Page 57 of Wyoming Promises
“Yes, thank—”
“No! I’ll take the bill.” She was the employer, after all.
Bridger and Mattie turned stares at her as if she’d sprouted wings. “Mr. Jamison and I have business to discuss,” she explained.
“We can talk about my work as you like, Miss Martin. But our meals will be added to my account. I’m celebrating.” Bridger’s gentle gaze never left her face.
“Sure thing, sweetheart,” Mattie said, tucking her pencil into the belt wrapped at her narrow waist. She patted Lola’s shoulder. “You do look lovely tonight, sweetie. That green really brings out the fire in your eyes.” She left with a swish, sashaying off to the next table.
“You don’t have to do this,” Lola said, picking at her napkin. She wasn’t sure which irritated more—the fact she couldn’t compete with Mattie, or the fact she wanted to.
Bridger made a show of placing a napkin on his lap, a teasing gleam in his eye. “Do what? Eat? I’ll have you know I spent four long days dreaming of this steak, and boss or no, I aim to have it.”
“You know what I mean. I am responsible for your business expenses, and—”
“I don’t want this to be just a business expense, if you don’t mind. It’s not often an old tumbleweed like me has the opportunity to share a meal with a beautiful lady.” He leaned forward with a conspiratorial whisper. “You wouldn’t steal my rare opportunity to pretend I am a gentleman, would you?”
His finger tapping on her hand shot warmth along her arm and across her shoulders. She lost her resolve in his shy grin.
She nodded. “I don’t suppose I could.”
He glanced around, profile strong in the warm lantern glow of the room, then drew his elbow to the table to lean closer. “Besides, I need to convince you not to fire me. I apologize for leaving before I had a stock of...work...completed, but it shouldn’t happen again. If you’ll give me a chance, I can—”
“Hard to say ‘casket’ isn’t it?” she asked.
He flushed, sitting upright. “I don’t suppose your job is easy for anybody to accept or understand. I didn’t mean to offend you.”
Lola dismissed him with a wave. “I’m the one who is sorry. I didn’t mean to snap.” Sometimes the loneliness of her profession and the reasons for it were so clear, they pricked her like a needle. The worst of it was, she understood. Who would want to court a mortician?
“I admire what you do, honestly. My squeamishness is my own shame.” He leaned back, nodding thanks to the girl who brought his steaming mug of coffee and a fresh cup of water for her. “But seeing what you do and how it brings comfort to people... Why, it’s a testament to the person you are, Lola.”
Warmth filled her from golden sparks in his eyes. “The kind of person I am is one embarrassed by her curtness. You are very kind, and no one has any business judging you as anything more than a fine gentleman. Now, shall we start again? Tell me, what are you celebrating?”
He paused for a large swallow of coffee. He savored it on his tongue and closed his eyes. “A return to town, keeping my job—I hope.” He paused long enough to show an impudent grin. “Enjoying a meal with a fine woman...”
She laughed, lacing her fingers together at her waist. “Enough flattery, sir. You may keep your job, provided you can start first thing Monday morning and complete three coffins before your other job calls you away from Quiver Creek again.”
“Consider it done,” he promised. “I meet Jake Anderson tomorrow morning, then I should be in town until the first part of next month, at least. I’ll see you don’t run out of caskets while I’m gone by that time.” Pride in his word choice tinged his voice.
“Very well.” Looking at him now, eyes alight and shirt crisp, she wondered how she’d ever been so mistaken about him. Even his raw scar took a softened look in the muted lighting around them. “I wish I hadn’t jumped to conclusions about you. I’m sorry to have brought you extra trouble.”
“No offense taken,” he said. His voice grew distant. “I’m a scary-looking character, especially given the circumstances of that night. You were wise to contact the federal marshal’s office. In fact, I’m grateful you did.”
Somehow she sensed he no longer spoke with idle flattery. “You’d think in my line of work, I’d be beyond the effect of ‘scary-looking characters.’”
“I’d like to hear more about your business.”
Lola rimmed the edge of her glass with her fingertip. “You know what I do. The science would bore you, I’m certain.”