Love Inspired Historical April 2014 Bundle: The Husband Campaign\The Preacher's Bride Claim\The Soldier's Secrets\Wyoming Promises (83 page)

Figuring it out mattered more than ever. Because Jake Anderson wasn't here only to ask questions about the sheriff's death—he intended to investigate Ike Tyler, too.

Chapter Twelve

L
ola drew her shawl. Burdens of the day weighed heavy, and she longed to slip into cool blankets and sleep until the sun blinked in her eyes.

A soft knock at the door provided welcome distraction from her cares. At least this call came to her home, not the business. Maybe Bridger needed something before he left in the morning, or perhaps Jake had more questions. She didn't know what else she could tell him. Her thoughts were foggy and jumbled from their discussion earlier in the day. What was happening in this town?

She peeked out the window. Ike waited at the front step, his tall frame rocking from heel to toe. At least he didn't bring business. She hoped. She opened the door to the cool night air.

“Good evening, Lola!” He leaned toward her with his hand against the doorframe above her head. “I'm sorry to disturb you. I know you haven't had an easy day. I wanted to see how you're holding up. I hope I didn't startle you.”

A sigh escaped as weariness flared. “No, though I am surprised to see you running patrols.”

His eyes glowed in the faint moonlight, shadows casting an unpleasant ring around them. “Mattie can handle the saloon for a while, with my men to back her up. Besides, this is a patrol of a more personal nature.” He grinned, a hint of the boy she once knew. “I wanted to remind you that my care for you far outreaches my concern for this town.”

She rested against the opposite side of the jamb, warmed by his thoughtfulness. “It hurts to say goodbye to good people—so many dear friends—but I'll be all right. It's what I do.”

It eased her heart to talk, but considering the impression Mr. Anthony had held of Ike, it felt wrong to share too much. “I appreciate you stopping by, Ike. But it has been a long day, and it's about time for me to turn in. Everything here is closed up tight.”

“That's good, good,” he whispered. He shifted closer, his gaze searching her face. “I wanted to tell you again how sorry I am about Cecil. He and I didn't always see eye to eye, but I know you had a soft spot for him.”

The knot in her chest slipped loose and tears washed her eyes. “He was the grandfather I never knew. I'll miss him terribly.”

Ike's cold fingers grasped her elbow within her thick cape. A shiver quaked through her, and she drew the cover close about her neck.

Ike smoothed his mustache. “I'm sure he felt the same about you. He made it his mission to keep any would-be suitors away, that's for sure,” he said. “I propose to do the same, Lola.”

“I appreciate the thought, but you have a whole town to watch after, until a new sheriff can be chosen. I'm sure you'll be glad to have that position filled so you can focus on your own business.”

“We want to be sure we have the right man for the job, so there's no hurry to find a replacement. Besides, my men and I have done fairly well, wouldn't you agree?” He slid his arm to her shoulder. “I'm tempted to apply for the position myself. ‘Sheriff' is a more acceptable title than ‘saloonkeeper,' is it not?”

Papa certainly might have found it so. “I'm in no position to judge you, Ike. There are those in this town who would say it's not honorable for a woman to do the job I'm doing. What matters is that your intentions bring honor to God.”

Ike smiled, but it didn't carry to his eyes. “I do hope, my dear, that you'll consider me on the path to reformation. We are friends, aren't we?” He tipped her face toward his with a thumb against her chin. “I don't know if there is anyone else with whom to speak regarding you, but isn't it possible we might return to where we were? I'm making changes, Lola. Trust me, I'm doing all I can to return myself to your favor, to prepare a life for you, for us together.”

Lola backed away, but the joy they'd felt together overwhelmed her tired mind, pushed the empty ache of loss and loneliness to the darkest corners. “I'm still in mourning, Ike, please...” She drew a deep breath, feeling his fingers caress her cheek. “I still need time.”

