His hair. She peeked at it again. And her blood raced. “Well, you certainly look the part,” she managed and tucked a hand in a pocket so as not to reach for his.
His yannigan swung heavy against his stiff new denim trousers. The dark duster meeting his knee wasn’t the fine quality of Emmett’s. In fact, she doubted it kept him cozy at all. “If you stay here long, the winter won’t be kind. Please, take Emmett’s overcoat when we get to Gethsemane. I’d be pleased, and so would he. Being a charitable man.”
Bronx’s eyes widened, and his mouth opened in protest. But instead of speaking, he lowered his gaze. She felt a flash of triumph. Emmett would have...
“Obliged, Miz Lila. I’ll put some coin in your poor box to make up for it.”
They’d reached the Avenue and paused for a long line of traffic. Teamsters bringing ore for the freight train. Bales of hay for the liveries. Lila smiled. Gleichmann’s delivery wagon. Oh, the kind proprietor Mr. Scherer had helped her hungry people out many times.
“That would be well. Thank you for accompanying me. I’ve enjoyed your company.” I always do. She wondered if she’d said the words aloud.
At Gethsemane, she walked right in, and Bronx followed behind. The room was cold, the fire out.
“Why, you keep it unlocked?” Bronx’s astonishment filled the room.
“Yes, of course.” She smiled at him just as a streak of a smile stole across his face. He needed a shave, yet she longed to run her fingers across the stubble warming his cheeks. “It’s a place for those in need. I’ve never had any vandalism, truth to tell. At night, Malina keeps it locked. I insist. I’ve offered, you know...to share with her at Miss Frieda’s.”
Bronx rolled his eyes, then moved to bank logs in the Pennsylvania fireplace. “She is a fine landlady, I’ve been told. And excellent with the chuck. Yet, I am not convinced how warm her heart might be for a plumed lady under her roof.”
Lila laughed. “That is, indeed, my own term. It sounds far nicer than the other names I’ve heard bandied about town. I admit my surprise to find such women likable, trustworthy. With brains and hearts like my own. Here in Leadville, some marry respectable men and live respectable lives.”
“And others make a profitable living from their efforts.” His face closed. “But I’m pleased, Malina finding her way.”
“She must have left for her work at Hyman’s.”
“I don’t like leaving you here alone.” He stared at her, holding a board like a lumberjack hoisting a log.
His worry both delighted and insulted her. “It’s broad day, Bronx. And despite what you hear, Gethsemane isn’t all that close to trouble.” Her brows lowered even though she didn’t want them to. Was he sounding like Emmett, hounding her? Or were all men protective of the women they liked? She mused, thoughts trailing. “It would be nice somehow, them. You know. Together.”
“Who together?”
“Malina. Clemmons. Surely, you noticed.” The potbelly lit up at once, and Lila set the coffeepot to boil atop it.
“You mean, marrying?” His face crinkled like the paper he stuffed into his piled wood for kindling. Oh, she liked watching him move. Magic and music all at once.
“Maybe. Something good, at least. He was a hard working miner until a dreadful accident at the Pittsburg injured his leg. I think sometimes, the pain gets to him, and he might succumb to Soldier’s disease, but I reckon the Sisters at the hospital can get him well. His mind is sharp, and he’s clever.”
Bronx brightened. “I must wish him well, then. Both of them, truth to tell. Now, is it indecent to suggest he might train as a faro dealer? I...heard of just such instruction today.”
“I don’t know.” Lila hung her bonnet on a hook by the door and ran fingers through the curls at her forehead. “I am not sure how I’d feel about gambling. It seems the ruin of many a good person.”
“Nope, he’d not do the gambling himself. Just helping folks play the game.” He fussed with a box of matches at the fireplace.
“I can’t see the difference, but, was that really a job you considered?”
Bronx shook his head. “Not really. But I had conversation again this morning with Doc Holliday. He did offer to teach me, should I wish.”
His flame caught and ran wild like the thoughts she immediately tamed. Doc was a good man, but a wild man, and if Bronx was his friend, well... No room in any of it for a woman wed to a preacher’s ghost. And worse. She gulped away bad memories. A woman married and unable to satisfy her man.
“You are becoming quite his friend,” she said, light, taking two cups from the shelf. “You must find much to discuss.” She was pleased how well she controlled her tongue. She sounded like she might be talking about the weather.
Bronx face closed off as quick as he slid the matchbox shut. “We’ve both...spent time in Arizona, is all. He told me to send his greetings to you.”