Page 5 of Wyoming Promises

He stepped around Ike, tipping his hat to Mattie and another friend of hers as he stomped out the doors. Her coy wave lacked the warmth of Miss Martin’s determined green eyes.

The sign in the window caught his eye again as he untied his horse. This was the first notice of work he’d seen in almost a month. The town and Ike’s saloon had all the up-and-coming signs that would help him save what he needed to start his own business. Ike’s tone set him off, but experience taught him big talk often came from lesser men. Ike relied on others to do the real work for him. He probably pulled that tone with every new hire. With the lack of sleep and food he’d had over the past two weeks, he might have misunderstood Ike’s intent, anyway.

He hoped the lady undertaker made no mistake about his. Bringing the sheriff into town on the back of a horse had to raise questions, but his conscience prevented anything less. He hoped Miss Martin found rest tonight, in spite of the trouble he’d brought to her door.

All he knew now was he needed to get his horse to the livery and get a couple hours of sleep. He had to get back to camp and move Frank into town before sunup. He’d learned the hard way, keeping Frank away from other folks—especially beautiful, refined ladies such as Miss Martin—saved a lot of trouble in the end.

Chapter Two

Dawn slipped over the sharp ridges to the east of town as Bridger rode the slopes north of Quiver Creek. His brother, Frank, rode beside him, half-asleep. The few hours in a real bed had done wonders, but Frank hadn’t had that luxury. Thankful for the moonlight, Bridger had headed back up the trail to wake Frank and clean up the meager camp they’d set the night before, not far from where they’d found the sheriff’s body. He needed to get Frank into town before folks started stirring. It would be much easier to get Frank into their room undetected.

“Frank? You with me?” Bridger asked, his whisper echoing in the silence of the morning.

Frank shifted in the saddle, rubbing beefy fists into his eyes. He blinked dully and breathed deep, drawing himself awake, then turned his ruddy face to Bridger with a wide smile. “Good morning.”

Bridger couldn’t help but smile back. “Morning, Frank. We’re almost there.”

“Good. I like town, seeing all the people.”

“Shh!” Bridger warned. “Remember what happened in that last town? We need to stay put for a while this time, Frank. We can’t do that if you get too nosy again—”

“I didn’t do nothing!” Frank protested. “I didn’t do what that lady said, Bridge—”

“I know. I know you didn’t. But sometimes...well, people don’t understand what a great brother you are. They think—”

“I know, Bridger. We’re a scary-looking pair, right?”

“Right. Me with the scar, you all big and strong... We have to be...careful, that’s all. I have the promise of a good job here, a chance to make enough money so we can afford a place of our own like we’ve been talking about.”

“With horses?” Frank asked.

“With horses,” Bridger conceded. He knew enough about farming and ranching to hold an odd job now and then and enough to know he wanted something different. But all Frank wanted was horses to care for. He’d never seen a man who knew the beasts better. “But to do that, I need you to help me. You have to do as I say.”

“I always try, Bridger. You’re smart. I know that.”

Bridger winced. Frank did know that, just as well as those folks who saw fit to judge him. Frank’s brain worked slower, and his speech was thicker and simpler, but not enough to make him unaware of his own deficiency. Then, too, Frank’s looks didn’t help him—tall, broad, rawboned—everything like their father. Before Frank’s...before his brother lost that part of himself, a keen, teasing wit and sharp mind had kept the young ladies back home plenty impressed with Frank Jamison. The familiar knot twisted in Bridger’s chest.

“I’m just saying I need you to do your job. It won’t be forever, Frank. Just until we save enough for a little spread. Nothing fancy—a few horses for you, a woodshop for me. Away from town, but close enough I can sell my furniture to those fancy outfits back East...”

“And some chickens and a dog.”

Bridger looked at his brother, smiling at the dream they’d been talking about ever since he’d made it back home from the war. “The way you keep adding animals to the list, we’re going to need a bigger barn.”

Frank grinned and rubbed his sleepy eyes again. “I’m tired.”

“I know you are. We’re almost there, and then you can sleep in a real bed and get a good rest.”

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