Love Inspired Historical April 2014 Bundle: The Husband Campaign\The Preacher's Bride Claim\The Soldier's Secrets\Wyoming Promises (84 page)

Ike leaned into her line of sight, drawing her chin up. “You won't be sorry this time, Lola. You'll never know how I've been working to earn your attentions again. I've been doing all I can to show you we're meant to be, and I'm closing the saloon as soon as the hotel is finished.”

Shock froze her a moment. “But, Ike, I—”

“I am poised to make my mark on this town. With you beside me, well...” His voice trailed off as his eyes searched her face. “I won't push you. I know you've been dealt a lot these past few months, but you'll see that all things work out for the best in the end.”

Lola smiled at his earnest expression. “You're still an old charmer, Ike Tyler.”

He stepped away, a broad smile peeking below his thin mustache. “Not charming—sincere. I'll prove that to you. All on your time. I assure you, I can be patient...for a while, at least. But say the word, my dear, and I will shower you with flowers, candy, all your heart desires and more.”

Lola raised a skeptical brow. “But not before?”

Ike held his hand over his heart, bowing slightly. “I promise.”

She considered his words, his expression. She believed him, probably more than was wise at the moment. But he hadn't been the one to leave the flowers at her door, either. Somehow that thought didn't comfort her as much as she thought it would.

“If you've changed, really changed,” she said, “I'll be glad to see it. You deserve as much opportunity for redemption as any man. As for the other...” She searched the streets, wishing a clear sign would swoop down and tap her on the shoulder. “We'll have to take that as it comes. But I appreciate your promise to not push the issue and allow me to discover the truth about you in my own time.”

His hands covered hers, and his face brightened. “That's all I ask, Lola.” He dropped his hands as if suddenly aware he'd breached his intentions. His coy smile broadened. “Just a chance.”

Lola nodded, resigned in his exuberance. “Every man deserves that, Ike.” She smiled.

His gaze lingered a moment, then he spun on his heel and swept his arm toward the hotel with a grand bow. “What do you think? Will this gain the attention of visitors to our fair town?”

“I don't see how they could miss it. It certainly looks impressive. When do you expect to have it finished?” she asked, catching on to his excitement.

“Another month or more, I'm afraid. Hopefully we'll convince the railroad to bring a line this way. It would increase profits for ranches to the north, too.”

“Not to mention your own?” she said, peering under the porch roof from the steps.

“I am a businessman, after all,” Ike defended. “I'm waiting for shipments of some fine appointments to go in the rooms. Tasteful, distinguished—”

“Is Bridger to bring them?” She missed him not being in the woodshop each morning to work.

“If they've arrived in Ralston, yes. Why?”

Lola drew her arms around herself, holding the shawl close. “I wondered when you expected him.”

“By week's end, another day or so at most. How's he coming with your projects?” Ike's tone held more nonchalance than his features.

“He only finished the one casket, and I needed it for Mr. Anthony. I hope he can finish more before I get any more guests.” They had been used too quickly of late.

“How long do you plan to continue this...your...the business?” Ike asked.

Lola whirled, the momentum of her bustle forcing her down a step. She tapped a finger against her chest. “My
business
has been better than I'd prefer these past months, Ike. Instead of thinking what else I should do, the Lord has shown me how valuable the service I provide is to this town. I expect to continue it until He shows me otherwise.”

Ike held both hands up. “No reason to turn on me, Lola. I'm not arguing your decision, only asking.” He leaned against the stair rail. “Besides, it's a fair question. I may be the first to bring it to you, but I'm not the first to have asked it.”

Lola gave a polite nod to a group of women passing on the sidewalk, her lips drawn tight. “I know what they think.” She slumped, descending the rest of the steps. “To be honest, I wouldn't be able to continue without all the help you and your men have given me. If you hadn't sent Bridger my way, Pete might have been my last guest.”

“You're one of the few homegrown gals still around, and people are concerned about you. Don't blame them for that.” Ike twirled his mustache, pulling the end into a fine point. “After all, you can hardly call what you do ‘conventional.'”

“Not conventional because of what I do, or not conventional because I'm a woman doing it?” She demanded an answer, her hand sliding to her hip in a most unladylike stance.

“I'm not trying to argue with you, Lola. I'm asking you to consider appearances.”

“Are you saying you won't help me anymore?” Her heart pounded. What would she do if he didn't?

