“How many you expect for breakfast?” Miss Frieda asked like nothing had happened.
Lila grumped. Already two possible diners had left in something of a huff. “I never quite know. But I thank you kindly for the food. There’s no need for you to stay.”
“Well, I’ll head back, then. I’ll have proper food in my dining room.” Miss Frieda’s face changed and she pulled the barn door table from the wall. Then she came to Lila. “How about I drive your sick friend to St. Vincent’s? My trap’s right outside.”
“Why, Miss Frieda, thank you.” Lila was so touched, her words thickened like the rice pudding. “Thank you. I’ll straighten up here a bit and be along soon. If anybody shows, they can dish up for themselves. I don’t lock up during the day. For folks need Bibles and prayer books at any time. I’ll be back for Bible study.”
With her back turned, Lila wiped grateful tears from her eyes. Then, heat rising, she straightened the bedding from the pew where she and Bronx had slept. Her heart pittered, but from more than the night’s warm memories. What were the black stains across the linen pillowcases?
She grumbled. As if she didn’t have enough laundry to do, already.
Chapter Seven
Bronx petted the horse’s muzzle and enjoyed the happy whickering in return. Ah, he knew horses, and this Morgan was a good one. And Asa had been right, directing him to this livery stable run by Jesse James’s kinfolk. Wondered had any of them been stole, and who from.
Had made a dent in his pocket book, but he was not a whole man without a horse. And he’d likely find a job on the outskirts. The Humboldt, maybe…mining and smelting. And even if he worked here in town, well, he was still outlaw enough to understand a time might come when he’d have to leave in a hurry.
He nodded thanks to the wrangler, then headed Chadwell from the corral toward the Avenue. His own cleverness amused him. What real-life outlaw would give a horse with no name the name of a James gang member? Then he stopped his chuckle. Pinkertons had hounded those men for years.
But Shandy Brinks had rightfully become Bronx Sanderson again. And Bronx Sanderson had turned up dead.
The Bronx Sanderson still alive turned down a dirt street called Third, and lo and behold, coming out of Robson’s General store—his train chum. Hell, had that been just yesterday?
“Pilgrim!” Asa’s familiar voice brought a comfort Bronx didn’t deserve to feel. He waved a brand new hammer. “You still needing a job, ride with me to where the Delaware Hotel is getting built. ’Specting to open next year. Pay is good.”
“I just might.” Bronx considered. Any man who had swung a cutter maddox across Canada’s barrier line could surely pound nails. And he remembered some of Lila’s words. Leftovers from constructions about town had helped build her place, helping hands, too. Maybe he could make the place even tighter than a drum against the upcoming winter. The part that had once been a tent, that is. The slab shanty where Mr. Dykstra had passed the night seemed sturdy enough.
Unless, of course... The fact niggled, and morning sun stabbed his eyes where it bounced off Mt. Elbert. Doc Holliday was leaving Leadville in a few days time and had invited the late Bronx Sanderson to go along.
“Sounds about right.” He nudged a shoulder toward the store. “Let me get some workaday clothes and meet you there.”
“Can’t miss. Seventh and the Avenue.” Asa guffawed. “Heard you took my advice and let a room from Miz Frieda Dornfeld. Fine lady, she be.”
Bronx nodded although he held back a cuss of critique. Miz Frieda had surely annoyed him some at Gethsemane earlier on. Had he truly shamed Lila by spending the night?
Just the recollection of her sleeping snug against his chest and tight in his arms warmed his bones through to the marrow. With his breath hitching, he rubbed from his eyes the silver-white glare from the mountains.
He calmed himself, tucked the memory away to live again later. “Yep. Miz Frieda’s a fine one.” Then he recognized Lila was no namby-pamby female bound by the rules. He’d not shamed her. She’d disobeyed her pa, took on the wild West. Tried to tame Leadville. His heart tingled, but he hardened it. The memory was all they’d ever have. She was, at the root, a widow who still obeyed a dead husband.
At the root, a woman of God doing holy work. No discussion, him shaming her. She’d shame the daylights out of him should she learn who, and what, he truly was. He all but shuddered at the thought of her finding out what he’d been.
“All righty, then,” Asa reassured him. “Get yourself outfitted. Heavy gloves’d be wise. We’ll commence after noon meal. Miz Frieda puts on a good one for her lodgers.”