by Regina Scott
Lola sensed his intent, but her voice slogged through the thickness in her throat to catch up. “Find us?”
“Oh, yes, he’ll find you dead soon after Bridger Jamison arrives,” Ike said. “Right on time to take the blame.”
*
Stars provided the only light overhead and the mountains stood a shade darker against the night sky. The rush of wind blew loud with no sounds of the town to compete.
The horse tied in front of Lola’s place caught Bridger’s eye as soon as they rounded the bend. A glance at Jake’s shadowed face told him he’d seen it, too.
“Looks a mite small to be your horse,” Bridger said.
Jake nodded. “It is. I left mine at Grace’s place. We drove to town in her wagon.”
Bridger glanced at Frank, who straggled beside them. Maybe Jake should have won the argument to leave his brother behind at the jail.
Except he’d convinced Jake Ike’s men wouldn’t be stopped by a few cell bars. Now he wasn’t so sure Frank stayed any safer by trailing along.
Jake’s pace never wavered. “Ike’s?”
“Yep.”
The marshal checked his pistol. “You wait outside.”
Bridger grabbed his arm and spun him with surprise. “Let me try first. He’ll know you’re onto him the minute he spies you, and he could hurt those ladies. I have the money from Lola. If I convince him I’m looking for my cut, we have a chance to get them out first.”
Jake pulled his hat brim low on his face. “That’s a big ‘if.’”
He threw Jake’s earlier words back at him. “Where’s your faith?”
A low huff of air whispered on the wind. “Back at the river, when we were talking about you.”
Frank scratched his head and wobbled from foot to foot. “Don’t seem like a good plan, Bridge.”
He whipped his gaze to his brother and sensed Jake’s attention shift, too. “It’s the best we have. Besides, with you and Jake both out here praying for me, backing me up, how can it not work out?”
“I don’t like it,” Frank said.
“Listen to your brother,” Jake added.
Bridger drew a deep breath. A sense of pervading peace filled him, but he supposed he might not feel the same if he waited on the outside while his friend or brother faced Ike alone, with the ladies between.
“I’m not going in by myself, you know. However this works out,” he said, glancing at each of the men, then at Lola’s dimly lit house across the street, “the Lord goes with me.”
A pause filled with the sound of spring peepers wasted precious seconds, and Bridger’s impatience grew. Every second they debated kept him from providing help for the women inside.
“I don’t like it.” Jake shook his head, stubble scratching against his fist like sandpaper. “But it might work. If he figures you’re working against him, don’t be brash. Do what he says, and try to get him outside without the women. Between us we’ll even the odds a bit.”
“Me, too,” Frank protested.
“Oh, no.” Bridger pressed against his brother’s chest. “You’re staying out of this altogether.”
A low chuckle came from Jake. “Sounds to me like stubbornness is a family trait,” he said. “We can’t leave him here, Bridger. Besides, he could come in handy.”
Frank’s collarbone jumped beneath his fingers with his firm nod. “We’re a scary-looking pair, remember? We got to stick together.”
Moments ticked. “All right, we’re wasting time. Frank, you stick with the marshal here like a burr on a horse’s rump, you hear me? You do what he says and stay out of trouble. Keep your head down.”
“I will, Bridge. It’s easier to pray that way.”
If everyone walked away from this, Frank might just be the hero of the night.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Bridger?
The knock at the door startled Lola as she and Grace quivered on the sofa. She glanced at Ike. His eyes gleamed over the gun barrel.
His patient wait felt days long, but the tick of the clock told her less than a quarter hour had passed. “Greet your guest, Lola,” he said.
She shook her trembling fingers from Grace’s grasp and eased toward the door. She prayed Bridger didn’t wait on the other side, but hoped no one else became tangled in the scenario. Involving Grace was bad enough, even with the comfort she provided.
“Everything all right here, Miss Martin?” Bridger’s greeting sounded stiff, but the lantern revealed a grim smile.
“Aren’t you needed at the jail?” she asked.
