True to the Law (9 page)

He turned to face her as he slipped into his duster. “The cookies, remember?”

“Yes, well, that’s what you said. You do recall that Jennifer Phillips is my friend.”

“I certainly do, but I suppose you’re bringing it up because you want me to know that you can verify my story.”

She shrugged. “In the event that you’d like to change it.”

“Just because it’s a story, Miss Morrow, doesn’t mean it’s not true. They’re not mutually exclusive.”

Tru remained suspicious. “Why were you visiting the bakery?”

“I had some thought that I might buy you a slice of apple pie since yours remained on your plate last night, but Mrs. Phillips was taking sand tarts out of the oven when I got there and that was that.”

“You bought them, didn’t you?”

“It would have been wrong to steal them.” He retrieved his hat from where he left it on Priscilla’s desk but did not put it on. “There are still two cookies left. One is yours and the other is for Priscilla.”

Tru picked up the sack, unwound the string, and took out one sand tart. “Thank you, Mr. Bridger.” She held out the sack. “I would be pleased if you and Finn would take this to her. Finn knows where she lives.” She dropped it in his open palm. “Perhaps you’d tell me how you know it was Priscilla who left. I wondered about it earlier but let it pass. I find that I’m still curious.”

Cobb tapped the top of Priscilla’s desk. “Finn’s grandfather explained what Finn did yesterday to get himself in trouble. When you told me to take a seat here, and the seat put me directly in front of Finn, it seemed likely that the little girl had occupied it. Finn would have found the proximity of her braid too tempting to ignore.”

Tru nodded slowly, thoughtful. “You seem to have a particular talent for making a picture with only a few pieces of the puzzle. I begin to understand how you brought that father and son to justice in Hempstead.”

“I brought the pair in, Miss Morrow.”

It was what he did not say that intrigued Tru. She sensed that he chose to answer carefully, and it was the absence of “justice” that made her wonder what it was she didn’t know. His response begged for a question, but she saw immediately that he would not entertain one. His expression, while not cold, had become remote and was fixed in a manner that did not invite further inquiry.

Cobb put on his hat and gave her a short nod as he tapped the brim. “I’ll see that the last sand tart is delivered.” He turned to go.

Tru said, “Perhaps I’ll see you this evening.” She did not intend her statement to be anything but matter of fact, and it spoke to her lingering discomfort that she heard these words delivered in a tone that might politely be called hopeful and more harshly described as desperate. “At the hotel,” she added quickly. As a clarification, she thought it was less than perfect. It sounded vaguely as if she were planning a tryst. “In the dining room.”

Heat warmed her cheeks when he turned around to face her again, and she saw that humor had lifted one corner of his mouth the narrowest of fractions. Even under the shading brim of his hat, she could see that his gaze was no longer distant, but intimate and amused.

“I look forward to seeing you there, Miss Morrow.”

This time when he headed back to the door, Tru let him go.

* * *

The dining room had several empty tables, including the one closest to the window. When neither Cecilia nor her cousin greeted her, Tru took her usual place. Once again, other diners invited her to sit with them, including the older couple from Denver. They had been staying at the Pennyroyal so the husband could recuperate from injuries he sustained during a mishap on the station platform. Tru found them lively conversationalists up to the point that they began repeating themselves. When they emphasized all the same points and laughed in precisely the same places, it was difficult not to allow her mind to wander.

As it was wandering now. Tru fiddled with her fork, turning it over and over on the tablecloth while she entertained all her earlier doubts about coming to the hotel this evening. The fact that the hotel staff expected her was a deciding factor in favor of returning. Her teaching contract specified that she could take meals as often as she liked at the Pennyroyal. It was a generous allowance, but Tru also liked to cook, and she usually managed for herself on Friday and Saturday. On Sundays she frequently invited Andrew Robbins, the pastor of Grace Church, and his wife to join her for dinner, or she took her meal after services with Jennifer Phillips and her husband.

