Page 67 of Wyoming Promises
“Calm down. Bridger had his reasons, I suppose. But he’s a good man, better than most, from what I’ve learned.” Jake hovered near the door, his hand on the knob.
Lola stomped across to the cupboard, pulling bottles of embalming fluid. She slammed the doors in irritation and ignored the rattling jars. “You heard the way he spoke to him!” To me.
Jake flopped his hat against dusty pants and moved into Lola’s path so she had to look up. “Jamison’s under a lot of pressure. He was right when he said you don’t know everything going on in this town, and he’s right to be concerned about his brother. Give the man slack, Lola, because he’s worried about you, too.”
She stepped back, arms clenched around her waist, and huffed loose hair from her eyes. “I agree. I’ve sensed his tension, too, and thought it perhaps his nature. But it’s been worse the past few days. What’s going on?”
Jake’s face blanched and he made a hasty retreat for the door. “It’s best you don’t know until and unless it becomes absolutely necessary, Lola. The fewer folks who know, the safer you are and the easier I can investigate.”
Why did men insist on making things more intriguing by saying less? “You can’t tell me anything?”
Light flickered across his wide face and glowed along the wooden walls behind him. “Only to be cautious, same as I’ve been. But you have no reason to be leery of Bridger. Don’t add to his concerns.”
“Mr. Jamison needs to learn he doesn’t own the market on problems, sir. You say he’s under pressure? Well, he’s not the only one!” She swept forward, almost pushing Jake out the door with the motion. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a job to do.”
* * *
Lola closed the Bible in her lap and leaned in the rocking chair, setting it to a gentle sway. The late hour required only one dim light in the great room, enough to read but not so much to destroy her sleepiness. Her confrontation with Bridger and laying Myrtle to rest had left her mind too full to head straight to bed, but her body yearned for sleep. If she didn’t soon turn in, though, rising in time for tomorrow’s—today’s—services would be impossible.
A knock startled her from a light doze. Who would be calling at this time of night? She slipped to the window and peeked out. Ike?
“Is something wrong?” she asked, opening the door a narrow crack as she grasped her night-robe at the neck. “It’s terrible late.”
Ike flashed a grin, no trace of tiredness in his face. “That it is, and I apologize for disturbing you. I saw your light and wanted to make sure all is well.”
She glanced at the soft glow cast by the lantern against the window. Still, any light at this hour was uncommon. “I’m fine, Ike. It was good of you to make certain.”
His smile gave away his pleasure. “It’s my job to assure your safety, Lola. I care about you. I heard about the widow Stiles. I’ll be glad to help. She’s a hefty job, I’d guess.”
She was, but it was unkind of him to mention that so callously. Lola sighed. With her thoughts so wild and raw over the day’s events, she needed sleep more than anything.
Ike clasped his cool gloved hand over hers at her neck. His touch startled any lethargy from her.
“Forgive me,” he said. “I can see you’re upset as it is. I’m sorry, but Toby said he overheard Jamison yelling at you over near the church this evening.” He removed his hand to stall her protest. “He’d been on rounds and heard voices but left when he saw another gentleman there at your aid. Still, he described it as quite a scene. Are you all right?”
Consternation racked her chest. How dare Toby claim such a thing! Her hands fluttered in the night between them. “It was a misunderstanding, Ike. Your men would do well to focus on the safety of the town and stop spreading gossip. That’s the only help I need.”
His eyes gleamed, a burst of fire quickly swallowed but not prevented. “I won’t apologize because I’ve learned one of my men treated you like the insensitive cad he is, Lola. The men I hire aren’t noted for gentility and civility, but they’re the best I’ve been able to find in this rough town.” He smiled, raising his hand again to brush against the softness of her cheek. “Even those of us born to gentility can be improved by a woman’s touch.”
Defense of Bridger tightened her limbs, but she blushed in spite of herself. “Bridger Jamison is your best man, Ike. He’s proven invaluable to this town and to me.”
His voice grew quiet, gruff. “He’s nothing but a lout, although given the general nature of the men we must employ in this town, I suppose he’s worth his keep.” Ike slid closer, smelling of whiskey and tobacco from the saloon. “I understand he has a brother he’s been keeping locked away all this time. Lying by omission at the very least,” he said with a tsk. “Makes me wonder what else he’s lied about, what other crimes he’s hidden.”