by Regina Scott
“Bridger, ma’am,” he said, voice warm and quiet.
“Then you must call me Lola.”
“I’d be happy to, Lola. Mr. Tyler said you wanted to talk with me about a job.”
She motioned him into the seat across from hers at the small table. “That’s right. I understand you have carpentry skills.”
“I’ll leave the two of you to discuss business,” Ike said, with emphasis on “business.” He smiled and left them with a bow and a mock salute.
Lola faced Bridger, feeling awkward being alone with this stranger, Ike’s formal introduction notwithstanding. She couldn’t keep her eyes from tracing the path of the scar as it slashed his high-boned cheek and grazed the corner of his lip, appearing white against his tan skin in the midday lighting of the saloon.
“I got cut, ma’am. When I was a boy. I didn’t mean to frighten you the other night. I expected you’d want to speak with me about that sheriff.”
Lola swallowed, feeling heat nip her ears. “I beg your pardon. How terribly rude of me to stare. My mind wandered a bit.” She paused, breathing deep. “But it’s not me you’ll answer to about the sheriff’s body. A U.S. marshal has been assigned to the case and should be here any day to investigate the matter.”
Bridger nodded. “Like I said before, I’m glad to answer any questions that will put your suspicions to rest.”
“Suspicion isn’t really the word. If that were the case, I wouldn’t be here to ask for your help.” She didn’t add that now, in the daytime, his warm brown eyes hardly looked as dangerous and frightening as they had that night. Still, she hadn’t been the best judge with Ike, either.
“Fair enough. What can I do to help you?” He held his hands together, calluses lining his long fingers in contrast to the softness of the felt table cover. Hands used to hard work. They also held a precision, a sense of strength she recognized in her father’s hands from the woodwork he had done, as well as the same types of cuts and scrapes.
She looked him in the eye. “I need someone to build coffins for me. A few now to have on hand, and then replacements as needed. Ike says you work with wood.”
“That I do. But I’ve never built a coffin.”
“Fortunately for you, no one else in town has, either. Do you think you could do it?”
“I’d need details.” He rubbed his lip, without a mustache but in need of a shave. “If you can get me some measurements, I’d be willing to try.”
Papa kept drawings and lists and such in a folder of papers at the back of his ledger. “I can get those for you. My father had tools, too, in case they require some you don’t have.”
Bridger smiled, leaning back in his seat. “That’s real good, because I’m down to a hammer and a boring tool.”
Lola noticed how the smile brightened his face and hid most of the scar in the happy lines created. “What is your fee?” she asked.
“Until I’ve built one, that’s hard to say. Are you supplying the materials?”
Lola bit her lip. How would Papa have done this? He wouldn’t have had to, she reminded herself. He’d seen to all aspects of the business, including this one.
“Generally, I’d get the materials and figure it into the cost. But right now I don’t have means to do that.” The tight set of his jaw testified how deep the admission rankled within.
She huffed and looked at her clamped fingers, thinking hard. “Suppose you check my father’s shed, find out what you need. I’ll open a line of credit at Anthony’s General Store for you, under my name. You get what you need, and if it works out, you figure the bill into the cost. If you aren’t able to do the job, I’ll pay off the bill and we’ll leave it at that.”
Bridger scraped his whiskered jaw. “Sounds fair enough, ma’am—”
“Lola.”
He smiled, eyes lighting. “Fair enough, Lola.” He stared at her a moment, and she resisted the urge to push loose flimsy strands of hair back into their proper place. “How do you know I won’t stock up on your bill and head out of town?”
She leaned back, sensing his curiosity. “If you were of a mind to run, you would’ve done so as soon as you dropped off the body—if not before.”
His smile dimmed. “I am sorry about our first meeting, the way it happened. I hear your sheriff was a good man, and that ain’t always the case.” He tipped his head, and she found her gaze drawn to his. “But I’m grateful you’re giving me the benefit of the doubt.”
