Page 26 of Wyoming Promises
Lola stood to see him out. Grace also rose, teacup clattering to the saucer on the table at her side. “I really must be going, if you’ll pardon my hasty departure, sir. My parents are arriving with the stage, and it’s due anytime now.”
The marshal took her hand and bowed slightly over it. “Of course, ma’am. I’d see you to your destination, but for now, it’s best folks don’t know who I am or what I’m doing here. It’s easier to get the truth if people believe I’m a drifter passing through.” Lola felt the quick grasp of his hand around hers as she held it out. “To that end, I’d appreciate if the two of you didn’t mention our visit to anyone for now. Rest assured, I’ll inform you of anything I learn about your case when I’m certain the matter is closed.”
Lola walked her guests to the back entry. Grace reminded her to come for lunch next week as she left.
Grace tugged into the wagon and gathered the reins. Holding them taut in her inexperienced hands, she gave a tremulous smile and a tiny wave before slapping the horse’s rump into motion. They watched her continue around the bend deeper into town.
Marshal Anderson followed her with his gaze from the bottom step. “Strong woman. She seems to have the determination it will take to survive, though it won’t be easy.”
Lola nodded her agreement. “I hope I haven’t waylaid you, sir. This is probably a goose chase I’ve set you on, being too hasty and allowing my imagination to carry me to the telegraph station before good sense could catch up.”
“Please don’t concern yourself with that. It only makes sense to look into the sheriff’s death while I’m here. But please, call me Jake. I don’t want to tip my hand too early. I’m asking you to not betray this trust until the time is right.”
Lola tucked a hair behind her ear, pulled loose by the breeze wafting from the cool peaks. “You have my word, Jake. Believe me, I’m anxious to have this matter settled.” The memory of Bridger’s gentle voice and kind brown eyes sent a warm ripple across her shoulders. “Because it gets more complicated by the day.”
Chapter Seven
Bridger slipped into the end of the row, third from the rear. Sometimes sitting in the farthest pew made a man as conspicuous as the man seated on the front bench. He placed his hat next to him on the seat and brushed dust from the brim. Given the length of time since he’d sat in a sanctuary, he felt a mite dusty himself. A tiny woman with snow-white hair nodded and smiled as she passed along to a pew nearer the front. The music had started, and Bridger smiled at his fortunate timing as the minister came in through a door behind the pulpit.
He studied the church, grand in its simplicity. Cedar lent its red-gold luster to the walls and exposed rafters, giving the meeting room a rich hue. A pine altar made with simply designed spindles spanned the front. Directly behind that, a narrow pulpit with a beveled front stood before the pastor. A small cross made of dark mahogany hung above. Tiny panes of real glass blocked together to allow a view of the sunrise sweeping over the mountains. It couldn’t be easy for a minister to compete with that kind of distraction.
The sheriff’s widow, dressed in black, played a tiny organ off to the side. A slight pause in the music brought everyone to their feet, and Bridger grasped the smooth wood of the pew ahead as he joined them.
“Welcome to the Lord’s house this glorious day!” The reverend smiled over the crowd, his head and shoulders barely seen behind the pulpit. His thinning gray hair was carefully groomed, and kind brown eyes peered over small spectacles situated at the end of his nose. “I’m Pastor Rhett Evans, and whether you greeted me on the street yesterday or I’ve never had the pleasure of seeing your face before this moment, I hope you’ll feel at home here and that you’ll return often, as the Lord allows.”
Bridger would’ve been tempted to chalk such cheery talk up to a clever method of filling the offering plates later, if he were more cynical. He glanced away. It had been too long since he’d been in a church service, among other believers. Besides, strength radiated from this man—his hands, his stance, his gaze. His demeanor spoke of integrity and peace. Bridger ducked his head in shame, shifted his feet and added his voice to the others singing “Joyful, Joyful, We Adore Thee.”
A sweet, lilting soprano drew his attention to the other side of the sanctuary. Lola Martin stood, hair delicately rolled along the side of her face, ending in that long, black cascade at her back, her slender neck graced by a high lace collar. Directly behind her stood Ike, hymnal opened in one hand, more show than song.