but don’t ask me, okay?”

She eyed him, looking confused with his dick answer. Fuck. “You want to know what I really think? I think your hair is beautiful and I’d be pissed if you cut it all off. But it’s your hair, not mine.”

“Why would you be pissed?” she wondered, curious.

“It’s a figure of speech, Ma Petite. I wouldn’t really be pissed,” he said, shaking his head.

“I get it,” she said after a few moments. “You love my hair and think it’s beautiful. Noted,” she said lightly.

Mon Dieu, she was like a trap he always walked into.

“So what are you doing?” she asked.

“Finishing this outdoor tub so you can have a proper soak.”

“A what?” she gasped, making him turn to see what she looked like when making that sound. “You lie!”

“It should be cured enough to use by tomorrow afternoon.”

“Oh my God, I can’t believe you built a tub!” She made her way over and inspected. “It’s huge! Like a small pool! You’re truly amazing, aren’t you?”

The overloaded compliment sent him with his tools to the outdoor shower. He turned it on and parked his wheelbarrow next to it then removed his shoes. He decided to leave his shirt on at feeling His Petite’s eyes all over him. Amazing how she did that not realizing he could see her. He glanced at her, and she quickly looked away, proving his point.

He turned so he could finish without distraction.

“Oh my God, is this your garden? How cute!”

He rinsed himself first while she explored his small paradise.

“So much sun here, wow! It’s like a tiny little paradise all by itself.” She sucked in a breath. “Is that lavender? I can’t believe you know how to do all of this!”

He started rinsing his tools now.

“You have to teach me this stuff,” she said, her voice getting distant.

“Ma Petite,” he called, needing to warn her about swamp creatures.

Her screams erupted and he threw down the shovel, nearly colliding with her as she flew out of the garden, arms flying. “It’s on me, it’s on me!” she shrieked, slapping herself everywhere.

He managed to catch her and search her body and hair. “I don’t see anything,” he yelled over her as he brushed her down with a hand, permanently etching her soft curves in his brain.

She ended up in his arms, clutching his wet t-shirt with uncontrollable shaking. He stroked her back as she let out a verbal shudder. “I hate spiders! I want to go back inside,” she said, making him grin.

“I’m thinking Ma Petite doesn’t have these kinds of swamp creatures in the North?” He led her back and she paused at the bridge. Not wanting her to end up in the water next, he scooped her up and carried her across.

He couldn’t keep from measuring her weight, not happy as he set her down. “Mon Dieu, you feel malnourished.”

“What?’ she said, sounding offended. “I’m not malnourished. All I do is eat and sleep!” She shuddered again. “And no we don’t have many of those creatures up North. But that doesn’t mean I can’t…get used to them.”

He let out a laugh at how hard she shuddered when she said that.

“You’re wet, I can…get you a towel.”

“I can get it,” he said, passing her as he headed inside.

“Fine, get it,” he heard her mumble. “Get everything. And I decided I’m not going in,” she yelled now. “I’m sitting on the pier.”

“Good, the sun will be good for you,” he called back from the fridge, amused at how she saw his therapy as some kind of attack on her.

“Spiders are part of God’s creation,” she said, possibly trying to convince herself.

He got a dry towel and clean clothes. “Ma Petite,” he called. “I’m changing, don’t come inside.”

He removed his clothes and dried off.

“Oh shit!” she gasped, spinning around and hurrying back out. “What are you doing?” she demanded incredulous.

“I’m changing,” he said, just as emphatic. “That’s why I said don’tcomeinside.”

“You said comeinside! You need to be louder!” she fussed, sounding more traumatized than she’d been with the spider.

The idea made him chuckle.

“Are you laughing?” she wondered.

“Yes, I am,” he admitted, pulling his dry jeans on. “I’m decent,” he announced.

She walked in and walked right back out with another shrill, “A man without a shirt is not what I’d call decent!” she let him know.

God, she was so funny. “I’m sorry. No shirt in the swamp is like common attire.”

She gave her cute sputters. “I imagine you don’t say that for women. Do you?”

The way she added do you was priceless. “I don’t say anything to women.”

Before he could add, because I don’t date them, she choked out, “So you’re fine with women going without a shirt?”

He made his way outside, needing to see her while she was so pissed. It reminded him of the first time he’d met her, and he really regretted not enjoying her more then. “I was going to say I don’t say anything to women because I don’t date them.”

He studied that fiery spirit in her, drinking it in. “But surely you have an opinion? Are you saying I should go around the swamps without a shirt?” she wondered, super incredulous. He didn’t answer her fast enough and she said, “Wowwww, so you like women parading naked in front of you?”

Mon Dieu, how did it go from women not wearing shirts to him liking them parading naked in front of him. “If you would let me answer.”

“Your either know or you don’t, I’m not so sure what there is to think about!”

“Well, for one, you keep switching from women and you, and those two things are not the same in my mind.”

She went quiet, eyeing him and now he realized where she’d go with it. He couldn’t win. “I’m not okay with any woman going without her shirt in front of me to answer your question.”

She stared at him with an angry suspicion that made him grin. “And that was so hard to say?”

“With you interrupting me, yes.”

“You think this kind of thing is funny,” she said, nodding at him, not at all happy about that. And that made it fucking hilarious.

“I don’t,” he said even as he laughed.

“Right. Right. This is so disappointing,” she muttered, turning to face the cove.

“Mon Dieu, Ma Petite, stop,” he begged, still laughing. She answered him with a hand up while walking toward the end of the pier, muttering how wrong she was about him.

He followed her, amazed at how easily their conversations ended this way. From day one, he realized. The more arousing thing was how she didn’t even realize what her offense plainly said to him. That she did not like the idea of another woman parading naked in front of him. The only reason he hesitated in that whole conversation was because she’d entered the scenario and that was different. Having her parade without a shirt in front of him was definitely something he wasn’t against. But he couldn’t tell her that, obviously.

“For the record,” he said behind her, ready to set it straight. “I don’t wish for any woman parading naked in front of me. Ever.”

She turned with a screwed-up face. “Wish?” She faced forward again. “What a weird choice of words. Try want, Mr. Bishop. You don’t want, not wish. Wish is what you do when you see a shooting star or throw a penny in a well, not decide whether or not you want to ogle tits.”

Fuck, he couldn’t believe she’d managed to arouse him out of his mind with her jealousy. Obliviously, of course.