Page 24 of Wyoming Promises
“Yes, sir.” Bridger rubbed a hand along his face, feeling the rough need of a shave and every moment of the long day. He adjusted his hat and took another step away from the counter. “If you could let Lola know when the supplies are in, sir, I’d appreciate it. I’m anxious to get started. You’ll have to trust me on this, but I’m the last thing you need to worry about.”
Mr. Anthony slammed the ledger closed and returned it to a shelf under the counter. “And you trust-a me, Mr. Jamison. Should you do anything to harm that girl, you’ll have more than-a Mr. Tyler to look over your shoulder for, and that’s a promise.”
* * *
Lola rinsed a lone plate and set it to dry. The sun grew brilliant and warm through the windowpane, but this morning had started late. A scratching sound at her back door had startled her as she drifted off last night, leaving her restless far into the wee hours of the morning. Now, in the bright daylight, she felt silly for the way she’d allowed her imagination to run wild. But her thoughts slogged through fog, and her steps lacked the vigor sunlight usually brought.
A knock at the house door interrupted her thoughts. Lola hastily dried her hands and smoothed her hair before answering.
“Good morning!” Grace’s soft voice greeted her. She smiled as Grace waddled through the door. “I got word early this morning that my parents are arriving on the first stage. I know it’s a little early, but I thought— Lola, are you ill? You look exhausted.”
“No, nothing like that.” Lola greeted her friend with a hug and motioned her into a chair in the front room. “I didn’t sleep well, that’s all. Then I overslept. I’ve only been up a short while, I’m embarrassed to say.”
Grace paused at the chair. “I don’t want to steal your time if you’re busy. I only thought I’d take the chance to visit you a bit while I wait.”
“Of course. Don’t be silly,” Lola assured her. “I have all afternoon for chores. Work is the one thing guaranteed to wait without complaint. Besides, I haven’t had my morning tea, and it will be nice to share it with you.”
A knock sounded at the front door—a business call. She snapped to her feet, nearly upsetting the teapot. Grace’s cup rattled in the saucer and she looked ready to bolt. “Please wait, Grace. No sense in rushing off to sit at the depot alone. I’ll be back soon as I can.”
Lola took pains to close the partition door with a solid latch before donning her special apron by the second knock. A tall man with brilliant blue eyes swept off his hat as she swung the door open. A quick flip of his lapel revealed a burnished badge.
“Jake Anderson, U.S. federal marshal, ma’am. We received a report from the undertaker of Quiver Creek about a suspicious death. I was told I could find him here.”
“You can. I’m the undertaker. Won’t you come in?”
The man adjusted his hat and pulled a telegraph from his front pocket. “I’m sorry. I’m looking for a gentleman, surname Martin.”
“Would that be ‘L. Martin’?”
The man peered at the paper closely, as if convincing himself. “Yes, ma’am.”
“That’s me, Lola Martin. I sent the telegram last week.”
The marshal stepped back with a gentle grin. “Well, I’ll be. Begging your pardon, ma’am, but I wasn’t exactly expecting...”
Lola smiled. “People usually don’t.” The man glanced up and down the street, where wagons bounced around the curve and into the thickest part of town. Indecision flashed across his face, and Lola found herself with similar pause.
A man coming into her home without a body might not bode well for her reputation if the wrong sets of eyes witnessed it. Grace made a perfectly suitable chaperone, but to hold this discussion in her presence...would be awkward, to say the least. On the other hand, Mr. Anderson might have questions for Grace. And wouldn’t she want to know what transpired with the investigation?
“Please, come in. Mrs. McKenna, the sheriff’s widow, happens to be visiting. You might as well meet with her. She’ll be sufficient to stop any wagging tongues.”
Jake Anderson rubbed dark fingers over his scruffy jaw. “If you’re certain it suits you, ma’am, that will be fine with me.”
Lola led him through to the parlor, praying his arrival wouldn’t upset her dearest friend. “Let me introduce you to Mrs. Grace McKenna,” she said. His towering form bowed slightly, hat held across his chest. His eyes lit up as Grace held her hand out with a wan smile. Even draped in black, sallow with grief and well along in her pregnancy, Grace McKenna was a beautiful woman.