“Oh, I see.”
“Despite its lofty name, the men are not gentle. She was dreadfully mistreated.” Doc Holliday...she was ever grateful to the misnamed “deadly” dentist who had helped save her young friend.
Bronx’s eyes widened, his fingers tightened on the knife’s handle. “You don’t say?” His gaze darkened. “Then we best do all we can to keep her safe. And Mr. Dykstra healthy.”
Before Lila could answer, a half-dozen of her semi-regulars burst through the doorpost.
“Fine door,” Bronx mentioned, to lighten the moment. Truth to tell, it had some fine lines.
She relaxed. “It earned its keep at Mr. Healy’s mansion before a renovation cast it on a trash heap. It was free, so it became ours.”
“I’ll dish up some for these folks, then head to the boardinghouse. Explain our absence tonight. Won’t want Miz Frieda to worry any. How about...you needing anything for her to pack up on your behalf?”
Just memories.
“No. I’ve left behind much here myself. I’m certain to find whatever I might need.”
Her heart cracked again. Not what she might need. No, not at all.
Chapter Five
Evening swallowed the last of the sunset outside the single window to the west of Lila’s little mission, and candle wicks sputtered on little tables here and there. In the center of the room, an old Pennsylvania fireplace glowed with heat. With the little potbelly in the corner, the place was plenty warm enough, for now at least. Bronx smiled at the rag-taggle gal holding out a bowl for the stew. She grinned back with brown teeth. Likely another fallen angel, but who was he to judge?
Fact was, he had no qualms about serving up supper for the unwashed folks long cast out by civilization. For he’d been one. Still was. Therefore, his smile was true. Although he found he liked this side of right and wrong better, with Lila on it.
But also fact was, he grumbled inside his smile, Lila grieved over a husband.
He must have sounded out his grump because the angel’s smile turned sad. So he gave the girl extra, sent his gaze to Lila. Oh, he liked watching her, even serving up cake. No matter if the long red hair still sparked flashes of Rebekah. Might he possibly rid himself of the past without heading to Denver with Doc Holliday?
For leaving Leadville while Lila was still here ached him inside, somehow. Then, the reminder stabbed his heart. He’d promised never to give it again.
He sighed so hard the ragged man next in line opened wide eyes. Gave him extra, too. After folks ate, Bronx finished washing dishes with water heated up on the potbelly and dumped with soap into the bowl that had eased Clemmons’s lungs. The task brought back memories of his chores for the old lady—Miz Edith, he corrected with a secret grin—while Lila started pushing around the rugged benches. Quick, he dried his hands and rushed to her side.
Ah, Miz Edith. How he’d loved her. Guilt washed over him so hard he wanted to bathe. How he’d forgotten.
Lila’s smile warmed him through. “I’m setting up for Vespers.”
“I’ll get right on it.” He helped her push together a chapel of sorts. “Vespers?”
She smiled. “We sing a few hymns. Sometimes a lullaby someone remembers their mama singing. A psalm, The Lord’s Prayer.”
Memories of Miz Edith simmered again, her love, her goodness. “But can you spare a half-hour to get back to the boardinghouse with me? Miz Frieda’ll have our own supper waiting. And we need to let her know, you know.”
Lila’s eyes sparked somehow over the third pew. “I believe she’s trying to match-make us.”
“You mean, us making matches for lighting a fire?” He straightened the bench with his foot. All he could think of was the fires that burn deep in a man. And a different heat ran over him. An indecent thought to have inside a church, humble though it might be.
“Not that. I meant, she’s likely to hope we are up to romance.” She blushed, ran a dust cloth over the rough plank. “But no. I can’t leave. I do this every night, even just for one or two folks who want some singing and nighttime prayers. Besides, I’ve had stew. I’ll be fine. But yes, I’d appreciate you here tonight. Do inform our landlady.”
Then Lila’s gaze turned dull as a storm cloud. “Up this high, winter comes sooner than later. There’s an overcoat of Emmett’s you should use. Last thing we need hereabouts is another invalid.” She nodded toward a rack of hooks at the front door. “It’s the one of navy blue gabardine.”