Her routine varied little from day to day. Her absence at the Pennyroyal on a Tuesday would have been noted and discussed. Most likely someone from the hotel, probably Walt, would have been sent to make sure she was all right. It was a fine thing the way they cared for her, and it had everything to do with Mrs. Coltrane’s influence, but sometimes Tru felt that by observing a routine she had become predictable to the point of boring herself.

Cobb Bridger was proving to be an excellent diversion.

She was pleased to see that he had sense enough not to arrive before she did. It would have been awkward to refuse the invitation of other diners in favor of his, especially as this would be the second time they shared a table in as many days. The problem with diversion was that it would inevitably lead to speculation, and while Tru could accept that as a consequence, she was not of a mind to provoke it unnecessarily.

Tru did not have to look up to know when Cobb reached the threshold. She supposed that it was because she was anticipating his arrival that she sensed a stirring among the other diners. Within moments of him stepping into the room, people were greeting him. She noticed that he was invariably polite but also that he did not encourage conversation. He managed to disengage himself at each table with the skill of a seasoned politician.

There was no doubt in her mind that if it ever came to him running for a town office, he could get himself elected.

“Miss Morrow.”

She lifted her head and offered him a modest smile. “Mr. Bridger.”

“It’s hard to believe you are dining alone again. May I join you?”

“If you like.”

“I believe I do.” With the public niceties out of the way, he sat. “Where is Miss Ross?”

Tru shrugged. “No one from the kitchen has come out since I arrived. I imagine they’ve been waiting for you.”

He chuckled. “I doubt that.”

As if recognizing a cue, Cecilia Ross and her cousin entered the dining room, stage left. Tru conveyed her satisfaction upon being proved right by regarding him from under raised eyebrows.

Renee Harrison and Cecilia took different routes to reach the table, but high road or low road, they came to a stop beside Cobb at the same time. After they informed him that stew was being served this evening, they inquired about his preference in drink. When he asked for coffee, Cecilia hurried away to fetch it, leaving Renee to attend to Tru.

“It’s amusing,” Tru said once Renee was out of hearing.

Cobb merely grunted softly.

Tru chuckled. “This kind of attention cannot be a novelty to you, and if it is, you should enjoy it more.”

“Do you speak from experience?”

“A very modest experience. When I came to Bitter Springs, the welcome I received was overwhelming, all out of proportion to what I was hired to do. Or at least that’s what I thought. I’ve since come to understand that the people here see me as some sort of ambassador for Mrs. Coltrane, the woman who hired me. She corresponds regularly with me and with Mrs. Sterling, but I am the last person in town to have spoken with her.”

Cobb did not say otherwise. He let her go on.

“The town sets great store by her—and her husband, I should add. It has to do with some trouble a while back. You won’t find anyone here with a criticism for either of them.”

Cobb asked, “What interested you in the position?”

“I’ve always wanted to teach, but even with the very generous arrangement I was offered, I thought a long time about traveling so far. It was Mrs. Mackey who convinced me to go. She was adamant, in fact.”

He drew his eyebrows together as though struggling to place the name and cleared his brow as he feigned coming upon it. “Your former employer, is that right?”

“Yes. I was her companion for about two years. She was a member of Olde St. John’s, the parish where my father was rector. She was quite influential in the Episcopal community.”

“She sounds formidable.”

“Oh, yes. She certainly was that.” Quite unexpectedly, Tru felt an ache behind her eyes that meant tears were threatening. She blinked several times and managed a watery smile. “I didn’t know that was going to happen. I thought . . . well, it doesn’t matter what I thought. Not enough time has passed, I suppose.”

“You miss her.”

She nodded and didn’t speak until she had collected herself and her thoughts. “I do. She was a grand lady, worthy of admiration and respect, but I also miss her for selfish reasons. She was a connection to my father, his works, his life. When I learned she passed, it felt as if I’d lost him again.” Tears welled, and this time she blew out a long breath, seeking composure before she was forced to dab at her eyes with a handkerchief and draw every diner’s attention to her. She pressed a hand to her temple, blocking her profile. “This is not how I imagined our conversation. You must wish yourself anywhere but here.”

