Page 73 of Wyoming Promises
“But he’s not here. He worries about me going without him.” Frank bit his thumb. “He works too hard to worry so much.”
Lola sighed. “I know.”
Ike had kept him busier than ever this week and sent him away again. She didn’t understand all of Ike’s business dealings, of course, but he had taken a liking to Bridger. For some reason, though, Bridger didn’t seem altogether thrilled with the prospect of becoming such a valued employee. Instead he’d grown more tense, more terse and less teasing.
But that shouldn’t prevent Frank from taking advantage of his newfound freedom. “Church is exactly the place we should be, then, to pray for him and for strength to help him.”
Frank’s eyes clouded in deliberation. “I don’t want to scare nobody if he’s not around to fix it. That would make it worse.”
“Well, you don’t scare me, Frank Jamison. I’d be pleased to have such a fine-looking fellow escort me. Please say you’ll come. We’ll have a picnic with Grace after the service.”
Frank rubbed his palms on his pants, then gazed at her, the smile he shared with his brother creasing his face. “You really think I’m handsome?”
She tapped her lips, giving him the critical eye. Frank’s broad form and rusty waves would draw plenty of attention if not for the dullness behind his blue eyes. “I do. But more important, God doesn’t look at that. He looks at your heart. And you, sir, have a good heart, focused on the Lord. So please come to church with me.”
Frank jumped to his feet. “Thanks, Miss Lola! Thanks a bunch! Bridger won’t be so worried if he knows you were with me.”
She giggled at his enthusiasm. “Are you ready?”
He rubbed a hand over his smooth jaw. “I shaved and all, but let me slick my hair and get a tie and coat. I’ll just be a minute, promise.”
“There’s plenty of time. I’ll wait downstairs.” She backed away and pulled the door shut.
“I’ll be right down,” he said, his voice rumbling through before it closed. “And I’m awful glad I picked you those flowers, even if Bridger didn’t like it so much.”
Lola halted, covering a snicker with her gloved hand. So Frank had been her mystery florist. She could imagine Bridger’s reaction to that, but it eased her heart to know. Not only did Frank flatter her with his caring heart and charm, knowing who had left the flowers lessened the tension she worked so hard to deny.
She waited on the walkway out front. The saloon sat silent at this hour, more gray and unflattering than the lively music and pretentious lighting of the evening made it appear. She spotted the table where she and Bridger had met for supper and smiled. She hoped he rode with safety on the trail and returned soon. Drawing her arm around her waist, she held her Bible close. Frank wasn’t the only one who missed him.
The creak of the saloon door drew her attention. Ike stepped through—tall, dashing, with his mustache precisely waxed. He carried a gallant quality that drew the eye. Such a shame it masked a cavalier and unfaithful heart.
Surprise dawned across his face. “Good morning, Lola! Is there something you need?” His gaze appeared hopeful, but for all the wrong reasons. How had she missed it before? Ike preyed on folks like the wolf in a fairy tale, pretending concern while using another’s need for his own gain.
The thought rattled her, and his tilted head made her realize she’d been caught staring. “I’m waiting for Mr. Jamison to escort me to church.”
His smile broadened, his gaze deepened, and he stood by her side in two long paces. “Didn’t Bridger tell you he’d be out of town?”
“I’m speaking of his brother, Frank,” she said, keeping her tone cool. “Bridger mentioned you were sending him on business.”
“I’m glad I caught you, then, my dear. A woman such as yourself ought not be found alone in the company of a man like Frank Jamison. I’ll be glad to escort you both,” he said. His hand rested at her wrist.
She shook free. “I have no fear for myself or my reputation in his company.”
Fire sparked in Ike’s eyes and he leaned close. “So I’ve noticed. Lately you have not shown yourself terribly discriminating as to the company you keep, Lola. My workmen, such as they are, aren’t known as being pillars of society, and yet you’re out dining with them.”
Heat flared up her neck. “Mr. Jamison is hardly—”
“If you won’t consider your personal reputation, at least think about your livelihood. I would hate to see your business affected by the town’s opinion of Mr. Jamison.” The smell of mustache wax and cologne assaulted her as he drew closer.