by Regina Scott
“He was helping me.” Lola’s voice carried firm and furious on the night wind. “I needed someone to help me move a body I couldn’t have managed alone. I came for you, but you weren’t there. Frank did a fine thing today.”
“You had no right dragging him along, once you saw what he’s like. If you have so little notion of what’s going on in this town, you’re a bigger fool than he is, and I’ll thank you to keep him out of it.” Couldn’t she see the danger she put Frank in? And herself?
Ire coursed like hot flint into his stiff limbs. He faced Jake. “Marshal, I’d appreciate it if you’d help Miss Martin finish whatever job needs doing. I’m going to get my brother under wraps before she puts him in more danger than she already has.” He whirled again toward his brother, grabbing the beefy arm still braced against the reins. “Come on, Frank. You mind me, now.”
“No, Bridger!” Frank’s voice echoed in its fullness. Leather creaked as his jacket strained against his barreled chest. “You shouldn’t speak to Miss Lola that way, and I won’t let you. I think you forgot how to treat a lady, and I’m gonna teach you. You mind me on that!”
Bridger stepped back, the force of Frank’s words like a punch to the face. “Listen, Frank, I—”
“No, you listen, Bridger. Did you hear her?” he asked, his voice growing softer. “I helped today. I did something good for someone else and it felt good. And it didn’t hurt nothin’, either.”
“But—”
“If you can’t see that, you’re no better than Pa!”
Bridger jolted, his gaze never dropping from Frank’s proud, angry glare. He loved his brother and hated everything about his father’s legacy of selfish fury. But hadn’t Pa done the same to him? Kept him trapped in a prison of fear, secrets and doubt? Was that how Frank felt? He looked at his brother, who stood in the wagon, arms crossed at his middle to make his point. How could he have taken so much from him?
Shame the likes of which he’d never felt staggered him, but he forced a nod toward Jake, who had witnessed this family discussion. The marshal had the grace to nod back without comment.
Facing Lola proved more difficult. “Forgive me. I had no call to talk to you like that, and I’m sorry it took a public reprimand from my brother to recall my manners. I’m thankful he could be of service and grateful you both are safe and sound.” He broke his gaze from her tear-rimmed eyes. “I let worry gnaw on my good sense.”
Lola’s chin rose, her full lips drawn in a tight line. But soft forgiveness glittered in her eyes, and a crease in her cheek flooded his heart with hope.
Frank dropped his arms and returned to his seat. “Miss Lola, if it’s all right with you, and the lawman—” he nodded toward Jake “—I’ll go on back with my brother. It’s getting late and we put a scare on Bridge. But—” he paused with drama, that rare teasing light in his eyes twinkling with the stars overhead “—I expect we’ll see you in church tomorrow morning. Both of us.”
*
Lola ran ahead of the marshal to open the mortuary door and laid a fresh sheet on her examination table. She lit the lantern hanging overhead as Jake sidled through the door with his heavy burden, carrying Myrtle Stiles’s body with tender care. Together they tugged the tightly wrapped cover loose, and Lola donned a fresh apron. She hoped Bridger’s latest project would be large enough. Sorrow twisted in her chest at the thought of using the caskets as fast as he could build them.
The task at hand should have kept her mind focused. But Bridger’s angry words echoed in her thoughts. How could he believe she’d intentionally do anything to hurt anyone? How dare he talk as if she were some mindless ninny!
Perhaps her request for Frank’s help had been born of need, but not only hers. Frank wanted—needed—to be a contributing part of the community around him, and Bridger was wrong to deprive him of that for any reason.
Jake wiped his hands against each other and adjusted his collar. “You need to consider things from Bridger’s point of view, Lola.”
She laid cloths and sponges on the table, too upset to face him. “He kept his own brother locked up like a common criminal. It’s pretty plain Frank Jamison hasn’t an ounce of meanness in him, so why would he do such a thing? Too embarrassed that his brother isn’t perfect, that’s why. He ought to—”
“Calm down. Bridger had his reasons, I suppose. But he’s a good man, better than most, from what I’ve learned.” Jake hovered near the door, his hand on the knob.
Lola stomped across to the cupboard, pulling bottles of embalming fluid. She slammed the doors in irritation and ignored the rattling jars. “You heard the way he spoke to him!” To me.
Jake flopped his hat against dusty pants and moved into Lola’s path so she had to look up. “Jamison’s under a lot of pressure. He was right when he said you don’t know everything going on in this town, and he’s right to be concerned about his brother. Give the man slack, Lola, because he’s worried about you, too.”
She stepped back, arms clenched around her waist, and huffed loose hair from her eyes. “I agree. I’ve sensed his tension, too, and thought it perhaps his nature. But it’s been worse the past few days. What’s going on?”
Jake’s face blanched and he made a hasty retreat for the door. “It’s best you don’t know until and unless it becomes absolutely necessary, Lola. The fewer folks who know, the safer you are and the easier I can investigate.”
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 foc
us 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
Lola 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 passe
d 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.
