Love Inspired Historical April 2014 Bundle: The Husband Campaign\The Preacher's Bride Claim\The Soldier's Secrets\Wyoming Promises (90 page)

Chapter Twenty

L
ola tested her hot tea with a sip. The earthy smell of sassafras filled Grace's cozy parlor with fresh sweetness. Visiting her dearest friend filled her heart with the same. She missed Pete's boisterous teasing, and more so Grace's wry grin of sufferance. Still, Grace's tranquil joy would not be denied.

“He was just so excited, having the chance to be in church. It was like watching a child at his first birthday party.”

“Certainly makes you see things with new eyes, doesn't it?”

Grace looked down to secure her next stitch. “I think it's sweet the way Bridger watches over his brother.”

“I agree.” Lola bit her lip. Had she said that aloud?

“Well!” Grace dropped the baby sweater she knitted to her lap. “It gives me hope to hear you say so!”

She took another swallow of hot tea, using the gentle burn as an excuse not to answer right away. “Don't start,” she warned, unable to prevent the smile growing across her face.

Grace rolled her eyes as if to say she hadn't the least notion of what that meant. “He's a good man, Lola. And gentlemanly and solicitous toward women and children, and those he cares for...”

“By keeping them locked away from the world for as long as he can.” Lola set her plate on the table with a decided rattle.

“His heart is open toward God....”

Lola shook her head. “Frank pushed him into coming, from what I gather.”

But Grace continued. “He's a good worker, holding two jobs to provide, and he's willing to take time to help others in need.”

Lola shrugged. She had a point.

“And it certainly doesn't damage the eyes to look at him.”

“Grace!” Lola spread her hands before her on the table. “You shouldn't notice such things!”

Her friend allowed one of those wide, teasing smiles that came less frequently these days. “But your reply tells me you haven't been prevented from noticing.”

Heat engulfed her, tingling from the base of her neck until her ears singed. “No fair!” she said.

Soft giggles rolled from Grace until she held her rounded belly with a grimace. “Oh! The child steals my breath already.”

“If you didn't tease, you wouldn't agitate him so.” Lola stood, reaching toward her friend. “Are you all right?”

Grace waved her back. “I'm fine. He's growing and getting heavy, that's all. Makes it hard to breathe sometimes.”

Lola settled into her chair. “I guess that's normal, then. You've been feeling all right otherwise? Did you see Doc Kendall?”

“Yes, of course. Everything's fine. Don't change the subject,” Grace said.

“With all the new arrivals, there are several handsome men bound to be among them.” Lola sipped her lukewarm tea over dry lips. She held her chin up with a regal tilt and fluttered her lashes, smiling. “Marshal Anderson is a fine-looking gentleman, as well, but perhaps it's not ladylike to say so.”

Color rose in Grace's cheeks, making Lola wonder. “You have noticed,” she said.

Grace shrugged, but her downcast eyes proved her forced nonchalance. “He stops by every few days to update me on Pete's case.” Her voice grew soft. “There's nothing wrong with noticing. Besides, we were speaking of you.”

Lola stared at her friend and stretched her hand to cover Grace's long fingers. “It only surprises me, so soon after Pete...”

Tears dripped from Grace's eyes and speckled her cheeks. “Out here, Lola, things are different. You know that. There's no timeline on love and loss.”

Lola squeezed her hand and tilted her face into Grace's line of sight, rolling her eyes in a way that never failed to make her friend laugh. “So?”

“I'm not ready or in any way looking for romance, Lola. I get the idea Jake Anderson is a patient man, though. But that's neither here nor there at the moment. Now could be your time,” she said.

Lola tapped her fingernails together, avoiding Grace's bright eyes. Then she rested her chin on curled fingers and slid a loose wisp of hair behind her ear. “I think...” She leaned forward, smile growing with her certainty. She faced her friend. “I think I'm hoping it is.”

* * *

Bridger dismounted on the other side of a stand of trees outside of town. Quiver Creek wound its way through a nearby pass and farther down the mountain. Close enough to reach easily, but far enough from town to divert suspicion and avoid the eyes of Ike's henchmen.

The water gurgled and bounced over rocks and the sound of rapids ahead disguised any noise of the town left behind. The peaceful grove made a perfect spot to meet with Marshal Anderson but did nothing to ease the ache in his gut.

