Page 69 of Wyoming Promises
His eyes glittered, and her breath caught in her throat.
A narrow grin tugged his lips. “Now that I mean it.”
His smile, his scent, his nearness...they drew her senses awake better than the church bell. Heat crept along her neck and tingled in her chest. “It wasn’t right of me, either, to drag Frank along. I don’t understand why you wouldn’t tell me—people—about him, but you’re entitled to your reasons.”
Bridger turned at her shoulder to keep Frank in his sights, which drew him closer to her side. “I can’t tell you everything yet, but I hope you trust me enough to work it all out.”
She nodded, not daring to look his way again. She kept her voice low as more members of the congregation filed around them. “In the meantime, I really could use Frank’s help from time to time. Do you think he would like that?”
His shrug brushed against her shoulder. “I reckon he’d like anything that gets him out of the room more. But you don’t have to, Lola. Frank, you see, he takes a lot of patience, and folks aren’t always—”
“Folks aren’t always right. Or kind, or fair. But give them a chance, Bridger. Give Frank a chance to prove himself to them.”
His shoulders relaxed with a tight exhalation of air, and the warmth of his hand at her elbow ushered her through the church door. Frank jostled from boot to boot in his excitement, watching the minister take his place at the platform and waiting for his brother to choose a seat in the sanctuary.
Bridger’s voice sounded faraway and thoughtful. “I guess that’s all any man wants.”
* * *
Bridger appreciated the quiet of Sunday afternoons as he wandered down the sidewalk. Frank rested in their room with a headache. Those weren’t all that unusual for his brother over the years, and the excitement of being out and “in a real church” added to the cause.
He hated to admit it, but no longer having to hide Frank gave him a measure of relief. He worried about his brother’s safety either way, but this removed one fear. And if Lola really could find use for Frank, it would keep him out of trouble and give some measure of protection while Bridger focused elsewhere. Maybe Pastor Evans’s prayer had done more good than he’d intended.
Glass shattered as he passed the saloon’s swinging doors. Toby’s rumbling curses echoed from inside. Bridger poked his head into the main room where Toby worked setting up for the evening. “You be sure to put that broken glass on your tab.”
A shard flew toward him but fell far short of its target. “Next time I’ll shut your mouth permanently, boy.” Toby stood from where he crouched over the mess. His glare could start a fire.
Bridger grabbed a broom from the corner. Too soon to antagonize Ike’s most trusted hire. “I’ll help. Smile at Mattie real nice, maybe you’ll get away with your hide.”
Toby wrenched the broom from his grasp. “I don’t need your help—not with any of my business. So stay out of my way, you hear?”
“I guess it isn’t up to you.”
A flash of steel glimmered in Toby’s hand. “I guess I can give you a match to that scar on your jaw if you get too mouthy with me. You have a long way to go before you don’t have to take orders from me.”
Bridger raised his hand but held ground. “There’s plenty action here for each of us. No need to get all riled at me.”
Toby drew closer, broad nose wrinkled. “I don’t like the smell of you, boy. Like expensive perfume on a painted dove—trying too hard to cover up something. Only worse, because I don’t know which way the wind blows with you.”
“What you see is what you get.” Bridger’s jaw ground tight.
“Right, and seeing is believing.” Toby snapped his knife into its sheath. “Get along to that gal you’re working for and your half-wit brother. And stay out of my way. Consider this your only warning.”
Bridger clenched his fist. His arm ached with desire to smack Toby’s superior attitude off his smug face. Vengeance is mine, he recalled. But providing the physical strength would be his pleasure when the time came.
He stepped through the door into bright sunshine. The air finally held warmth that spoke of spring’s true arrival. He hated the thought of being tucked inside Lola’s workshop this afternoon. Working on Sunday gave him an awkward feeling, but Lola needed another casket right away, and he owed her that.
Besides, wasn’t this akin to pulling your donkey out of a ditch on the Sabbath? Pastor Evans had spoken in his message this morning about Jesus being condemned for the work He did, mainly because folks didn’t really understand exactly what He was doing. Even Jesus hadn’t been able to tell folks everything at the time, because they couldn’t have handled it just then.