by Regina Scott
Jake paced across the braided rug. Bridger had heard husbands describe the wait of childbirth, pacing outside a door and the long hours of uncertainty and helplessness. All that paled in comparison to the way he felt before Jake made it back with Doc Kendall in tow. He escaped just before the baby made its appearance.
The vision of Lola preparing to deliver a wee one left him with almost as much awe as the sight of Grace in labor. Birth may be a terrifying event to most men, but he counted it a mighty privilege to behold Lola’s confidence.
Jake ran a hand through his hair, making it stand on end. “What’s taking so long?”
Bridger rocked forward and removed the cold pack from his neck. “They said everything’s fine. They’ll call us soon as the baby’s ready. Relax.”
The creak of footsteps upstairs punctuated his words. Lola’s skirts swished against the stair rails. She peeked around the bottom with a smile as wide as the Tetons. “Doc says you can come up for a quick hello if you stay quiet.”
Frank roused, the quilt that covered him slipping to the floor. He rubbed his eyes. “All of us?”
Bridger caught her gaze, a thrum of excitement in his chest. She winked. “All of you.”
They bounded up the stairway, Frank leading the way to the room where he paused to allow Lola’s entrance. Bridger grabbed his sleeve at the last moment. “I think you may want the privilege of the first look, Jake,” he said, nodding him through the door.
The marshal grinned like a boy with his first puppy and went in.
Silas Kendall washed strange-looking tools in the basin, then pushed his glasses along his nose and smiled when the troupe of them bounded in. “Looks like you all had quite a night.”
Lola shushed him from the head of the bed, where she stood near Grace. She ran a tender finger over the baby’s wealth of dark hair and along its unmarred cheek before she handed the bundle to his mother. Strange warmth tingled deep in Bridger’s chest at the sight, bearing a dream of his own children…with this woman at his side to build a family and home.
Exhaustion lined Grace’s face, and yet she held a new beauty as she took the tiny baby wrapped in a snug blue blanket. “Gentlemen,” she said, her voice soft and raspy, “let me be the first to introduce you to my son, Peter Franklin Capland McKenna—Cap for short. I am certain he is pleased to make your acquaintance.”
The baby’s round face crumpled with a strong cry.
Jake slipped closer and chucked the baby’s chin with his thick, rough finger. Cap’s tiny head turned and he settled to sleep.
A look Bridger recognized passed between Grace and the marshal. It made him smile.
Frank gripped his arm. “Hey, he’s named after me!”
Bridger patted his brother on the back. “I reckon he is.”
Grace tore her gaze from the baby long enough to glance at Frank. “If you hadn’t acted with such bravery, my little boy might not have arrived into this world.”
Silas spoke just behind his shoulder. “From what I hear,” he said, “she had to narrow that name quite a bit from all those involved in last night’s drama.”
Lola’s eyes clouded. “I’ve never been so terrified.”
Bridger moved to her side and slid his hand over her sleek hair to rest on her shoulder. “I’ve never seen someone so strong.”
Doc Kendall’s eyes held pride. “I can tell you this—she did one fine job of getting that baby here.”
Lola sent a sly glance his way before she spoke. “Thanks to you, Doc.”
A laugh burst from Bridger. “Yes, I can honestly say, I’ve never been happier to see another human being than I was to see you at that moment, Doc.” He slipped his hand to the small of Lola’s back. It felt comfortable, warm, right. Her eyes lit.
“You did a fine job and would have seen it through if needed. You prayed when neither of us would’ve been able.” The pride in Lola’s smooth voice made him want to be a better man.
“I’m very happy to give the Lord full credit,” he said.
“Me, too,” Silas said. “I’m only a helping hand if He can use me.”
Jake broke from his baby trance. “What about you, Lola? I’ve been thinking—”
“Thinking’s good,” Frank proclaimed, his attention focused fully on his namesake, as well.
Jake continued. “I’ve put your father’s notes together with Sheriff McKenna’s and some of my own digging. Your father kept track of other businesses being leaned on by Ike and his men, trying to gather enough to close them down. He made the initial contact with the marshal’s office that brought Alex here. I think he may have talked to Ike about the loan in order to implicate him for usury and extortion, but somehow Tyler found him out. At any rate, the money sits in a Denver bank account, waiting your acceptance into medical school. Between that and the reward money on Ike and his men, of which you’ve earned a share, you ought to have enough to provide this town with a second doctor.”
Her eyes grew wide. The dark fringe of lashes made their pale green color all the more mesmerizing. “We already have one doctor—”
Silas waved off her protest. “This is a growing town. I’d be obliged for the help.”
“You’d be perfect for it,” Grace added.
Lola clasped her hands together, long fingers steepled. “I don’t know what to say.”
The distance east to a women’s medical college staggered Bridger, but she deserved every opportunity to help others the way the Lord saw fit. He shrugged. “Say you’ll pray about it.”
*
Lola waited as Bridger, Frank and Jake buried Ike’s coffin along the far edge of the churchyard. Few had turned out for the service, though Pastor Evans delivered a fine sermon and did his best to portray Ike’s wrong choices as a means the Lord might still use for good. She couldn’t help but shed a few honest tears for the friendship they’d once shared. For a man who had served his life seeking approval from others—even if it were in all the wrong ways…such a lonely passage broke her heart.