He drew so close the shadows hid his features, only the warmth of his breath filling her senses. “If it means I still have a chance, darling, time is something I can afford to give.”

She closed her eyes, exhaustion bearing down. She thought of her papa, Mr. Anthony, Pete and all she had lost. Loneliness stabbed her heart, and wrong as it was, she knew if he tried to kiss her now, she'd have no energy to stop him.

A clatter at her back door jolted her eyes open, and she breathed hard with surprise. “What—?”

Ike drew away, a flare of irritation bordering on anger striking his face. He raced around the side of her home. “Who's there?”

He disappeared from sight, only to return a moment later, his usual grace lost. “I saw no one, Lola. Perhaps a cat.”

She shivered in the breeze, thankful for the interruption. No temptation beyond what she could bear, she recalled. “It's all right, then. It's all right.”

Ike stopped, poised as if to return to his previous stance. But she shook her head. “You have a town to protect, Mr. Tyler.” She drew her arms around her waist. “It's best you be off.”

“I won't apologize for what I was about to do, Lola.”

“I wouldn't expect you to.” She grinned in spite of herself. “But it is well that the cat came along when it did.”

Ike backed away to his horse and then stared at her a moment, hand on the pommel. “I'll consider that a sign of hope for my future, then, ma'am. Good night, and rest easy.”

She watched him ride off and slipped into the warmth of her dark house. Her tired limbs ached, but at odds with her heart and mind. Easy rest would be an unlikely blessing tonight.

* * *

Bridger peered at the dented clock for the hundredth time since settling into his bedroll at the foot of Frank's bed. He needed sleep for an early start
.

Frank's heavy tread finally echoed up the stairs. Bridger sat, hoping his brother remained unseen. He hadn't noticed how loud Frank's boots could be.

As Frank stepped through the door, breath ragged, Bridger turned the lantern wick higher. His brother flinched to find him waiting. “Where have you been?”

The door closed with a soft snick, and Bridger sensed Frank's purposeful slowness. “Just walking, Bridge.”

“Just walking where, Frank? You're usually in by now.” He hated his accusing tone.

Frank set his hat on the desk and moved to the bed, which groaned under his broad build. “Around town. I didn't talk to nobody, either. I even ran—”

Bridger shot to his feet, gripping the foot of the bed frame in each hand. “Why did you need to run? What happened?”

Frank smacked his hand on the flat pillow and drew it across his midsection. “He didn't even see me, Bridge. I'm fast. So don't growl at me!”

Bridger gentled his tone against the frustration in his chest. “Who didn't see you?”

“Mr. Tyler.”

Bridger rubbed a knuckle across his lips, holding back angry words that threatened to bolt. They would get him nowhere with his brother. “Where
didn't
he see you?”

Frank stared at the door as if judging his chance of success for escape. “At Miss Lola's,” he said, voice a bare whisper.

“I told you to stay away from there! What do I have to do, Frank, chain you inside this room all day?”

His brother flinched again and rubbed his head. The exact spot where Pa had knocked him with the skillet, all those years ago, still gave him fits at times. Memories flashed through his mind—the pinch of Pa's tight grip around his arm, shaking so hard Bridger thought it would rip right out of the socket, while blood ran down his face from the cut of the broken bottle... Frank stepping in and breaking the hold, sending him into a sprawl against the rough wall...

“I said I won't do it again, all right? Don't be mad, Bridge. And don't lock me in—please. I ain't no dog.” Frank knelt in front of him, rocking the bed in his desperation.

Bridger stepped back. “I wouldn't, Frank. I didn't mean it—honest, I didn't. You have every right to walk around here free as any other man. But you have to blend in awhile longer, you see? And snooping about the homes of beautiful ladies isn't what men do if they're lying low!”

Frank slumped, his chin bobbing in agreement. “See, I knew you thought she's pretty, too!”

Bridger squeezed his temples between his thumbs. “But you don't see me sneaking around trying to catch sight of her!”

