Читать книгу Wyoming Promises - Kerri Mountain - Страница 12

Chapter Four

Bridger’s footsteps echoed across the planks as he walked past the empty saloon. Hard to believe this place had been roaring into the wee hours of the morning. Every chair sat on a tabletop, legs pointed upward like a beetle on its back, blacker than the dark gray of morning. Without question, Ike hired diligent workers. And Mr. Tyler paid well, if talk could be trusted. So long as Frank had a bed and a roof over his head, and didn’t cause a fuss in town, Bridger planned to work until he saved up for a little spread of their own.

Building coffins in his spare time would hasten that dream. He wasn’t sure exactly how things stood between his boss and Lola, but he had to admit, spending time in a woodshop, in close proximity to a woman of Miss Martin’s caliber, held high appeal. Even if he built something as mundane as a coffin.

Lola certainly could capture a man’s attention. Bridger hadn’t spent much time around women of her status, especially of late, but there was no denying her strength, taking on her father’s business as she had. Not to mention the fact her black hair glistened like a moonlit river.

Bridger planned to arrive at the livery in time to have the horses tacked and ready, but Toby surprised him, having the job already started when he pulled the livery door open with a rumbling screech.

“Morning,” he greeted. “I meant to beat you here.”

Toby yawned, ending in a scowl under his long mustache as prickly as the man’s personality. “When you’re new, Boss won’t let you do anything without one of us watching.”

Bridger stepped into the lantern’s glow and took up a harness for the second horse. “That go for when I’m on the job or for everything?”

Toby’s frown deepened, clearly not happy to be awake this early in the day. “When you work for Mr. Tyler, boy, the job is everything.”

Bridger focused on the lines, refusing to be baited. “You make it sound like a death sentence.”

Toby lifted his head, his heavy eyes piercing through the dimness. “Only for the man who doesn’t live up to Ike’s expectations.” He turned his gaze to the horse and seemed to ease back. “Boss has high hopes for you. You do what you’re told, he’ll soon have you working on your own. But for now, you’re stuck with me at this forsaken hour of the day.”

“Not a morning person, I take it.”

Toby climbed the wagon, handing him a crumpled paper. “Don’t be funny. I suppose you can follow directions, so shut up and drive. Wake me if you get lost.”

Toby was not happy about his early-morning assignment, no bones about it. Bridger couldn’t help but hide a smile. Toby’s head start meant they’d get back to Quiver Creek sooner than he’d expected, and maybe he could stop and check out Lola’s woodshed and tools. He wasn’t one to chalk up everything that happened to divine providence like Frank did and like Ma had. But thinking of how things had changed in just a few days’ time, he’d be a fool to not consider the Lord might be looking out for them after all.

Bridger prayed he could save the money they needed for that ranch they’d been dreaming of before the Lord took a notion to slap him back to where he’d been.

* * *

Bridger dragged his hand along the taut skin of his scar. He’d chalked up Ike’s warning about this particular businessman to the boss’s flair for drama. Unfortunately...

“You listen here, mister. I don’t know what game you think you’re playing, but there’s no way you’re getting all those boards for what you brought in that envelope. So you either take what’s been loaded or head back for the rest of the money you owe.”

Bridger slid his hat back on his head. He hadn’t even bothered to count the money in the envelope Ike had given him the night before. This was Mr. Tyler’s deal, after all, and delivery was his end of the job. “All I know, sir, is that I’m to deliver this list of supplies to my boss for the money you agreed upon, and that’s in the envelope I handed you.” He looked back at Toby, who leaned against the side of the wagon with a raw smirk splitting the bushy space between his mustache and beard. No help there. Apparently, results of this test would be part of Toby’s report to Ike.

“I’m new in these parts, but I’ve already heard tell about the way you conduct business, sir. I’m not about to lose my job by not bringing back everything my boss paid for. So you let us load the rest of this now, and we’ll be on our way.”

Earl Johnston’s face turned a fine shade of purple. His lips scrunched in fury, and his shoulders fairly shook with anger. Bridger rolled to the balls of his feet, ready to duck the swing he felt coming.

Instead, the man spun on his heel and headed into the mill’s office. Bridger turned to Toby, who eased off the wagon to help load the second half of the supplies they’d been sent to pick up.

Bridger stooped to gather his end of a thick stack of boards. A sudden shot kicked dirt at his feet, and he dropped his end and grabbed the edge of the wagon box to keep from kissing dust.

Mr. Johnston stood in the doorway with a revolver. “I’ll not stand by and watch you rob me blind. I don’t care if you’re working for Ike Tyler or the president of the United States!”

