True to the Law (5 page)

Collins tapped the counter. “I wouldn’t like it either.”

“Oh, I know that, but you’d understand.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. Better you don’t test the waters.”

Cobb nudged the toe of Finn’s shoe with his. “Tomorrow. I’m still trying to work out a few things with your grandfather.”

“He’s real good at working things out.”

Collins reached over the counter and flicked Finn’s temple. “And you’re real good at not working at things. Help your brother.”

Finn made a show of rubbing his head, but he returned to the dustpan and held it in place while Rabbit swept.

The station agent winked at Cobb. “Now about that letter. I’m thinking that if it went west first, by mistake of course, well, that’d add some days to its journey. Upwards of two weeks, I should think. Mistakes like that take some time to sort out. You have to allow that you’re making an unusual request.”

“I know that.”

“I suppose you have your reasons.”

“I suppose I do.”

Collins waited a full ten seconds before he shrugged. “You’re not going to tell me. I guess playing cards close to your vest is second nature.”

“It probably seems that way.

“All right. Let’s see. There’s one more thing you can do that might work. How’s your handwriting?”

“My handwriting? It’s not copperplate, but it’s legible.”

“I’m thinking you don’t want it to be. Legible, that is. Now, you can’t write so bad that no one can read it, but you might make some of your letters look like other letters. Confuse things some. Or change the address just a bit. Send it to the west part of the street instead of the east, for example. After that, I’m plum out of ideas. You sure you just don’t want to wait to send your letter off?”

“I’m sure. You’ll have it tomorrow.”

Collins nodded. “All right, then.”

Cobb turned and regarded the boys. “I met your teacher today.” Their heads came up simultaneously. Bird dogs could hardly have been more alert. “We collided on the sidewalk.”

A crease appeared between Rabbit’s eyebrows. “You didn’t knock her down, did you? I have some experience landing on my backside. It’s not for ladies.”

“I didn’t knock her down.”

“She’s not hurt?” asked Finn. “I’m supposed to help her after school. Maybe she won’t care about that if you smashed her foot.”

“I managed to avoid every one of her toes.”

Finn’s cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk’s as he blew out a breath. “That’s good news. Did you say you were sorry? That’d be the mannerly thing to do. She talks about manners. A lot.”

“She sure does,” said Rabbit. “Talks about them all the time. We even read stories about manners. I don’t care for them much, but the girls act as if they like them.”

“I was sincerely contrite.”

“Yeah,” Finn said, “but did you say you were sorry?”

Cobb heard Finn’s grandfather chuckle. “I did say I was sorry. I also introduced myself, but she already knew who I was.”

“She did?” asked Rabbit.

Finn told his brother, “I might have said something or other about Mr. Bridger being new to town. Just by way of makin’ conversation.” He returned his attention to Cobb. “You knew it was her right off, didn’t you?”

“I did.”

“Now how did you know that?” asked Collins.

“Finn here told me there was no mistaking the color of her hair.”

“And I was right. Remember, Pap? Mr. Stiltskin? You said he spun gold from straw? He’s the one, isn’t he?”

“Rumpelstiltskin,” said Rabbit.

“Sure. That’s him.”

“I remember, but I’m not following what one has to do with the other.”

Rabbit leaned against his broom. “Finn thinks Miss Morrow’s hair was spun by Rumpelstiltskin.”

Finn glared at his brother, his eyes accusing. “You agreed with me.”

“What if I did?”

“Well, I told her what I thought. Told her straight out that Prissy’s hair was yellow like straw and her hair was like gold. And
I’m
the one she invited to stay after school.”

There didn’t seem to be anything to say after that.

Chapter Two

“Will you have a table by the window tonight?”

Tru glanced quickly around the dining room. She had at least a passing acquaintance with all of the diners at the tables this evening, and Mr. Cobb Bridger was not among them. She felt a small measure of relief followed by a wash of disappointment and chided herself for feeling either. He was no one to her. And she was less than no one to him.

“I don’t mind sharing a table if you’d like to save the window seat for someone else,” she said.

Cecilia Ross brought up her hand in a dismissive gesture. “It’s yours if you want it. I know you’re partial to sitting by the window so I sorta saved it for you, this being Monday and all, and you being a regular Monday through Thursday.”

“Well then, yes. I’d be pleased to sit there.”

Cecilia nodded, satisfied. The fulsome smile that she used to greet guests turned mischievous. Under her breath, for Tru’s ears alone, she said, “And wouldn’t I just like to join you, but Mrs. Sterling has me running around tonight like there’s two of me.” Cil drew back and spoke up in her normal tone. “I’ll bring you tea, unless you’d rather have beer or a sarsaparilla.”

“Tea is exactly what I want.”

“It’s chicken and dumplings tonight. Lots of Mrs. Sterling’s good gravy besides.”

“I see.” Tru’s nostrils pinched slightly as she sniffed the air. “Better than that, I smell it.” She parted company with Cil and wended her way among the diners, pausing at each table she passed to respond to a greeting. She was invited twice to take a chair with others, but she politely declined both times. While she had told Cil honestly that she had no objections to sharing a table, she would not have chosen to share one with the family or extended family of her students. She had learned that she must consider the perception of favoritism. There were only thirteen regular pupils at the school and six others who came when they could, but it seemed all of them were related in one way or another to every adult in Bitter Springs. To avoid problems, her dinner companions were almost exclusively the overnight guests at the Pennyroyal.

