Love Inspired Historical April 2014 Bundle: The Husband Campaign\The Preacher's Bride Claim\The Soldier's Secrets\Wyoming Promises (89 page)

Why did men insist on making things more intriguing by saying less? “You can't tell me anything?”

Light flickered across his wide face and glowed along the wooden walls behind him. “Only to be cautious, same as I've been. But you have no reason to be leery of Bridger. Don't add to his concerns.”

“Mr. Jamison needs to learn he doesn't own the market on problems, sir. You say he's under pressure? Well, he's not the only one!” She swept forward, almost pushing Jake out the door with the motion. “Now if you'll excuse me, I have a job to do.”

* * *

Lola closed the Bible in her lap and leaned in the rocking chair, setting it to a gentle sway. The late hour required only one dim light in the great room, enough to read but not so much to destroy her sleepiness. Her confrontation with Bridger and laying Myrtle to rest had left her mind too full to head straight to bed, but her body yearned for sleep. If she didn't soon turn in, though, rising in time for tomorrow's—today's—services would be impossible.

A knock startled her from a light doze. Who would be calling at this time of night? She slipped to the window and peeked out. Ike?

“Is something wrong?” she asked, opening the door a narrow crack as she grasped her night-robe at the neck. “It's terrible late.”

Ike flashed a grin, no trace of tiredness in his face. “That it is, and I apologize for disturbing you. I saw your light and wanted to make sure all is well.”

She glanced at the soft glow cast by the lantern against the window. Still, any light at this hour was uncommon. “I'm fine, Ike. It was good of you to make certain.”

His smile gave away his pleasure. “It's my job to assure your safety, Lola. I care about you. I heard about the widow Stiles. I'll be glad to help. She's a hefty job, I'd guess.”

She was, but it was unkind of him to mention that so callously. Lola sighed. With her thoughts so wild and raw over the day's events, she needed sleep more than anything.

Ike clasped his cool gloved hand over hers at her neck. His touch startled any lethargy from her.

“Forgive me,” he said. “I can see you're upset as it is. I'm sorry, but Toby said he overheard Jamison yelling at you over near the church this evening.” He removed his hand to stall her protest. “He'd been on rounds and heard voices but left when he saw another gentleman there at your aid. Still, he described it as quite a scene. Are you all right?”

Consternation racked her chest. How dare Toby claim such a thing! Her hands fluttered in the night between them. “It was a misunderstanding, Ike. Your men would do well to focus on the safety of the town and stop spreading gossip. That's the only help I need.”

His eyes gleamed, a burst of fire quickly swallowed but not prevented. “I won't apologize because I've learned one of my men treated you like the insensitive cad he is, Lola. The men I hire aren't noted for gentility and civility, but they're the best I've been able to find in this rough town.” He smiled, raising his hand again to brush against the softness of her cheek. “Even those of us born to gentility can be improved by a woman's touch.”

Defense of Bridger tightened her limbs, but she blushed in spite of herself. “Bridger Jamison is your best man, Ike. He's proven invaluable to this town and to me.”

His voice grew quiet, gruff. “He's nothing but a lout, although given the general nature of the men we must employ in this town, I suppose he's worth his keep.” Ike slid closer, smelling of whiskey and tobacco from the saloon. “I understand he has a brother he's been keeping locked away all this time. Lying by omission at the very least,” he said with a tsk. “Makes me wonder what else he's lied about, what other crimes he's hidden.”

Lola slipped away from the door, narrowing the gap. “He's entitled to keep his own counsel. It's his family, after all. I'm certain he had good reason.” Hearing her own doubts repeated from Ike's slick tongue cleared her mind. At least Bridger's reasons had nothing to do with selfish whims and heedless treatment of others, as Ike's transgressions had been. “Neither of us is in a position to judge.”

Ike straightened, smoothing his mustache. “You don't hide family that's harmless, Lola. That's all I'm saying.”

“But sometimes you try to hide them from harm. Bridger had his reasons, and he's entitled to them.” She couldn't stifle the yawn that overwhelmed her. She didn't try. The night air crept through her housecoat, bringing a shiver across her shoulders.

“I'll be on my way, Lola. I don't want to deter you from well-earned rest. It's only that I've seen the two of you together a great deal since he returned, and I'm worried about you. As a gentleman and as caretaker of this town, I feel it's my duty to protect you from his kind and their ruffian ways.”

Ruffian ways?
Bridger wore gentility like a pair of boots—worn and dusty from use, but as much a part of him as his teeth. The clock on the mantel gave a single soft stroke. “I must get to sleep, Ike. I'll see you in church tomorrow, and I'm sorry for being so cross. It's been a long day, but I do appreciate your concern and the things you've been doing to help the people of Quiver Creek.”