Bridger pivoted on his boot heels and stood, hands raised. By the look on his face, the shot surprised Johnston about as much as it had him. But his aim showed it wasn’t the first time he’d used a gun to intimidate his way through a corrupt business deal.

Bridger slid toward him. “Listen, mister, there’s no need for that. Mr. Tyler paid your asking price for all the items on this list.” He took another step, slow and steady, as Johnston’s revolver wavered. “I’m just a man looking to do the job he’s been sent to do.”

He struck out to grab the man’s gun hand and dropped, pulling Johnston’s arm until his body twisted and slammed into the rough board side of the mill. The gun slipped and Bridger held it in his left hand. He pinned the man against the wall, using his knees to prevent the man from kicking. Johnston’s ragged breath echoed in harsh pants. “And I ain’t about to fail because you plan to back out of your contract.”

He leaned close to the man’s ear and growled. “Especially when it’s my understanding that your own wife and daughter stood as witness to the deal.”

He felt it then, a sharp tenseness in the muscles, followed by a rigid slackness. He shoved harder. “You have any problems with that, you talk them over with Mr. Tyler. You understand me?”

The man nodded, face still scraped against the jamb. “I understand.” His voice shook. “I understand you just fine.”

Bridger eased off the man’s back. Johnston twisted and pointed the revolver toward the clouds. “Next time Mr. Tyler has business with you, I’ll forget his idea and bring the law with me anyway.”

Johnston released the trigger with a laugh that sounded more like a bark. “If we had any law to speak of around here, mister, I’d have invited him myself.” He slumped, revolver hanging loose at his side. “You tell Mr. Tyler this was all a misunderstanding, you hear? There’s no need to involve my family.”

Bridger backed away. “So long as we get what we came for, Mr. Johnston, I see no reason to mention our misunderstanding to anyone.”

A twinge of relief crossed the man’s haggard features. “I’d appreciate that, sir,” he ground out.

Toby sauntered forward to help load the remainder of the supplies onto the wagon. “You surprise me, Jamison.” The hair around his lips split to allow a toothy grin through. “Never expected you to move that fast. Ike’ll be happy to hear how well you handled yourself.”

Bridger looked across to Earl Johnston, slightly stooped and rubbing his neck where he’d pressed the man into the wall. Something strange about that man, for certain. It was a wonder he did any business with the temper he held. “Ah, he was fired up, but he didn’t want to hurt us. We got what we came for, anyway, and we had the original agreement on our side. Good thing Mr. Tyler warned me about him, though. It could have turned out a lot more painful for us.”

Toby’s eyes took on a peculiar gleam and he stared at Bridger a moment. “I’m catching on to what the boss sees in you, Jamison. I understand what he’s found. You do as you’re told, there’s no telling where you’ll end up.” He laughed out loud, tossing the last small stack of lumber on the wagon bed and clambering to the high seat. “No telling at all.”

* * *

Grace’s pale, drawn appearance broke Lola’s heart. She hadn’t been to town since the funeral a few days ago. With her usually vibrant blond hair and sparkling blue eyes looking faded and dim, Grace seemed a washed-out version of her former self. Lola pushed a plate of freshly baked cookies closer to her friend.

“When are your parents due to arrive?” Lola asked, pouring some steaming tea.

Grace took the cup and wrapped her slender fingers around it, seeking greater warmth. “They should be here early next week.”

“And they’ll stay until the baby is born?” Lola took a seat opposite her friend at the small table near the window. Glimmers of sunshine dappled the tablecloth through the lace curtain.

“Ma says they’ll stay until they can convince me to come back home.” Grace took a sip, then set the cup against the delicate saucer with a rattle, her eyes focused on some distant point beyond the windowpane.

Lola bit her lip. “Do you suppose they’ll have a hard time of it? Convincing you, I mean?”

A tremor passed through Grace, as if she awakened from a trance. “I haven’t thought of much beyond the fact that Pete’s really gone and not coming home.”

Lola leaned back and sighed. It was selfish to want Grace to stay. She’d been told often enough in the months since Papa died that Quiver Creek was no place for a woman alone. But at least she had the business. Grace had a ranch to run and a baby on the way.

“How are you managing out there in the meantime?”

Grace rimmed the gilding on the cup with her finger. “One day at a time. Pete’s parents have been wonderful, of course. His brother comes out each evening to check the animals and see that I want for nothing. He’s only fourteen, but a very sweet and capable young man. Just too young to tend to all the details of the ranch, and with spring roundup coming, he can’t manage alone. My pa plans to take care of that, hire wranglers to brand the calves and move the herd out for summer grazing.”

