Page 64 of Wyoming Promises
He hung his coat and hat and stretched out on the straw tick with weariness in his bones. “Lord Jesus, we’re in a mess. Frank sets a lot of store in talking to You, so I’m trying the same. Keep my brother safe,” he said. “And Lola, too. I’m not asking for myself, mind you. But I sure wouldn’t mind the extra help watching over the two of them.”
His muscles eased at the notion of having backup with the power Frank so fully believed in. Who knew? Maybe before this was all over, he’d believe a little more, too.
Bridger smiled and closed his eyes. Minutes passed as his limbs sank into the mattress beneath him. Frank might be forced to use the blanket on the floor tonight, because Bridger wasn’t sure he could move.
The tiny clock on the wall chimed half past, rousing him from a light doze. Breath caught, ragged in his chest. Frank was late. And right now, Ike was the only cause he could think of for it.
Chapter Eighteen
“You were a great help to me today, Frank,” Lola said. “I would never have been able to move the body without you.”
His wide smile shone amid the reddish stubble on his chin. “I helped, huh?” he said, pride in his tone. “I wasn’t scary-looking to you at all! I’m glad I opened that door, even if Bridge will be mad.”
She bit her lip, suddenly unsure. Nothing to do for it now. She patted his thick arm as they rounded the final bend into town.
Lola pulled her wrap close as the sun dropped behind ragged peaks. Frank held the reins of her wagon loosely in his hands, and the horses seemed to float above calloused ruts in the road that might jar Myrtle’s wrapped body on the wagon bed.
What would make Bridger want to hide Frank away? Such a large, rough-looking man to be so gentle. Sure, folks weren’t always understanding of anyone...different. But wouldn’t the people of Quiver Creek be willing to give him a chance?
* * *
Bridger raked his hair and replaced his hat with a frantic huff. Where could Frank have gone? He’d looked around every corner of the saloon, walked the length of town and searched through the empty and almost finished hotel. No sign. He’d visited the mercantile under Toby’s curious glare then wandered to the creek’s bank and followed it through a line of trees to the clearing near church.
Surely his brother wouldn’t explore farther. The sun sank well below the mountains, leaving only a brilliant gleam of pink behind the peaks as twilight fell. Maybe Frank waited for him in the room, and his worry stood for naught.
Maybe he’d gone farther and been hurt—accidentally, or by someone who preyed on those of feeble mind. Bridger rubbed his tight chest. Maybe Ike had found him.
Bridger increased his stride to reach the church. It held his last hope.
He found the glow of a lamp coming from the rear. Surely Frank hadn’t sneaked inside? Or perhaps the minister had seen him. He knocked softly at the back door.
Pastor Evans’s eyes blinked in surprise above spectacles perched on his nose. “Yes?” he said. The same peaceful smile he wore every Sunday morning lined his face. “How can I help you, son?”
Bridger grabbed his hat and held it clenched in his fist. “Are you here alone, parson?”
The man’s bushy eyebrows drew toward his eyes, which held a skeptical stare. But he opened the door wide and nodded him through. “That I am. Just the Lord and I chatting a bit this evening. I like to have this time to prepare for the morning message.”
Bridger moved toward the warm lantern light of the simple room before realizing his intrusion. “I’m sorry to bother you, sir. I didn’t mean to startle you, either. I’m looking for a...friend, and I wondered if you’d seen him.”
Pastor Evans adjusted his glasses as he padded his way to a tiny desk and sat. “This is certainly the place for seekers to come, friend. Would you refresh my old mind as to your name? I recognize you from my congregation but can’t say I’ve had the pleasure of a formal introduction.”
“Bridger Jamison, sir.” He glanced around, hoping Frank would appear in the midst of the tiny room.
Pastor Evans snapped his fingers. “That’s right! You’re the man Lola hired. She speaks highly of your work.”
The mention of her name caught him off guard. “She’s a fine lady, and I’m glad I can be of assistance to her.”
Pastor Evans’s gaze bored into him until Bridger figured the man had a sense of everything about him. From the way he lived to the way he took his coffee in the mornings. He shifted his feet and searched the room, noticing an open Bible on the man’s desk and a hand-whittled cross on the wall behind. He should’ve kept looking outside.