Ike swooped close, his voice firm but quiet. He glanced at the bustling shoppers moving around them. “No, I'm not saying that, not at all. But I care for you, and it hurts me to hear what people say.”

“I don't need you to speak for me.” Her tone rasped, weak and unsure even to her own ears.

“I won't presume to. Not yet, anyway. I only meant to see if you were aware.” He breathed deep and released it with a huff. “And possibly to find out for myself.”

“I'm not some half-brained ninny, Ike. I know what some folks think about this job. I grew up with it for most of my life. I know it's not common, what I do, and less so for a woman. But the business has to continue. I have nothing else to—”

“Yet. I'm hoping to change that, too.” He smiled. “Don't be cross with me, Lola. Not when we've decided you ought to give me another chance. But don't be surprised to find me at your door more often. I want to watch over you. After all, you're not only a dear...friend.” He grasped her wrist and drew her close, the pressure firm. “Your business deserves my protection as much as any other in this town. I intend to keep my eye on you...whether you appreciate it or not.”

Chapter Fourteen

B
ridger stood ramrod-stiff, afraid of bumping shelves of glasswork in the sweltering room. He'd found Axlebee's Glassworks a few streets off the main road, and while the sun barely topped the trees, he determined it would be his last stop.

Heat from the glass furnace blasted through to the front room, adding to his weariness. Traveling with a full wagon and an order of glass windows didn't ease his restlessness, either.

He couldn't get to Quiver Creek fast enough. Time had dragged like an ant pulling a moose this past week, and even busy days of loading supplies and rumbling through towns to find what Ike needed didn't help.

A short, round woman poked her head through a side door and bustled toward him. “I'm sorry to keep you waiting, sir. How may I help you today?”

“I'm here to pick up the order for Ike Tyler, over in Quiver Creek. Is it ready, ma'am?”

The woman blanched as she tied an apron around her ample girth, then blazed a glance his way. “You're a new one, laddie. A far sight more handsome than any of the others I've had the misfortune to meet, but 'tis no matter if you're working for the likes o' that one.”

A back door slammed. “Woman, you'll hold your tongue!”

The smithy limped his way around shelves of glass with careful tread. The older man stooped, thin spine bent from years of work.

Bridger shifted his boots, trying to find a stance that didn't make him feel like the devil himself under their stares. It seemed Mr. Anthony wasn't alone in his low opinion of Ike Tyler—or anyone who worked for him. And between the greetings he'd garnered and the realization that the marshal had questions about his boss, Bridger suspected folks had more reason than Ike's too-slick, off-balance personality to hold a thinly veiled wariness against him.

He needed to get back and talk to that federal marshal...and check on Lola.

“Mr. Tyler sent me for his windows. Are they ready?” Bridger handed the order slip to the woman.

She ripped it from his grasp, never breaking her fiery gaze. Her lips clamped tight and Bridger braced for another blast.

Mr. Axlebee stepped forward and pulled the paper from his wife's grasp, handing it back to Bridger. “I'm afraid the order isn't ready,” he said. “Train was delayed last week with a spring flood, and I didn't get the materials I needed to finish on time.”

Bridger removed his hat and raked a hand through his hair. That would mean another trip, not to mention the delay in setting the windows in the hotel. “When can I tell my boss to expect them, then? They were to be ready for this week.”

The man glanced at his wife before answering. “We need two more weeks to get it all.”

“Isn't there part of the order I could take today?”

The man nodded toward his wife, who carefully withdrew a metal box from behind the shelf and opened it with a rusty key. She fumbled inside a moment before pulling out a wad of bills. Her icy stare drilled through Bridger. She licked her thumb and thrust each one to the counter, like a punch to his face.

“Here!” She settled the bills together and tucked them into an envelope before shoving it under his nose. “It's all we can pay for now.”

Pay? He picked a vase off a shelf, admiring the fine quality. He wasn't sure what they owed Ike, but he hated to leave them penniless.

“Please, sir,” the old man rasped, “don't break it. We'll make up the difference in two weeks, when you come back for the windows.”

Bridger settled his hat back on his head. Lola might like the vase. He'd been thinking of her a lot this week, wishing he worked in her woodshed instead of doing Ike's errands. The delicate strength in the design of the glass reminded him of her. “I'm not sure what interest—”

“We'll pay the interest, too,” the man assured him.

His pulse jumped. Ike's true nature of business grew crystal clear.

