Kerri Mountain - Wyoming Promises

“Because someone should. Woman alone out here, even in a town as dull and quiet as Quiver Creek, she needs looking after. I trust you—and it wouldn’t be wise to break that trust.”

Bridger shifted his stance and narrowed his gaze. “Trust goes both ways, sir...but you can count on me. If you don’t mind my saying so, though, I’d have thought you might want to handle that yourself, after I saw you talking with her this morning.”

Ike twisted in his seat to snub out his cigar, his thin lips pulling to a sharp grin. “I had my chance. And it wouldn’t be a lie to say I hope to have another. But for now, she’d not stand for it. I figure if you work for her, you’ll have opportunity to keep an eye on her for me.”

“She might not even hire me, Mr. Tyler. I didn’t exactly make my finest impression, bringing the sheriff’s body to her door like I did.”

“She’ll come around to you sooner than she will me. I wanted to be sure we had an understanding about Miss Martin, before you had reason to spend time around her.” Ike stood, almost a head above Bridger. “Most men in town realize how things lie and stay away from her. But you’re new here, so I thought you might like the information up front.”

Bridger squared his shoulders. Ike had nothing to fear from him. Fine, independent women like Lola Martin wanted nothing to do with his kind. Besides, he had no time for sparking a lady. Not until he had a place of his own, something to offer...but it didn’t mean he appreciated being warned off like a rabid dog. His jaw clenched. “I understand you fine, boss.”

Ike stepped back. “I’m glad to hear that, Bridger. You remember that, and you and I will get along fine.”

Bridger walked to the door, pausing with his hand on the knob. “I understand all right, sir,” he said, “and you’ll have no problem with me. I got enough troubles of my own without adding a woman to the mix.”

* * *

Under the overhang, Lola smoothed long wisps of hair behind her ears. She placed her hand at her waist and breathed, slow and deep. Just outside the swinging doors, warm dry scents of sage blowing off the bluff mixed with lingering smells of oversweet liquor and cigar smoke from the previous night.

Lola hated this place. Hated the fact it represented the biggest gathering place Quiver Creek could offer and the only restaurant in town. But mostly, she hated that her father had been killed here.

Lola ran a hand over her eyes and drew herself up, refusing to give in to the memories of her father’s body lying on the dingy bed, the drunken drifter denying his involvement with adamant pleas.

It didn’t sit well that she’d once considered the owner her beau, either. What had she been thinking? She huffed and stepped through the doors, almost crashing into Ike.

“Lola! I expected you earlier. Mr. Jamison should be over soon, unless you’d like me to call him.”

Lola shook her head. “I can wait.”

Ike swept a chair out with a grand flourish. “I’ll be glad to wait with you, make the proper introductions if you like.”

She didn’t like, not at all. She and Ike had been friends before their courtship and continued to be afterward, but today it only added to the heavy press she felt over the past few days.

She sat and chucked the seat closer to the table. She tapped her foot, trying to think of something to say. Silence stretched, empty and hollow.

“You’re looking as lovely as ever, Lola, if I may say so.”

She smiled. Ike had said so—often. And to many other women during their courtship, leading to their broken engagement. But it didn’t change her reaction to his smile. They’d made a handsome pair....

Light footsteps came from the stairway and they both turned. “I need to step out for some errands before the crowd shows, Ike.” Mattie? Not the person she wanted to cross paths with today. Lola tried hard to be pleasant to the woman, thankful—truly—that she’d opened her eyes to the kind of man Ike was. Mattie’s personality sparkled. She knew Mattie was more than just a good-time girl who urged the men into buying more drinks, and she didn’t envy her the life she’d chosen. But she was beautiful, with well-pinked cheeks, bright blue eyes and a dimpled smile, full of curves and fun.

Lola glanced down at her second-best dress. Faded, flat, dim—like the last rose of summer compared to a spring daisy. She adjusted her skirt and forced a smile.

“How have you been, Mattie?”

“Just fine, sweetie. Business is good and keeps me busy.”

I’m sure of that. She shook herself, irritated at her unkind thoughts. Mattie’s answer wasn’t intended to bring the blush that Lola felt warm her face. But Mattie was just...Mattie.

“See you later, sugar.” The woman’s long fingers trailed across Ike’s shoulders and Lola felt another pang of unpleasantness sweep through her.

Lola watched her sashay out the swinging doors with a wave.

“Mr. Tyler?”

The voice, soft and low, drew her attention. Mr. Jamison stood in the entry, buttoning the top buttons on his shirt, unable to resist a glance at Mattie’s departure. No doubt working around Mattie would be one of the fringe benefits of employment with Ike. Well, it made no matter what he did with his time, so long as he would build the coffins.

“Lola, let me introduce you to Mr. Bridger Jamison. Bridger, I’d like to introduce you to Miss Lola Martin, the undertaker of our fine town.” He paused dramatically. “I understand you two already met, but for gentility’s sake, I thought I’d make it formal.”

“Miss Martin.” The man nodded politely, a soft smile easing the harshness of his scar.

“Mr. Jamison.” She nodded just as politely.

“Bridger, ma’am,” he said, voice warm and quiet.

“Then you must call me Lola.”

“I’d be happy to, Lola. Mr. Tyler said you wanted to talk with me about a job.”

She motioned him into the seat across from hers at the small table. “That’s right. I understand you have carpentry skills.”

“I’ll leave the two of you to discuss business,” Ike said, with emphasis on “business.” He smiled and left them with a bow and a mock salute.

Lola faced Bridger, feeling awkward being alone with this stranger, Ike’s formal introduction notwithstanding. She couldn’t keep her eyes from tracing the path of the scar as it slashed his high-boned cheek and grazed the corner of his lip, appearing white against his tan skin in the midday lighting of the saloon.

“I got cut, ma’am. When I was a boy. I didn’t mean to frighten you the other night. I expected you’d want to speak with me about that sheriff.”

Lola swallowed, feeling heat nip her ears. “I beg your pardon. How terribly rude of me to stare. My mind wandered a bit.” She paused, breathing deep. “But it’s not me you’ll answer to about the sheriff’s body. A U.S. marshal has been assigned to the case and should be here any day to investigate the matter.”

Bridger nodded. “Like I said before, I’m glad to answer any questions that will put your suspicions to rest.”

“Suspicion isn’t really the word. If that were the case, I wouldn’t be here to ask for your help.” She didn’t add that now, in the daytime, his warm brown eyes hardly looked as dangerous and frightening as they had that night. Still, she hadn’t been the best judge with Ike, either.

“Fair enough. What can I do to help you?” He held his hands together, calluses lining his long fingers in contrast to the softness of the felt table cover. Hands used to hard work. They also held a precision, a sense of strength she recognized in her father’s hands from the woodwork he had done, as well as the same types of cuts and scrapes.