Wyoming Promises. Kerri Mountain
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for nothing. He’s only fourteen, but a very sweet and capable young man. Just too young to tend to all the details of the ranch, and with spring roundup coming, he can’t manage alone. My pa plans to take care of that, hire wranglers to brand the calves and move the herd out for summer grazing.”
“Your father’s a shopkeeper, Grace. How does he feel about taking this on?”
Grace broke a crumb off her cookie and nipped it into her mouth, swallowing before the sweetness could barely register on her tongue. “From Ma’s letter, I think he’s honestly excited about getting into the saddle again. He grew up on a ranch in Texas and spent some time cowboying before he met Ma.”
“So, do you think you’ll stay on until the baby is born, or are you planning to be back East before that?” Lola asked, fighting the tears in her voice.
Grace’s eyes darted, a spark of surprise lighting them briefly. “I’m not leaving.”
“But you said your parents were only staying until—”
“They’re determined to take me home with them. But I can’t leave here, not now.”
“But then—”
Grace sighed and leaned back in her seat, rubbing a hand over her growing stomach. Afternoon sunlight slanted through the window, making her appear even more wan and washed-out than before but giving her eyes a light of determination. “I’m not sure exactly what I will do, but I can’t just walk away from all Pete and I have. McKennas have ranched this area from way back. A boy deserves the chance to claim that inheritance.”
Tears washed over Lola’s vision. Pete had been so sure Grace carried a son. “But what if the baby is a girl? And what about you?”
Grace shook her head, as if tossing away any threat to her determination. “I’m trusting the Lord to give me wisdom. But I don’t want to leave. The mountains around here...there’s something about them that settles in your soul. I couldn’t live without them, I don’t think.”
Lola nodded. Leaving Wyoming had never occurred to her as an option, either. “You’d be welcome to stay with me, for as long as you need. There’s plenty of room. You could—”
Grace’s lips pulled in a shadow of her usual smile. “I appreciate that, and I know you mean it with all your heart. But I’m staying in our house. Pete built it for me, and we’ve filled it with so many memories in such a brief time. I feel close to him here. I want that for our baby. I’ll sell off the land and keep the house if it comes to that, but Lord help me, I’ll raise this child in the home we built together.”
Lola glanced around her own house. What would it be like to build a life with someone you loved the way Pete had loved Grace? Suddenly her own house felt a little empty, even with her dearest friend sitting beside her.
“Talk to me about something else. I want to think about something other than being sad.”
Lola stood to refill her cup and warmed Grace’s by filling hers to the brim. Topics from town whirled through her mind, but all connected in some way to Pete, his job, how he died and her part in it. Silence grew awkward, but no words came. She faced her friend but avoided her gaze.
“I know.” Grace’s whisper rasped with sorrow. “But I want to know what’s happening, what people are doing in town. It hurts, but in some ways, I like hearing that Pete was so respected, so vital to this town, that he’s still connected with it, even after his death. Right now it hurts so bad that not much helps, except to know that. Am I making any sense?”
Lola nodded. Tears slipped from her eyes and she grasped Grace’s hand with a fierce squeeze. “I’m just so sorry I couldn’t do something for him.”
“Oh, Lola!” Grace slid to her feet and came around the table to embrace Lola in her tired arms. “Even if you had been the greatest doctor in the world, he was gone by the time you saw him. Trust me, I thank God you could do what you did. You spared me from seeing the tragedy of his death. Instead he looked restful, at peace, the way his spirit looks before the Lord.”
Grace’s warm tears mixed with hers against Lola’s cheek. She squeezed her friend’s arm. “This isn’t how it’s to be, you comforting me. What kind of friend am I?”
Grace slid back into her chair and took a sip of tea. “The kind who wants to spare me and everyone else around any hurt. You do that very well. But I want to know what you’ve been doing. I’m not ready to join into the lively rush of town yet, but I can’t shut myself off from living. I want to, but Pete wouldn’t want that for me.” She smoothed her dress over their growing baby. “He wouldn’t want that for us.”
Lola patted the ruffled edge of a doily lying in the center of the table. “A U.S. marshal should arrive early next week to talk with the man who brought Pete to me.” She sipped her cooling tea without looking at her friend.
“U.S. marshal?” Grace’s eyes were wide, and her face grew a shade paler if that were possible. “What’s going on, Lola?”
Lola abandoned her teacup with a wave of her hand and grasped Grace’s wrist with the other. “Nothing, Grace. I panicked. Papa’s gone, it was late, a frightful-looking stranger brings the sheriff to my door... I sent a telegraph first thing the next morning.”
Grace slumped in her seat, taking a deep, calming breath. “I can understand that. But you don’t really think...?”
What did she think? Did she believe Bridger Jamison to be a murderer? Not really. But she wasn’t always the best judge of a man, either. And some of Pete’s bruises seemed...odd, not quite consistent for a man thrown from a horse. Not unusual enough to point any fingers, but something definitely felt out of place. Without facts, though, she didn’t dare share those concerns with Grace.
“I acted without thinking things completely through. It won’t hurt to have a U.S. marshal investigate what happened, though.” She took another drink of her tea and looked Grace squarely in the eye. “But, no, in talking more with Mr. Jamison, I can’t find anything overly suspicious about him regarding Pete’s death. And the fact that he’s sticking around town, I suppose, holds greater weight for his innocence than anything else.”
Grace held a hand to her mouth and breathed deep, eyes closed. “Good—that’s good. It was hard enough losing your father that way. I wouldn’t want...”
Lola let the words fade. “I hired Mr. Jamison. Papa never taught me the woodworking aspect of... I never learned how...” Everything about her business sounded cold and crass in her thoughts. Why hadn’t she chosen weather as the topic of conversation?
“Your father never taught you how to build the coffins,” Grace supplied. She smiled again, briefly, a narrow moon of teeth peeking through this time. “He always said you’d nail your own thumb to the casket.”
Lola smiled, too. “He was probably right. He just always figured he’d be around to do the job, I guess.”
“He knew you’d be able to find someone to do that. The part you do takes something that not everyone has.” Grace stretched across the table to squeeze her hand, looking her in the eye. “I’m glad it was you, Lola. I know it wasn’t easy for you, but I’m glad that man found a way to bring Pete to you.”
An odd scrape from outside jolted them. Lola started to her feet and made short, clipped steps to the rear door. She glanced at her friend, standing by the table with hands twisted in front of her, and motioned for Grace to stay quiet. Slowly she lifted the latch, then jerked the door wide. “Who’s there?”
Magpies chatting on the fence were the only sound to greet her. She poked her head out and searched the shadows around the lone shed where her father had his woodshop. After a few moments she returned to the cozy room and shut the door.
“Whew!” Grace let loose a nervous giggle, fingers laid against her long throat, her other hand resting on her stomach. “Do you feel as silly as I do?”
Lola