He drew into the shadows as a horse loped in his direction, until he saw the familiar bay. “Evening, Jake.”

The marshal landed on his feet before his mount came to a full stop, glancing about the shadows with a casual gaze. “Good to see you. What do you have for me?”

Bridger tossed him a small bag that jingled as he caught it. “This is my share of the latest take Ike gave me from my weekend trip. I figure it's safest in your hands.”

Jake rattled it before loosening the tie to peer inside. He let a low whistle fly. “You've been busy.”

Bridger shoved his fingers deeper into his gloves. “Don't remind me. I haven't gotten this many black looks since I snuck a frog into Sunday school.”

A gleam of a smile met him through the growing twilight. “You get used to it. I see them all the time.”

Bridger huffed. “From criminals, maybe. But these are good, decent, working folks, and they see me robbing them of hard-won wages, nice as you please.”

Jake stepped closer until his features became more distinct in the faint light of the quarter moon. “Only for a time, Jamison. We'll set the record straight, soon as we get all the information on Tyler and have everyone rounded up. Then we'll make it right.”

Bridger jammed his hands into coat pockets and paced between two trees at the river's edge. “I haven't thought on my ma in years, but doing this...I wonder all the time what she'd think.”

Jake stopped him short with a firm grasp to his shoulder. “She'd think of all the folks you're helping. You're not really doing this, you know.”

“I know it,” he ground out. “But these people don't.” The marshal had no idea how he clenched his jaw to avoid a confession. He longed to explain his actions were only part of the plan to catch Ike. The need to tell Lola before she heard the wrong side of the story pressed against him. What if keeping his cover took more strength than he possessed?

“We can't risk Tyler catching wind of it, or else he could pull the whole operation and set up elsewhere. Then we'd need another year to put him out of business.” Jake slid his hat back from his forehead and drew a deep breath. “If you jump the gun too soon, we lose him. Or worse, endanger them. You understand that, right?”

Anger flared in Bridger's chest. “I know my part.” He stepped away, damp grass whispering against his boots.

Jake stood to full height, his hard expression showing how he generally dealt with that tone in others.

Bridger held up a hand. “I'm sorry. I have no call to blame you. I got myself into this mess.” He rubbed his face. “I'm just happy you believed my story and were willing to help me.”

Jake shifted the sack of money in his palm. “I promise you, Bridger, you're coming out a hero on this.”

“I don't give a beaver stump about that so long as no one gets hurt,” he said.

Jake's whisper carried on the evening breeze. “I know you're worried about your brother. We can move him out of town, somewhere no one needs to know.”

Bridger shook his head. “That would be worse. Frank and I haven't been separated since I walked home from the war and found Ma had died, left him on his own for the last year of the fighting. You should've seen him. I...” He drew a deep breath, thinking of conditions his brother had faced in the burned-out shell of their home. “He wouldn't do well, separated from me. He wouldn't stand for it.”

“I could help you explain—”

“I can handle Frank. I considered all that before I ever talked with you. He would insist I helped you, anyway, if he knew.” Bridger hunkered down, staring out along the rush of water heading far away from town, getting swallowed up into bigger and bigger streams and rivers until it mingled with the wide ocean. “I haven't told him anything because I figure the less he knows, the better off we all are.” Lola's safety would be at risk, too. He wished he held enough faith in Ike's feelings toward her to believe she'd remain safe, but instincts told him otherwise. “Frank's not the only one who could be hurt by the time we're through.”

“When do you head out again?” Jake asked.

Bridger paused before drawing his focus to the task at hand. “In a couple days. Ike wants me to take Jimmy's route this week, my own a couple weeks after that.”

“Does he consider this a promotion?” Jake scribbled in his notes.

Bridger nodded. “Of sorts. Jimmy busted his foot when he dropped a bedpost while moving it to the top floor in the hotel. I figure Ike aims to punish him for his carelessness.”

“This gets us a step closer. You'll get the information to me next week, then?” Jake moved to place the sack of money into his saddlebag.

“We can meet here when I get everything squared away with Ike.”

Jake grabbed the pommel of his saddle but made no move to mount. “Take heart, man. We get closer to having all we need every time he sends you out.”

