by Regina Scott
Bridger’s heart plummeted at the sight of his brother’s fearful face.
Jake grabbed Frank and hauled him toward the jail. “I’m declaring a curfew over Quiver Creek this evening, starting now. Mr. Tyler’s men will continue to monitor the fire and make sure it’s completely out. Everyone else, go home.”
Marshal Anderson paused a moment as he trudged past. “It’s the best way to keep our cover at this point,” he said, his voice a low rumble, no one close enough to hear. “And the only way to keep Frank safe until we straighten this out.”
The crowd slipped off, voices hot and hard despite the restored order. Lola wrapped her arms around Grace’s shoulders. Bridger watched them make their way toward Lola’s home, but she never glanced back. Toby and the other men brushed by him to start the cleanup, raking embers into piles.
Bridger glanced around in the darkness, standing alone. Fire rose from deep inside his chest. How much am I to take, Lord? Please, don’t let Frank pay for my mistakes.
*
Lola wrapped her dark shawl close and maneuvered the quiet street, sticking to the shadows.
Sending Grace ahead to get comfortable, she returned to the scattering crowd, darting behind Jake’s determined tread. He kept a strong, stiff arm on Frank’s slumped shoulder, pushing him toward the jail, while Bridger hustled to follow. She determined to talk to Jake about Frank. Grace had been none too pleased with the notion of her defying the marshal’s orders to sneak into town, but how could she abandon Frank?
Surely Jake realized Frank Jamison could no more endanger a person than she would. Despite the blood he shared with Bridger.
No raucous laughter and plinking tunes wafted through the swinging doors of the saloon. Ike’s men raked remains of the smoldering hotel, but even they worked without speaking.
Grit from the smoky air added to the bad taste in her mouth. She had been so sure Bridger matched a higher ideal. A reserved man, maybe, but strong and good—a model of Christ’s love and protection for His followers. Why could she not see his true potential before this?
Yet something in his firm expression tonight felt stilted. Papa had taken the loan, impossible as it seemed. But laws existed about usury and public notice, did they not? Why would Bridger not come to her first? Her heart pleaded with her to play the fool again. Not that Bridger had asked for anything more than the money…of which he no doubt gained a healthy share.
Anger swirled with every other thought and emotion from the evening. She needed to focus and use her energies to gain Frank’s release. The rest she could deal with tomorrow.
The jail, built behind the saloon facing the next street over, had sat empty since Pete’s death, save the occasional drunk Ike’s men guarded until he sobered. Lola slid along the alley, hesitating as the men banged into the sturdy office.
Rough voices rumbled through an open window before she reached the jail’s front door. She slowed her steps.
“You can’t lock my brother up. He didn’t do anything!”
At least Bridger still had the decency to fight on his brother’s behalf.
She heard boots pound on wood. “After I went along with your crazy plan, you—”
“That has nothing to do with this!” Jake’s low voice belted.
The marshal knew about Bridger’s visit? She covered her gasp and stooped closer.
“You’re a bigger fool than I take you for if you think that fire isn’t somehow connected.”
“It’s my job to find out,” Jake said.
Spurs rang as boots scuffed the floor closer to the window. “It’s a good thing for you my brother wasn’t in that hotel when it went up in flames. We need to end this before Ike adds another notch to his tally.”
Fear crawled up her legs and settled in the pit of her stomach. Would Ike have killed Frank? And why?
“Help me build the case, Jamison, and we will.”
“I’ll testify.” Bridger’s voice grew softer and she strained to hear. She clung to the rough planks and muffled a cough.
“I figured you would, but you only know about the extortion. I want him tried for murder!” Jake’s normally calm tone broke with frustration.
“That’s what I’m talking about,” Bridger insisted.
Stillness reigned and Lola held her breath.
Then Jake’s hushed voice whispered low. “What do you know?”
“Something Toby and Jim said while they were teaching me this little lesson,” Bridger said. Lola recalled the bruises on his face and his stiff gait. “We have Mr. Anthony and Pete McKenna, but this goes back further. He had Lola’s father killed, too.”