Bridger brushed dust from his shirt and handed the shovel to Frank, who trailed after Jake to return them to the jail. Marshal Anderson would stay on to complete the investigation and provide primary law enforcement for Quiver Creek. Seeing Jake’s pride for Grace and her son, it pleased Lola to know he’d be spending more time in town.
Bridger joined her. His brown plaid shirt held a vein of yellow that highlighted golden flecks in his eyes. His lithe frame moved with ease across the field, and she admired the warm strength he carried. Even the scar he believed marred his face only added to his handsome allure, and a flutter awakened in her chest each time she saw him. How could she think of going east to school?
Lost in thought, she was startled by his touch on her arm. “Are you finished? I thought we might take a walk along the river. I’d like to talk with you.”
Warmth tingled through her, magnified by his gentle caress. He placed her hand in the crook of his arm and led her into the secluded stand of trees behind the church.
They walked in silence, his steps guiding her through flourishing bushes and trees bursting with thick leaves. They rustled in the breeze sweeping down from the mountains, but as the year turned toward summer, the air held no sting.
He stopped at the bend in the creek, where the water made its last swift turn out of town. A deep breath broadened his chest, and he stared into her eyes.
“I want you to go east, Lola.”
She broke his gaze to look beyond the river, through the trees, along glorious mountain peaks, to the brilliant sky above. “How can I leave all this? How can I leave you?”
A laugh rippled from him and he rubbed his jagged scar, so much a part of the man he was. His voice dropped low with a mocking drawl. “I’m a scary-looking fella, ma’am. Ain’t hardly fitting for a fine lady such as yourself to even be seen with a ruffian like me.”
She swatted his chest, but he grabbed her hand and pulled her close. His gaze focused just below her eyes, and she drew her lips
closed in anticipation. “You have all summer to figure that out,” he said, his voice a whispery rasp. “But you’ve wanted this for too long not to take your chance. I won’t let you give up your dream for the likes of me.”
She pressed closer. His heart pounded beneath her fingers. “You’re my dream.”
His eyes searched her face, and he bent his head to capture her lips. The scent of warm mint and leather filled her senses as she lost her breath to his kiss.
He lifted his head but moved no farther. “I’m not going anywhere. I love you, Lola Martin. I want to spend my summer, your years of medical school, our children’s lives and my old age all with you. But I’d leave it behind if it meant keeping you here without achieving the goal God has set before you.”
She drew her hands along his arms, feeling their strength ripple beneath her fingertips. “I won’t have that. I love you, Bridger, for now and always.”
“Good,” he said, dipping his head for another kiss.
She drew her hands behind his neck and through his silky hair. “But what will you do?”
He squeezed her shoulders, his excitement transferring to a shiver along her arms. “This is a growing town with plenty of opportunities. The new council members decided a fancy hotel is still a good idea, and I’m to oversee the construction. Grace has asked Frank to hire on when her folks leave, to help look after her stock. For a while, until we get our own place going on a sweet little parcel on the end of town, next to the new doc’s place.”
She felt his smile grow as he pressed his lips against her hair and pulled away. “Just like you have to follow your calling to be the woman God wants you to be, I need this time to stop and earn my way, to prove myself.”
Lola pushed against his broad chest. “You’ve done that a thousand times over, Bridger Jamison.”
He placed rough hands over hers and shook his head. “Not for this town, for myself. I’ve lived my whole life in the shadow of my father, trying to be everything he wasn’t, trying to be everything I thought Frank needed. Somewhere along the way, I forgot about listening to what the Lord wanted for me. Already, He’s brought me you. I need this time to become everything He expects of me. To build a strong foundation for our life together, if you’ll have me.” His eyes glittered with love and strength. “Besides,” he whispered, “I’ve always had a hankering to find a wife to support me.”
She gave him a playful swat, then grasped his face in her hands. She leaned away, yet unable to pull from his tender hold. The years of schooling loomed long, but their future would be bright in God’s loving provision. “With comments like that, sir, I think you should be thankful the Lord provided you with a doctor to spend your life with.”
How was it possible such a man would fall for her, the undertaker’s daughter?
*
Keep reading for an excerpt from THE HUSBAND CAMPAIGN by Regina Scott.
Dear Reader,
Spring carries a promise of renewal. I pray Wyoming Promises has refreshed your spirit with a reminder of God’s love.
As Lola and Bridger have shown, we are shaped by our past and our choices, but in the Lord, we need not be bound by them. He always sees the promise in us and will draw it out if we seek to follow Him.
No one is more amazed than I am to see my second book in print. Praise the Lord for His continuing guidance!
I’d love to hear from you at [email protected].
In Christ,
Kerri Mountain
Questions for Discussion
Lola is put off by Bridger’s rough appearance and the scar on his face. Is she right to be wary? How can “judging on the outward appearance” be helpful? How can it hurt us, and hurt others?
Bridger takes a job in a saloon, even though his morals don’t agree with it. How does this compromise cause trouble for him?
