Page 65 of Wyoming Promises
“Your friend, he’s the type that might be found at the house of God?” Pastor Evans asked.
Bridger shrugged. “I suppose not this time of night. I looked everywhere else, though, and hoped.”
“Well, I haven’t seen anyone since I came over around five o’clock, but it’s plain to see how important it is that you find your friend. Nothing dire, I hope?” The minister rubbed his slender pale fingers together at the tips. “I’d be glad to pray with you, that you find this person.”
Bridger scoffed before his brain kicked in to where he stood, and to whom he spoke. “I’m sorry. I am worried for my friend. I’d pledge to never miss a service again to know he’s safe at this point.”
Soft laughter rumbled from the little man. “So often we wish the Lord worked that way. I suppose because it would give us some measure of control over things, we think. Don’t take this wrong, but you seem to me a man who’s lived his life trying to control things. How’s that worked out for you?”
He stared at his hat. He wasn’t here to discuss himself, only to find his brother! But he had been the one to ask for help. “To be honest, it ain’t working so well at the moment. But if you haven’t seen my friend, I really need to be on my way, to keep looking.”
Pastor Evans nodded, slipping his glasses farther up his nose. “I’m afraid I can’t help you there, son. But how about a quick prayer that you’ll find who you’re looking for? Can’t hurt, right?”
Desperation clawed in his chest as he noted the darkness pressing harder at the window. He worried the brim of his hat between his fingers. “I reckon not. What do I do?”
“Stand there and talk to God, son.” The pastor bowed his head and started before Bridger could think to close his eyes. “Heavenly Father, I come and ask for help for my friend Bridger Jamison. He’s feeling terrible worried for his friend and hopes to find him safe and sound, if that be Your will. We trust he’s safe in Your care. While I know all is in Your timing, Lord Jesus, it would ease our hearts considerable-like if Bridger were to find him before it gets any darker. In Thy Holy Name we ask this, Amen.”
Bridger stepped toward the preacher. “That’s it?”
Pastor Evans smiled. “That and faith are all it takes. Though the Lord and I would both be glad to see you here every Sunday, regardless.”
He swallowed hard, remembering his promise. But if he found Frank, that was all that mattered. He shifted his feet, boots scuffing against the plank floor and antsy to leave, but more at peace than when he’d arrived. “Thank you, then, parson. I’d best be on my way.”
The minister closed the door behind him, warm light only a glimmer in the window again. Spring peepers along the creek announced the fullness of the season, but they only served as a reminder that the time grew late. Where else might he look for Frank?
Bridger rounded the church. He’d make one more loop through the boardinghouse and see if Frank had returned to their room, then get a horse and ride out. He didn’t know what he’d do if anything happened to his brother.
“Bridger!”
Jake Anderson rode along the street, his eyes constantly searching. Bridger glanced around. It wouldn’t do for Ike’s men to catch him talking too friendly with anyone outside of Ike’s posse. Even if Jake’s true purpose wasn’t suspect yet.
He lowered his voice. “Everything look all right tonight?”
Jake leaned over his saddle horn. “I make my own rounds before I turn in. Helps me think, and you’ve given me plenty to keep my mind occupied. What are you doing out this way?”
“Bridge!”
Frank’s voice startled him, coming from the darkness of the road ahead. And nothing had such a welcome ring. He stepped away from the dirt path as Frank drove the wagon closer. Lola perched at his side and his relief became squashed with fear. What was Frank doing with her? How had Lola found him? Why were they sitting there together smiling when Frank should be in their room right now, staying out of sight?
He met the wagon in three strides. “What in the wide Mississippi are you doing out here?” His voice rose only steps away from a yell. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve been looking for you?”
Bridger waved his arms to the inky blackness above, then thrust a finger in his brother’s face. “We had an agreement, Frank, and I trusted you to abide by it. Who knows what might have happened to you out there, gallivanting around this town like you’re the founding father of Quiver Creek?” Stars burned in the sky above, matching the fire in his chest, and provided a canopy for the rage inside him. Frank’s lips formed a stern line, but he didn’t attempt to speak.