Ike smiled and gave a gallant bow. “I appreciate the recognition, Lola,” he said. “Good night.”

She closed the door and fastened the latch and lock. Most homes didn't use them, but she'd had them installed after Papa died as a measure of security to her mind, if not in the physical sense. She'd been glad of it many times over.

But as she made her way up the stairs and slipped between cool blankets to finally rest her head, the nagging question lingered: Why was Ike so interested in Bridger at all?

Chapter Nineteen

L
ola clipped up the steps behind the Jamison brothers as the church bell pealed across the narrow valley. “Good morning, gentlemen.” She greeted them with a smile as she shook out her shawl. “It's wonderful to see you this fine morning.”

Frank looked as fresh as a new penny, his copper hair tamed by water and parted with care. His bright expression drew her awake after a short, restless night. He clasped her hand, shaking it with a staccato beat in his eagerness. “Good morning, Miss Lola. I'm so happy Bridge brought me today.”

She recalled the verse:
“I was glad when they said unto me, Let us go into the house of the Lord.”
Behind his brother, Bridger stood worrying his hat brim, his bleary eyes proof he hadn't rested any more than she had. “I can see that. You must have slept well.”

“I was almost too excited,” Frank said, fussing with his string tie and brushing his worn wool suit jacket. “But Bridge said if I didn't shut up and go to sleep, he wouldn't bring me no matter what. You look awful pretty, Miss Lola.”

She smiled at his flirtatious ways. “With these rings under my eyes, you speak with more flattery than fact. But thank you, Frank. It makes a girl feel good to know her attempts to fix herself up aren't entirely in vain.”

Frank's eyebrows dragged down, curling at the edges like a question mark.

Bridger nudged him from behind. “She means it was nice of you to say,” he said. He peered at her over his brother's shoulder, the message in his brown eyes clear. “But don't push her kindness.”

Frank glanced at his brother and then turned his subdued grin toward her. “I won't. You're welcome, Miss Lola.” He leaned close, yet his conspiratorial whisper echoed in the tiny vestibule. “Thanks for what you did, asking me to help. I wanted to come since we got here, but after you needed me, he couldn't hardly say ‘no' no more.” He patted her forearm and stepped to the entry, waiting for Bridger.

Bridger drew closer. The caramel-colored shirt he wore under a tan vest lay crisp over his lanky frame, accentuating his dark skin and coffee-shaded eyes. Everything about him spoke of earth and strength and ruggedness, and he had no business appearing so handsome when she intended to keep her distance.

He leaned closer, his breath warm at her ear. “I owe you an apology,” he whispered.

She refused to meet his gaze, focused instead on Pastor Evans as he made Frank's acquaintance. “You did, last night.”

She risked a glance. He tipped his face away, his deep scar more pronounced with the angle, then swung back, frustration or embarrassment in his eyes. Maybe a bit of both. “But after having last night to ponder on it, I'd like to apologize properly.”

His eyes glittered, and her breath caught in her throat.

A narrow grin tugged his lips. “Now that I mean it.”

His smile, his scent, his nearness...they drew her senses awake better than the church bell. Heat crept along her neck and tingled in her chest. “It wasn't right of me, either, to drag Frank along. I don't understand why you wouldn't tell me—people—about him, but you're entitled to your reasons.”

Bridger turned at her shoulder to keep Frank in his sights, which drew him closer to her side. “I can't tell you everything yet, but I hope you trust me enough to work it all out.”

She nodded, not daring to look his way again. She kept her voice low as more members of the congregation filed around them. “In the meantime, I really could use Frank's help from time to time. Do you think he would like that?”

His shrug brushed against her shoulder. “I reckon he'd like anything that gets him out of the room more. But you don't have to, Lola. Frank, you see, he takes a lot of patience, and folks aren't always—”

“Folks aren't always right. Or kind, or fair. But give them a chance, Bridger. Give Frank a chance to prove himself to them.”

His shoulders relaxed with a tight exhalation of air, and the warmth of his hand at her elbow ushered her through the church door. Frank jostled from boot to boot in his excitement, watching the minister take his place at the platform and waiting for his brother to choose a seat in the sanctuary.

Bridger's voice sounded faraway and thoughtful. “I guess that's all any man wants.”

* * *

Bridger appreciated the quiet of Sunday afternoons as he wandered down the sidewalk. Frank rested in their room with a headache. Those weren't all that unusual for his brother over the years, and the excitement of being out and “in a real church” added to the cause.