A cold streak shot through her. Her feet blazed a path independent of thought, dragging her around the corner and through the front door. She slammed it shut and braced against it. Frank’s head lifted from where he sat behind bars. The fire in her gut warred against the chill in her limbs. She fixed Bridger and Jake in her field of vision. “I want to know what’s going on here.” Her voice sounded ragged and weak to her own ears. “So one of you had best start talking—now.”
*
Bridger froze. Lola stood heaving at the door, looking pale and fierce and as beautiful as he’d ever seen her. He picked up a chair to shift it closer.
“Don’t!” she warned. “Talk!”
He returned the seat to the floor and slid it with his foot. “Please sit, Lola. It has to be a shock, hearing this way. Calm down and pull up a chair, and we’ll explain everything.” He glared at Jake. “Like we should have from the start.”
She waited, gaze unblinking, before taking the seat. She wobbled and grabbed the edges, but her expression warned him not to offer aid.
He closed the window and shutters behind him, giving her a chance to catch her breath. “You’d best start talking, Marshal. Seems to me you have the most to say in the matter. It’s about time we hear it all.”
Jake’s broad frame slumped to the dusty desk. “I told you I had come to investigate another matter in Quiver Creek when you wired the U.S. Marshals Department. I needed answers in the disappearance of a friend of mine, another federal marshal. Alex was looking into a racket being run by Ike Tyler, with several spokes to the machine—intimidation, vandalism toward businesses that refused to pay protection money and various other offenses.”
“No marshal came through here,” Lola said.
“He came in undercover, a drifter passing through. We discovered he hung for the murder of a local man, Mr. Roland Martin.”
Lola gasped and tears filled her green eyes. She bit her lip, then took a deep, shuddering breath. Bridger slid closer, but she froze him with a glare to stop the heart of weaker men.
She crossed her arms. “Go on.”
“Obviously, he didn’t murder your father. I suspect Ike did but pinned it on my friend. He must’ve figured out what Alex was doing here, though I don’t know how.” He clenched his fists. Bridger felt his frustration as Jake returned his focus to Lola. “I do know Ike Tyler has hurt a lot of people, and I’m going to put him away if it’s the last thing I do. What Bridger did tonight…he was only doing what I asked. It was a poor plan, but we didn’t want to endanger you by divulging too much too soon.”
Lola drew near with urgent steps. She grasped Jake’s wrist, but Bridger warmed to see her eyes locked on his. He’d never witnessed the glow of faith restored in a woman’s eyes before, and he longed to crush her in his arms.
“Let me help,” she said. “I know Ike felt something for me once. I can get him to talk. I know it.”
Fear clenched Bridger’s gut. “No. The men all but said Ike was behind it all. I have enough information to confront him. I can play this part long enough to get his confession myself.”
“I can help!” She gave Jake’s arm an insistent shake.
“Not if I can prevent—”
Jake held up his hand, head shaking. “This is my case. I was foolish to involve ordinary citizens in the first place, and I won’t make that mistake again.”<
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Bridger rested his thumbs on his belt. “He’ll never talk to you.”
“Then we’ll find another way,” Jake said.
“What about Grace?” Lola asked.
Jake shook free from her grasp. “What about her?”
“She may have more information than she realizes.”
“No, I read Pete’s log. If he knew anything, he didn’t write it there,” Jake said.
Bridger wondered. “Lola didn’t know anything, either, but her father kept notes hidden. What if Pete McKenna kept a separate log, waiting for something more concrete before he added it to his permanent files?”
Jake shrugged his shoulders. “That’s a possibility, I guess.” He slipped to his feet and leaned against the desk, arms crossed. “But Ike knows I’m a marshal now. If he sees me questioning Grace, it places her in greater danger.”
Lola’s skirt swayed as she stepped back. Her slender fingers clasped together like a woman in prayer, and her eyes gleamed. Her pink lips twisted in a determined grimace. “Let me talk with her. She has a lot on her mind, and the baby’s to arrive within a few weeks. I won’t upset her, and Ike won’t suspect a thing, I promise.”
