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 they needed for that ranch they’d been dreaming of before the Lord took a notion to slap him back to where he’d been.
* * *
Bridger dragged his hand along the taut skin of his scar. He’d chalked up Ike’s warning about this particular businessman to the boss’s flair for drama. Unfortunately...
“You listen here, mister. I don’t know what game you think you’re playing, but there’s no way you’re getting all those boards for what you brought in that envelope. So you either take what’s been loaded or head back for the rest of the money you owe.”
Bridger slid his hat back on his head. He hadn’t even bothered to count the money in the envelope Ike had given him the night before. This was Mr. Tyler’s deal, after all, and delivery was his end of the job. “All I know, sir, is that I’m to deliver this list of supplies to my boss for the money you agreed upon, and that’s in the envelope I handed you.” He looked back at Toby, who leaned against the side of the wagon with a raw smirk splitting the bushy space between his mustache and beard. No help there. Apparently, results of this test would be part of Toby’s report to Ike.
“I’m new in these parts, but I’ve already heard tell about the way you conduct business, sir. I’m not about to lose my job by not bringing back everything my boss paid for. So you let us load the rest of this now, and we’ll be on our way.”
Earl Johnston’s face turned a fine shade of purple. His lips scrunched in fury, and his shoulders fairly shook with anger. Bridger rolled to the balls of his feet, ready to duck the swing he felt coming.
Instead, the man spun on his heel and headed into the mill’s office. Bridger turned to Toby, who eased off the wagon to help load the second half of the supplies they’d been sent to pick up.
Bridger stooped to gather his end of a thick stack of boards. A sudden shot kicked dirt at his feet, and he dropped his end and grabbed the edge of the wagon box to keep from kissing dust.
Mr. Johnston stood in the doorway with a revolver. “I’ll not stand by and watch you rob me blind. I don’t care if you’re working for Ike Tyler or the president of the United States!”
Bridger pivoted on his boot heels and stood, hands raised. By the look on his face, the shot surprised Johnston about as much as it had him. But his aim showed it wasn’t the first time he’d used a gun to intimidate his way through a corrupt business deal.
Bridger slid toward him. “Listen, mister, there’s no need for that. Mr. Tyler paid your asking price for all the items on this list.” He took another step, slow and steady, as Johnston’s revolver wavered. “I’m just a man looking to do the job he’s been sent to do.”
He struck out to grab the man’s gun hand and dropped, pulling Johnston’s arm until his body twisted and slammed into the rough board side of the mill. The gun slipped and Bridger held it in his left hand. He pinned the man against the wall, using his knees to prevent the man from kicking. Johnston’s ragged breath echoed in harsh pants. “And I ain’t about to fail because you plan to back out of your contract.”
He leaned close to the man’s ear and growled. “Especially when it’s my understanding that your own wife and daughter stood as witness to the deal.”
He felt it then, a sharp tenseness in the muscles, followed by a rigid slackness. He shoved harder. “You have any problems with that, you talk them over with Mr. Tyler. You understand me?”
The man nodded, face still scraped against the jamb. “I understand.” His voice shook. “I understand you just fine.”
Bridger eased off the man’s back. Johnston twisted and pointed the revolver toward the clouds. “Next time Mr. Tyler has business with you, I’ll forget his idea and bring the law with me anyway.”
Johnston released the trigger with a laugh that sounded more like a bark. “If we had any law to speak of around here, mister, I’d have invited him myself.” He slumped, revolver hanging loose at his side. “You tell Mr. Tyler this was all a misunderstanding, you hear? There’s no need to involve my family.”
Bridger backed away. “So long as we get what we came for, Mr. Johnston, I see no reason to mention our misunderstanding to anyone.”
A twinge of relief crossed the man’s haggard features. “I’d appreciate that, sir,” he ground out.
Toby sauntered forward to help load the remainder of the supplies onto the wagon. “You surprise me, Jamison.” The hair around his lips split to allow a toothy grin through. “Never expected you to move that fast. Ike’ll be happy to hear how well you handled yourself.”
Bridger looked across to Earl Johnston, slightly stooped and rubbing his neck where he’d pressed the man into the wall. Something strange about that man, for certain. It was a wonder he did any business with the temper he held. “Ah, he was fired up, but he didn’t want to hurt us. We got what we came for, anyway, and we had the original agreement on our side. Good thing Mr. Tyler warned me about him, though. It could have turned out a lot more painful for us.”
Toby’s eyes took on a peculiar gleam and he stared at Bridger a moment. “I’m catching on to what the boss sees in you, Jamison. I understand what he’s found. You do as you’re told, there’s no telling where you’ll end up.” He laughed out loud, tossing the last small stack of lumber on the wagon bed and clambering to the high seat. “No telling at all.”
* * *
Grace’s pale, drawn appearance broke Lola’s heart. She hadn’t been to town since the funeral a few days ago. With her usually vibrant blond hair and sparkling blue eyes looking faded and dim, Grace seemed a washed-out version of her former self. Lola pushed a plate of freshly baked cookies closer to her friend.
“When are your parents due to arrive?” Lola asked, pouring some steaming tea.
Grace took the cup and wrapped her slender fingers around it, seeking greater warmth. “They should be here early next week.”
“And they’ll stay until the baby is born?” Lola took a seat opposite her friend at the small table near the window. Glimmers of sunshine dappled the tablecloth through the lace curtain.
“Ma says they’ll stay until they can convince me to come back home.” Grace took a sip, then set the cup against the delicate saucer with a rattle, her eyes focused on some distant point beyond the windowpane.
Lola bit her lip. “Do you suppose they’ll have a hard time of it? Convincing you, I mean?”
A tremor passed through Grace, as if she awakened from a trance. “I haven’t thought of much beyond the fact that Pete’s really gone and not coming home.”
Lola leaned back and sighed. It was selfish to want Grace to stay. She’d been told often enough in the months since Papa died that Quiver Creek was no place for a woman alone. But at least she had the business. Grace had a ranch to run and a baby on the way.
“How