Frank sees things in very simple terms. In what ways does this benefit Bridger? How does it frustrate him? How does God use simple teaching to deepen our relationship with Him?
Lola is confident in her abilities to do her job, but not so confident about handling herself in a predominantly male business world. How do traditional roles for men and women still affect us today? Is there a benefit to those roles? How should men and women of God handle business negotiations with the opposite sex?
In what ways do Lola and Grace support each other in grief? How does this strengthen their friendship?
Ike recognizes Bridger’s drive to earn money and uses it for his own gain. What are some indications that the love of money has grown too strong in a person?
Mr. Anthony has an instant dislike for Bridger. Have you ever felt that reaction from someone you just met? How did you handle it?
How does Bridger’s support of Lola’s interest in medicine encourage her? Who has shown you that kind of support in seeking your dreams?
Ike arrives at Lola’s doorstep when she’s feeling particularly low. Why does she find it difficult to break all ties with Ike? How do you pull away from a relationship the Lord shows you is not good?
Compare Lola and Mattie. How could their similarities form a common bond? What approach could Lola take to win Mattie for the Lord?
“Forgive and forget” is a common phrase. Is this truly possible? Does the Lord intend for us to forget the transgressions of others completely? Do you agree with Grace, that our “God-given memory” is to help us stay wary in some cases? Why or why not?
Bridger and Frank have very different feelings about their childhood. How does Frank’s attitude toward his injury differ from Bridger’s? How has each brother been shaped by their father’s treatment?
Lola’s broken engagement to Ike makes her question her ability to discern her feelings for Bridger. Is this reasonable? How can we overcome the memory of a poor choice?
Bridger worries about his brother’s safety. Is there ever a place for worry in the life of a believer?
Grace says, “There’s no timeline on love and loss.” Do you agree or disagree?
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Chapter One
Hollyoak Farm, Peak District, Derbyshire, England
July 1815
Why was the most beautiful woman of his acquaintance sleeping in his stable?
John, Lord Hascot, pushed a lock of rain-slicked dark hair out of his eyes and raised his lantern to peer more closely through the shadows. He hadn’t visited the crumbling, thatched-roof outbuilding near the River Bell since he’d first purchased the Derbyshire property five years ago. He and his horse Magnum wouldn’t be out this direction now if his horse Contessa hadn’t gone missing. Only a chance late-afternoon thunderstorm had driven him to seek shelter.
He hadn’t expected to find the place inhabited, and by Lady Amelia Jacoby, daughter of the Marquess of Wesworth, no less. Even if he hadn’t recognized the plum-colored riding habit of fine wool, he would have known those elegant features, that pale blond hair. In the light from the lantern, he could see golden lashes fanning her pearly cheeks.
He’d never mastered the rules of London Society, but he was fairly certain they didn’t cover how to properly react to a lady found sleeping in the straw. Some might expect him to take Magnum out in the rain from the opposite stall where he’d made his horse comfortable and leave her to her peace. He rejected the idea. For one, he refused to mistreat Magnum. For anot
her, how could he call himself a man and abandon a defenseless woman in a storm?
John snorted. What, was he being chivalrous? He’d thought that habit long broken. He ought to wake her, order her to take her troubles elsewhere. Lady Amelia’s concerns were none of his affair.
The storm made the decision for him. Thunder rolled, shaking the stable. With a squeal of fear, a white-coated mare threw up her head from the next stall. With a cry, Lady Amelia jerked upright. It was either comfort her or her horse.
He had more faith in his ability to comfort the horse.
As she climbed to her feet, he handed her the lantern, then turned to the other stall before she could question him.
“Easy,” he murmured, moving slowly toward the mare. He kept his muscles loose and his face composed.
Out of the corners of his eyes, he saw Lady Amelia staring at him. He didn’t dare take his gaze off the mare. He stroked her withers, murmured assurances in her ears. He could feel the horse relaxing, settling back into the stall.
Turning, he found Lady Amelia’s pretty mouth hanging open. Very likely no one had ever favored her horse over her.
Then her eyes widened in recognition. “Lord Hascot?”
John inclined his head. “Lady Amelia.”
Lightening flashed, and she glanced up with a gasp. John came around the wall before thinking better of it.
“Easy,” he said, putting a hand on her arm and taking the lantern back from her before she dropped it in the dry straw. “It’s just a storm.”
She nodded, drawing in a longer breath this time as if trying to settle herself, as well. Odd. He could feel the dampness in the wool of her habit, yet the mare had been dry, and now he noticed a sidesaddle slung over the low wall separating the stalls. Had she seen to her horse’s comfort before her own?
“Forgive me,” she said. “I shouldn’t be so timid. I simply wasn’t expecting such a storm. Will it pass soon, do you think?”
The quick recitation sounded breathless. He couldn’t blame her if she was nervous. Very likely he wasn’t the most comforting sight to a well-bred young lady. He didn’t bother with navy coats and cream trousers when working. His tan greatcoat covered a rough tweed jacket and chamois breeches that were more practical for a horse farm. And he’d been told more than once that his black hair and angular features could be intimidating. Particularly when he scowled.