Jake stared at his boots and Bridger knew the same sensation of gears whirring in his mind. What Lola said made perfect sense. Prying questions would be much easier to answer with another woman, especially as close as the two ladies were. Running every possible opportunity for danger scrambled his thoughts, but nothing reasonable came to mind. But his heart prevented rational thought and argued against any involvement from Lola.
Jake nudged his reaction with a nod. Bridger huffed, feeling the tug at his side. “When can you talk to her?”
“Tonight. She’s staying at my place rather than ride home.” Excitement filled Lola’s breathless voice.
Bridger raked fingers through his hair and along his scruffy jaw. Rough whiskers bit raw against his palm, like the strain of the night on his mind. “I can’t think of any reason for you not to ask Grace. But I still don’t feel right about this. If Ike was willing to torch his own hotel, he suspects something. I think he’s starting to unravel.”
Jake interrupted. “You’re absolutely certain Frank had nothing to do with the fire? More people than Ike suspect him, you know, and I have to give them something.”
Bridger stomped forward, shoving the marshal and forcing his full attention. “How could you ask such a fool question after all this?”
Jake threw his hands up, backing toward the wall. But his tone remained adamant. “Even if it were an accident, the folks in town will expect some kind of answers. You’ll never be able to stay in Quiver Creek when this is done if you can’t lay those fears to rest.”
Lola cleared her throat with a gentle cough. “He’s afraid of fire. He won’t even strike a match, isn’t that right?”
Bridger stared at Lola. Her quiet strength gained the marshal’s attention, too. Soft lantern light around the jail office gave her a warm glow, as pink returned to her face. “How did you—?”
Lola sent a wink toward Frank before she faced Jake. “I can testify to that, Marshal. Shouldn’t that be enough for you?”
Jake wiped soot from his eyes and grinned. “Having the confidence of a fine, upstanding businesswoman such as you should go a long way to ease the public’s fears.”
Bridger stepped forward, grasping Lola’s warm hands. This woman, who had been given so many reasons not to trust him—did. “Thank you, Lola. Just when I think I’ve tangled things up so bad even the Lord won’t unwind it all, He reminds me what a little trust can do.” He squeezed her fingers with gentle pressure, feeling their smoothness beneath his calluses. “We’ll give you an hour to explain it all to Grace at your place, and then we’ll have to bring you both here.”
She leaned back but didn’t pull her hands away. “The jail? Why?”
Jake stood tall, voice firm. “It’s easier to guard you here. Once morning comes, we’ll scout town, learn the lay of the land, so to speak, and then decide what to do next.”
Bridger rubbed his neck and glanced at Frank, who waited in silence, hands grasping the bars with his broad face pressed between.
“What do you think, Frank?”
His brother grinned. “I think we’re a scary-looking pair of fellas, Bridge. I’ll back whatever you say.”
Bridger crooked his lip, scar tugging his mouth. Tension stiffened his muscles, and uncertainty clawed at every sense, but calm peace flooded his mind. The Lord had more for them to do, but He promised to help them every step of the way. He’d sent unflappable faith through his brother and firm assurance from this beautiful lady to confirm that. “We’ll see you again within the hour, Lola. This time, we’re coming even if the whole town goes up in smoke.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
The door creaked open with a careful push, and Lola glanced behind into the night before stepping through. Grace sat in the rocker, head leaned against the high rest, eyes closed. She rubbed a hand over her swollen middle with a firm press.
“Grace? Are you all right?”
Her friend blinked and coughed a rough bark. “Just tired. I swallowed a bit of smoke and this baby is giving me fits, that’s all.”
Lola rushed to her side, feeling for a pulse at her wrist and pressing her hand against the bulge of baby. “That’s all? You should be resting!”
A wan smile crossed Grace’s gentle face. “And so I was.”
“I mean lying down,” Lola said.