The cup of tea that Cil placed before her was too hot to drink immediately. Tru set the cup back in its saucer and stared out the window while she waited for it to cool. It was already too dark outside to make out much beyond the glass, but the warm lamplight inside the dining room gave the window the reflective quality of a mirror. Tru watched Howard Wheeler make broad gestures with his hands as he conversed with his longtime friend. Jack Clifton’s lean, weathered features were indistinct in the glass, but Tru imagined his expression was impassively fixed as he waited his turn for rebuttal.

Tru wondered what argument was entertaining them now and if Ida Mae Sterling figured into it. She had it from Heather Collins, then from Cil Ross, and later from Mrs. Sterling herself, that Howard and Jack were sweet on the widow Sterling, even sweeter on her cooking, but that they couldn’t settle on who should make the first proposal. Tru smiled as Jack took over the conversation, using his hands as expansively as Howard.

“May I join you?”

Startled, Tru’s head snapped up. The back of her hand brushed her teacup. The cup bobbled in the saucer, splashing her with hot tea. “Oh!” She pressed the back of her hand to her lips before she thought to reach for the napkin in her lap.

“I beg your pardon,” Cobb Bridger said. “Again.”

Tru waved aside his concern with her free hand and indicated he could sit.

“Are you certain? I seem to be well on my way to causing you serious injury.”

She regarded him over her hand and saw that a hint of a smile played about his mouth. In spite of his words, she thought he was not at all concerned about the possibility that she would turn him away. It made her wonder what he knew about her that she did not know about herself. Drawing back her hand and placing it in her lap, she said, “I think we might manage to negotiate chicken and dumplings, Mr. Bridger.”

Cobb pulled out the chair opposite Tru and sat. He carefully maneuvered his long legs under the table so that neither his knees nor his feet bumped it.

“Well done, Mr. Bridger, but I think you exaggerate the threat you present to me. You could not have known that I would startle so easily.”

“I should have recognized the signs of someone whose mind was otherwise occupied.”

“Oh? Why is that?”

“Some familiarity with that state myself, I’m afraid.”

Cecilia Ross arrived with a beer for Cobb and a plate of rolls. When she set it down in front of him, Tru picked up her teacup and watched with a measure of detachment as Cil flirted quite shamelessly with the Pennyroyal’s most recent guest. The part of her that was not as detached as she might have wished still could find no fault with Cecilia, and she suspected that Cobb Bridger was used to the kind of attention he was receiving.

It did not seem likely that he was unaware of his good looks. His blue eyes—and it was not an exaggeration to call them bright to the point of brilliance—were his most compelling feature, but an argument could be made for the sensual mouth with the full lower lip and the smile that hovered there like a promise. His narrow, clean-shaven face clearly defined his jaw and chin. Even the line of his nose did not shift from its vertical plane to break the perfect symmetry of his features. He was saved the awkwardness of being pretty because every aspect of his face had been sculpted by a deft hand but not a fine one. There was a boldness to his features that made them seem of this earth rather than the heavens. His thatch of finger-combed hair might be shot through with threads of radiant sunlight, but there was no mistaking it for a halo.

In Tru’s mind, angels would not claim Cobb Bridger as one of their own.

It was apparent to Tru that Cil thought otherwise. She hovered at Cobb’s side until a request from another diner required her attention, and even then her departure was noticeably reluctant.

Tru’s gaze followed Cecilia, but she spoke to Cobb. “I believe you have made a conquest.” She heard him make a sound at the back of his throat that might have meant anything. She turned back to him, smiling knowingly. “It’s probably better that you don’t comment.”

Cobb lifted his beer and took a full swallow. “She has a cousin, I believe.”

“Renee? Miss Harrison’s not working tonight.” She studied his face, wondering why he brought up Cil’s cousin. “You prefer her to Cecilia?”

“I prefer present company, Miss Morrow.”

“A pretty compliment, but I must point out that you don’t know me.”

“I thought it was obvious that I mean to rectify that.” He returned her study, his gaze direct but vaguely remote, seeing more than he gave away. “It can be . . . wearing . . . when the cousins work together. That’s why I inquired after Miss Harrison.”

“I’ve observed that men are generally flattered by their attentions.”

“I didn’t say I wasn’t flattered.”

Tru laughed. “No, you didn’t, did you?” She helped herself to a crusty roll from the plate Cil left and broke it in two. She set one half down and drizzled honey on the other. When she looked up, he was still watching her. “You’re staring, Mr. Bridger. You’ve seen someone put honey on bread before, haven’t you?”

“No one with your concentration for the task. Your tongue was peeping out.” He touched the right corner of his own mouth with a fingertip. “Right here.”

She nodded and wondered if she should be embarrassed. She didn’t feel embarrassed. It was odd that he didn’t make her feel that way. “I’ve been told it also happens when I write or do particularly difficult sums.” She took a delicate bite of her roll.

