Love Inspired Historical April 2014 Bundle: The Husband Campaign\The Preacher's Bride Claim\The Soldier's Secrets\Wyoming Promises (92 page)

He leaned through and pulled the hat from his head. Lantern light revealed a purple haze around his left eye and scuff on his chin. Was that a cut on his lip? Her heart clenched and she reached toward him. “What happened to you?”

Pulling his hand from his side, he blocked her from drawing near. He stepped closer to the fire, but without the loose ease he normally carried. “Sit down, Lola.”

“You look like twenty miles of bad road. You sit, before you topple. My bag of medical supplies is—”

“I'm fine, Lola. Take a seat.”

Her hands fluttered over her hair, smoothing loose strands. Confusion and alarm vied for her attention. “I didn't expect company,” she said, her tongue caught in a stutter. “I was lost in a book and—”

“This isn't a social call. I probably should have gone to the mortuary.” His brown eyes flickered a moment, and then the light blew out like a lantern before a storm. “I have business with you, Miss Martin.”

She wrinkled her face. “‘Miss Martin'? What's going on, Bridger? I should hope we were well beyond the formalities of—”

“I said, sit down!” His hand at her shoulder startled her and shoved her to the soft seat behind. “My boss sent me to clear up a matter of some money you owe.”

Lola jerked, thankful for the chair under her. “Money? Your boss? You mean Ike? I don't owe him any money.”

“Your father borrowed money before he died. You're required to pay the balance, or Mr. Tyler will own your business.” His voice sounded wooden and stiff, but perhaps that quality came from her mind.

“But I live here!”

“Exactly. Your home and business both can be claimed.”

Lola poised on the edge of the cushion. “My father ran a fine business in this town. He had no need of a loan. This is preposterous!”

Bridger withdrew a small book from inside his coat with stiff purpose. “He secured funds to send you to medical school, Lola.”

“But how? Why? He had no notion I wanted to be a doctor!” She blinked hard to wash tears from her eyes.

Bridger faced her, his expression stone-hard. “Mr. Tyler says he wanted to have the finances before he told you, but he inquired back East about your acceptance into college.” His shoulders twitched and his voice softened. “Your father knew you better than anyone, Lola. He knew, and he wanted to give you your heart's desire.”

She flew to her feet, forcing Bridger back a step. Her clenched fingers shoved the book against his ribs and he grimaced. “Tell me what's going on here! What's happened to you? You're hurt. Let me—”

“No!” His voice rattled the windows. He grasped her wrist in his hot, calloused hands and pushed her away with firm pressure. “Look in this ledger and tell me this isn't your father's writing.”

She stared at him, his eyes devoid of light, all tenderness vanished. Her gaze dropped to the book in his hand, and she took it from him. She opened the front cover.

The original sum on the front page staggered her. She fell back to the chair with a gasp. The figures were written in crisp, neat rows, carefully recorded. She couldn't deny her father's hand.

She shook her head, the numbers swirling as she studied the book through a veil of tears. She flipped over the next several pages, but the balance remained where it had upon Papa's death. Tallying the amount of seven months' payments in her mind brought a cold chill to the pit of her stomach. Maintaining the payment would be difficult enough without late payments to account for. Why would Papa make this kind of bargain? Her dreams weren't worth Papa's loss.

She wiped her hand across one eye, but not fast enough to catch tears falling from the other. “There's more going on here. How did Ike get this? Why didn't he come to me before?”

Bridger drew a shallow breath. “Mr. Tyler hoped you could arrive at another arrangement, but I understand that's no longer the case. As for the ledger, I found it among your father's things.”

Lola's head throbbed. Something was missing. “You brought this to Ike's attention. Is that it?”

His lean frame grew rigid. He raised his chin and broke his gaze from her pained expression. “He was grateful for the reminder. We're splitting the profit from the interest.”

Lola trembled, pulling to her feet. How could she have been so blind, so wrong about Bridger? Hadn't she learned anything from her broken engagement? She met his glassy stare. Why had she played the fool again? She'd been so sure Bridger Jamison was a far different sort of man.

She moved to the canister kept behind a loose brick in the fireplace. Her savings held nothing close to what she owed, but she could pay one month in good faith and discuss the matter with Ike. He had loved her once, of that she felt certain. Surely enough lingered to provide her some leeway. She bit her lip and thrust the bills under Bridger's nose. “This should tide you over until next month. I'm afraid it's all I have right now. You can tell
your boss
I'll stop by tomorrow to renegotiate my balance.”

He took the bills, avoiding her fiery glare, and had the audacity to count them in front of her. “I appreciate your promptness in dealing with the matter, ma'am,” he said. His lips mashed together, crumpling at the ends. He moved toward the door with an unsteady gait. “I'll see you next month.”

Lola caught him at the door, muscles tense with desire to crush his lithe form in it. “Don't bother. I'll be dealing directly with Mr. Tyler and his other men.” She drew herself up. “The snake that rattles at least provides a warning.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

B
ridger faced Lola as he stepped onto the porch. The broken trust in her glare staggered him. She looked slight and forlorn in the shadows, lips drawn tight with anger. Her long, pale fingers clung to the ledger. His heart jumped in his chest and he stretched an arm toward her. Her flinch cut him, and he knew he couldn't go through with this charade. There had to be another way. “Lola, I have to tell you—”

But her gaze focused beyond him. “What's that glow?” she asked.

