Page 8 of Wyoming Promises

A breeze caught spring leaves on the trees nearby, brushing her ears with their gentle music. “He’s the one that brought Pete in,” she said. Her voice sounded hard and flat, revealing more than she’d intended.

“He did mention something about that. I’ll keep an eye on him, Lola. You don’t have anything to worry about.” Ike smiled, drawing her from the shadows and into the sunlight closer to the church.

“I’m not worried.” Well, she didn’t want to be worried, anyway. “The U.S. Marshals Office will be sending someone to check his story very soon.”

Ike stopped. “Why is that?”

“Because I sent a telegraph. We have no sheriff now, and with the trouble we’ve been having here, I thought someone ought to check into it.” Into the stranger with the scar.

A long huff of air came from Ike’s tight lips. “I wish you’d asked me first, Lola. We don’t need any trouble stirred up with a stranger nosing around town.”

Fire rose in her chest. “A man died, Ike. The sheriff. We can’t handle this ourselves.”

“Do you really reckon the man would have gone to the trouble of bringing him in and getting the body to an undertaker if he’d had anything to do with his death?”

Lola glanced sideways at the men working. It did sound a little far-fetched, she supposed.

“But what if he did?” She pulled away and crossed her arms around her waist.

Ike stepped away, taking a look at his workers. He clenched and unclenched his fingers, a long habit she recognized. “Then it’s good I hired him. A job will hold him in town.” He faced her with a smile. “But you need to check before you go off trying to handle these things on your own. That’s what I’m here for.”

She sighed. Maybe it was foolish to wire for a U.S. marshal to come all the way out here to investigate without consulting anyone first. Maybe the hour and the man’s appearance and the memory of her father’s death had made her too skittish. “Well, it’s done now. I guess I wanted to make sure there was someone looking out for this town. Especially now that Pete’s gone.”

Silence surrounded them as the last of the mourners left the cemetery. “My men and I can do that, like we helped Sheriff McKenna before. Once that U.S. marshal clears out, they’ll hold an election. Maybe I’ll run for sheriff myself. Something nice and respectable like your pa would have liked from the start.”

Lola winced. Papa wouldn’t have approved of Ike even if he’d been governor of the territory.

“I’ll talk to the marshal when he arrives in town. Maybe if I explain things, he won’t need to waste any more time than getting here will cost him.”

Ike drew closer, his head bowed toward her. “You always were overcautious, Lola. But your beauty made up for it.”

She stepped away, staring him in the eye. “It’s good you realized my downfalls before we made it to the altar, then.” Her voice rose, clipped and sharp.

She caught Bridger Jamison’s form in the corner of her eye. He punched his shovel into the dirt, arms crossed loosely over the end of the handle, brown eyes glittering in the moving shadows caused by the waving tree limbs over his head. His scar looked deeper when his jaw tightened.

Ike started. “Lola, I didn’t mean—”

“Never mind, Ike. It’s just been a hard few days. Forgive my sharpness. I have a lot on my mind.”

“Any help I can offer? Say the word,” Ike said, his voice soft and over-warm.

Lola squared her shoulders. “Not unless you know a good woodworker. I used the last coffin Papa...Papa made, for Pete.”

“You know, it just so happens, I do know a man. I can’t vouch for his skill, but he says he does like to build things with wood.”

Lola returned his smile. If anyone would know the skills of a new man in town, it would be Ike. She warmed. “That would be wonderful! If you introduce us, I could make the arrangements.”

“Whenever you like, Lola. I know where he lives. You can stop by anytime and I’ll be glad to make the acquaintances.”

“Stop by? Where?”

Ike gave the grin he used when he thought he had the upper hand. The one she hadn’t recognized as a little frightening until after they’d parted company. “In a room at my boardinghouse. It’s Bridger Jamison, my new man.”

Chapter Three

Frank was due back any moment. Overdue. Bridger didn’t like the idea of his brother being confined upstairs, but he’d have to restrict his roaming to those early-morning hours before the town started to stir after this.

Bridger stood at the door of Ike’s private quarters. Evening sun crept low through the far windows, but the saloon itself sat empty. He peered into the tree line behind the boardinghouse, praying for a shadow.

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