Lola stood and smoothed her shirtwaist and skirt. She held her hands together, fingers pointed at the man as he slid his chair away from the table. “This job isn’t about trusting you, Mr. Jamison. If the U.S. marshal’s investigation proves you had more to do with Pete McKenna’s death than bringing the body into town, I’ll be the first to testify against you at your trial.”
Bridger stood, too. “Fair enough, Lola Martin. As I said before, I have nothing to hide.”
“Time will tell,” she said. A cool breeze wavered the swinging doors. “In the meantime, I need your services. And at the rate of business lately, the sooner the better.”
Chapter Four
Bridger’s footsteps echoed across the planks as he walked past the empty saloon. Hard to believe this place had been roaring into the wee hours of the morning. Every chair sat on a tabletop, legs pointed upward like a beetle on its back, blacker than the dark gray of morning. Without question, Ike hired diligent workers. And Mr. Tyler paid well, if talk could be trusted. So long as Frank had a bed and a roof over his head, and didn’t cause a fuss in town, Bridger planned to work until he saved up for a little spread of their own.
Building coffins in his spare time would hasten that dream. He wasn’t sure exactly how things stood between his boss and Lola, but he had to admit, spending time in a woodshop, in close proximity to a woman of Miss Martin’s caliber, held high appeal. Even if he built something as mundane as a coffin.
Lola certainly could capture a man’s attention. Bridger hadn’t spent much time around women of her status, especially of late, but there was no denying her strength, taking on her father’s business as she had. Not to mention the fact her black hair glistened like a moonlit river.
Bridger planned to arrive at the livery in time to have the horses tacked and ready, but Toby surprised him, having the job already started when he pulled the livery door open with a rumbling screech.
“Morning,” he greeted. “I meant to beat you here.”
Toby yawned, ending in a scowl under his long mustache as prickly as the man’s personality. “When you’re new, Boss won’t let you do anything without one of us watching.”
Bridger stepped into the lantern’s glow and took up a harness for the second horse. “That go for when I’m on the job or for everything?”
Toby’s frown deepened, clearly not happy to be awake this early in the day. “When you work for Mr. Tyler, boy, the job is everything.”
Bridger focused on the lines, refusing to be baited. “You make it sound like a death sentence.”
Toby lifted his head, his heavy eyes piercing through the dimness. “Only for the man who doesn’t live up to Ike’s expectations.” He turned his gaze to the horse and seemed to ease back. “Boss has high hopes for you. You do what you’re told, he’ll soon have you working on your own. But for now, you’re stuck with me at this forsaken hour of the day.”
“Not a morning person, I take it.”
Toby climbed the wagon, handing him a crumpled paper. “Don’t be funny. I suppose you can follow directions, so shut up and drive. Wake me if you get lost.”
Toby was not happy about his early-morning assignment, no bones about it. Bridger couldn’t help but hide a smile. Toby’s head start meant they’d get back to Quiver Creek sooner than he’d expected, and maybe he could stop and check out Lola’s woodshed and tools. He wasn’t one to chalk up everything that happened to divine providence like Frank did and like Ma had. But thinking of how things had changed in just a few days’ time, he’d be a fool to no
t consider the Lord might be looking out for them after all.
Bridger prayed he could save the money they needed for that ranch they’d been dreaming of before the Lord took a notion to slap him back to where he’d been.
*
Bridger dragged his hand along the taut skin of his scar. He’d chalked up Ike’s warning about this particular businessman to the boss’s flair for drama. Unfortunately…
“You listen here, mister. I don’t know what game you think you’re playing, but there’s no way you’re getting all those boards for what you brought in that envelope. So you either take what’s been loaded or head back for the rest of the money you owe.”
Bridger slid his hat back on his head. He hadn’t even bothered to count the money in the envelope Ike had given him the night before. This was Mr. Tyler’s deal, after all, and delivery was his end of the job. “All I know, sir, is that I’m to deliver this list of supplies to my boss for the money you agreed upon, and that’s in the envelope I handed you.” He looked back at Toby, who leaned against the side of the wagon with a raw smirk splitting the bushy space between his mustache and beard. No help there. Apparently, results of this test would be part of Toby’s report to Ike.