“You sound like those men in the last town, like I have bad ideas about her,” Frank accused. “I never would hurt her, not any woman. I know what the Bible says about treating women right, and I remember what Grandpa taught, same as you. We got to protect 'em, right?”

Bridger's ire cooled as he acknowledged, with shame, that his brother's insight held more truth than he wanted to admit. “I'm sorry, Frank. I didn't mean to make you feel that way.” He knew better than any other soul on earth the lengths Frank Jamison stretched to offer protection for any living creature in need. His every breath served as proof.

“Besides,” Frank continued, “I was not either peeking at her. It was spying, like making sure she was okay.”

Bridger pulled the chair from the desk and sat, watching Frank unlace his boots and toe them off. “What makes you think she needs you to ‘spy,' then?”

“She had sad eyes.”

“Well, she is sad. Her friend died, which is something else I have to tell—”

“That's not the only thing.”

Bridger rubbed his neck. Of course it wasn't the only thing. But he felt certain Lola hadn't realized her former fiancé was under investigation by the federal marshal.

“What else?” Bridger asked.

“Mr. Tyler saw her.”

“You mean he was visiting her?”

“Talking to her. Out on her front step.”

“They're friends. He probably checked on her,” Bridger said. He stood and moved to the window, as irritated at himself as toward Lola. Since when did her evening conversations make any difference to him?

“He looked real friendly, though. Like some of those men back home looked at Ma after Pa died, her being so pretty. He got to standing too close, so I—”

Bridger grabbed his brother's shoulder and tried to look him in the eye, but Frank gazed at his stockinged feet. Worry flared. “What exactly did you do?”

“Nothin'!” Frank twisted his shoulder from Bridger's grasp. “Well, nothin' bad. I kicked the porch to make a noise.”

“Then what happened?” Alarm pounded in Bridger's chest.

“Mr. Tyler came and checked, but I was out of sight, Bridge. Honest. He told Miss Lola it was a cat.”

Bridger released his breath in a tight whoosh. Now to hope Ike believed that, too. “All right, Frank. I'm glad you told me. I can't smooth things over if I don't know what you've done, so you need to tell me.”

Frank looked dejected, and Bridger's conscience pricked him. His brother had to understand, somehow, how difficult this was, and how much more so it could get. Especially when he'd be gone for a few days.

“Listen, Frank. You have to be careful, and it scares me to think you could get into more trouble. I mean, there were those who wanted to hang you in that last town.”

“I know!” Frank said. His face puckered, tired and petulant.

“Then you have to do what I say and stay away from Miss Lola.” Bridger broke his brother's focus. “'Cause I'm leaving town for a few days on a job for Mr. Tyler, and I won't be around to keep you out of trouble.”

“Why are you going this time?”

“I'm to deliver Mr. Anthony's body for the train back East. I head out early in the morning.”

“How long?” Frank's resigned tone spoke more of irritation than acceptance.

“I should be back Friday afternoon if nothing goes wrong. Until then, I need you to stay put. No snooping around in town. Promise you'll stay off the streets while I'm gone.”

Frank slipped off his shirt and stretched out on the bed in his undershirt and denim pants. “I won't cause no trouble, Bridge, I promise. I know I'm a scary-looking fellow.”

His dejected tone curdled in Bridger's chest. He patted Frank's leg. “I know you won't, brother. The problem is, you never do.”

Chapter Thirteen

B
ridger slipped from the room while skies remained misty gray and Frank still snored.

He hadn't bothered to light the lamp, afraid to disturb his brother's hard-won respite. It served as a reminder that Frank's hours in the room would be largely spent in the dark, fear of fire keeping him from lighting the lantern. And his meals would be reduced to trail rations—some jerky, crackers and a wedge of cheese, with water from a canteen filled daily in the creek. Frank wouldn't starve, but he'd likely be a few pounds leaner by the time Bridger returned.