“Who told you that?”

Tru savored the roll as it melted on her tongue. She tasted honey on her lips. “My father thought it was a habit I should be able to manage better. Applications of pepper sauce proved unsuccessful.”

Cobb’s eyebrows lifted.

“It wasn’t as awful as it sounds.”

“I don’t know. It sounds painful.”

She shrugged. “I do try to be mindful around my students. I’ve caught some of the girls aping me. Well, mimicking me. Aping makes it sound as if they mean to be cruel, and I don’t think that is their intention.”

“I’m sure it’s not.”

Tru stayed her hand on the way to her mouth and regarded Cobb Bridger with new interest. “How can you be sure? To my knowledge, you’ve only met two of my students, neither of whom are young ladies.”

“No, they’re young men, and I don’t think I’m wrong that they find the gesture as fascinating as I do. Your girls, at least the older ones, come by that knowledge through some instinct as old as Eve, and they act on it without scruple. We, and by ‘we’ I mean all men, will never be able to resist the apple.”

Tru blinked. She required a moment to recover. “You present a rather disturbing image. I believe I will try the pepper sauce again.”

“Do not do it on my account.”

“There is no reason to flatter yourself. I’m doing it for my young ladies, the ones who think that a female is of no account unless she has an apple to offer.” It was wholly satisfying that it was Cobb Bridger who blinked this time. She claimed that as a victory of sorts because he did not strike her as a man who was easily taken aback. “I may be almost as new to Wyoming as you, Mr. Bridger, but I fully embrace the notion that women here are of equal standing, at least in the eyes of territory law.”

Tru thought it was a proper construction of her position, clear and concise, and conveyed that she was a serious person and one who should be taken seriously, then the corners of his mouth curved upward and the promise of his smile was fully realized. She could not make out condescension in his features. All evidence pointed to genuine enjoyment. He set down his beer and gave sound to a full-throated laugh. Tru finished off her roll in the time it took him to rein in his amusement. When he was quiet, she raised a single eyebrow and simply waited him out.

Cobb cleared his throat and took another swallow of beer. “I stand corrected,” he said. “And in awe.”

It was not disapproval that made Tru press her lips together. She needed to suppress the urge to laugh. She waited until it passed and then asked, “Why are you really here, Mr. Bridger?”

He shrugged. “Just passing through.”

“So Finn told me, but I meant why are you sitting with me now? I did not see you Thursday night, and I believe you had already arrived.”

“Fishing for compliments?”

“Not at all,” she said, and meant it. “I know my value as a comfortable companion, and I am not unfamiliar with the attentions of men, but a sporting man such as yourself always keeps his distance out of respect for my position. You recognized me as the schoolteacher this afternoon and still put yourself at my table this evening.”

“You did not object.”

“I was curious.”

“Are we attracting notice?”

Her smile was edged with disappointment. “Please, Mr. Bridger, do not pretend that you don’t know. When you’re not looking at me, your attention is drawn to the window. I know very well what you can see in that black mirror. You may not be able to identify each surreptitious stare, but you can certainly count the number of heads turning in our direction.”

Tru watched Cobb sit back. She could almost feel him regard her with new appreciation. “The only reason I’m rising in your estimation is that you underestimated me in the first place. Did I seem as though I might be an easy mark? The unattached schoolmarm, lonely, perhaps a little sad, virtually an old maid at twenty-six. It is unpalatable to even say it, more so because it is the stuff of dime novels and badly written melodramas, but it is difficult to refute an archetype that exists in the minds of so many as a truth.”

Frowning, a crease appeared between his eyebrows. Cobb angled his head and worried one earlobe with his thumb and forefinger. “Is it your opinion that I have certain—shall I call them designs—on your person?”

“I don’t know. Do you?”

“Are you always this straightforward?”

“I believe I am, yes. And you have not answered the question.”

“I cannot decide if you think so much of yourself or so little, but the answer is no. I thought you might provide more in the way of lively conversation than any of my dinner companions of the last few days, and I wasn’t wrong about that. Do you mind that my attentions have attracted notice?”

“No. But do not ask to escort me home. That would give rise to more speculation than is good for a town this size. I won’t permit it.”

He smiled then. “And you shouldn’t expect that you’ll always have your way. You won’t.” His eyes darted to the window. The door from the kitchen swept open. “Here comes Miss Ross with our dinner.”

Tru waited until Cil moved away from their table before she picked up her fork. “How does one become a gambler, Mr. Bridger? Did you eliminate other professions first to arrive at this one, or is it a consequence of winning a single game and not being able to turn back?”

“I can’t speak for all gamblers, but I came to it as a diversion.”

“A diversion. That’s a rather more intriguing answer than I expected.”

Cobb speared a slice of chicken and added half a dumpling. “I’ve earned a living in more traditional ways, Miss Morrow. I’ve worked inside banks, stockyards, rail coaches, hospitals, and on two separate occasions, city hall. I was also the marshal of Hempstead, Indiana, for six weeks. I left after hunting down and bringing in a father and son who were using their traveling tent church to prey on young women.” He paused, sighed. Regret touched his eyes. “That was an unfortunate choice of words.”