He set the decorative vase on the counter and took a deep breath. He couldn't tip his hand. “If you have something you need delivered to him, I'm happy to oblige. But I'm not about to take your last penny, and I'd like to buy this vase for a friend of mine, if that's all right.” His voice bounced against the glass items, making his words louder than intended. Or maybe frustration caused it.

The woman glanced at her husband, then turned her skeptical eye toward him, eyebrow curled in disbelief. “Now you listen, sonny. You want that vase, it's five dollars. You can add it to this envelope and take it with you, because the sooner we square up with your Mr. Tyler, the sooner we don't have to look at ye.”

* * *

“It's good to see you, Grace!” Lola greeted her friend as she stepped out of the general store. “I didn't know you were coming into town today.”

“Father sent me for some special liniment for his horse. Can I give you a ride home?”

Lola swung her parcel into the wagon and scrambled over the wheel. Ike's man Toby stood on the walkway, arms crossed, a scowl etched across his face.

Grace chirped to the team and moved into the flow of wagons rumbling through town. “Not the same cheery little store, is it?”

Lola glanced back. “Toby is none too happy about minding the customers and doesn't care who knows it. As if going in there without Mr. Anthony wasn't hard enough.” She swallowed around the lump in her throat.

Grace clenched the reins as they passed the hotel. “Everything in this town is hard anymore.” She shook her head. “I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. Mr. Anthony's service was real nice, but it opened the memory of Pete's funeral like a fresh wound.”

Lola wrapped an arm around her friend's shoulders. “I know,” she said. What else could she say? Quiver Creek had suffered a miserable year, and it didn't seem the Lord had finished whatever lesson these trials were supposed to teach.

Doc Kendall waved as he crossed the street in front of them. “Good morning, ladies. How are you feeling, Mrs. McKenna?”

Lola leaned forward as the wagon slowed.

“Much better than a few weeks ago, Doctor,” Grace said.

“Glad to hear that. I plan to be in town for the next few weeks, so stop into my office sometime. I like to keep an eye on my future patients,” he said.

Lola smiled. “I'm glad you'll be home for a while.”

“As am I, Miss Lola. I'm sorry to hear about Cecil. I know how special you were to him.” He pulled out his pocket watch. “I apologize, ladies, but I'm on my way to Mrs. Adamson's place. She was feeling poorly last time I came through, and I want to see how she's progressing.”

“You're a busy man,” Lola said.

“As are you, my dear. I hope to talk more with you soon!” He bowed and tipped his bowler, then hurried off at a fast clip across the road to his horse.

“That man spreads himself thinner than a coin on a railroad track,” Grace said.

“We're blessed to have him. But a town this size, what we really need is a full-time doctor,” Lola said, watching the man trot down the street. “He can't be but a few years older than we are, but he'll work himself to an early grave.”

Grace's soft gasp drew her attention. “I remember saying the same thing to Pete,” she whispered.

Lola closed her eyes. Why did she forever say the wrong thing? “I'm so sorry. I didn't mean—”

“I know. But I did. I was angry when he left, gone looking for some big cat when he should've been home mending fences, checking the stock, finishing that cradle...” Grace's voice grew softer. “Being with me.”

Lola hugged her friend. Hadn't she thought the same about Bridger? She needed him to finish work for her, but she had to admit, she missed his company more.

Grace shuddered as they rounded the corner. The lines of wagons thinned as her home came into view. “The funny thing is,” Grace said, the edges of her lips tilting in a sad smile, “I loved that about him. Pete was forever helping other people, and that's part of what made me love him so much.”

The team slowed to a stop in front of Lola's door before Grace faced her, unshed tears threatening to spill. They only added brightness to the desperation in her eyes. “I don't understand why God had to take him, Lola. I don't. I've talked with Pastor Evans, with Mother and Father, with God Himself, and it makes no sense, not now.”

Lola's heart gripped with the strength of a grieving widow's handclasp. What comfort could she offer her friend, when she didn't have any answers?

“When? When would it have been a good time, Grace? Five years from now, when your baby is old enough to know his father is gone? Five years ago, when you were courting? Or fifty years from now, leaving you alone after he'd grown fifty years more dear to you?”

Grace blanched white as if she'd been slapped, but Lola pushed on. She coughed, throat tight with tears. “There's never a good time to die. I've learned that. Not for those of us left behind. But think of Pete, Grace. He's enjoying all the glories of Heaven right now. Would you want to call him back from that?”