Ike pulled the door from her hand and swung it open. His gun leveled at Bridger’s chest over her shoulder. “Not so much as he’s needed here, darling. Come inside, Mr. Jamison. I knew you couldn’t stay away long with Lola involved.”
Bridger slipped through the door without a glimpse behind, and Lola’s heart sank. Wouldn’t he give a cue if Jake waited outside? Instead, he sent a sidelong glance her way and stood in the middle of the room. His narrow frame took new dimensions of strength in the light from lanterns turned low.
Ike cocked his head, and she returned to her seat next to Grace.
Bridger spoke to Ike but kept his warm brown eyes focused on her and Grace. He held out the envelope she’d given him earlier. “There’s no need to hold these ladies, boss. Miss Martin paid for this month, and she’s willing to work out a plan for—”
Ike shoved the barrel of his pistol deep into Bridger’s side. The jab forced a gasp as he clutched his ribs. Ike snatched his weapon from the holster he wore. “That’s no longer enough, Mr. Jamison. I’ve decided to collect payment in full…from all of you.”
Bridger stood to full height, his movements slow and breath heavy.
“You can’t kill us all, Ike,” he said.
“Of course not,” Ike said. “I’ll see to it your dear brother gets credit for that. Poor boy, rage forced him to break out of jail, killing the fine marshal. Then he came after you.” He clicked his tongue. “These poor women only happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Fortunately, I’ll wander in and bring him to justice before he can harm others.”
Grace groaned as another contraction hit her.
“What did you do to her?” Bridger demanded.
“She claims her baby is on the way.” Ike gave a disgusted sneer. “But that’s of no consequence now. Pity, though.”
Lola drew her friend close and wiped her brow. “She needs the doctor.”
“I’m all right,” Grace said.
Ike gestured the gun toward the two of them. “Get up.”
Lola dug her fingers into Grace’s arm. “Didn’t you feel anything for me, Ike? Why would you do this?”
Ike’s dark expression eased. “I felt everything for you, Lola. Everything I did was only to prove how much I cared. Your father thought me a slacker, I started a business. He didn’t approve of saloonkeeping, I planned for a hotel. He found me weak, I proved myself by controlling this town and businesses throughout the territory, including his. It was never enough.”
“So you killed him,” Bridger said.
Tears filled her eyes and she rose to her feet. “I sent you away because you created a mockery of me with Mattie! Papa didn’t need to say a thing.”
“He would’ve forced your hand eventually. Don’t you see? He was willing to take a loan from me—at prime interest—for the means to send you away. I wanted you to have the chance you desired, because you’d still come back to me. I’d have given you everything, but you threw it all away.”
Lola struggled for breath in the suddenly heavy air. “I don’t understand why Papa would come to you.”
Ike laughed and she saw Bridger shift his stance. “You don’t think a bank around here would grant a loan for a lady to become a doctor, do you?”
She shivered. Papa died trying to see the dream she hardly dared to speak come true. Anger poured out in tears across her face. Bridger’s rough fingers grazed her hand.
Ike waved his gun. �
��Get away from her! A woman this fine shouldn’t be sullied by the likes of you.”
Grace bit back a gasp, breathing in ragged puffs.
Bridger glanced her way. “That’s not what it will look like when the town discovers she let me in this time of night.”
Ike stroked his mustache, seeming to consider. “See, that’s what I like about you, Bridger. Always thinking ahead. You could’ve gone far in my outfit.”
He consulted his pocket watch. Lola flashed a glance to Bridger in time to catch a quick wink. Thank You, Lord, for sending him. Whatever happens…
Bridger lowered his head with a resigned slouch. His voice held a matching tone. “Take me to Martin’s woodshop. It wouldn’t be unusual for me to work late there, especially when Lola has need of coffins.”
Ike’s eyes gleamed with madness. “That’s good. That’s very good.”
He motioned Bridger ahead, pressing the smooth barrel tip into his shoulder. Ike swept his left hand with fake gentility. “If you’ll allow me to escort you, ladies, I’ll take care of Mr. Jamison first.”
Grace began crying in earnest but managed to gain her feet when Lola tugged her arm.
