Love Inspired Historical April 2014 Bundle: The Husband Campaign\The Preacher's Bride Claim\The Soldier's Secrets\Wyoming Promises (88 page)

His muscles eased at the notion of having backup with the power Frank so fully believed in. Who knew? Maybe before this was all over, he'd believe a little more, too.

Bridger smiled and closed his eyes. Minutes passed as his limbs sank into the mattress beneath him. Frank might be forced to use the blanket on the floor tonight, because Bridger wasn't sure he could move.

The tiny clock on the wall chimed half past, rousing him from a light doze. Breath caught, ragged in his chest. Frank was late. And right now, Ike was the only cause he could think of for it.

Chapter Eighteen

“Y
ou were a great help to me today, Frank,” Lola said. “I would never have been able to move the body without you.”

His wide smile shone amid the reddish stubble on his chin. “I helped, huh?” he said, pride in his tone. “I wasn't scary-looking to you at all! I'm glad I opened that door, even if Bridge will be mad.”

She bit her lip, suddenly unsure. Nothing to do for it now. She patted his thick arm as they rounded the final bend into town.

Lola pulled her wrap close as the sun dropped behind ragged peaks. Frank held the reins of her wagon loosely in his hands, and the horses seemed to float above calloused ruts in the road that might jar Myrtle's wrapped body on the wagon bed.

What would make Bridger want to hide Frank away? Such a large, rough-looking man to be so gentle. Sure, folks weren't always understanding of anyone...different. But wouldn't the people of Quiver Creek be willing to give him a chance?

* * *

Bridger raked his hair and replaced his hat with a frantic huff. Where could Frank have gone? He'd looked around every corner of the saloon, walked the length of town and searched through the empty and almost finished hotel. No sign. He'd visited the mercantile under Toby's curious glare then wandered to the creek's bank and followed it through a line of trees to the clearing near church.

Surely his brother wouldn't explore farther. The sun sank well below the mountains, leaving only a brilliant gleam of pink behind the peaks as twilight fell. Maybe Frank waited for him in the room, and his worry stood for naught.

Maybe he'd gone farther and been hurt—accidentally, or by someone who preyed on those of feeble mind. Bridger rubbed his tight chest. Maybe Ike had found him.

Bridger increased his stride to reach the church. It held his last hope.

He found the glow of a lamp coming from the rear. Surely Frank hadn't sneaked inside? Or perhaps the minister had seen him. He knocked softly at the back door.

Pastor Evans's eyes blinked in surprise above spectacles perched on his nose. “Yes?” he said. The same peaceful smile he wore every Sunday morning lined his face. “How can I help you, son?”

Bridger grabbed his hat and held it clenched in his fist. “Are you here alone, parson?”

The man's bushy eyebrows drew toward his eyes, which held a skeptical stare. But he opened the door wide and nodded him through. “That I am. Just the Lord and I chatting a bit this evening. I like to have this time to prepare for the morning message.”

Bridger moved toward the warm lantern light of the simple room before realizing his intrusion. “I'm sorry to bother you, sir. I didn't mean to startle you, either. I'm looking for a...friend, and I wondered if you'd seen him.”

Pastor Evans adjusted his glasses as he padded his way to a tiny desk and sat. “This is certainly the place for seekers to come, friend. Would you refresh my old mind as to your name? I recognize you from my congregation but can't say I've had the pleasure of a formal introduction.”

“Bridger Jamison, sir.” He glanced around, hoping Frank would appear in the midst of the tiny room.

Pastor Evans snapped his fingers. “That's right! You're the man Lola hired. She speaks highly of your work.”

The mention of her name caught him off guard. “She's a fine lady, and I'm glad I can be of assistance to her.”

Pastor Evans's gaze bored into him until Bridger figured the man had a sense of everything about him. From the way he lived to the way he took his coffee in the mornings. He shifted his feet and searched the room, noticing an open Bible on the man's desk and a hand-whittled cross on the wall behind. He should've kept looking outside.

“Your friend, he's the type that might be found at the house of God?” Pastor Evans asked.

