Wyoming Promises. Kerri Mountain

faced Bridger, feeling awkward being alone with this stranger, Ike’s formal introduction notwithstanding. She couldn’t keep her eyes from tracing the path of the scar as it slashed his high-boned cheek and grazed the corner of his lip, appearing white against his tan skin in the midday lighting of the saloon.

      “I got cut, ma’am. When I was a boy. I didn’t mean to frighten you the other night. I expected you’d want to speak with me about that sheriff.”

      Lola swallowed, feeling heat nip her ears. “I beg your pardon. How terribly rude of me to stare. My mind wandered a bit.” She paused, breathing deep. “But it’s not me you’ll answer to about the sheriff’s body. A U.S. marshal has been assigned to the case and should be here any day to investigate the matter.”

      Bridger nodded. “Like I said before, I’m glad to answer any questions that will put your suspicions to rest.”

      “Suspicion isn’t really the word. If that were the case, I wouldn’t be here to ask for your help.” She didn’t add that now, in the daytime, his warm brown eyes hardly looked as dangerous and frightening as they had that night. Still, she hadn’t been the best judge with Ike, either.

      “Fair enough. What can I do to help you?” He held his hands together, calluses lining his long fingers in contrast to the softness of the felt table cover. Hands used to hard work. They also held a precision, a sense of strength she recognized in her father’s hands from the woodwork he had done, as well as the same types of cuts and scrapes.

      She looked him in the eye. “I need someone to build coffins for me. A few now to have on hand, and then replacements as needed. Ike says you work with wood.”

      “That I do. But I’ve never built a coffin.”

      “Fortunately for you, no one else in town has, either. Do you think you could do it?”

      “I’d need details.” He rubbed his lip, without a mustache but in need of a shave. “If you can get me some measurements, I’d be willing to try.”

      Papa kept drawings and lists and such in a folder of papers at the back of his ledger. “I can get those for you. My father had tools, too, in case they require some you don’t have.”

      Bridger smiled, leaning back in his seat. “That’s real good, because I’m down to a hammer and a boring tool.”

      Lola noticed how the smile brightened his face and hid most of the scar in the happy lines created. “What is your fee?” she asked.

      “Until I’ve built one, that’s hard to say. Are you supplying the materials?”

      Lola bit her lip. How would Papa have done this? He wouldn’t have had to, she reminded herself. He’d seen to all aspects of the business, including this one.

      “Generally, I’d get the materials and figure it into the cost. But right now I don’t have means to do that.” The tight set of his jaw testified how deep the admission rankled within.

      She huffed and looked at her clamped fingers, thinking hard. “Suppose you check my father’s shed, find out what you need. I’ll open a line of credit at Anthony’s General Store for you, under my name. You get what you need, and if it works out, you figure the bill into the cost. If you aren’t able to do the job, I’ll pay off the bill and we’ll leave it at that.”

      Bridger scraped his whiskered jaw. “Sounds fair enough, ma’am—”

      “Lola.”

      He smiled, eyes lighting. “Fair enough, Lola.” He stared at her a moment, and she resisted the urge to push loose flimsy strands of hair back into their proper place. “How do you know I won’t stock up on your bill and head out of town?”

      She leaned back, sensing his curiosity. “If you were of a mind to run, you would’ve done so as soon as you dropped off the body—if not before.”

      His smile dimmed. “I am sorry about our first meeting, the way it happened. I hear your sheriff was a good man, and that ain’t always the case.” He tipped his head, and she found her gaze drawn to his. “But I’m grateful you’re giving me the benefit of the doubt.”

      Lola stood and smoothed her shirtwaist and skirt. She held her hands together, fingers pointed at the man as he slid his chair away from the table. “This job isn’t about trusting you, Mr. Jamison. If the U.S. marshal’s investigation proves you had more to do with Pete McKenna’s death than bringing the body into town, I’ll be the first to testify against you at your trial.”

      Bridger stood, too. “Fair enough, Lola Martin. As I said before, I have nothing to hide.”

      “Time will tell,” she said. A cool breeze wavered the swinging doors. “In the meantime, I need your services. And at the rate of business lately, the sooner the better.”

      Chapter Four

      Bridger’s footsteps echoed across the planks as he walked past the empty saloon. Hard to believe this place had been roaring into the wee hours of the morning. Every chair sat on a tabletop, legs pointed upward like a beetle on its back, blacker than the dark gray of morning. Without question, Ike hired diligent workers. And Mr. Tyler paid well, if talk could be trusted. So long as Frank had a bed and a roof over his head, and didn’t cause a fuss in town, Bridger planned to work until he saved up for a little spread of their own.

      Building coffins in his spare time would hasten that dream. He wasn’t sure exactly how things stood between his boss and Lola, but he had to admit, spending time in a woodshop, in close proximity to a woman of Miss Martin’s caliber, held high appeal. Even if he built something as mundane as a coffin.

      Lola certainly could capture a man’s attention. Bridger hadn’t spent much time around women of her status, especially of late, but there was no denying her strength, taking on her father’s business as she had. Not to mention the fact her black hair glistened like a moonlit river.

      Bridger planned to arrive at the livery in time to have the horses tacked and ready, but Toby surprised him, having the job already started when he pulled the livery door open with a rumbling screech.

      “Morning,” he greeted. “I meant to beat you here.”

      Toby yawned, ending in a scowl under his long mustache as prickly as the man’s personality. “When you’re new, Boss won’t let you do anything without one of us watching.”

      Bridger stepped into the lantern’s glow and took up a harness for the second horse. “That go for when I’m on the job or for everything?”

      Toby’s frown deepened, clearly not happy to be awake this early in the day. “When you work for Mr. Tyler, boy, the job is everything.”

      Bridger focused on the lines, refusing to be baited. “You make it sound like a death sentence.”

      Toby lifted his head, his heavy eyes piercing through the dimness. “Only for the man who doesn’t live up to Ike’s expectations.” He turned his gaze to the horse and seemed to ease back. “Boss has high hopes for you. You do what you’re told, he’ll soon have you working on your own. But for now, you’re stuck with me at this forsaken hour of the day.”

      “Not a morning person, I take it.”

      Toby climbed the wagon, handing him a crumpled paper. “Don’t be funny. I suppose you can follow directions, so shut up and drive. Wake me if you get lost.”

      Toby was not happy about his early-morning assignment, no bones about it. Bridger couldn’t help but hide a smile. Toby’s head start meant they’d get back to Quiver Creek sooner than he’d expected, and maybe he could stop and check out Lola’s woodshed and tools. He wasn’t one to chalk up everything that happened to divine providence like Frank did and like Ma had. But thinking of how things had changed in just a few days’ time, he’d be a fool to not consider the Lord might be looking out for them after all.

      Bridger prayed he could save the money