Page 40 of Wyoming Promises
Bridger drew a deep breath and squared his shoulders. “You don’t need to tell me anything, Lola. You’re a grown woman running a business of your own, and I’m the hired hand. I’m smart enough to figure this without any explanation. You don’t have to worry about me flapping my gums about it, either. The company you keep is up to you.” He stormed to her side, hand on the door latch.
“No, Bridger, listen!”
“Hold up,” Jake said. He stretched his long arm out to the door and pushed it completely closed, Lola’s fingers slipping out of danger at the last instant. “Let me introduce myself properly, Mr. Jamison. I’m Jake Anderson, U.S. marshal. And I’d be mighty interested in hearing just how you wound up with the body of a dead sheriff for delivery.”
* * *
Bridger stepped away, glancing between Lola and Jake in the darkening morgue. Muscles relaxed and calm wariness overtook frustration, as he offered to shake the lawman’s hand. “I’m glad to meet you, Marshal. I started to give up on you.”
“That so?” the man said, his deep tone laced with doubt.
“You don’t know how anxious I am to clear this matter.” Not to mention the strange relief he felt knowing the man’s true interest in Lola.
She looked flustered, eyes darting about the room. “Would you like to move this conversation into my parlor, gentlemen?”
The marshal waved her off, facing Bridger. “This is fine. So, Mr. Jamison, tell me your story.” He pulled a tablet from inside his coat pocket.
Bridger removed his hat and ran fingers over his hair, drawing them down along the scar. “There’s not much to the story. I came through the pass on my way into Quiver Creek and stopped for the night to set up camp. When I went to get firewood, I found the body a few feet off the trail. Loaded him onto my horse and brought him to town, here to the undertaker.”
Lola gave a tentative grin as she lit a lantern. The warmth of the flame reflected off the cedar shelf, adding a rosy glow to her cheeks.
Anderson wrote a few things, then flipped back a couple pages and read something written there. His boots shifted, the pencil scratched, every sound magnified by the solemn bareness of the room. Then the marshal looked up and tried to stare the truth from him.
Bridger held the man’s gaze, steady and hard. He had nothing to hide on that account. It made little difference that Frank had discovered the body first.
“You think you could show me the place?”
“Yes, sir. I’m heading out of town tomorrow early, be back by week’s end. I could ride up there with you Saturday.”
The marshal’s stare went from cool to frozen. “What’s calling you out of town?”
“I’m to deliver Mr. Anthony’s body to the train depot in Ralston and run a few errands on the way back.”
“Did the Anthony family secure your services?” He kept writing, fingers moving nearly as fast as the questions, not bothering to look up.
“No, my boss is helping them. He’s sending me.”
Anderson flipped to the back of his notepad, scanning through with his pencil. “I understand you work for Ike Tyler. He’s accommodating the family, you say?”
Bridger glanced at Lola again, her slim brow quirked as she focused on the marshal. “As a favor to Miss Lola,” he said.
The warmth of her hand on his wrist surprised him. “Let me say something here.” Her voice rose, firm and light. “Mr. Jamison arrived at my door late in the evening as a stranger. Then he brought in the body of not only our town sheriff, but a dear friend. Having conversations with him over the past few weeks, and seeing his work and concern for others, I no longer doubt his story is true.”
“You’re vouching for his character?” the marshal asked, his gaze just as firm and direct with her.
Eyes wide, Bridger watched her vision waver from his too-long hair to his worn collar. She shivered when her gaze followed the trail of his scar, and he looked away.
“Yes, I suppose I am,” she said. But the tremor in her voice couldn’t be missed.
Marshal Anderson made a few notes and then closed his tablet with a cool smile. “Mr. Tyler helps you a lot, doesn’t he, Lola?”
She nodded, her cheeks painted a faint blush. The coolness of the room brushed Bridger’s arm as she removed her gloved hand. “We’re friends from way back,” she said, but her tone held defense.
“So I understand,” Jake said. “In fact, word through town is, you were engaged at one time, isn’t that right?”
Color blossomed across her face. “Years ago.”
Bridger planted his boots into the floorboards, fighting his desire to protect her. But the lawman’s eyes turned kindly, and he patted Lola’s crossed arms. “I don’t mean to throw past choices into the present, Lola. But I’m here to ask the questions and discover if any crime has been committed.”