Page 43 of Wyoming Promises
Bridger stepped back. “I wouldn’t, Frank. I didn’t mean it—honest, I didn’t. You have every right to walk around here free as any other man. But you have to blend in awhile longer, you see? And snooping about the homes of beautiful ladies isn’t what men do if they’re lying low!”
Frank slumped, his chin bobbing in agreement. “See, I knew you thought she’s pretty, too!”
Bridger squeezed his temples between his thumbs. “But you don’t see me sneaking around trying to catch sight of her!”
“You sound like those men in the last town, like I have bad ideas about her,” Frank accused. “I never would hurt her, not any woman. I know what the Bible says about treating women right, and I remember what Grandpa taught, same as you. We got to protect ’em, right?”
Bridger’s ire cooled as he acknowledged, with shame, that his brother’s insight held more truth than he wanted to admit. “I’m sorry, Frank. I didn’t mean to make you feel that way.” He knew better than any other soul on earth the lengths Frank Jamison stretched to offer protection for any living creature in need. His every breath served as proof.
“Besides,” Frank continued, “I was not either peeking at her. It was spying, like making sure she was okay.”
Bridger pulled the chair from the desk and sat, watching Frank unlace his boots and toe them off. “What makes you think she needs you to ‘spy,’ then?”
“She had sad eyes.”
“Well, she is sad. Her friend died, which is something else I have to tell—”
“That’s not the only thing.”
Bridger rubbed his neck. Of course it wasn’t the only thing. But he felt certain Lola hadn’t realized her former fiancé was under investigation by the federal marshal.
“What else?” Bridger asked.
“Mr. Tyler saw her.”
“You mean he was visiting her?”
“Talking to her. Out on her front step.”
“They’re friends. He probably checked on her,” Bridger said. He stood and moved to the window, as irritated at himself as toward Lola. Since when did her evening conversations make any difference to him?
“He looked real friendly, though. Like some of those men back home looked at Ma after Pa died, her being so pretty. He got to standing too close, so I—”
Bridger grabbed his brother’s shoulder and tried to look him in the eye, but Frank gazed at his stockinged feet. Worry flared. “What exactly did you do?”
“Nothin’!” Frank twisted his shoulder from Bridger’s grasp. “Well, nothin’ bad. I kicked the porch to make a noise.”
“Then what happened?” Alarm pounded in Bridger’s chest.
“Mr. Tyler came and checked, but I was out of sight, Bridge. Honest. He told Miss Lola it was a cat.”
Bridger released his breath in a tight whoosh. Now to hope Ike believed that, too. “All right, Frank. I’m glad you told me. I can’t smooth things over if I don’t know what you’ve done, so you need to tell me.”
Frank looked dejected, and Bridger’s conscience pricked him. His brother had to understand, somehow, how difficult this was, and how much more so it could get. Especially when he’d be gone for a few days.
“Listen, Frank. You have to be careful, and it scares me to think you could get into more trouble. I mean, there were those who wanted to hang you in that last town.”
“I know!” Frank said. His face puckered, tired and petulant.
“Then you have to do what I say and stay away from Miss Lola.” Bridger broke his brother’s focus. “’Cause I’m leaving town for a few days on a job for Mr. Tyler, and I won’t be around to keep you out of trouble.”
“Why are you going this time?”
“I’m to deliver Mr. Anthony’s body for the train back East. I head out early in the morning.”
“How long?” Frank’s resigned tone spoke more of irritation than acceptance.
“I should be back Friday afternoon if nothing goes wrong. Until then, I need you to stay put. No snooping around in town. Promise you’ll stay off the streets while I’m gone.”
Frank slipped off his shirt and stretched out on the bed in his undershirt and denim pants. “I won’t cause no trouble, Bridge, I promise. I know I’m a scary-looking fellow.”
His dejected tone curdled in Bridger’s chest. He patted Frank’s leg. “I know you won’t, brother. The problem is, you never do.”