True to the Law (10 page)

She looked past Cobb to Tru. “I’m not sure this should be a regular occurrence, you sitting with him at dinner. Maybe you should think about joining other folks now and again. I’m saying it plainly, Miss Morrow. It would cause less stir with the girls.”

Tru blinked. It required considerable mettle not to flinch. “You’ve given me something to consider.”

Mrs. Sterling harrumphed, but in moments the lines around her eyes and mouth softened. “I’d appreciate it, Miss Morrow. You know the girls don’t have the sense of a bag of hair between them, and this one”—she jerked her sharp chin at Cobb—“and this one’s kind don’t come around that often. I hope you aren’t moved to fluttering when he looks at you sideways.”

“No,” said Tru. “I’m not.”

She nodded. “Well, that’s all I’m saying.” Mrs. Sterling put one hand to her heart as she gave Cobb a thorough look. “It’s a fact, Mr. Bridger, that if I weren’t a woman of advanced years, I’d probably be in the kitchen scrappin’ with Cil and Renee myself. Now let me set those plates on your table and get back to my kitchen.”

Cobb stood at attention while Mrs. Sterling made short work of putting their meal in order. He remained standing until the kitchen door closed behind her, and then he slowly sat. “I clearly underestimated her as a force of nature.”

“Wyoming women are fierce.”

“So I’m learning.” He picked up his coffee cup. “I thought she made a good point, though.”

“Yes, and I believe I made it earlier. Cil and Renee are both taken with you.”

He took a drink, swallowed, and dismissed her comment with a wave of his hand. “I was thinking that perhaps we could eat separately and meet privately.”

She sighed. “Sometimes you are predictable to the point of being tedious, Mr. Bridger.”

“Cobb.”

“Cobb,” she repeated. “You’re not offended?”

He pretended to think about it. “No.”

Tru abandoned her fork in favor of a spoon and dipped it into her stew. Steam rose from the meat and potatoes as she lifted it to her mouth. She blew on it lightly.

Cobb tore his eyes away from her puckered lips and tucked into his own meal. What was it that Andrew Mackey was so sure she had taken from his family? It no longer mattered to Cobb that he had not been hired to find what was stolen. There was no possibility that he would let it rest after meeting Gertrude Morrow. Either she was the best at the con he had ever encountered, or she was innocent. It was difficult to imagine what there might be in between.

He wanted to see the inside of her house. It would be better if he were invited, although it was not necessary. From the chatty Jennifer Phillips, he learned most of what he needed to know about her routine; the rest he had gleaned from a variety of sources, not the least of which was Heather Collins.

“Were you able to post your letter this afternoon?” asked Tru.

Her question made him wonder if she was prescient since he had just been thinking about Mrs. Collins. “I was. Finn’s grandmother took it off my hands. And you should know that we delivered the last cookie.”

“And the errand? You said you had something for Finn to do for you.”

“He took one of my bags to the leather goods store and waited for the handle to be stitched and remounted.” Cobb had had to cut the stitching and break the handle first, but Finn would never know that. He took on the task with the solemnity of one asked to carry stone tablets down from the mount, and Cobb made it worth his while to go carefully.

“That was good of him.” She paused. “And you.”

He shrugged.

Tru chuckled at his discomfort. “You are impervious to insults, but it seems as if a kind word might be your Achilles’ heel. Very well. I won’t keep poking at it. Allow me to tell you what Mr. McCormick had to say when I spoke to him.”

“Could I stop you?”

“No.”

Cobb turned over his palm, indicating she could proceed. He did not waste the gesture on merely giving her permission; he also snagged a biscuit.

“I told him that we might already have a candidate for marshal in Bitter Springs. He warmed to the idea after I mentioned your name. He said you are acquainted.”

“I think he had ten dollars in the pot when I took it from the table the other night. Did you tell him that I’m not interested?”

“I did not.”

“I’ll tell him myself.”

“I don’t think it will matter. He can be very persuasive.”

“Besides being the mayor, what is it that Mr. McCormick does?”

“He owns the eatery that serves the railway. He owns another one in Easterville.”

Cobb was familiar enough with the railway restaurants to know they were a lucrative operation for their owners. And Terrence McCormick owned two. He probably thought he was a man in a position to bring pressure to bear. Cobb wished now that he had relieved the mayor of more than ten dollars.

He expected her to press her case again, but she didn’t. Unlike him, on certain matters, she was not predictable.

They finished their meal in companionable silence. Their plates were swept away by Cecilia, and Renee replaced them with bowls of hot apple pudding. The girls did not linger this time. They barely looked up.

“Was that a scratch on Renee’s face?” asked Tru when they were gone.

“I don’t know. I had my eyes front and center.”

“Because Mrs. Sterling put the fear of God in you?”

He shook his head. “Because I’d rather look at you, Miss Morrow.” His mouth curved briefly and his voice was huskier than it had been a moment before. “Because I’d rather look at you.”

* * *

Jennifer Phillips set her knitting needles down hard in her lap and regarded Tru with patent disbelief. “You should have let him walk you home. I don’t see how there can be harm in that.” She looked askance at her husband who was sitting on the other side of the lamp, reading. “Jim?” When he offered no response, she rolled her eyes. “He’s only pretending not to pay us any mind. He heard every word. He just does not want to involve himself.”

“I don’t think I blame him.” Tru glanced at the knitting needles. “You have weapons.”

Shrugging as if it were not important, Jennifer picked up the needles, confirmed that she had not dropped a stitch, and began working them furiously. She was a slight woman with hands made strong by pounding and kneading dough. The faint blue network of veins on the back of her hands stood out as she plied her needles. “I don’t know why you’re bein’ so cautious. The man’s not a hardship to look at, he showed a real particular kindness buying my sand tarts for your school, and word is, he runs an honest game. He’s not going to be around forever, Tru. As long as you have a care not to get your heart broken, I don’t see that you can’t allow yourself to enjoy his company.”

