Page 71 of Wyoming Promises
Heat engulfed her, tingling from the base of her neck until her ears singed. “No fair!” she said.
Soft giggles rolled from Grace until she held her rounded belly with a grimace. “Oh! The child steals my breath already.”
“If you didn’t tease, you wouldn’t agitate him so.” Lola stood, reaching toward her friend. “Are you all right?”
Grace waved her back. “I’m fine. He’s growing and getting heavy, that’s all. Makes it hard to breathe sometimes.”
Lola settled into her chair. “I guess that’s normal, then. You’ve been feeling all right otherwise? Did you see Doc Kendall?”
“Yes, of course. Everything’s fine. Don’t change the subject,” Grace said.
“With all the new arrivals, there are several handsome men bound to be among them.” Lola sipped her lukewarm tea over dry lips. She held her chin up with a regal tilt and fluttered her lashes, smiling. “Marshal Anderson is a fine-looking gentleman, as well, but perhaps it’s not ladylike to say so.”
Color rose in Grace’s cheeks, making Lola wonder. “You have noticed,” she said.
Grace shrugged, but her downcast eyes proved her forced nonchalance. “He stops by every few days to update me on Pete’s case.” Her voice grew soft. “There’s nothing wrong with noticing. Besides, we were speaking of you.”
Lola stared at her friend and stretched her hand to cover Grace’s long fingers. “It only surprises me, so soon after Pete...”
Tears dripped from Grace’s eyes and speckled her cheeks. “Out here, Lola, things are different. You know that. There’s no timeline on love and loss.”
Lola squeezed her hand and tilted her face into Grace’s line of sight, rolling her eyes in a way that never failed to make her friend laugh. “So?”
“I’m not ready or in any way looking for romance, Lola. I get the idea Jake Anderson is a patient man, though. But that’s neither here nor there at the moment. Now could be your time,” she said.
Lola tapped her fingernails together, avoiding Grace’s bright eyes. Then she rested her chin on curled fingers and slid a loose wisp of hair behind her ear. “I think...” She leaned forward, smile growing with her certainty. She faced her friend. “I think I’m hoping it is.”
* * *
Bridger dismounted on the other side of a stand of trees outside of town. Quiver Creek wound its way through a nearby pass and farther down the mountain. Close enough to reach easily, but far enough from town to divert suspicion and avoid the eyes of Ike’s henchmen.
The water gurgled and bounced over rocks and the sound of rapids ahead disguised any noise of the town left behind. The peaceful grove made a perfect spot to meet with Marshal Anderson but did nothing to ease the ache in his gut.
He drew into the shadows as a horse loped in his direction, until he saw the familiar bay. “Evening, Jake.”
The marshal landed on his feet before his mount came to a full stop, glancing about the shadows with a casual gaze. “Good to see you. What do you have for me?”
Bridger tossed him a small bag that jingled as he caught it. “This is my share of the latest take Ike gave me from my weekend trip. I figure it’s safest in your hands.”
Jake rattled it before loosening the tie to peer inside. He let a low whistle fly. “You’ve been busy.”
Bridger shoved his fingers deeper into his gloves. “Don’t remind me. I haven’t gotten this many black looks since I snuck a frog into Sunday school.”
A gleam of a smile met him through the growing twilight. “You get used to it. I see them all the time.”
Bridger huffed. “From criminals, maybe. But these are good, decent, working folks, and they see me robbing them of hard-won wages, nice as you please.”
Jake stepped closer until his features became more distinct in the faint light of the quarter moon. “Only for a time, Jamison. We’ll set the record straight, soon as we get all the information on Tyler and have everyone rounded up. Then we’ll make it right.”
Bridger jammed his hands into coat pockets and paced between two trees at the river’s edge. “I haven’t thought on my ma in years, but doing this...I wonder all the time what she’d think.”
Jake stopped him short with a firm grasp to his shoulder. “She’d think of all the folks you’re helping. You’re not really doing this, you know.”
“I know it,” he ground out. “But these people don’t.” The marshal had no idea how he clenched his jaw to avoid a confession. He longed to explain his actions were only part of the plan to catch Ike. The need to tell Lola before she heard the wrong side of the story pressed against him. What if keeping his cover took more strength than he possessed?