Bridger agreed, but it didn't mean he could relax anytime soon. “I only hope it's not too late by that point.”

Jake gazed toward the creek. “I wish I could tell you no one will be hurt and you'll be exonerated of everything in folks' opinions. I can't make their minds up on that, but I can promise they'll hear about the good you've done to restore true law and order in this town.”

Bridger nodded. “I know I'll likely have to move on by the time we're done, and if it puts Ike out of business, it'll be well worth it. Besides,” he said, climbing into his saddle, “I've been moving on my whole life.”

Chapter Twenty-One

L
ola smoothed gloves over her fingers as she trudged the steps to the Jamison brothers' room. The squeak and groan of a chair against the floorboards rattled through the thin door, and moments passed before Frank opened it.

“Good morning, Frank. It's Sunday and I've come to take you to church with me.”

He rubbed his bleary eyes, glancing at the room behind him. A forlorn shadow crossed his face. “I don't reckon I ought to,” he said.

“Whyever not? Aren't you feeling well?” She stretched the back of her hand against his cool cheek.

Frank stepped away and plunked down on the edge of the narrow bed, leaving the door open wide. “No, ma'am. I mean, yes, ma'am, I feel fine. But Bridge wouldn't like it.”

Lola leaned her head against the doorjamb. He looked so pitiful, his disappointment keen. “He brought you himself last week. I'm sure he would want you to continue.”

“But he's not here. He worries about me going without him.” Frank bit his thumb. “He works too hard to worry so much.”

Lola sighed. “I know.”

Ike had kept him busier than ever this week and sent him away again. She didn't understand all of Ike's business dealings, of course, but he had taken a liking to Bridger. For some reason, though, Bridger didn't seem altogether thrilled with the prospect of becoming such a valued employee. Instead he'd grown more tense, more terse and less teasing.

But that shouldn't prevent Frank from taking advantage of his newfound freedom. “Church is exactly the place we should be, then, to pray for him and for strength to help him.”

Frank's eyes clouded in deliberation. “I don't want to scare nobody if he's not around to fix it. That would make it worse.”

“Well, you don't scare me, Frank Jamison. I'd be pleased to have such a fine-looking fellow escort me. Please say you'll come. We'll have a picnic with Grace after the service.”

Frank rubbed his palms on his pants, then gazed at her, the smile he shared with his brother creasing his face. “You really think I'm handsome?”

She tapped her lips, giving him the critical eye. Frank's broad form and rusty waves would draw plenty of attention if not for the dullness behind his blue eyes. “I do. But more important, God doesn't look at that. He looks at your heart. And you, sir, have a good heart, focused on the Lord. So please come to church with me.”

Frank jumped to his feet. “Thanks, Miss Lola! Thanks a bunch! Bridger won't be so worried if he knows you were with me.”

She giggled at his enthusiasm. “Are you ready?”

He rubbed a hand over his smooth jaw. “I shaved and all, but let me slick my hair and get a tie and coat. I'll just be a minute, promise.”

“There's plenty of time. I'll wait downstairs.” She backed away and pulled the door shut.

“I'll be right down,” he said, his voice rumbling through before it closed. “And I'm awful glad I picked you those flowers, even if Bridger didn't like it so much.”

Lola halted, covering a snicker with her gloved hand. So Frank had been her mystery florist. She could imagine Bridger's reaction to that, but it eased her heart to know. Not only did Frank flatter her with his caring heart and charm, knowing who had left the flowers lessened the tension she worked so hard to deny.

She waited on the walkway out front. The saloon sat silent at this hour, more gray and unflattering than the lively music and pretentious lighting of the evening made it appear. She spotted the table where she and Bridger had met for supper and smiled. She hoped he rode with safety on the trail and returned soon. Drawing her arm around her waist, she held her Bible close. Frank wasn't the only one who missed him.

The creak of the saloon door drew her attention. Ike stepped through—tall, dashing, with his mustache precisely waxed. He carried a gallant quality that drew the eye. Such a shame it masked a cavalier and unfaithful heart.

Surprise dawned across his face. “Good morning, Lola! Is there something you need?” His gaze appeared hopeful, but for all the wrong reasons. How had she missed it before? Ike preyed on folks like the wolf in a fairy tale, pretending concern while using another's need for his own gain.