He pivoted on his heel to follow her line of vision. Heavy fog reflected a red glow somewhere around the bend in the road, toward the middle of town. Fire!

“That's the hotel!” Lola picked up her skirts and dashed over the steps.

The stitch in his ribs stabbed him as he struggled to keep up. They joined the throng, the whole town racing. Some scrambled for buckets while others shuffled children away from the flames. Men closest to the hotel tossed water from nearby wooden troughs. Women joined in the battle, forming brigade lines. Jake Anderson ordered men into position, his commands all but drowned out by the roar and crackle of the blaze.

Bridger pushed through the crowd, guiding Lola from behind. They joined a second bucket line, and he grabbed the pump handle. The first tug burned along his ribs.

“You can't, Bridger.” Lola thrust him away. “I'll do it.”

“Faster together,” he said. “Help me.”

Together they locked hands along the red saloon pump. Bridger lost track of time as buckets, pots and wash bins of all shapes and sizes waited to capture the cool water they forced from the ground. Hot smoke blew toward him. He raised his bandanna to cover his nose, but Lola had no such protection. She coughed soot from her lungs, and her hair slipped from its knot. Ash-gray streaks clung to her cheeks. But she hung on and matched him pull for pull, with a stiff shake of her head in refusal of the neckerchief he offered.

“That hotel's a goner,” one breathless voice said.

“Can't let it get to the mercantile,” another added.

“Tyler won't be happy.”

He couldn't bother to focus on anything except to keep the water flowing. If the fire spread, it endangered all of Quiver Creek.

Time lost meaning before the roar that filled the night around them dulled to a sharp crackle of embers. He continued to pump, determined not to fail Lola again.

Her soft touch at his shoulder grabbed his attention. “Bridger! It's enough. The fire's all but out now. You have to rest.” She drew his clamped hands away and tugged the kerchief from his face. “We kept it from spreading. But the hotel is gone.”

Bridger grabbed her roughened hand in his and dragged her toward the source of roiling smoke. The grand hotel Ike envisioned lay in a pile of glowing embers. Townspeople stood in quiet pods around the destruction, panting for lack of air and breath. He caught sight of Jake seated on the porch of the general store, where Grace wrapped a bandage around his upper arm.

Catching sight of Lola, she called out in a raspy voice for her friend. Lola grabbed his sleeve and dragged him behind. Maybe she would try to turn him in after all. The coward in him hoped she would.

“What happened?” she asked.

Jake shrugged. “Too soon to know.”

Lola snapped her hands against her hips. “I mean to you!”

He glanced at the cloth Grace tied off. “Caught a burn, but it's not bad.”

Bridger knew from his blanched face the instant Jake remembered what the fire fight had interrupted. “Listen, Lola,” the marshal began, “we really need to talk about—”

Ike's voice boomed from the quiet of the crowd. “I found the rat that started this fire!” Toby and Jim broke through the cluster of folks gathered and shoved their captive to the ground. The huge man collapsed to his knees, bracing with his hands. When the fearful eyes rose to the people around him, Bridger leaped.

Frank!

He stormed ahead, shaking off Jake's hands to help his brother. “What's going on here?”

Ike smoothed his mustache, face pale and clean in the aftermath, as if he stepped fresh from the bathhouse. Far be it for the man to appear mussed and dirty in public, even if it meant saving his own business.

“I came out when I heard the commotion, saw the flames coming from the hotel. Fortunately, Toby and Jim were surveying the town and saw this strange fellow throw a torch into the back of my hotel!”

Bridger stepped between his brother and Ike. “That's impossible!”

Toby shoved him back.

Ike's voice rose above the crowd. “Look at him! I knew the minute I saw him in this town that big freak would bring nothing but trouble!”

Bridger's chest grew tight. “He's my brother, and he hasn't done a thing wrong.”

Ike smirked. “I trust my men. And I know what I've heard from folks in the towns you've passed through.”

Bridger resisted the press of the crowd and leaned back to grab his brother's arm as murmurs grew louder.

“Awful big fella.”

“Doesn't look right in the head, does he?”

“Probably don't even know what he's done. Ought to be locked up, man like that.”

Bridger lunged at Ike. “Tell them the truth!”

The marshal stepped between, blocking him before he met his target. “Don't push this,” Jake whispered.

Bridger coughed and grabbed his tight ribs. “I'm not going to let this mob get my brother,” he ground out.

Jake stared at him, weighing the choice in the balance. Then he held his hands up, never breaking his gaze from Bridger's. “My name is Jake Anderson. I'm a U.S. marshal here to investigate the death of your sheriff. I'm taking this man into custody for questioning in regards to the fire until I can gather the information I need.”

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.”

Bridger rested his thumbs on his belt. “He'll never talk to you.”

“Then we'll find another way,” Jake said.