“I’m new in these parts, but I’ve already heard tell about the way you conduct business, sir. I’m not about to lose my job by not bringing back everything my boss paid for. So you let us load the rest of this now, and we’ll be on our way.”
Earl Johnston’s face turned a fine shade of purple. His lips scrunched in fury, and his shoulders fairly shook with anger. Bridger rolled to the balls of his feet, ready to duck the swing he felt coming.
Instead, the man spun on his heel and headed into the mill’s office. Bridger turned to Toby, who eased off the wagon to help load the second half of the supplies they’d been sent to pick up.
Bridger stooped to gather his end of a thick stack of boards. A sudden shot kicked dirt at his feet, and he dropped his end and grabbed the edge of the wagon box to keep from kissing dust.
Mr. Johnston stood in the doorway with a revolver. “I’ll not stand by and watch you rob me blind. I don’t care if you’re working for Ike Tyler or the president of the United States!”
Bridger pivoted on his boot heels and stood, hands raised. By the look on his face, the shot surprised Johnston about as much as it had him. But his aim showed it wasn’t the first time he’d used a gun to intimidate his way through a corrupt business deal.
Bridger slid toward him. “Listen, mister, there’s no need for that. Mr. Tyler paid your asking price for all the items on this list.” He took another step, slow and steady, as Johnston’s revolver wavered. “I’m just a man looking to do the job he’s been sent to do.”
He struck out to grab the man’s gun hand and dropped, pulling Johnston’s arm until his body twisted and slammed into the rough board side of the mill. The gun slipped and Bridger held it in his left hand. He pinned the man against the wall, using his knees to prevent the man from kicking. Johnston’s ragged breath echoed in harsh pants. “And I ain’t about to fail because you plan to back out of your contract.”
He leaned close to the man’s ear and growled. “Especially when it’s my understanding that your own wife and daughter stood as witness to the deal.”
He felt it then, a sharp tenseness in the muscles, followed by a rigid slackness. He shoved harder. “You have any problems with that, you talk them over with Mr. Tyler. You understand me?”
The man nodded, face still scraped against the jamb. “I understand.” His voice shook. “I understand you just fine.”
Bridger eased off the man’s back. Johnston twisted and pointed the revolver toward the clouds. “Next time Mr. Tyler has business with you, I’ll forget his idea and bring the law with me anyway.”
Johnston released the trigger with a laugh that sounded more like a bark. “If we had any law to speak of around here, mister, I’d have invited him myself.” He slumped, revolver hanging loose at his side. “You tell Mr. Tyler this was all a misunderstanding, you hear? There’s no need to involve my family.”
Bridger backed away. “So long as we get what we came for, Mr. Johnston, I see no reason to mention our misunderstanding to anyone.”
A twinge of relief crossed the man’s haggard features. “I’d appreciate that, sir,” he ground out.
Toby sauntered forward to help load the remainder of the supplies onto the wagon. “You surprise me, Jamison.” The hair around his lips split to allow a toothy grin through. “Never expected you to move that fast. Ike’ll be happy to hear how well you handled yourself.”
Bridger looked across to Earl Johnston, slightly stooped and rubbing his neck where he’d pressed the man into the wall. Something strange about that man, for certain. It was a wonder he did any business with the temper he held. “Ah, he was fired up, but he didn’t want to hurt us. We got what we came for, anyway, and we had the original agreement on our side. Good thing Mr. Tyler warned me about him, though. It could have turned out a lot more painful for us.”
Toby’s eyes took on a peculiar gleam and he stared at Bridger a moment. “I’m catching on to what the boss sees in you, Jamison. I understand what he’s found. You do as you’re told, there’s no telling where you’ll end up.” He laughed out loud, tossing the last small stack of lumber on the wagon bed and clambering to the high seat. “No telling at all.”
