Wyoming Promises

Lola abandoned her teacup with a wave of her hand and grasped Grace’s wrist with the other. “Nothing, Grace. I panicked. Papa’s gone, it was late, a frightful-looking stranger brings the sheriff to my door... I sent a telegraph first thing the next morning.”

Grace slumped in her seat, taking a deep, calming breath. “I can understand that. But you don’t really think...?”

What did she think? Did she believe Bridger Jamison to be a murderer? Not really. But she wasn’t always the best judge of a man, either. And some of Pete’s bruises seemed...odd, not quite consistent for a man thrown from a horse. Not unusual enough to point any fingers, but something definitely felt out of place. Without facts, though, she didn’t dare share those concerns with Grace.

“I acted without thinking things completely through. It won’t hurt to have a U.S. marshal investigate what happened, though.” She took another drink of her tea and looked Grace squarely in the eye. “But, no, in talking more with Mr. Jamison, I can’t find anything overly suspicious about him regarding Pete’s death. And the fact that he’s sticking around town, I suppose, holds greater weight for his innocence than anything else.”

Grace held a hand to her mouth and breathed deep, eyes closed. “Good—that’s good. It was hard enough losing your father that way. I wouldn’t want...”

Lola let the words fade. “I hired Mr. Jamison. Papa never taught me the woodworking aspect of... I never learned how...” Everything about her business sounded cold and crass in her thoughts. Why hadn’t she chosen weather as the topic of conversation?

“Your father never taught you how to build the coffins,” Grace supplied. She smiled again, briefly, a narrow moon of teeth peeking through this time. “He always said you’d nail your own thumb to the casket.”

Lola smiled, too. “He was probably right. He just always figured he’d be around to do the job, I guess.”

“He knew you’d be able to find someone to do that. The part you do takes something that not everyone has.” Grace stretched across the table to squeeze her hand, looking her in the eye. “I’m glad it was you, Lola. I know it wasn’t easy for you, but I’m glad that man found a way to bring Pete to you.”

An odd scrape from outside jolted them. Lola started to her feet and made short, clipped steps to the rear door. She glanced at her friend, standing by the table with hands twisted in front of her, and motioned for Grace to stay quiet. Slowly she lifted the latch, then jerked the door wide. “Who’s there?”

Magpies chatting on the fence were the only sound to greet her. She poked her head out and searched the shadows around the lone shed where her father had his woodshop. After a few moments she returned to the cozy room and shut the door.

“Whew!” Grace let loose a nervous giggle, fingers laid against her long throat, her other hand resting on her stomach. “Do you feel as silly as I do?”

Lola brushed long, loose hair behind her ears. “I’m not so sure it’s only silliness.”

Grace gripped the table and sat down. “What are you saying?”

“Nothing,” Lola said, shaking her head. “Just my overactive imagination, I suppose. I’ve been more nervous than I ought to be lately—”

“Thinking you’re here on the end of a town that no longer has a sheriff to keep his eye on you. Is that it?”

Grace always could make the right conclusions about her, before she said a word about the problem. She laughed. “Probably the neighbor’s cat I never paid any mind to before, that’s all.” Lola peered at the lengthening shadows as afternoon slipped away. “God will be my protection now, same as always. I’m in His hands.”

Grace took in the lowering sun outside the window, too, and stood again to gather her things. “That’s all that can be said for any of us.” Grace’s cool kiss pressed against her cheek. “This visit has done more for me than you know, my friend. But if I want to be home before dark, I need to head out now.”

“The Lord has comfort and wisdom for you, Grace. Hold on to that.”

“I will. Please say you’ll come out for a visit next week,” Grace said, pulling a shawl over her shoulders.

“Your folks will be there. I don’t want to intrude,” Lola said.

“You’re the sister I never had, Lola. You’re my family, too, and I’m inviting you for lunch next Thursday. How’s that?”