Bridger balanced his saddlebag across a shoulder and slipped into the saloon through the back door for some last-minute supplies. The long bar gleamed in the reflection of the mirror behind it, clean and at rest with the tables and chairs after another lively night.

The door of Ike's suite creaked open. Mattie tiptoed through, hair disheveled and wrapped from neck to toes in a thin robe that in some strange way left less to the imagination than her usual costume. Bridger stood frozen, as heat blazed across his chest. He'd never considered himself a man to be swayed by a girl like Mattie, but she did hold her own charms. He cleared his throat so as not to startle her.

“Good morning, Bridger.” Mattie's greeting came at a whisper, sultry and rough from smoke that filled this room each evening. She subdued a hank of curls behind one ear with a silky caress and smiled, her dimple flirtatious beneath sleepy eyes. “You're up and at 'em early this morning, sugar,” she said, smoothing her robe over her hips. “Jasper leaves coffee for me, if you want some. It's stale from last night, but plenty hot, and strong enough to stand a spoon.”

She wound past him, pulling the faded blue cloth tighter around her narrow waist, and moved toward the kitchen. Glad for dimness that he hoped hid his blush better than it hid her sway, he started to refuse. But she paused at the door to face him, her features bare and sweet, looking younger than he'd have thought her to be. “Please? It'd be nice to have a talk with you.”

Bridger nodded agreement and she flounced to the stove, her smile bright. He found it harder to stand his ground with this innocent version of Mattie than her usual flamboyant self. Sunshine struggled its way through the gray sky outside the swinging doors, likely a forecast of the rain he'd suffer through on the drive today. A few minutes to warm his gizzard shouldn't cause much delay. His boots echoed across the floor.

Mattie returned with two chipped mugs, steam rising from the top of each one. Setting his coffee on the bar, she propped herself on a corner stool and patted another.

Bridger passed up the seat to lean against the bar. Mattie pulled a bottle of whiskey, doused her cup with a shot and raised her brow in question.

“No, thanks,” he said. “Kind of early, don't you think?”

“Ah, but this is late night for me, sugar.” She replaced the cap and sipped from her mug, eyes closed as her smile melted into pleasure. “Besides, this is a habit from my grampa Finnegan.”

Bridger took a swallow, which burned a trail of fire down his throat. “Funny, I've been thinking of my grandfather a lot lately, too.” He coughed. “He tried to teach me to be a man. My father did all he could to undo it.” Bridger barked out a laugh.

Mattie squeezed his arm, her touch warm. “Your grampa must've done the better job, then, because you are one of the few gentlemen I've met in this town.” She slid her fingers away and wrapped them around the mug. “I know I've tried harder and been rewarded less with you than any other man.”

Her slim brows rose, and her alluring glance held hope.

“I got more problems than you need, Mattie,” he said. “Besides, Mr. Tyler might not take it too kindly.”

She waved her hand. “He doesn't own me like he thinks he does, like he does half this town, anyway.”

“He does seem primed to gain a lot of money, the way this town is growing,” Bridger agreed. Maybe wealthy enough to fool a strong, beautiful businesswoman into believing he'd changed? The coffee churned in his gut at the notion.

“Ike does have a knack at pulling providence and timing together. Smart enough to play on the folks he needs to help him, too.”

Bridger looked across the room to Ike's door, closed and silent. “You don't sound too fond of him for someone who...”

She set down her cup and pulled her robe closer to her slender neck. “I work for Ike, but not like most folks think. This town doesn't know it, but I run this place. Ike owns the saloon, but I'm the one to make sure it turns a profit.” She leaned toward him, her voice low and confidential. “It wouldn't suit Ike for everyone to know, mind you. But it's the truth. Anything else between us is, well, so we aren't stuck being alone, I guess.”

“I suppose the Quiver Creek Business Association wouldn't be so interested in having women on the board, is that it? Even if you could teach them a thing or two?”