The thought rattled her, and his tilted head made her realize she'd been caught staring. “I'm waiting for Mr. Jamison to escort me to church.”

His smile broadened, his gaze deepened, and he stood by her side in two long paces. “Didn't Bridger tell you he'd be out of town?”

“I'm speaking of his brother, Frank,” she said, keeping her tone cool. “Bridger mentioned you were sending him on business.”

“I'm glad I caught you, then, my dear. A woman such as yourself ought not be found alone in the company of a man like Frank Jamison. I'll be glad to escort you both,” he said. His hand rested at her wrist.

She shook free. “I have no fear for myself or my reputation in his company.”

Fire sparked in Ike's eyes and he leaned close. “So I've noticed. Lately you have not shown yourself terribly discriminating as to the company you keep, Lola. My workmen, such as they are, aren't known as being pillars of society, and yet you're out dining with them.”

Heat flared up her neck. “Mr. Jamison is hardly—”

“If you won't consider your personal reputation, at least think about your livelihood. I would hate to see your business affected by the town's opinion of Mr. Jamison.” The smell of mustache wax and cologne assaulted her as he drew closer.

Disquiet fluttered in the pit of her stomach, like a moth caught in a cobweb. Ike's callous insinuation caused an unsettling mix of worry and aggravation. “My business is none of your concern, nor is my reputation.”

He held his hand up. “But I'm afraid it is, darling,” he said, his tone overly sweet. “Many folks thought something as unseemly as a woman undertaker should not be allowed to operate in Quiver Creek.”

She'd suspected, but to hear the facts pricked her like a needle. “People have need of my services here, and they see now it's good I kept Papa's business going.” Her teeth ground at the thought of anything otherwise.

Ike waved both hands as though to calm her. “Forgive me for saying it that way. It's not my intention to quibble over your rights as a woman to do as you please. I'm trying to show you I've changed, Lola. I made an egregious mistake in allowing a trollop like Mattie to sway me from you. I've begged your forgiveness many times over.”

Lola crossed her arms about her waist. “And you've been forgiven from the first.” For months that truth rested solely on the Lord's command she do it. But now the sincerity with which she could say it made her realize, somewhere along the way, forgiveness she claimed had freed her to give it honestly. God's blessings in obedience never ceased to amaze.

“Because you're a good woman, Lola. But don't you see? I've changed. I'm a businessman worthy of you now. Together, we could own this town!” He slipped closer, drawing a smooth finger against her cheek. “I love you, Lola Martin. Won't you please take me back?”

Shock drew her gaze to his gleaming eyes. Hadn't she secretly dreamed of this moment? The one where Ike proclaimed his innate foolishness in having the affair, declared his undying love for her and begged her to come back?

At one time, perhaps. But not in a long while. She weighed him in the balance against the strength and goodness of her carpenter. Bridger had not done one self-serving thing in all the weeks she'd known him. What was more, where Ike stood hollow and empty at the core, something rich and strong and intimately attractive bore Bridger's life. He was a man who would never treat a woman—or anyone, for that matter—as cruelly as Ike had treated her. She'd been young and naive—and Ike preyed on it.

“I've learned a lot over the past year. You've taught me much.” His feet slipped closer as she spoke, expectation ripe in his hazel eyes. “But first and foremost, I learned the Lord's plan is best for me, and He will stop at nothing to see me follow it. He was willing to see my heart broken, if it kept me away from you.”

Ike sucked a breath and drew back as if she'd slapped him. “You can't think the Lord wouldn't want us together! Don't you see how perfect—?”

“No. God protected me from a wrong choice.” She stepped away, taking a deeper breath than she'd felt in ages. “I'm sorry, Ike. I appreciate all you've done for me these past months. I truly do. And I hope and pray we can find a way to remain friends even now. But we will never be...what we once were. Do you understand?”

Ike slumped, stepping away with a dropped gaze. Moments passed before he squared his shoulders and faced her. “I don't blame you, Lola. I only hoped I could prove myself and build something new. But I waited too long.” His lips pulled in a thin, grim line. “I won't bother you. Out of respect for the fine woman you are, I won't bring the matter up again.”