“Mrs. Sterling thinks otherwise. She was thinking of his effect on Cil and Renee.”

Jennifer lifted one dark eyebrow in a dramatic arch. “Inviting him to sit with you is not the same as inviting him to bed. Ask Jim.”

“Don’t ask me,” Jim said. He kept his head down and his eyes on the page.

Jennifer’s needles continued clicking. “Why are you hesitating? Is it your contract? I don’t remember ever hearing there was some morals clause in it. I have nothing but respect for Mrs. Coltrane, but she’d be a pot calling the kettle black if she attached a morals clause to your position.”

“Jenny! I don’t have any intention of doing something immoral.”

“No one ever does,” Jennifer intoned gravely. “And then . . .” She paused, counting stitches. “And then intentions go to hell in a handcart.”

Tru threw up her hands. “Do you trust me or not?”

“Seems to me the question is whether you trust yourself. I’m not hearing much confidence in that regard. That piece you said about your intentions sounded to me like you were trying to convince yourself.”

Exasperated, Tru let her hands fall back in her lap. “Why did I even come here?”

Jennifer opened her mouth to answer, but out of the corner of her eye she saw her husband shaking his head. “Well?” she asked him.

“That was what you call a rhetorical question,” he said. “The answer to one is usually self-evident.” With that, he returned to his reading.

Jennifer smiled proudly at Tru. “He’s a bright one, my Jim.”

Tru nodded. “You don’t see how he looks at me,” she said.

“Jim?”

“No, Cobb.”

“So it’s Cobb now.”

“He asked me to call him Cobb. I haven’t given him permission to call me Tru.”

“Well, you better. Otherwise he might take to thinking of you as Gertie, Gert, or Trudy.”

“My mother’s mother was Gertie.”

“And I’m sure she was a fine woman, but do you want to be your grandmother? That’s a rhetorical question. Tell me how he looks at you.”

“It’s hard to explain. He says all the right things, kind things, flattering things, but sometimes I feel as if he’s studying me.”

“That doesn’t sound awful.”

Tru shook her head. “You know how boys study something they stumble over by the creek or in the grass or in the middle of the road?”

“I know what you mean. Usually it’s something dead.” Her needles clicked for another couple of beats then stopped completely. “You better say more about that. Jim will want to hear it. I know I do.”

“Well, he easily carries on a conversation, but I have the impression that he’s not really engaged, that he’s watching me at least as much as he’s listening, trying to decide which wing he wants to pluck, or what will happen if he pokes me with a stick.”

Jennifer pulled her mouth to one side as she considered what Tru was saying. “I don’t know, Tru. Could be he’s just got that way about him and doesn’t mean anything by it.”

“Did you notice it when he was in your shop?”

“I honestly can’t say that I did. Oh, he looked around some, but then you have to allow for that, as it was his first time in. I thought it was all kinds of thoughtful that he wanted to buy you a slice of apple pie.”

“So you’ve said. Several times.”

Shrugging, Jenny returned to her knitting. “You’re right about him being easy with conversation. Not like Jim here. I think I would have told him my life story if he’d asked. He and I talked up a storm anyway.”

“I didn’t realize,” Tru said. “What did you talk about?”

“This and that. The school. How you’ve taken to the town like a duck to water. I think I mentioned that folks are tickled to have a teacher again.”

“But you talked about things that weren’t related to me, didn’t you?”

Jennifer angled her head, thinking. “I’m sure we did, though nothing comes to mind. Wait, I did tell him how you and I became friends on account of you helping me in the shop when that storm blew through and my roof leaked like a sieve.”

“That has something to do with me as well,” Tru pointed out.

“You are determined to pick all the enjoyment out of this. If you ask me, you’re the one pokin’ and studying this thing from all sides. The man barrels into you in the street, apologizes, sits with you at dinner, shows a kindness to your students, takes his meal with you a second time, and you are ten ways suspicious that he’s up to no good.”

“I never said that.”

“Well, what other reason do you have to be so guarded?”

Tru recalled that Cobb had also said the same about her. “I think I’m being prudent.”

“Prudish is not the same as prudent. You don’t want to mistake the two.”

Agitated, Tru stood. She ran her palms over her midriff, smoothing the fabric of her lettuce green gown. Her hands came to rest at her sides, but the tight-fitting skirt made no allowance for hiding them. It was a struggle not to curl them into fists.

“You’re leaving?” Jennifer began to put her knitting aside, but Tru stopped her.

“Don’t trouble yourself to see me out. I have a lesson to prepare, and I want to look over something I’m considering reading to the students.”

“You’re out of sorts with me. Don’t deny it. I can read the signs same as I can with Jim.”

“I’m not out of sorts with you, Jenny. I’m out of sorts with myself.”

Jennifer gave her a thorough look, measuring Tru’s words against what she saw in her face. “All right. I believe you. You follow your conscience where Mr. Bridger is concerned and don’t pay me any mind. Jim never does and we bump along all right. It’s six years that we’ve been married.”

“Seven,” Jim said.

Jennifer shook her head and mouthed the word “six” to Tru. “Maybe you’ll stop by after dinner tomorrow?” she asked. “You’ll take your meal at the hotel, won’t you?”

“I haven’t decided.”

“I’ll look for you anyway. If it makes a difference to you, Walt’s dropping by in the afternoon to pick up a couple of molasses pound cakes that Mrs. Sterling ordered for dessert.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Tru pulled her mittens and scarf from the sleeve of her coat before she put it on. Once she was properly bundled, she bid them good evening.

Jim finally looked up from his book. “Always nice chatting with you, Tru.”

* * *