“Must I?”

Tru slowly lowered her hand. “Don’t you?”

“No, not when you’ve made me curious about what you imagined our conversation would be.”

“I didn’t mean—”

Cobb shook his head slowly, his blue eyes leveled knowingly on hers. “Yes, you did. You’ve thought about meeting me here, probably thought about
not
meeting me. You were telling the truth when you said you imagined what we might talk about . . . and how it would go.”

“You are too confident by half.”

“You think so? If I am, it’s because I had imaginings of my own.”

Tru felt her cheeks coloring. She resisted the urge to shield her face again and fiddled with her fork to distract herself. “I went to the bakery after you left.”

“All right,” he said easily. “We can talk about that.”

“You made an impression on Jenny. I believe the word is ‘charmed.’ I barely set foot inside the door when she began to regale me with your visit to her shop, and she was delighted when you wanted to buy sand tarts for my class.” She frowned slightly and regarded him frankly. “It is not at all usual for a guest in town to involve himself in such a way. Why did you do it, Mr. Bridger?”

“Cobb, please. My grandfather was Jacob, my father, Jake. I’m Cobb so the family can keep it straight.”

“Very well. Why did you do it . . . Cobb? I find myself wondering how you might be something other than you appear.”

He angled his head slightly. “Suspicious?”

“I prefer cautious.”

“Because I bought and delivered sand tarts to the school? From now on, I will more carefully consider acts of kindness.”

“Jenny thinks you would make a fine marshal.” Tru’s lips curled when Cobb groaned softly. “So does our mayor. I spoke to Terry McCormick after I left the bakery.”

“So
this
is how you imagined our conversation would go. I am disappointed, Miss Morrow. I expected something more inspired.”

Her dimple appeared when her smile deepened. “Well, I did think we would have it over a meal.”

“Ah.” He glanced toward the door to the kitchen. “I wonder what’s keeping them.”

“Probably the fact that they’re arguing over who is going to bring your food and drink.”

Cobb’s lips quirked. “You are overstating their interest.”

At that moment, the kitchen door opened and Mrs. Sterling stepped through to the dining room. She wore her spectacles above her salt-and-pepper widow’s peak and a militant expression on her open face. She looked as if she wanted to throw the heavy tray she was carrying rather than deliver it.

Tru and Cobb exchanged glances as Mrs. Sterling advanced on their table. “Don’t shrink,” she said under her breath. “Stay strong.”

Cobb jumped to his feet before the cook reached the table and swept the tray out of her hand. “Allow me,” he said and gave her no choice but that she should. “It smells delicious, Mrs. Sterling.”

“Of course it does,” she said flatly. “I used a good cut of roast for that stew.” Now that her hands were empty, she was able to set them on her hips. Her apron stretched taut across her middle. “I’m not fooled by your nonsense, Mr. Bridger. I like you just fine, and you haven’t caused me a lick of trouble in the saloon like some folks I could mention.” Here, her head snapped to the left, and she shot a narrow-eyed glance at Howard Wheeler and Jack Clifton. They immediately averted their eyes from the spectacle and applied themselves to their food. Her head came around again and settled the same accusing look on Cobb.

“My dining room’s another matter. You’ve got my two girls spitting and snarling at each other like alley cats. And bein’ cousins only makes it worse. Now, I don’t know what you’re doing that’s giving them the conniptions, but it has to stop. I lost my best girl a while back to a cowpoke who had nothing to recommend him but an agreeable smile and an ornery horse. When Sue Hage married Charlie Patterson I wondered how I was going to manage without her. Together, Cecilia and Renee hardly make one of my Sue, but mostly they do for me what I ask, and when they don’t, I let them know it.”