Grace bowed her head, and Lola thought she'd have curled into a ball if the roundness of her belly hadn't prevented it. Lola rubbed a hand over her shoulders, soothing the muffled cries that escaped.

Lola rested her head on Grace's shoulder, shedding a few tears of her own. She battled through the same questions with no answers. But she had experienced the Lord with her through the sorrow. She'd also come to realize the depth of her selfishness, because her first response to the question had been an adamant yes. She still hadn't reached the point where she saw any goodness in her father's death, but her faith and trust in the Lord had grown.

Moments passed before Grace shuddered in her arms and sat against the wagon seat. “I just miss him so. I'm sorry.”

Lola patted her shoulder and handed Grace a handkerchief. “I know, and that won't change. But with the Lord's help, you can accept it and grow through the pain. That I can promise you.”

Grace's mouth wobbled, as if she intended to smile but her lips refused. “Your father once told me the comfort you provided families couldn't be taught. He was right.”

Warmth filled Lola at the gift of her father's praise through Grace. “Do you have to hurry home? I could make some lunch.”

Grace looked at the sky, judging the time. “No, I really ought to get home. Mother's feeling a little under the weather and I don't want to be away too long.”

“Nothing serious, I hope? Maybe Dr. Kendall should check on her.”

“No, no, nothing like that. Just the spring sniffles, I'm certain. I'm sorry I've taken our entire visit. How have things been with you?” Grace grasped her wrist as Lola stood to leave the wagon.

Lola examined the trees standing like sentries on distant ridges, knowing Bridger rode among them. She sighed. “It's been a quiet few days.”

“No more strange noises?” Grace's eyes squinted with concern.

Lola's gaze snapped to her house, the woodshop door barely visible from this angle. “Not exactly.”

Grace tugged her to the wagon seat. “What's that supposed to mean?”

Lola looked down rather than face her friend's alarm. “Well, I haven't heard anything, but I've had a fresh bouquet of wildflowers at my back doorstep every morning this week.”

“Bridger's still out of town?” Grace asked.

Lola's gaze flicked toward her friend. “He's to meet with Jake Anderson on Saturday, so he'll return by then.” Or hopefully sooner. “Why?”

Grace smiled, showing a row of perfect white teeth. “My heart has eased about him, you know. I'm glad he's around to keep an eye on you. I guess I hoped he brought the flowers.”

Warmth toasted Lola's face despite the brisk air. “Why should he? I'm his boss, after all. It wouldn't be proper.”

Grace bit her lip. “I can't help it if I'm a hopeless romantic.”

“We hardly know him! He's under investigation by a federal marshal!”

“Yes, because you alerted the authorities. At the time, I thought it wise, and I guess I still do. But I've seen him in church, around town, and I'm telling you, Lola, he has a good soul. Don't get me wrong, there's dangerousness about him, but the kind that makes you think he'll stop at nothing to see that right is done.”

Lola stared at Grace, wishing a stiff breeze could blow the heat from her cheeks. “You've hardly spoken a dozen words to the man and you know that about him?”

Grace nodded, the wisdom of experience shining in her blue eyes. “I saw it in Pete enough to recognize it.”

“Ike's been keeping an eye on my place, too,” Lola admitted.

Grace's lips drew a firm line. “But the flowers aren't from him.”

“No,” she said. “I discovered it in a roundabout way, but no, they're not from him.”

Grace huffed. “Not his style to give a woman something nice without gaining credit for it.”

Lola thought of their conversation earlier that morning. “He's trying to change, Grace. If the Lord won't remember his sins against him, how can I?”

“Because God gave you memory for a reason,” Grace said. “Ike had no right, what he did to you. It's irksome to see him prospering, I'll tell you that.”

Loyalty and shame swirled in her chest so that Lola lacked the muster to provide a convincing defense. “He doesn't expect me to forget that, only to give him a chance moving forward,” she said.

“Then you be sure you use your God-given memory to stay wary. I don't trust him.”

Lola rubbed a hand over her wrinkled brow. “You're telling me you feel better about a virtual stranger hanging around my place than you do Ike, whom we've known for years?”

“Yes,” Grace said, her voice a harsh whisper. “Just as you have learned about care and compassion from watching your father in his line of work, Lola, I've learned from watching Pete. Sharing his experience and the Lord's discernment have made me a good judge of character. Bridger may be facing some rough circumstances, but there's something solid at the core of him.”