“Your father’s a shopkeeper, Grace. How does he feel about taking this on?”

Grace broke a crumb off her cookie and nipped it into her mouth, swallowing before the sweetness could barely register on her tongue. “From Ma’s letter, I think he’s honestly excited about getting into the saddle again. He grew up on a ranch in Texas and spent some time cowboying before he met Ma.”

“So, do you think you’ll stay on until the baby is born, or are you planning to be back East before that?” Lola asked, fighting the tears in her voice.

Grace’s eyes darted, a spark of surprise lighting them briefly. “I’m not leaving.”

“But you said your parents were only staying until—”

“They’re determined to take me home with them. But I can’t leave here, not now.”

“But then—”

Grace sighed and leaned back in her seat, rubbing a hand over her growing stomach. Afternoon sunlight slanted through the window, making her appear even more wan and washed-out than before but giving her eyes a light of determination. “I’m not sure exactly what I will do, but I can’t just walk away from all Pete and I have. McKennas have ranched this area from way back. A boy deserves the chance to claim that inheritance.”

Tears washed over Lola’s vision. Pete had been so sure Grace carried a son. “But what if the baby is a girl? And what about you?”

Grace shook her head, as if tossing away any threat to her determination. “I’m trusting the Lord to give me wisdom. But I don’t want to leave. The mountains around here...there’s something about them that settles in your soul. I couldn’t live without them, I don’t think.”

Lola nodded. Leaving Wyoming had never occurred to her as an option, either. “You’d be welcome to stay with me, for as long as you need. There’s plenty of room. You could—”

Grace’s lips pulled in a shadow of her usual smile. “I appreciate that, and I know you mean it with all your heart. But I’m staying in our house. Pete built it for me, and we’ve filled it with so many memories in such a brief time. I feel close to him here. I want that for our baby. I’ll sell off the land and keep the house if it comes to that, but Lord help me, I’ll raise this child in the home we built together.”

Lola glanced around her own house. What would it be like to build a life with someone you loved the way Pete had loved Grace? Suddenly her own house felt a little empty, even with her dearest friend sitting beside her.

“Talk to me about something else. I want to think about something other than being sad.”

Lola stood to refill her cup and warmed Grace’s by filling hers to the brim. Topics from town whirled through her mind, but all connected in some way to Pete, his job, how he died and her part in it. Silence grew awkward, but no words came. She faced her friend but avoided her gaze.

“I know.” Grace’s whisper rasped with sorrow. “But I want to know what’s happening, what people are doing in town. It hurts, but in some ways, I like hearing that Pete was so respected, so vital to this town, that he’s still connected with it, even after his death. Right now it hurts so bad that not much helps, except to know that. Am I making any sense?”

Lola nodded. Tears slipped from her eyes and she grasped Grace’s hand with a fierce squeeze. “I’m just so sorry I couldn’t do something for him.”

“Oh, Lola!” Grace slid to her feet and came around the table to embrace Lola in her tired arms. “Even if you had been the greatest doctor in the world, he was gone by the time you saw him. Trust me, I thank God you could do what you did. You spared me from seeing the tragedy of his death. Instead he looked restful, at peace, the way his spirit looks before the Lord.”

Grace’s warm tears mixed with hers against Lola’s cheek. She squeezed her friend’s arm. “This isn’t how it’s to be, you comforting me. What kind of friend am I?”

Grace slid back into her chair and took a sip of tea. “The kind who wants to spare me and everyone else around any hurt. You do that very well. But I want to know what you’ve been doing. I’m not ready to join into the lively rush of town yet, but I can’t shut myself off from living. I want to, but Pete wouldn’t want that for me.” She smoothed her dress over their growing baby. “He wouldn’t want that for us.”

Lola patted the ruffled edge of a doily lying in the center of the table. “A U.S. marshal should arrive early next week to talk with the man who brought Pete to me.” She sipped her cooling tea without looking at her friend.

“U.S. marshal?” Grace’s eyes were wide, and her face grew a shade paler if that were possible. “What’s going on, Lola?”

Lola abandoned her teacup with a wave of her hand and grasped Grace’s wrist with the other. “Nothing, Grace. I panicked. Papa’s gone, it was late, a frightful-looking stranger brings the sheriff to my door... I sent a telegraph first thing the next morning.”

Grace slumped in her seat, taking a deep, calming breath. “I can understand that. But you don’t really think...?”