Grace’s determination to stay cheerful and strong couldn’t be denied, and Lola wouldn’t do anything to take that from her. She couldn’t promise what next week would hold, but she couldn’t bear to bring up her work again. “I’ll try.”

Grace focused on the door leading to the mortuary for an instant, then forced her gaze away. “I know you will. I’ll be waiting for you.”

Lola walked her to the side door and watched her rumble into the cart, hefting the reins in her gentle hands. “See you next week, then.”

“I’ll expect you unless you send word, all right?” Grace called.

Lola nodded.

Grace moved to slap the reins, then pulled them taut. “I’m glad you’ll have a man working around here. If he’s a trustworthy man, he may scare off any who aren’t, make you feel safer.”

Lola smiled, thinking of Bridger’s strength in helping her that night and the gentleness he had shown both to Pete and to her. Yet her wariness also raised caution. “And what if he’s not the trustworthy sort?”

Grace grinned, a hint of her old teasing self peeking through the grief that shrouded her. “Then it may be just as well you have him where you can keep an eye on him.”

Lola laughed and waved her off. She moved back into the house, leaning against the door and saying a swift and silent prayer for her friend.

She added one for herself, then bolted all the doors.

Chapter Five

Bridger pulled the horses to a halt as the sun dipped below the mountains to the west, peeking between snowcaps. He spotted the large lot in the center of town where Ike planned to build his fancy hotel, with supplies guarded by his men. Bridger’s jawbone ached, riding all the way from Wilder Springs with Toby’s cantankerous load growling in the seat beside him.

He set the brake and hopped from the seat. “This is the rest of them, fellows.”

Toby scowled and shifted his bulky frame to the ground.

“Get on. Tell Ike I’ll be along shortly to give my report of the day.”

Toby stalked down the dusty street, the sharp rays of sunset hiding his heavy tread. No matter how it came about, a break from Toby merited every particle of gratitude Bridger could muster.

Bridger washed his dusty hands in the trough and slicked limp hair back under his hat. He’d done what he’d been asked to do, and done it well, which only added to Toby’s ire. The man probably thrived on delivering less-than-stellar reports on every new man.

It made no matter to him. All he wanted was a hot meal. Frank would be starving about now.

Lola’s home sat out of sight of the hotel lot, around the bend leading away from town. Awful strange vocation for a woman. Bridger felt a certain uneasiness to wonder how she could sleep in that house alone with a dead person in the next room. He shook his head. He had no call to judge. The idea of home depended on what a body grew used to, he supposed.

Many times a dead man would’ve been preferable to sharing a home with his father growing up.

Dusk settled over the town. The sky above still held the brilliance of a clear day, but the mountains already blocked the sun’s long rays. No street fires had been lit yet, but Ike would probably set his men on it before long.

Bridger nodded to Mattie as he ducked into the slow-filling saloon. “Hey, sugar, Ike’s in his office. He told me to send you in straightaway.”

“Sure thing, ma’am. That’s where I’m headed.”

“‘Ma’am’? I sure ain’t no friend of your ma, darlin’. You’d best call me Mattie, same as everyone else.” She stepped around the counter and grabbed his arm in one hand while her other slid across his chest, her eyes gleaming. “Most fellows around here are happy to be on a first-name basis with me,” she said with a wink.

He couldn’t help but smile at her. Mattie had spark. Add to the fact she knew how to dress her beauty to her own advantage, and it wasn’t hard to see why Ike’s tavern packed folks in until the wee hours. But he had more on his mind than playing her games, tempting as they were.

He hoped this meeting with Ike didn’t last long. It wouldn’t do for Frank to wander in search of his own meal. It wasn’t fair to keep him confined there for so many hours. But in Frank’s case, not much was fair. It’s only for a time, he reminded himself.

Bridger knocked on the door to Ike’s office and opened it at his muffled invitation.

Tyler waited behind his desk, reading some kind of ledger by lantern light. “I’m on my way out to greet the crowd. How’d it go today? Any trouble?”