Page 66 of Wyoming Promises
Bridger lowered his voice to a bare rumble. “I’ll lock that door from the outside next time, Frank. You hear me? I can’t believe you’d be stupid enough to—”
“He was helping me.” Lola’s voice carried firm and furious on the night wind. “I needed someone to help me move a body I couldn’t have managed alone. I came for you, but you weren’t there. Frank did a fine thing today.”
“You had no right dragging him along, once you saw what he’s like. If you have so little notion of what’s going on in this town, you’re a bigger fool than he is, and I’ll thank you to keep him out of it.” Couldn’t she see the danger she put Frank in? And herself?
Ire coursed like hot flint into his stiff limbs. He faced Jake. “Marshal, I’d appreciate it if you’d help Miss Martin finish whatever job needs doing. I’m going to get my brother under wraps before she puts him in more danger than she already has.” He whirled again toward his brother, grabbing the beefy arm still braced against the reins. “Come on, Frank. You mind me, now.”
“No, Bridger!” Frank’s voice echoed in its fullness. Leather creaked as his jacket strained against his barreled chest. “You shouldn’t speak to Miss Lola that way, and I won’t let you. I think you forgot how to treat a lady, and I’m gonna teach you. You mind me on that!”
Bridger stepped back, the force of Frank’s words like a punch to the face. “Listen, Frank, I—”
“No, you listen, Bridger. Did you hear her?” he asked, his voice growing softer. “I helped today. I did something good for someone else and it felt good. And it didn’t hurt nothin’, either.”
“But—”
“If you can’t see that, you’re no better than Pa!”
Bridger jolted, his gaze never dropping from Frank’s proud, angry glare. He loved his brother and hated everything about his father’s legacy of selfish fury. But hadn’t Pa done the same to him? Kept him trapped in a prison of fear, secrets and doubt? Was that how Frank felt? He looked at his brother, who stood in the wagon, arms crossed at his middle to make his point. How could he have taken so much from him?
Shame the likes of which he’d never felt staggered him, but he forced a nod toward Jake, who had witnessed this family discussion. The marshal had the grace to nod back without comment.
Facing Lola proved more difficult. “Forgive me. I had no call to talk to you like that, and I’m sorry it took a public reprimand from my brother to recall my manners. I’m thankful he could be of service and grateful you both are safe and sound.” He broke his gaze from her tear-rimmed eyes. “I let worry gnaw on my good sense.”
Lola’s chin rose, her full lips drawn in a tight line. But soft forgiveness glittered in her eyes, and a crease in her cheek flooded his heart with hope.
Frank dropped his arms and returned to his seat. “Miss Lola, if it’s all right with you, and the lawman—” he nodded toward Jake “—I’ll go on back with my brother. It’s getting late and we put a scare on Bridge. But—” he paused with drama, that rare teasing light in his eyes twinkling with the stars overhead “—I expect we’ll see you in church tomorrow morning. Both of us.”
* * *
Lola ran ahead of the marshal to open the mortuary door and laid a fresh sheet on her examination table. She lit the lantern hanging overhead as Jake sidled through the door with his heavy burden, carrying Myrtle Stiles’s body with tender care. Together they tugged the tightly wrapped cover loose, and Lola donned a fresh apron. She hoped Bridger’s latest project would be large enough. Sorrow twisted in her chest at the thought of using the caskets as fast as he could build them.
The task at hand should have kept her mind focused. But Bridger’s angry words echoed in her thoughts. How could he believe she’d intentionally do anything to hurt anyone? How dare he talk as if she were some mindless ninny!
Perhaps her request for Frank’s help had been born of need, but not only hers. Frank wanted—needed—to be a contributing part of the community around him, and Bridger was wrong to deprive him of that for any reason.
Jake wiped his hands against each other and adjusted his collar. “You need to consider things from Bridger’s point of view, Lola.”
She laid cloths and sponges on the table, too upset to face him. “He kept his own brother locked up like a common criminal. It’s pretty plain Frank Jamison hasn’t an ounce of meanness in him, so why would he do such a thing? Too embarrassed that his brother isn’t perfect, that’s why. He ought to—”