“Now, now,” Ike said, his voice eerily soothing, “business before pleasure, you understand. I promise we’ll return here before your time comes, ma’am. That should be sufficient to protect your stellar reputations in this town.”
Lola grabbed a lantern as they followed Bridger past the fireplace and rocker where she’d rested with such contentment only hours ago. She spared a look at the front door, gauging her chance at escape. But with Grace’s contractions coming roughly ten minutes apart and a crazy man pointing a gun into Bridger’s lean back, she couldn’t risk it.
Prayers rolled from her tongue, more a pleading notion than organized thought, but she knew the Lord heard and understood all the same. Grace’s soft additions gave consolation.
“Shut up!” Ike raised the gun to the base of Bridger’s head. “You shut up right now or I’ll not care what folks say about you and shoot him here.”
Bridger froze, hand at the back door. “Maybe those prayers are for you, Ike. Looks to me like you could use some.”
Ike cuffed the back of Bridger’s head with a sharp crack of the pistol butt. Bridger wobbled but managed to brace against the doorjamb before reaching his knees.
Fury shook Ike’s frame. “Shut up, I said! Praying for me would be completely insane.”
Ike swung the gun toward Lola and she gasped, fingers cramping against Grace’s tight hold. He nudged Bridger with an elbow at his back. “Bring the key.”
Lola tugged it from the hook and wrapped her arm around Grace as they shuffled through the door, lantern glowing in her free hand.
The night sky held no moon, making it difficult to see Bridger beyond Ike’s taller, broader shadow. He staggered a bit on the steps, and Lola realized what that knock to the head had cost him. But he managed a fairly steady gait across the narrow yard, damp with evening dew.
“Bridge!”
Frank’s voice called from the darkness at the corner of her house. If he’d been released, wouldn’t Jake be close by, as well?
She paused at the rail, pulling Grace tight to her side. Her heart pounded like thunder in her ears until she could barely decipher the voices around her.
Ike’s mustache shimmered as he spoke in the dim lantern light. “Isn’t this a perfect family reunion? You may be a dummy, Frank, but you have impeccable timing.”
Ike swung the gun at Bridger with deadly intent. The glint of metal spurred a shriek, and she couldn’t be sure if she or Grace were the source.
“Give it up, Tyler!” Jake’s voice rang like church bells on Sunday. “You’re under arrest.”
The click of a hammer stopped her heart. Ike’s voice took a shrill tone. “You’re too late!”
A roar like a cyclone and heavy crash at her feet forced a scream. She raised the lantern to see Frank’s broad back crushed over Ike. Her former fiancé kicked and squirmed, trying to bring his weapon to the proper angle to fire.
“No, Frank!” Bridger’s fearful voice jolted her. “Jake, he has my gun. I can’t—”
The shot came quiet and muffled, yet created a sudden echo against her chest. She dropped the lantern as the writhing battle at her feet ended with sickening speed.
*
The shot shattered the night, and Bridger fell to his knees, heart frozen in midbeat. “Frank!”
His vision wobbled between the darkness and blow to the head, but he managed to grasp his brother’s broad shoulders and flip him over. Bridger wavered between drawing Frank in an embrace they hadn’t shared since boyhood and shaking him in frustration. Why did Frank insist on throwing himself into trouble?
Blood streaked the front of his brother’s shirt and Bridger jiggled his arm. “No!”
Wide blue eyes snapped open with confusion. Bridger crushed Frank’s head to his chest. “Thank You, Lord!”
Frank struggled against him, forcing Bridger away with a sudden jolt. He blinked, eyebrows wrinkled in confusion as he patted his shirt. “I’m not hurt, Bridge. Stop smooshing me.”
But the blood? Bridger glanced at the porch where the women huddled, arms supporting each other and tears mingling. Shuddering, but safe. His breath left him in a rush.
Jake kicked Ike’s pistol away from his prone form and touched the man’s neck. Bridger caught his eye as he shook his head, a look of disgust on his grim face. “He’s gone.”
Bridger slumped with relief but took no pride in Ike’s death.
Frank trembled in his grasp. “I didn’t mean it!”