Grace sat upright. “Nonsense. This baby might as well know from the start I don’t plan to be too indulgent with him. What did Jake say? Can he help?”
Lola looked at her friend and patted her hand. “There’s more going on here than we knew.”
She explained all she could in gentle tones but kept the details direct and light. Her words flew in a rush, a feeling of haste pressuring her heart. Bridger and Jake had created an environment of tense caution she carried home.
Grace’s face paled, wrinkles creasing her forehead. Her eyes grew large with understanding. “So they think Pete was murdered?”
The tense quirk of her lips begged Lola to say she’d drawn the wrong conclusion. Lola believed that everything would have made more sense somehow had her papa died in an accident. Knowing hate had killed a man so full of love…was more difficult to understand.
She breathed deep and prayed for the right words to come. “Yes, Grace.”
“But they said—” Her friend’s coloring blanched further, lips a thin, bloodless line. “They said he fell from a horse, probably spooked by the cat he was chasing. You said—”
“I guessed, because he’d been called out to hunt. But the marks, Grace—something didn’t look right.” She knelt at the side of the rocker and smoothed her billowed skirt. “I think that’s why I followed through and sent the wire to the federal marshal in the first place. Even more strange, I found some of the same marks on Cecil Anthony.” Her mind flooded with memories of her father’s death and she shuddered. Papa’s neck had been broken, too.
She tugged on Grace’s arm. “Think carefully. Did Pete mention anything he had been working on? Jake said he found nothing in his files at the office, but maybe he kept notes somewhere else.”
Grace chewed her lip and rubbed her bleary eyes.
Lola settled closer. “Bridger found Papa’s ledger in an old box of notes. Did Pete have any certain place where he kept important papers at home?”
Grace’s eyes glazed. Then she rocked forward, face crumpled in pain. “In the buckboard! That box your father made us for our wedding present. Pete kept it locked under the seat, but I believe he kept a journal there. Sometimes if he was gone for a time, he’d share some of what he wrote with me when he returned. But he always placed it back in that box. Maybe—”
A sudden cry doubled Grace over.
“What’s wrong?” Lola moved her hands across Grace’s quivering midsection. She read the panic in her eyes in an instant and knew the trut
h. “Contractions?”
Grace nodded, tears escaping down her cheeks. “It’s too early, Lola. The baby—he can’t come now!”
“Shh, shh…” she soothed. “It’s not much too early, and with all you’ve been through tonight alone, it’s made him in a hurry to find what this big old world is all about.” Her insides quaked. “There’s plenty of time. I’ll go back to the jail, and Jake can fetch Doc Kendall. They’ll be here in plenty of time for that baby to come.”
Grace’s fingers dug into her arm, mouth parted in a silent cry. “Please, I can’t lose the baby. He’s all I have left of Pete!”
Lola helped her friend move to the stairway banister. “You go up and crawl in my bed.” She grabbed her shawl from the hook by the door. “I’ll be back in a jiffy and wait with you for the doctor. We’ll pray together. You and this baby will both be fine, you hear me?”
Grace managed a tremulous smile and began her waddle up the steps. Lola gave a short wave and swung the door open, then jolted.
Ike blocked her at the door. “Now, now, my dear…”
The pulse in her neck jumped and hot dread sank to her toes. “What are you doing here?”
“The marshal wouldn’t want you traipsing about, not after he established a strict curfew.” His cigar puffed in her face, adding to her irritation. “It’s my role to support the law in Quiver Creek. You know that.”
She glanced at Grace, who stood frozen at the bottom step. “We need the doctor. She’s in labor.”
Ike pushed his way past her, knocking Lola into the edge of the davenport. “I don’t think there’s any need for that yet,” he said. “Though it does make the story all the more tragic.” The gleam in his eyes did little to hide the black depths of his evil stare.
A dry throat choked off her strangled breath. “What are you saying?”
“Nothing, nothing,” Ike said, swirling his cigar in the air. “It’s just a greater shame that the good marshal will find not only our comely undertaker, but her dearest friend, as well.”