*
Grace’s pale, drawn appearance broke Lola’s heart. She hadn’t been to town since the funeral a few days ago. With her usually vibrant blond hair and sparkling blue eyes looking faded and dim, Grace seemed a washed-out version of her former self. Lola pushed a plate of freshly baked cookies closer to her friend.
“When are your parents due to arrive?” Lola asked, pouring some steaming tea.
Grace took the cup and wrapped her slender fingers around it, seeking greater warmth. “They should be here early next week.”
“And they’ll stay until the baby is born?” Lola took a seat opposite her friend at the small table near the window. Glimmers of sunshine dappled the tablecloth through the lace curtain.
“Ma says they’ll stay until they can convince me to come back home.” Grace took a sip, then set the cup against the delicate saucer with a rattle, her eyes focused on some distant point beyond the windowpane.
Lola bit her lip. “Do you suppose they’ll have a hard time of it? Convincing you, I mean?”
A tremor passed through Grace, as if she awakened from a trance. “I haven’t thought of much beyond the fact that Pete’s really gone and not coming home.”
Lola leaned back and sighed. It was selfish to want Grace to stay. She’d been told often enough in the months since Papa died that Quiver Creek was no place for a woman alone. But at least she had the business. Grace had a ranch to run and a baby on the way.
“How are you managing out there in the meantime?”
Grace rimmed the gilding on the cup with her finger. “One day at a time. Pete’s parents have been wonderful, of course. His brother comes out each evening to check the animals and see that I want for nothing. He’s only fourteen, but a very sweet and capable young man. Just too young to tend to all the details of the ranch, and with spring roundup coming, he can’t manage alone. My pa plans to take care of that, hire wranglers to brand the calves and move the herd out for summer grazing.”
“Your father’s a shopkeeper, Grace. How does he feel about taking this on?”
Grace broke a crumb off her cookie and nipped it into her mouth, swallowing before the sweetness could barely register on her tongue. “From Ma’s letter, I think he’s honestly excited about getting into the saddle again. He grew up on a ranch in Texas and spent some time cowboying before he met Ma.”
“So, do you think you’ll stay on until the baby is born, or are you planning to be back East before that?” Lola asked, fighting the tears in her voice.
Grace’s eyes darted, a spark of surprise lighting them briefly. “I’m not leaving.”<
br />
“But you said your parents were only staying until—”
“They’re determined to take me home with them. But I can’t leave here, not now.”
“But then—”
Grace sighed and leaned back in her seat, rubbing a hand over her growing stomach. Afternoon sunlight slanted through the window, making her appear even more wan and washed-out than before but giving her eyes a light of determination. “I’m not sure exactly what I will do, but I can’t just walk away from all Pete and I have. McKennas have ranched this area from way back. A boy deserves the chance to claim that inheritance.”
Tears washed over Lola’s vision. Pete had been so sure Grace carried a son. “But what if the baby is a girl? And what about you?”
Grace shook her head, as if tossing away any threat to her determination. “I’m trusting the Lord to give me wisdom. But I don’t want to leave. The mountains around here…there’s something about them that settles in your soul. I couldn’t live without them, I don’t think.”
Lola nodded. Leaving Wyoming had never occurred to her as an option, either. “You’d be welcome to stay with me, for as long as you need. There’s plenty of room. You could—”
Grace’s lips pulled in a shadow of her usual smile. “I appreciate that, and I know you mean it with all your heart. But I’m staying in our house. Pete built it for me, and we’ve filled it with so many memories in such a brief time. I feel close to him here. I want that for our baby. I’ll sell off the land and keep the house if it comes to that, but Lord help me, I’ll raise this child in the home we built together.”
Lola glanced around her own house. What would it be like to build a life with someone you loved the way Pete had loved Grace? Suddenly her own house felt a little empty, even with her dearest friend sitting beside her.
“Talk to me about something else. I want to think about something other than being sad.”
Lola stood to refill her cup and warmed Grace’s by filling hers to the brim. Topics from town whirled through her mind, but all connected in some way to Pete, his job, how he died and her part in it. Silence grew awkward, but no words came. She faced her friend but avoided her gaze.
