Page 42 of Wyoming Promises
Ike smiled, but it didn’t carry to his eyes. “I do hope, my dear, that you’ll consider me on the path to reformation. We are friends, aren’t we?” He tipped her face toward his with a thumb against her chin. “I don’t know if there is anyone else with whom to speak regarding you, but isn’t it possible we might return to where we were? I’m making changes, Lola. Trust me, I’m doing all I can to return myself to your favor, to prepare a life for you, for us together.”
Lola backed away, but the joy they’d felt together overwhelmed her tired mind, pushed the empty ache of loss and loneliness to the darkest corners. “I’m still in mourning, Ike, please...” She drew a deep breath, feeling his fingers caress her cheek. “I still need time.”
He drew so close the shadows hid his features, only the warmth of his breath filling her senses. “If it means I still have a chance, darling, time is something I can afford to give.”
She closed her eyes, exhaustion bearing down. She thought of her papa, Mr. Anthony, Pete and all she had lost. Loneliness stabbed her heart, and wrong as it was, she knew if he tried to kiss her now, she’d have no energy to stop him.
A clatter at her back door jolted her eyes open, and she breathed hard with surprise. “What—?”
Ike drew away, a flare of irritation bordering on anger striking his face. He raced around the side of her home. “Who’s there?”
He disappeared from sight, only to return a moment later, his usual grace lost. “I saw no one, Lola. Perhaps a cat.”
She shivered in the breeze, thankful for the interruption. No temptation beyond what she could bear, she recalled. “It’s all right, then. It’s all right.”
Ike stopped, poised as if to return to his previous stance. But she shook her head. “You have a town to protect, Mr. Tyler.” She drew her arms around her waist. “It’s best you be off.”
“I won’t apologize for what I was about to do, Lola.”
“I wouldn’t expect you to.” She grinned in spite of herself. “But it is well that the cat came along when it did.”
Ike backed away to his horse and then stared at her a moment, hand on the pommel. “I’ll consider that a sign of hope for my future, then, ma’am. Good night, and rest easy.”
She watched him ride off and slipped into the warmth of her dark house. Her tired limbs ached, but at odds with her heart and mind. Easy rest would be an unlikely blessing tonight.
* * *
Bridger peered at the dented clock for the hundredth time since settling into his bedroll at the foot of Frank’s bed. He needed sleep for an early start.
Frank’s heavy tread finally echoed up the stairs. Bridger sat, hoping his brother remained unseen. He hadn’t noticed how loud Frank’s boots could be.
As Frank stepped through the door, breath ragged, Bridger turned the lantern wick higher. His brother flinched to find him waiting. “Where have you been?”
The door closed with a soft snick, and Bridger sensed Frank’s purposeful slowness. “Just walking, Bridge.”
“Just walking where, Frank? You’re usually in by now.” He hated his accusing tone.
Frank set his hat on the desk and moved to the bed, which groaned under his broad build. “Around town. I didn’t talk to nobody, either. I even ran—”
Bridger shot to his feet, gripping the foot of the bed frame in each hand. “Why did you need to run? What happened?”
Frank smacked his hand on the flat pillow and drew it across his midsection. “He didn’t even see me, Bridge. I’m fast. So don’t growl at me!”
Bridger gentled his tone against the frustration in his chest. “Who didn’t see you?”
“Mr. Tyler.”
Bridger rubbed a knuckle across his lips, holding back angry words that threatened to bolt. They would get him nowhere with his brother. “Where didn’t he see you?”
Frank stared at the door as if judging his chance of success for escape. “At Miss Lola’s,” he said, voice a bare whisper.
“I told you to stay away from there! What do I have to do, Frank, chain you inside this room all day?”
His brother flinched again and rubbed his head. The exact spot where Pa had knocked him with the skillet, all those years ago, still gave him fits at times. Memories flashed through his mind—the pinch of Pa’s tight grip around his arm, shaking so hard Bridger thought it would rip right out of the socket, while blood ran down his face from the cut of the broken bottle... Frank stepping in and breaking the hold, sending him into a sprawl against the rough wall...
“I said I won’t do it again, all right? Don’t be mad, Bridge. And don’t lock me in—please. I ain’t no dog.” Frank knelt in front of him, rocking the bed in his desperation.