Mattie blinked, drawing up on the stool as if she'd been struck. “I didn't think Ike planned to tell you. He seemed to think it would be easier if you weren't familiar with that part of his business.”

Her disappointed tone confused him. “He didn't really tell me. I figured it out when I saw some records. I'm not as dumb as I look, you know.”

“I never took you for dumb, sugar, but I may change my mind if you tell Ike you know.” She raked long fingers through her silky curls.

“I don't see the harm in me knowing.” Bridger tamped down his rising excitement. Something about the business association wasn't on the up-and-up, and Ike Tyler's hands were mired in it up to his elbows, at least.

“No,” she said, but the curl in her lip said otherwise. “I thought I judged a man's character a little sharper than that, and I didn't figure you for... Well, that's neither here nor there. It's not like I have any room to talk.”

Bridger scratched his chin. “Maybe you should talk more about what's important, let the fellows who come in here know how smart you really are. You could do better than Ike, Mattie,” he said, keeping his voice low. The call of a magpie wafted through the air.

“Sugar,” she said with a laugh, “I can't wait around forever for another cowboy like you to come through Quiver Creek. Besides, once he convinces that lady undertaker he's good enough for her, well, I don't suppose Ike will be interested in anything but business after that.”

Bridger buried his face in his mug, gulping the last of the bitter drink. Had Frank really interrupted something between Lola and Ike? Could Lola's father have been part of Ike's scheme? Somehow he couldn't line up the daughter Mr. Martin raised with his growing certainty of Ike's involvement in illegal gain. The marshal's interest, Ike's bottomless finances that failed to match a saloon's profit and now Mattie's comments only added to his nagging suspicions of the man. But he needed more. Marshal Anderson may have questions about Ike, but wasn't it suspicion about himself that had actually brought the man to town? And what did it all mean for Lola? Bridger shifted his saddlebag again, avoiding Mattie's gaze.

“Oh, no, sugar, not you, too.”

“What?”

“I'm not some blithering fool, honey, and I ain't blind. You're falling for her, too, aren't you?”

Bridger pushed upright from the bar. “I don't know what you're talking about. Besides, Mr. Tyler has his own ideas about her. I'm only helping her the way he asked,” Bridger said. “He also wants me to run some deliveries, so I'd best be on my way.”

Mattie slipped off the stool and stood between him and the doorway. “Don't rush off. I don't blame you, you know. She's a beautiful woman—smart, classy...respectable, you know? She'd be a heap further ahead with you than with Ike, that's for sure.”

“I'm not sure she believes that.”

“She will,” Mattie said. She stood on tiptoe in her flat slippers and pressed her warm, soft lips against his jaw. “I can't help it, Bridger Jamison. I still see you as one of the good guys.”

“Thanks, Mattie. Any man with eyes ought to see what a lady you are. A smart one, to boot!”

Mattie flushed. “It's nice to know there are men out there who care to find out.”

He glanced at the angle of the sun starting to peek through the windows. “You'd best get to sleep, and I'd best get my delivery under way. I don't want Mr. Anthony to miss his last train ride.”

More important, the sooner he left, the faster he could return. The press to get back already weighed heavier on him than it had a few moments ago. Until he figured out what was happening in this town, the closer he stuck to Lola, the better.

* * *

Lola dumped a mass of dried flowers behind the woodshed and pumped water for a fresh bouquet. This morning silvery lupine waited at her back door, still damp with spring dew.

Secret flowers didn't seem Ike's style. His grand conspicuous nature had once held her attention, like the striking flash of a long blade, until she found herself on its cutting edge.

Her first thought had been of Bridger. His rough exterior hid tenderness, but she witnessed it in so many little ways—the care he took with the tools, his soft knock at her door each time he came for the key, his adamant concern for maintaining a gentlemanly distance as he worked. How could she have dealt with Mr. Anthony's death without his help? His comforting presence?

