Page 7 of Wyoming Promises

“I remember.” He grabbed his brother’s thick arm and led him up the dark stairs to their room. Frank had sacrificed his independence for Bridger’s life. He never mentioned it, and maybe the fact was lost in his muddled thinking. Or maybe he chose not to remind his little brother of it. But Bridger could never forget.

* * *

“We often ask the Lord ‘why’ in cases such as this,” Pastor Evans said. “And the simple answer is ‘because it’s the Lord’s Will.’ When our pain is fresh, that answer leaves us hollow. It’s only with time and faith that we can come away from grief stronger and, at the same time, with greater reliance on God.”

Lola shivered in the morning mountain shadows as Pastor Evans gave the eulogy for Pete McKenna. She stretched her arm around Grace, who stood shrouded in black with a heavy veil to hide her tears. Had it been only six months ago their positions had been reversed when Papa died?

Lola squeezed Grace’s shoulders in support as a soft wail broke from under the black veil, and she scanned the crowd standing silently around the gaping hole in the ground. The Rigger family looked almost as sorrowful as Grace. They lived farther up the pass and had asked for Sheriff McKenna’s help in tracking the mountain lion bent on killing off their herd. Mrs. Rigger squeezed her husband’s hand and gathered their two little girls close, no doubt thinking how easily it could have been her husband’s body that man had found.

Lola rocked Grace as Pastor Evans guided those in attendance in the 23rd Psalm. Her eyes settled on that same man in question. He stood behind Ike, shovel in hand and hat pulled low. But she recognized the deep, angry scar that crossed his face.

Her heart jumped as his gaze locked on her, surprising her with a warmth she’d missed at their first meeting. But she didn’t turn away. Let him know she recognized him. She hadn’t expected him to still be in town, let alone be here as they buried Pete, but she was glad to see him. It would make the U.S. marshal’s job that much easier when he arrived.

She had sent a request early the very next morning after Pete had been brought to her door. She was sure the marshal would have questions for him when he arrived. She’d like to ask a few of her own, but patience reigned. The law would prevail.

Lola gave Grace a parting hug and kissed her cheek with a promise to visit soon. Her heart ached to watch her friend leave with Pastor Evans to deliver her home.

She waited for the crowd to clear before turning to Ike and his men. Ike Tyler had been especially helpful in the months since her father’s death. For as much as Papa had disapproved of their courtship, Ike had proved himself a good friend even after she ended that part of their relationship over a year ago. Papa didn’t trust him but hadn’t refused her from seeing him. He didn’t push the cut deeper by reminding her of his reservations when she’d found Ike kissing Mattie, either. After she broke their engagement, Ike had bought the saloon, and she realized how very wrong she had been about him.

Ike had assured her it all meant nothing, insisting it was “only part of business.” While wisdom prevailed, it didn’t help that Ike Tyler was a handsome cut of a man and had done everything in his power to help her in her grief.

She tilted her head to see his hazel eyes peering at her. His long fingers stretched out as if to grasp her arm, but he caught himself and held back with a soft smile. “Anything more you need?”

“No, thanks, Ike. I’ll gather up the flowers to lay across the grave when you’re finished and place the cross.” She wiped a tear that rolled unbidden down her cheek. “I wish there were more I could do for Grace, that’s all.”

Ike took her hand with a gentle squeeze. “I know you do. You will, in time. Why don’t you let my men tidy up when they’re finished so you can join her now at the church?”

She caught his hopeful smile. He always found a way to give her what he thought she needed most. “You’ve done so much already, Ike. I don’t want to take advantage.”

“Nonsense.” A smile touched his narrow lips before he set his men to task with a nod. “I’ve hired an extra man. They’ll have things finished in no time.”

She watched the men shovel dirt back into the hole they’d dug earlier that morning. The man with the scar was lean and about a head shorter than the men he worked with, but he carried himself with a strength his size belied. Dark sinewy arms poked out from long sleeves he had rolled to his elbows. “What do you know about your new hire?”

“Not all that much—you know how it is. His name’s Bridger Jamison. He’s new in town and needed work. That’s about it.”

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