He hated to admit it, but no longer having to hide Frank gave him a measure of relief. He worried about his brother's safety either way, but this removed one fear. And if Lola really could find use for Frank, it would keep him out of trouble and give some measure of protection while Bridger focused elsewhere. Maybe Pastor Evans's prayer had done more good than he'd intended.

Glass shattered as he passed the saloon's swinging doors. Toby's rumbling curses echoed from inside. Bridger poked his head into the main room where Toby worked setting up for the evening. “You be sure to put that broken glass on your tab.”

A shard flew toward him but fell far short of its target. “Next time I'll shut your mouth permanently, boy.” Toby stood from where he crouched over the mess. His glare could start a fire.

Bridger grabbed a broom from the corner. Too soon to antagonize Ike's most trusted hire. “I'll help. Smile at Mattie real nice, maybe you'll get away with your hide.”

Toby wrenched the broom from his grasp. “I don't need your help—not with any of my business. So stay out of my way, you hear?”

“I guess it isn't up to you.”

A flash of steel glimmered in Toby's hand. “I guess I can give you a match to that scar on your jaw if you get too mouthy with me. You have a long way to go before you don't have to take orders from me.”

Bridger raised his hand but held ground. “There's plenty action here for each of us. No need to get all riled at me.”

Toby drew closer, broad nose wrinkled. “I don't like the smell of you, boy. Like expensive perfume on a painted dove—trying too hard to cover up something. Only worse, because I don't know which way the wind blows with you.”

“What you see is what you get.” Bridger's jaw ground tight.

“Right, and seeing is believing.” Toby snapped his knife into its sheath. “Get along to that gal you're
working
for and your half-wit brother. And stay out of my way. Consider this your only warning.”

Bridger clenched his fist. His arm ached with desire to smack Toby's superior attitude off his smug face.
Vengeance is mine,
he recalled. But providing the physical strength would be his pleasure when the time came.

He stepped through the door into bright sunshine. The air finally held warmth that spoke of spring's true arrival. He hated the thought of being tucked inside Lola's workshop this afternoon. Working on Sunday gave him an awkward feeling, but Lola needed another casket right away, and he owed her that.

Besides, wasn't this akin to pulling your donkey out of a ditch on the Sabbath? Pastor Evans had spoken in his message this morning about Jesus being condemned for the work He did, mainly because folks didn't really understand exactly what He was doing. Even Jesus hadn't been able to tell folks everything at the time, because they couldn't have handled it just then.

He hadn't thought much about Jesus and what He did during His time on earth in a long, long time. It surprised him to realize the Lord understood his place in the whole mess, at least so far as he stood in Lola's eyes.

Ike met him as he rounded the corner. “Bridger, just the man I hoped to see.” His mustache twitched over a false smile. “Quite the surprise to see you bringing a stranger to church this morning. That's right Christian of you.”

Bridger squared his shoulders. He forced his muscles to stay loose, fighting the tension Ike brought. “He's my brother, and he stays with me in the room. He wanted to go to church, and it was time.”

Ike stretched his arm, pushing against a rough plank of the saloon wall and blocking the narrow path to the street. “Folks knowing your secret don't give your brother any protection if you cross me. You realize that, don't you?” His voice dropped low but held the same conversational tone.

Bridger ground his boot heel into the dust, gaze unflinching. “Why would I do that? I'm thinking you have a good system, sir,” he managed to choke out. “I'm fortunate to be cut in on it. Why lose my shot at that kind of money?”

Ike's smile grew into a greedy laugh and he plunked his other hand on Bridger's shoulder. “I knew I had you pegged. I knew it.”

Bridger wondered, but bit his tongue. “I've only been going for my brother's sake.” At least, that had been the case up until a few weeks ago. “Besides, having one of your men attend services can only improve your image, right?”

Ike's teeth resembled fangs of a wolf as the notion grew to full thought in his head. “I suppose that's right. I like the way you think! But you make sure that Sunday stuff doesn't interfere with your job.”

Bridger adjusted his hat to block the bright sun from his eyes. “You can be sure it won't, Mr. Tyler. I'm interested in moving up the ranks of your men.”

Ike's eyes gleamed with the desperation Bridger threw into every word. “You're looking to oust Toby? Is that it?”

“I don't need to replace him,” Bridger said. He didn't need Toby stirred against him any more than he already was. “But if you expand as the town grows, it might be more than one right-hand man can handle.”

Ike fairly salivated with the praise, like a greedy dog with a large bone dreaming of his next meal. “I have been meaning to talk to you about another errand. If you think you're up to it.”

Bridger allowed his own small smile, praying Ike couldn't detect his pounding heart. “I am. Trust me when I tell you, I know exactly what I want to do here, and there's no one who will turn me from it.”