Page 78 of Wyoming Promises
He opened his eyes, the darkness of the day filling in every nook and cranny of the woods around him. The scent of grass and rush of water caught on the evening breeze. He’d never been good at those big, fancy prayers he’d heard growing up in church, and he’d been long out of practice before coming to Quiver Creek. But in spite of all that, his breath came easier and his shoulders felt lighter than they had in years.
He still wasn’t sure how to accomplish what needed done, but his heart swelled with confidence the Lord would show him what to do and say when the moment arrived. It wasn’t the instant response he might have preferred, but he accepted it.
He stood and brushed dew that dampened the ground by the river off his pants. Turning in early would give him the energy he needed to face tomorrow. Sleep wouldn’t come easy, but after staying awake through last night, he didn’t think worry would be enough to deter him from some rest.
Beefy hands grabbed his shoulders as he pushed a weary boot into the stirrup, dragging him to the dirt with a thud. The jolt knocked breath from him, and he struggled to his elbows. He kicked into the darkness, and he was rewarded with a curse and punished with a slug to the face. He fell, but brawny fists pulled him upright by the collar.
Bridger planted his feet and barreled forward. He landed a punch to the side of his attacker before strong arms hauled him back. His upper arms pinned, he kicked again with his feet, but the angle, exhaustion and surprise of the attack made him ineffective. A solid fist crashed against his ribs twice and slashed against his face. Hat long gone, the attacker twisted Bridger’s hair at the crown and pulled, jerking his chin to face Toby’s toothy grin.
“You fight pretty good for a scrawny runt, boy.” A knife glittered in Toby’s fist, edge tracing along the path of the scar Bridger had borne since boyhood. “But I’ve had enough fun for one evening.”
Arms like logs squeezed his ribs and jostled him enough to crack his teeth. A raspy voice buzzed behind his head. “This is crazy, Toby. Either we need him or we don’t, but—”
“This is what Ike ordered. We’re all too deep not to stick with him at this point. Besides, we’re not to kill him.” Toby’s eyes glittered. “This is just a friendly little reminder from the boss, Jamison. He thought you might need a bit more convincing before you went to visit Miss Fancy-Britches.”
The cool blade rested against Bridger’s chin and grazed his neck. He struggled to control his breath and firm his footing.
“I could extend this line for you. Slice you right down the middle. Or maybe Jim here could snap your neck, quick and easylike. More humane that way,” Toby said.
“Like those others,” Jim said.
“Shut up!” Toby moved the knife behind Bridger’s ear, and his tight grasp slackened. “The boss managed to run the game this long. You want to cross him, you ain’t the only man here can snap a neck. You got that, Jim?” The trees vibrated with Toby’s roar.
The man behind him shifted. His hold against Bridger tightened as Toby focused him.
“You put that lady undertaker on notice and she pays up, you won’t have to worry about anything else. If you don’t—” Toby pushed the knife tip against Bridger’s chest “—you’ll never rest again, until it’s permanent. Unless, of course, we take it out on that brother of yours.”
Bridger struggled, his arm breaking free. He shoved Toby’s wrist and knocked the knife but gained two clouts to his sore ribs and a fierce cuff to his head that dimmed his vision. “I said I’d do it, didn’t I?”
Toby stepped back. He nodded and the men loosed him. “Then I suggest you practice your delivery. Because if you don’t convince that woman a little better than you did the boss, we’ll be back.”
Bridger tried to draw a deep breath. Pain sliced across his ribs like a match on flint. But he stood straight, determined not to give Ike’s men the satisfaction of grabbing his side. “I know my job.”
Jim brought the knife to Toby, who held it up, then made a show of returning it to its sheath. “So long as you and the boss have an understanding you’ll stick to,” Toby said. He dipped his head, backing away as the others slipped out through the trees. With a cold, narrow smile, he joined them, escaping into the dark.
Bridger leaned over, hand pressed to his side. His breath crept painfully over damaged ribs. Nothing broken, only bruised.
One thought came as he fought his hazy vision and shuffled to his horse.
He hadn’t expected an audible response to his prayer. Especially not one delivered by Toby.