Which, truth to tell, Asa dug in a pocket and handed him just now.
“Not dismissed for good, Bronx, not at all. Just for now. Hope to see you back here Monday morning, should our supplies come in. Or likely, Sunday at my Frieda’s. She invited me for chicken fixin’s.” Then his eyebrows tied in a knot. “She’s spoken some, of you and Miz Lila. I reckon you know how to treat a lady.” His forehead creased in warning, and Bronx reckoned he’d heard about their nights together. No matter they be innocent and inside a place named from the Bible. His ire ruffled a little. Doc Holliday had warned him, too.
“I do so know how to treat a lady.” He all but stamped his foot and wondered if he sounded like a kid pitching a fit at his pa. Not that he’d know. “And I’d not let her down. You, either,” Bronx groused, then chuckled, pointing to his sorry pile of boards. “Although I reckon I have.”
Asa shouted a laugh and punched Bronx’s arm, then pounded his back. “Not so, pilgrim. All of us be new at something when we start out. Things’ll get better. Thing is...you have half-a-day of daylight left. No more pay in your pocket today, true, but sun’s bright, breeze is fresh, and the aspen glow makes me think nothing’s prettier. Miz Malina’s safe. Bible class is over for the day. Why not take that lovely Miz Lila out for a drive?”
Bronx’s mouth opened wide. He had never considered such an outing on a day he’d been set to earn an honest wage. And now knowing what he knew, likely he ought to be in hiding. But Asa had held out hopes for his presence on Monday. Likely, Bronx wasn’t such a mudsill, after all.
Unless, of course... Bronx gulped. Unless, of course, he had to leave sooner than Monday, with a Pinkerton afoot.
Asa’s guffaw was so loud everybody else looked up from their hammers. “Go get yourself slicked up. Miz Frieda’s bound to loan you her trap. That horse of yours might even be fine, strapped to it.”
The possibility was too luring to resist. He’d taken worse risks before.
“All righty then. See you around.” Bronx tried a friendly salute, but disappointment lurched through him. No money to be earned tomorrow, either.
Then again, he might be gone. Wasting today was something he didn’t dare do.
He had freedom to take Lila out for a drive. Then, his heart sank for a whole new reason. She had to want it first. What if she already found him too forward? Too foolish to hold on to a job?
The trudge back to the boardinghouse was both fast and slow. Took him up a street of pretty homes. He decided to avoid the Avenue full of hard-working folks with jobs and wealthy women with money to spend, for he had neither. With him leaving, he better not start liking Leadville too much.
His spirits clanked like dull metal. A fine-looking street, this Poplar, full of houses fit for a man and his bride. And later on, young’uns.
Stuff of dreams Bronx would never make true. At least, not with Lila. She might be willing to break her vows to Emmett, and good riddance, but her next venture was finding Malina’s lost child. She needed a Pinkerton for it, and he had no need to associate with such a man. Yet...dammit, he’d promised to find her a Pinkerton.
Oh, well. He’d dig up Doc Holliday later on and set him to the task.
His mood was a tumble of regret and broken confidence when he slung open Miss Frieda’s front door and found her thrashing a dustmop across the stairs.
Surprise etched her face even more. “Why, Mr. Sanderson? It’s odd seeing you at home on a workday.” He liked how she said home, because he’d never really had one. Not since Miz Edith, of course, but like Miz Edith’s had, Miz Frieda’s eyes bore into him like she already knew him inside and out. He heated up for a dozen reasons.
“Ah,” he hung his head like he had years ago, a truant kid in front of the ’marm. “I find I am not so good at building a hotel. Asa now, he has a new lesson for me to learn, but it won’t commence until Monday. In the meantime, I have free time, and feel much the fool.”
The dust mop brushed behind Miss Frieda as she stomped to face him. “Well, blessed Sam Hill, cheer up, man. You’re not about to meet your executioner tomorrow.”
He started with such horror, for that had once been the case, that she reached an arm to steady him.
“I meant to say, Bronx, you sound full of pity. You might as well stop such dejection. You’ve got young blood in you. What is it you want to go with your life?” She leaned close. He could smell mint on her breath. “What have you done in the past?”
That very same past pounded behind his eyes, but he calmed the dreadful memories with a deep breath. He couldn’t lie, not the man he had chosen to become. Not to a fierce woman glaring at him like she could read his mind. Like a ma. He gulped. “Uh, I found myself good with horses. I could soften up a bronc by singing and whispering and a kind touch.”