Page 82 of Wyoming Promises
Surely Jake realized Frank Jamison could no more endanger a person than she would. Despite the blood he shared with Bridger.
No raucous laughter and plinking tunes wafted through the swinging doors of the saloon. Ike’s men raked remains of the smoldering hotel, but even they worked without speaking.
Grit from the smoky air added to the bad taste in her mouth. She had been so sure Bridger matched a higher ideal. A reserved man, maybe, but strong and good—a model of Christ’s love and protection for His followers. Why could she not see his true potential before this?
Yet something in his firm expression tonight felt stilted. Papa had taken the loan, impossible as it seemed. But laws existed about usury and public notice, did they not? Why would Bridger not come to her first? Her heart pleaded with her to play the fool again. Not that Bridger had asked for anything more than the money...of which he no doubt gained a healthy share.
Anger swirled with every other thought and emotion from the evening. She needed to focus and use her energies to gain Frank’s release. The rest she could deal with tomorrow.
The jail, built behind the saloon facing the next street over, had sat empty since Pete’s death, save the occasional drunk Ike’s men guarded until he sobered. Lola slid along the alley, hesitating as the men banged into the sturdy office.
Rough voices rumbled through an open window before she reached the jail’s front door. She slowed her steps.
“You can’t lock my brother up. He didn’t do anything!”
At least Bridger still had the decency to fight on his brother’s behalf.
She heard boots pound on wood. “After I went along with your crazy plan, you—”
“That has nothing to do with this!” Jake’s low voice belted.
The marshal knew about Bridger’s visit? She covered her gasp and stooped closer.
“You’re a bigger fool than I take you for if you think that fire isn’t somehow connected.”
“It’s my job to find out,” Jake said.
Spurs rang as boots scuffed the floor closer to the window. “It’s a good thing for you my brother wasn’t in that hotel when it went up in flames. We need to end this before Ike adds another notch to his tally.”
Fear crawled up her legs and settled in the pit of her stomach. Would Ike have killed Frank? And why?
“Help me build the case, Jamison, and we will.”
“I’ll testify.” Bridger’s voice grew softer and she strained to hear. She clung to the rough planks and muffled a cough.
“I figured you would, but you only know about the extortion. I want him tried for murder!” Jake’s normally calm tone broke with frustration.
“That’s what I’m talking about,” Bridger insisted.
Stillness reigned and Lola held her breath.
Then Jake’s hushed voice whispered low. “What do you know?”
“Something Toby and Jim said while they were teaching me this little lesson,” Bridger said. Lola recalled the bruises on his face and his stiff gait. “We have Mr. Anthony and Pete McKenna, but this goes back further. He had Lola’s father killed, too.”
A cold streak shot through her. Her feet blazed a path independent of thought, dragging her around the corner and through the front door. She slammed it shut and braced against it. Frank’s head lifted from where he sat behind bars. The fire in her gut warred against the chill in her limbs. She fixed Bridger and Jake in her field of vision. “I want to know what’s going on here.” Her voice sounded ragged and weak to her own ears. “So one of you had best start talking—now.”
* * *
Bridger froze. Lola stood heaving at the door, looking pale and fierce and as beautiful as he’d ever seen her. He picked up a chair to shift it closer.
“Don’t!” she warned. “Talk!”
He returned the seat to the floor and slid it with his foot. “Please sit, Lola. It has to be a shock, hearing this way. Calm down and pull up a chair, and we’ll explain everything.” He glared at Jake. “Like we should have from the start.”
She waited, gaze unblinking, before taking the seat. She wobbled and grabbed the edges, but her expression warned him not to offer aid.
He closed the window and shutters behind him, giving her a chance to catch her breath. “You’d best start talking, Marshal. Seems to me you have the most to say in the matter. It’s about time we hear it all.”
Jake’s broad frame slumped to the dusty desk. “I told you I had come to investigate another matter in Quiver Creek when you wired the U.S. Marshals Department. I needed answers in the disappearance of a friend of mine, another federal marshal. Alex was looking into a racket being run by Ike Tyler, with several spokes to the machine—intimidation, vandalism toward businesses that refused to pay protection money and various other offenses.”