Bridger shrugged. “I suppose not this time of night. I looked everywhere else, though, and hoped.”

“Well, I haven't seen anyone since I came over around five o'clock, but it's plain to see how important it is that you find your friend. Nothing dire, I hope?” The minister rubbed his slender pale fingers together at the tips. “I'd be glad to pray with you, that you find this person.”

Bridger scoffed before his brain kicked in to where he stood, and to whom he spoke. “I'm sorry. I am worried for my friend. I'd pledge to never miss a service again to know he's safe at this point.”

Soft laughter rumbled from the little man. “So often we wish the Lord worked that way. I suppose because it would give us some measure of control over things, we think. Don't take this wrong, but you seem to me a man who's lived his life trying to control things. How's that worked out for you?”

He stared at his hat. He wasn't here to discuss himself, only to find his brother! But he had been the one to ask for help. “To be honest, it ain't working so well at the moment. But if you haven't seen my friend, I really need to be on my way, to keep looking.”

Pastor Evans nodded, slipping his glasses farther up his nose. “I'm afraid I can't help you there, son. But how about a quick prayer that you'll find who you're looking for? Can't hurt, right?”

Desperation clawed in his chest as he noted the darkness pressing harder at the window. He worried the brim of his hat between his fingers. “I reckon not. What do I do?”

“Stand there and talk to God, son.” The pastor bowed his head and started before Bridger could think to close his eyes. “Heavenly Father, I come and ask for help for my friend Bridger Jamison. He's feeling terrible worried for his friend and hopes to find him safe and sound, if that be Your will. We trust he's safe in Your care. While I know all is in Your timing, Lord Jesus, it would ease our hearts considerable-like if Bridger were to find him before it gets any darker. In Thy Holy Name we ask this, Amen.”

Bridger stepped toward the preacher. “That's it?”

Pastor Evans smiled. “That and faith are all it takes. Though the Lord and I would both be glad to see you here every Sunday, regardless.”

He swallowed hard, remembering his promise. But if he found Frank, that was all that mattered. He shifted his feet, boots scuffing against the plank floor and antsy to leave, but more at peace than when he'd arrived. “Thank you, then, parson. I'd best be on my way.”

The minister closed the door behind him, warm light only a glimmer in the window again. Spring peepers along the creek announced the fullness of the season, but they only served as a reminder that the time grew late. Where else might he look for Frank?

Bridger rounded the church. He'd make one more loop through the boardinghouse and see if Frank had returned to their room, then get a horse and ride out. He didn't know what he'd do if anything happened to his brother.

“Bridger!”

Jake Anderson rode along the street, his eyes constantly searching. Bridger glanced around. It wouldn't do for Ike's men to catch him talking too friendly with anyone outside of Ike's posse. Even if Jake's true purpose wasn't suspect yet.

He lowered his voice. “Everything look all right tonight?”

Jake leaned over his saddle horn. “I make my own rounds before I turn in. Helps me think, and you've given me plenty to keep my mind occupied. What are you doing out this way?”

“Bridge!”

Frank's voice startled him, coming from the darkness of the road ahead. And nothing had such a welcome ring. He stepped away from the dirt path as Frank drove the wagon closer. Lola perched at his side and his relief became squashed with fear. What was Frank doing with her? How had Lola found him? Why were they sitting there together smiling when Frank should be in their room right now, staying out of sight?

He met the wagon in three strides. “What in the wide Mississippi are you doing out here?” His voice rose only steps away from a yell. “Do you have any idea how long I've been looking for you?”

Bridger waved his arms to the inky blackness above, then thrust a finger in his brother's face. “We had an agreement, Frank, and I trusted you to abide by it. Who knows what might have happened to you out there, gallivanting around this town like you're the founding father of Quiver Creek?” Stars burned in the sky above, matching the fire in his chest, and provided a canopy for the rage inside him. Frank's lips formed a stern line, but he didn't attempt to speak.

Bridger lowered his voice to a bare rumble. “I'll lock that door from the outside next time, Frank. You hear me? I can't believe you'd be stupid enough to—”

“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.”