Heat flooded her face without another soul around. She had no business thinking of Bridger as any more than an associate.

She remembered his golden-brown gaze locked on her face and a tingle warmed its way up her spine. She shook her head. No business at all. But schooling her thoughts grew more difficult as the days passed.

The slender wand of purplish-blue blossoms waved and bounced as she clipped the bottom stems and slid them into her mother's vase. Their delicate scent wafted on a breeze as she carried them into the kitchen. She set them on the counter and stepped back to admire them. Just lovely.

Maybe Ike deserved reconsideration. Was he really trying to change? He'd been nothing but solicitous since Papa died. Without his help where would she be? A flush tingled up her neck and across her face. Had he truly intended to kiss her the other night? Would she honestly have allowed him?

She gathered a dustrag to clean the house. But action didn't prove strong enough to call her thoughts away. No, she wouldn't be so foolish as to take up with Ike again. Papa had never fully approved of him, and fortunately she saw his reasons firsthand before she said, “I do.”

It had been the emotions of the day and Ike's surprise visit that caught her off balance. Pastor Evans had preached last Sunday about temptation being stronger when one became too hungry, angry, lonely or tired. She thanked God for the timely reminder.

But if she had led Ike to believe his chances for reconciliation had improved that night, she needed to quell the thought.

She shook out the crocheted antimacassar from the chair and settled it in place. Soon as she finished, she'd try to find Ike and ask if the flowers came from him, at least. She also needed to pick up a few supplies from Mr. Anthony's store. It wouldn't be the same with Ike's men running the counter. But until affairs were settled, they had taken over the business.

It certainly provided Ike a tighter bottom line in getting supplies for hotel construction. For the saloon, too, for that matter. She adjusted the new bonnet from her last visit over coiled hair and picked up her reticule. It was a wonder Ike hadn't thought to open his own store long before this. No one could accuse him of a lack of enterprise.

Lola removed the shawl she had grabbed as she stepped out the door when she cleared the bend into the town's main thoroughfare. Sunshine warmed the cool breeze blowing down the rocky peaks enough to make it comfortable without a cloak.

Neighbors waved in greeting, but more new faces appeared daily. Population would demand a dedicated rail spur in no time at this rate, and Ike would be poised to reap a killing on pocketbooks as the only true hotel owner in town.

Hammers pounded even now, echoing between buildings, and the progress amazed her. Ike stood outside, head tilted toward the imposing height, proud smile on his face.

“Good morning, Ike.”

He angled his grin her way, eyes alight. “Good morning to you, Lola. What brings you this way?”

She was relieved to see none of his men lurked about. “I need to pick up a few things at Mr. Anthony's store. But I'm glad I ran into you. I wanted to thank you for checking on me the other night, but—”

“I know I said I wouldn't apologize, Lola, but I will. A gentleman should never press his advantage with a lady.” He slid closer, hand grasping her elbow in careful fashion. His voice lowered to a whisper. “But I wanted to press it, very much. I hope you'll forgive me. I lost myself for a moment in your eyes and the moonlight, but I promise you, it will not happen again. Not without your permission, that is.”

Lola breathed deep, glancing around as people passed them, most with knowing smiles. “While I appreciate the flattery, Ike, and I accept your apology, you have to know—”

“Shh!” he said, placing a finger gently to her lips. “Don't say anything more, Lola, please. I know the wrong I've done to you in the past can't be undone, and I grieve what I lost. I'm not asking you to take me back. But please, say you'll consider me going forward. Give me a chance to show you the new man I've become.” He slid his finger away.

“We will always be friends...schoolmates...neighbors...but I can't allow anything more to come between us—”

“Yet. But I pray I can change your outlook. For the sake of friendship, you can give me that chance, can't you?”

She focused on her hands, as if they held the answer. Could she? The Lord God could change men—she believed that. Didn't Ike deserve the opportunity to prove it? She wavered, arguing with her own thoughts and faithlessness.