Page 63 of Wyoming Promises
Confusion swirled in her mind with her eagerness to complete the task at hand. What did this man know about Pete? Why would he be in Bridger’s room? Dear Jesus, she breathed. “Who are you?”
“Shh...I’m Bridger’s brother, ma’am,” he whispered. He closed the door so only the wedge of his wide face could be seen. “You shouldn’t know, though. Bridge’ll be mad.”
She understood the feeling. Why hadn’t he mentioned a brother? “Bridger keeps you trapped here, all by your lonesome?”
The man nodded. “Just for a while longer.”
Something both simple and foggy in his tone tugged at her heart. Bridger must have his reasons for hiding his brother. Had this lumbering fellow killed Pete? Perhaps accidentally, forcing Bridger’s plan for protection?
She stared into his blank eyes. Somehow she sensed this man was too guileless to lie. Guide me, Lord, she prayed.
“Did you hurt that sheriff, mister?” she asked.
He slid back and the door opened wider. “No, ma’am. I’d not hurt him anyhow. God says we have to love folks and treat them kind.”
Lola felt her spirit ease and puffed out her held breath. “Then I need your kindness now. What’s your name, sir?”
He laughed, shaking his ruddy head. “I ain’t no ‘sir.’ My name’s Frank—Frank Jamison.”
“Well, Frank,” she said, peace and necessity forging clarity to her mind, “I came to ask your brother, but you’re a big, strapping fellow. Will you help me since Bridger’s not here?”
His dull eyes widened, his gaze shifting. “He wouldn’t like it, ma’am. See, we’re a scary-looking pair, only I’m even scarier.”
Seconds ticked away on the timepiece at her neck. His desire to help her and escape his prison fought against fear of his brother’s reprisal on his open face. She sensed his innocence. Was she taking advantage of that?
Bridger certainly would not be happy, but what right did he have to treat his brother this way, even if it were to protect him? Besides, she needed help he’d be well able to give. “I promise to smooth things over with your brother. What do you say?”
Still he paused, weighing her offer against his brother’s ire. Then a smile grew on his face, showing a fine set of white teeth so like his brother’s. “If you explain it to him, he’ll see I had to, ma’am. Pretty lady like you, he’ll have to see I didn’t have any other choice.”
* * *
Bridger trudged the steps to his room. Days of travel, late nights and early mornings exacted a toll, but maybe now he could rest. Jake Anderson believed his story, and together they would bring Ike to trial. He had worried the marshal might not allow him to have a part in it, but once they’d developed a plan, Jake had agreed.
Bridger opened the door, the room already dim as the sun slipped down, and tossed his saddlebag on the bed. He had to clear his name. Not concerning the sheriff’s death, but for all those people he demanded money and goods from in the course of doing Ike’s dirty work. Not to mention he’d never be able to look a man in the eye again if he didn’t have a hand in bringing his boss to justice. He’d never be able to face Lola.
Lola...and Frank, he pondered. He slumped to the bed, rubbing gritty hands over his stubbled face. They were the real snags in the plan. Ike already monitored his interaction with Lola. Would he hurt her if they grew too close? The thought brought him to his feet, restless. He poured tepid water into the bowl of the dry sink and rubbed lye soap into calloused hands. No, Ike seemed to care for Lola in his own twisted way. That should provide enough protection for her.
But what of Frank? Bridger shook water and grabbed a dingy towel, wiping dampness across his weary face. He blew a frustrated huff. Trouble just seemed to work its way through Frank first.
But not this time. He owed Frank a big apology. He didn’t know how, but the damage Pa had caused his addled brain cleared Frank’s manner of feeling for people in a way Bridger couldn’t hope to match. If he’d had a stronger sense of people as Frank did, they might not be in this mess at all.
Bridger stared through the window across the rooftops of town, glazed by rays of evening sunlight. Where had his brother gone? He should be back anytime now. Darkness came around six o’clock.
Moments passed. His sole focus on Frank, Bridger paced until the walls crushed against him, oppressive in the darkness. Frank hadn’t failed to miss the chime of their grandfather’s pocket watch, he reminded himself. Frank would saunter through the door at any minute, and Bridger would be the grateful fool for his worry.