What did she think? Did she believe Bridger Jamison to be a murderer? Not really. But she wasn’t always the best judge of a man, either. And some of Pete’s bruises seemed...odd, not quite consistent for a man thrown from a horse. Not unusual enough to point any fingers, but something definitely felt out of place. Without facts, though, she didn’t dare share those concerns with Grace.

“I acted without thinking things completely through. It won’t hurt to have a U.S. marshal investigate what happened, though.” She took another drink of her tea and looked Grace squarely in the eye. “But, no, in talking more with Mr. Jamison, I can’t find anything overly suspicious about him regarding Pete’s death. And the fact that he’s sticking around town, I suppose, holds greater weight for his innocence than anything else.”

Grace held a hand to her mouth and breathed deep, eyes closed. “Good—that’s good. It was hard enough losing your father that way. I wouldn’t want...”

Lola let the words fade. “I hired Mr. Jamison. Papa never taught me the woodworking aspect of... I never learned how...” Everything about her business sounded cold and crass in her thoughts. Why hadn’t she chosen weather as the topic of conversation?

“Your father never taught you how to build the coffins,” Grace supplied. She smiled again, briefly, a narrow moon of teeth peeking through this time. “He always said you’d nail your own thumb to the casket.”

Lola smiled, too. “He was probably right. He just always figured he’d be around to do the job, I guess.”

“He knew you’d be able to find someone to do that. The part you do takes something that not everyone has.” Grace stretched across the table to squeeze her hand, looking her in the eye. “I’m glad it was you, Lola. I know it wasn’t easy for you, but I’m glad that man found a way to bring Pete to you.”

An odd scrape from outside jolted them. Lola started to her feet and made short, clipped steps to the rear door. She glanced at her friend, standing by the table with hands twisted in front of her, and motioned for Grace to stay quiet. Slowly she lifted the latch, then jerked the door wide. “Who’s there?”

Magpies chatting on the fence were the only sound to greet her. She poked her head out and searched the shadows around the lone shed where her father had his woodshop. After a few moments she returned to the cozy room and shut the door.

“Whew!” Grace let loose a nervous giggle, fingers laid against her long throat, her other hand resting on her stomach. “Do you feel as silly as I do?”

Lola brushed long, loose hair behind her ears. “I’m not so sure it’s only silliness.”

Grace gripped the table and sat down. “What are you saying?”

“Nothing,” Lola said, shaking her head. “Just my overactive imagination, I suppose. I’ve been more nervous than I ought to be lately—”

“Thinking you’re here on the end of a town that no longer has a sheriff to keep his eye on you. Is that it?”

Grace always could make the right conclusions about her, before she said a word about the problem. She laughed. “Probably the neighbor’s cat I never paid any mind to before, that’s all.” Lola peered at the lengthening shadows as afternoon slipped away. “God will be my protection now, same as always. I’m in His hands.”

Grace took in the lowering sun outside the window, too, and stood again to gather her things. “That’s all that can be said for any of us.” Grace’s cool kiss pressed against her cheek. “This visit has done more for me than you know, my friend. But if I want to be home before dark, I need to head out now.”

“The Lord has comfort and wisdom for you, Grace. Hold on to that.”

“I will. Please say you’ll come out for a visit next week,” Grace said, pulling a shawl over her shoulders.

“Your folks will be there. I don’t want to intrude,” Lola said.

“You’re the sister I never had, Lola. You’re my family, too, and I’m inviting you for lunch next Thursday. How’s that?”

Grace’s determination to stay cheerful and strong couldn’t be denied, and Lola wouldn’t do anything to take that from her. She couldn’t promise what next week would hold, but she couldn’t bear to bring up her work again. “I’ll try.”

Grace focused on the door leading to the mortuary for an instant, then forced her gaze away. “I know you will. I’ll be waiting for you.”

Lola walked her to the side door and watched her rumble into the cart, hefting the reins in her gentle hands. “See you next week, then.”

“I’ll expect you unless you send word, all right?” Grace called.

Lola nodded.

Grace moved to slap the reins, then pulled them taut. “I’m glad you’ll have a man working around here. If he’s a trustworthy man, he may scare off any who aren’t, make you feel safer.”

Lola smiled, thinking of Bridger’s strength in helping her that night and the gentleness he had shown both to Pete and to her. Yet her wariness also raised caution. “And what if he’s not the trustworthy sort?”

Grace grinned, a hint of her old teasing self peeking through the grief that shrouded her. “Then it may be just as well you have him where you can keep an eye on him.”

Lola laughed and waved her off. She moved back into the house, leaning against the door and saying a swift and silent prayer for her friend.

She added one for herself, then bolted all the doors.