“I appreciate that, Ike. I truly do.” Her gaze lingered on his fine form once more, her heart pricked by the dashed hopes of what she thought he was, but stronger somehow for the pain.

“It won't prevent my hope you'll return of your own accord, mind you.” His laugh came out shaky and strange. “You may find you have more need of me than you realize.”

“We've known each other too long, Ike. I'll always need your friendship.” He spoke of more, but that would be impossible. She saw it clearly now and prayed he would in time.

Lumbering tread caused the boardwalk to creak, drawing her attention. “We'll see you at church. All right?” She tilted her head, trying to throw his unfocused stare. “Are we all right?”

Ike smoothed his mustache and puffed his chest. “We will be, Lola. I promise you, we will be.”

* * *

A thick steak, a thick bar of soap and a thick mattress sounded better than a banker's wages. Bridger shifted his saddlebag over his shoulder to balance the weight and promised himself all three—as soon as he met with Ike.

His boots echoed against floorboards in the empty saloon as he crossed to Ike's office. The scent of Mattie's cheap perfume and good cooking clung to the dusty air. Bridger rapped on the door and walked in. Ike sat at his desk between a pile of receipts and a ledger. Toby waited on a chair in the corner.

“Here's your take, Mr. Tyler.” Bridger tossed a bag on top of the pile of papers. The heavy thud ended with a metallic jingle.

Ike's eyes surveyed him. “You made good time, but it shows in your face, boy. You're running yourself ragged.” He grinned. “I like that.”

Bridger smirked. “I get things done, sir.” He didn't add growing concern for Frank drove him through the last sleepless night for home.

“Did you get it all?” Toby asked, loosening the straps to pull out the sack of coins and bills.

“Took a bit of convincing now and again,” he said, feeling the bruise on his right cheek. “Some folks wanted to know why it wasn't Jimmy coming to collect. But after I explained, everyone paid in full for the month.” Well, most of them. He'd used part of his regular wages from Ike to make up the difference for some. One elderly widower and a man with four small children who had missed work to take care of his sick wife couldn't meet the demand. And Bridger refused any rougher tactics.

“You've done well,” Ike said, leaning back in his seat and pulling a cigar from the humidor on his desk. “I might not have guessed you had it in you, Bridger. Looks like I'm a better judge of character than I thought.” He handed another cigar to Toby.

Bridger shrugged, unwilling to pat Ike on the back any more than he did on his own. “You run a mighty attractive game,” he said.
But not for much longer....

“I'm glad you see it that way because I have a special client for you.” Ike bit the end off his cigar and struck a match. Smoke puffed above his head like a sinister wreath.

Bridger's pulse jumped. Could this be the last stone to upset the whole cart? One last bit would give Jake everything he needed to close Ike's business and return Quiver Creek to a normal town. He fought the excitement from his voice. “Who is it?”

“Lola Martin.”

His gut wrenched, his breath tight. “Lola? Why? I mean, I thought she and—”

“That's no longer the case. So there's no reason why she shouldn't have the same demands I make on any other business owner.” Ike's lips tugged in a firm line.

His mind raced. “I thought you had some sort of hold on these other folks. Why are you so sure Lola won't contact the authorities?”

“I do have a claim against her. Who's been making sure she's safe out there on the end of town? Who's sure she has plenty of business coming her way?”

Toby barked a laugh. “She owes you, boss.”

“Not only that.” Ike rolled the cigar in his mouth. “Her father took a loan from me about a year ago, before his unfortunate demise. I haven't received payment in seven months. I'm due.”

Even Toby took note, moving closer to the desk. “Why would he do that, boss?”

Ike waved the end of his cigar before flicking ashes into a tray. “He had some notion of sending Lola to medical school. He couldn't afford it, and no bank in the West would gamble on a lady doctor. He secured financing from me and sent some letters to see about her acceptance. The fool should have done more to convince her to marry me. I'd have seen her settled well before this.”

The information staggered him. How would Lola bear the news? To realize her father's hope of helping her fulfill her dream would become her downfall? It explained all those payments marked in Mr. Martin's ledger.

Toby's slap on the knee drew his attention back to the room. “That's something, boss. Miss Lady Fancy-Britches will find out her old daddy wasn't so perfect after all, and if she'd taken you up on your proposal, she could've avoided the whole scandal.”