Page 54 of Wyoming Promises

What had given her such a notion, to come to Bridger’s room? She’d been raking the flower bed for spring planting when she saw his wagon rumble by, loaded to the gills. He hadn’t acknowledged her wave, which sniped at her heart with sharp disappointment.

But this was a business matter, she reminded herself. He’d been gone almost a week and she had not one spare casket. Didn’t she have the right to know when he planned to return to her job?

A cough and rumble came through the door. “Just a minute,” Bridger said, his voice thick with exhaustion.

Suppose she’d caught him preparing to...wash off the trail dust? Embarrassment formed a heavy knot in her throat and the heat on her face grew to a full-fledged blaze.

The door swung open and she gulped. Her tongue froze stiff and she stammered. “Ah, I apologize for...for interrupting. You see, I—that is, I only wondered... Well, I can talk with you another time. I didn’t mean—”

His brown hair swept boyishly across his forehead, damp and uncombed. Droplets clung at his high cheekbones and left faint trails into the stubble on his chin and along his jaw. The top button on his shirt was the only one undone, yet the overall appearance brought a hitch to her breath.

Surprise gleamed from his brown eyes and he searched around her, never budging from his stance at the narrowly opened door. “What’s wrong, Lola? Is there something you need?”

Of course he would assume something was amiss, her standing at his door like...like some witless female. “No! I mean, I saw your wagon rolling into town and wondered how your trip—when you might be able to return...” A voice floated from downstairs, and she glanced around the hall again. She felt like those spring bonnets on display in the window of Mr. Anthony’s store. She squeezed her hands together and stepped close, lowering her voice. “Could I come in and speak with you?”

His eyes grew wide. His gaze darted around before spearing her. His throat bobbed as he drew a deep breath. Then a grin tipped his lips just enough to tug at his scar. “No dead bodies here, Miss Lola,” he said.

She stepped away, slipping in a tangle of boots, and certain the skin on her face blistered at this point. “Oh! Of course not! I’m so sorry. I—”

An odd groan rumbled from his lean chest and he wobbled as though he’d been kicked in the shin by a mule. “No need for apology. It’s you who’s owed one.” He coughed, gripping the door with thick, tan fingers. “I should’ve stopped on my way into town, let you know I don’t plan to get back to the woodshop until Monday.”

Her heart thumped once and then returned to a sluggish rhythm of disappointment. “I wondered—”

Another groan came from Bridger, this time followed by a wince as he quirked to the side.

“Are you all right? You weren’t injured in your travels, I hope?” she asked.

“Nothing like that,” he choked out, as if the breath had been poked from his lungs. “This isn’t the best place to talk, though. No sense in giving folks reason to question your propriety over me, not like this.”

“I understand.” She backed away, hands fluttering for a place to go that didn’t add to her awkwardness. “I’ll see you Monday, then—”

“Wait!” Bridger slipped one shoulder through the door, arm stretched toward her. “Maybe we could talk over supper?”

Her bustle bumped into the opposite wall of the narrow hall, halting her flight and stopping her short. “Supper?”

“Next door. I know it’s the saloon, but Mattie’s the best cook in town, so...?”

Mattie’s a fair cook compared to me. She argued in her mind, but it didn’t prevent the delight that helped cool her face. “I’ll meet you outside. Say five o’clock?”

A wide smile of even teeth seemed to relax his whole stance. “Let’s make it six,” he said. “I will need to clean up first if you’re going to sit at a table next to the likes of me.”

* * *

Bridger tucked the string tie into his pants pocket. He and Frank had debated for half an hour whether the situation called for him to wear one, and he’d left the room in agreement with Frank. But by the time he’d reached the bottom of the stairs, he’d realized it went too far. The necessary bath made him feel at least worthy of her company again. But he didn’t want Lola thinking he believed this to be anything more than business, a chance to hammer out a better arrangement regarding his absence.

Finding her on the other side of his door had blown sense away like sawdust in the wind. Frank’s nudges hadn’t helped. But she’d seemed too focused to notice. He hoped.

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