by Regina Scott
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.”
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.
With folks attending the funeral today, Frank had waited until midmorning to make his escape. The risk he’d be caught rambling around town increased each time he wandered the back alleys. Bridger hoped Frank paid attention to their grandfather’s watch. It ought to be good for something. He’d been sorely tempted to sell it several times over the years, but he couldn’t do that to Frank. Something about the soft whir spoke of both sturdiness and elegance, and brought comfort to his brother. Not to mention the fact that even when Pa came in liquored and mean and turned the house inside out for funds to buy more, Mama had managed to hang on to it. That should count for something.
Bridger knocked on the open door of Ike’s office. “Mattie said you wanted to see me, Mr. Tyler. What can I do for you?”
“Come in, Bridger.” Ike motioned him to a curved-back chair. Even in the confines of this small room, his boss managed to convey a sense of wealth and splendor in the green velvet chairs and tiny mahogany table. He might live behind a saloon, but Ike Tyler had a taste for fine things and apparently had the means and eye to acquire them. A painting Bridg
er could tell would not come cheap hung on the wall over the fireplace.
“I have a job for you,” his boss said once he settled into the plush chair. “Supplies for the hotel have come in, and I want you to pick them up. I’ll have a wagon ready tomorrow, and I’ll send Toby along to help load. Think you can handle that?”
Bridger nodded, slowly removing his hat. He brushed his hair back and forward again. “Where we headed?”
“Wilder Springs, next town up the pass. Railroad runs through it, delivered the boards yesterday.” Bridger watched him pull an envelope from his suit coat and feather the bills inside.
“I’ll give you the payment tonight so you can get an early start. I tend to rise later in the day due to the nature of my business.” Ike grinned.
Bridger twirled his hat by its brim. “Toby knows how to get there?”
“Sure. But listen,” Ike said, sliding to the edge of his seat. “The mill owner there, he’s got himself a poor reputation. If he wasn’t the only big-outfit lumberman in the area, he’d be run out of business, I’m sure.”
Bridger adjusted his hat before taking the wadded envelope. He tucked it inside the hidden pocket of his duster. He’d never been one for theatrics. But he could see in Ike Tyler’s eyes how he thrived on it. “So you’re expecting trouble?”
Ike stood and smiled. “Right to the point, that’s it,” he said, almost to himself. “It’s likely he’ll dispute the payment, you being a new face and all. You be sure to get everything on the list in that envelope with the money you’ve been given.”
“You want me to notify their lawman when we arrive, ask him to tag along?”
“No sense in that. He’s just an old man looking to live out his days in a quiet town, and mostly it stays that way. My men give him a hand with that sometimes, so having Toby with you should help. You make certain the man satisfies our agreement. If he complains too much, remind him that his own wife and their pretty young daughter witnessed the deal, you got that?”
“Sure thing, boss.” Bridger watched through the window as a lumbering form that could only be Frank skulked into the boardinghouse. He coughed to cover his distraction. “Anything else?”
“Actually, I have another job for you, if you’re interested. You said you like carpentry, right? Woodwork?”
Bridger nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“Miss Martin needs some coffins. She told me yesterday she used the last her pa had made before he passed. She needs a few on hand, you see.” Ike pulled a cigar from the box on the stand next to him, offering one.
Bridger shook his head. “Coffins, Mr. Tyler?”
“Right. Her pa handled all aspects of the business, you know? Lola helped prepare the bodies and made it nice for the families and such, but…”
“But she can’t build the caskets,” Bridger supplied.
“Yes. She wants to speak with you herself—independent woman that way. I told her I’d introduce you, but I wanted to ask you myself, as well.”
“Why’s that?”
“Some men wouldn’t take kindly to working for a woman.”
“If the pay is fair, I have no problem with that. Her money will spend as well as a man’s, I reckon.”
“I hoped you’d think that way. You can work out the particulars with her, but I still want you working for me, you understand. This would be extra, on your own time.”
Bridger rubbed his chin and smiled. “I appreciate that. No reason why I can’t handle both. I need the money.” He glanced around the sitting area. His feet sank into the plush carpet, its rich colors in stark contrast to his worn boots.
“So I gathered,” Ike said. His eyes took on an almost predatory gleam for an instant, and Bridger felt the man’s gaze pass through him.
He hoped Frank had tucked himself in their room without anyone the wiser.
Ike took a long draw on his cigar, puffing rings of smoke into the air. “One other thing—”
Bridger jerked to his feet. “Yes, sir?”
Ike took another drag on his cigar. “I’d consider it a personal favor if you’d keep an eye on Miss Martin—Lola. I’d feel better knowing someone’s looking out for her.”
He’d wondered about the two of them as he watched them talking at the cemetery earlier. No surprise a businessman with an eye for fine things would be taken with a smart, beautiful woman like Miss Martin. Still, she hadn’t seemed any shrinking violet that needed looking after by Ike. “Why is that?”
“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 engagemen
t. 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.