He patted his brother’s shoulder and pulled him upright on the cold ground. “We know, Frank. It was an accident. Ike did it himself. We all saw.”
He sought Lola’s face, her green eyes glistening with unshed tears, grief and shock. They looked large in her pale face, lit by the lantern’s glow and contrasted against hair that reminded him of midnight sky. He admired her beauty, but the quiet strength of spirit forged by fire drew his heart.
A cry of sharp pain brought him to his feet. The motion drew Lola to attention, and she moved to comfort her friend. “Let’s get you inside,” he said.
Jake stood at the bottom step in two strides. “Grace? What’s wrong?” Fear he hadn’t heard in the marshal’s voice before filled his tone.
“Get Doc Kendall!” Lola never turned from her friend. “The baby is on its way.”
Jake became a statue, his broad frame silhouetted against the lingering fog of smoke. “Now?”
A slow smile tugged Bridger’s lips. “Yes, now. You get the doc. Frank and I will take care of Tyler.”
Like a bullet, Jake raced toward the front of the house. A loud whinny and the pound of shod hooves soon echoed in the night.
Bridger grasped Frank’s fist in his hand and tugged his brother to his feet. “Come on, Frank. We’ll need to wrap the body.”
Lola turned at the back door. “Get a sheet from my front cupboard and wrap him, Frank, like we did before. Lay him on the table and I’ll take care of him in the morning.”
Bridger admired her no-nonsense tone but hated to think she’d be left to prepare the body of such a man for burial. Knowing what they had almost shared would cause pain; knowing what he’d become would bring regret. A woman of character as fine as Lola Martin shouldn’t have to handle such matters. Ike had at least appreciated her quality.
“And you, Bridger,” Lola continued. “Until the doctor arrives, you’re with me.”
Bridger gulped…and started praying for Jake’s swift return.
*
Lola draped a blanket over her friend and rolled her sleeves back. She had helped Doc Kendall bring several babies into the world, but between events of the evening and thoughts of doing this alone, her heart tripped faster than a downhill train.
Bridger bumped the door and maneuvered his way through with two pails of steaming water.
She smiled at his pale fa
ce. But unless it held more confidence than she felt, he wouldn’t gain much courage from her expression.
“Pour some in the basin,” she said. He set one bucket on the floor and hefted the other. Steam frosted the mirror, obscuring his firm jaw and scarred cheek.
The strike from Ike’s gun handle had cut a gash along his neck, but the bleeding looked to have stopped. He should have ice to keep swelling at bay, and perhaps even a stitch or two.
Grace struggled on the bed. “Too soon, too soon,” she moaned.
Bridger would have to wait.
She washed her arms to the elbows and dried them on a clean towel before moving to the end of the bed.
Bridger paced near the head, out of Grace’s line of sight. “What do I do?”
She nodded to a bowl with a limp rag. “Keep her cool and calm.”
He moved stiffly to the stand and wrung the cloth before placing it across her forehead at an awkward slant. He patted Grace’s shoulder as she murmured, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “You’ll be fine, Miss Grace. Lola’s here, and she’s the next best thing to the doc, all right?”
Grace nodded, eyes squeezed tight.
“Soon you’ll look back at this day and be plenty proud your baby was helped into this world by the first lady doctor in these parts.” His gaze locked on Lola’s, and he smiled.
Lola focused on the task at hand, but the notion filled her with warmth. Papa was gone, and Pete and Mr. Anthony. But the man responsible would find his eternal justice, even if he escaped a far more lenient one on earth. No one could hold her back. It was up to her to push forward and see where the Lord might lead.
The baby’s head started to crown and she adjusted the sheets. “Get ready to push, Grace!”
A glance at Bridger found him gripping Grace’s shoulder as tightly as he did the bedpost. “Miss Grace, if it’s all right by you, this would be a fine time for us to pray.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Bridger slumped in Lola’s rocker with an ice bag on his neck and watched sunrise glow through her window. Frank lay on the davenport, long legs sprawled to the floor in a position anything but comfortable. His soft snore testified to the fact it didn’t prevent sleep.