True to the Law (12 page)

“Very well,” Cobb said. “I thought you would want to know that Mrs. Sterling cornered me before I got to the dining room.”

Tru watched shadow chasing light across Cobb’s face as the oil lamp’s flame flickered. She was aware her hand was trembling and only a small part of that was accounted for by the weight of the lamp. A shiver shook her spine. She was mere seconds away from chattering teeth.

There was no real welcome in her voice when she said, “Come in.” She backed up. “Close the door.”

Cobb stepped over the threshold and pulled the door shut behind him. He whipped off his hat and held it in front of him with one hand while the other made a quick pass through his hair. He glanced around before his eyes settled on her face. He raised his eyebrows. “Is this where you want to talk?”

“I don’t want to talk at all. You woke me.”

“You were sleeping in a chair. It looked as if you nodded off while you were reading. Some people would appreciate being woken before their neck had a permanent crick.”

Now Tru’s eyebrows lifted, and their arc was more dramatic than Cobb’s mildly expectant expression. “You were spying on me?”

“Spying puts it in a harsh light. I saw you from the street. You should close your parlor curtains at night. Anyone passing can see in.”

Tru recalled that on her way home she had seen Dr. Kent through his window. “What were you doing on my street?”

“Coming to see you.”

Tru’s nostrils flared as she took in a sharp breath. Frustrated, she could not count as high as ten before she was done exhaling. She set the lamp on the kitchen table and folded her arms in front of her. “Whatever you came here to say, please say it and say it quickly. It’s late.”

His eyes dropped to her chest momentarily. “You’re not wearing your watch and fob.”

“On my robe? You’re being ridiculous.”

He shrugged. “It looked to me as though it might be part of your uniform. When I saw it this afternoon, it put me in mind of a general sporting his medal.”

Since Tru had had the same thought at times, it felt wrong to take issue with his remark. Still, she was wearing a
robe
. “Do you mean to be annoying as a strategy or is it a character flaw?”

Cobb grinned. “If those are my choices, I’d better not answer.” He angled his chin toward the table. “Do you mind if we sit?”

“I don’t suppose that it matters if I do.” She pointed to the chair closest to the sink. “Sit there.” Tru pulled out the chair at a right angle to his but waited for him to be seated before she decided to follow suit. It occurred to her that standing over him might present some sort of advantage, then she considered the manner in which he watched her and thought she was probably only fooling herself.

Cobb set his hat beside the wrapped parcel lying on the table. “Molasses pound cake?” he asked.

“It is. And it’s mine.”

“I wouldn’t think of asking you to share. I already ate my fill.” He held up two fingers. “A little whiskey, though . . . I wouldn’t turn that down.”

“Mr. Bridger,” she said in a tone that every one of her students would recognize as the precursor to the last straw. “I have no intention of playing hostess. I am suffering your presence, not enjoying it.”

“No one saw me.”

Tru could not follow the change of subject. “Pardon?”

“No one saw me come here. You can rest easy.”

“I was resting easy before you began pounding on my door. Tell me what you meant about Mrs. Sterling cornering you.”

“You know she frightens me,” he said, straight-faced.

“I know you’d like me to believe that. You probably want Mrs. Sterling to believe it as well. I can’t speak for her, but I don’t think there’s much that frightens you.”

“You’d be wrong.”

She shrugged.

“Why would I say it if it weren’t true?” he asked.

Tru gave him a considering look. “I suspect it’s to make you appear less dangerous.”

One corner of his mouth kicked up. “Dangerous? What have you been reading this evening that has your imagination wound tight as a top?”

“Of course it must be my imagination that is at fault. And how did you know I was reading?”

“I told you I saw you through the window. The book was in your lap.”

“And you don’t know the name of it? That surprises.”

“I left my spyglass in my room. So, what were you reading?”

Tru sighed. What was it he had said to her that first night?
And you shouldn’t expect that you’ll always have your way. You won’t.
Here was the proof of that. She didn’t think she could hurry him along if she set his hair on fire. “
Oliver Twist.
”

“Of course,” he said after a moment’s thought.

“You do not put me in mind of Fagin,” she said flatly. “In spite of your way with the children.”

“No, not Fagin. Bill Sikes. He cuts the most romantic figure.”

Tru’s eyes widened. “He murdered the woman who loved him.”

“My point. You’ve been acting as if you think I mean to do the same to you.”

She closed her eyes briefly while she raised one hand to her temple and massaged the area with her fingertips. There was no doubt that he was responsible for the fog rolling over her judgment. She gave voice to the first clear thought that emerged.

“I don’t love you.” Hearing the words, belatedly realizing that she had spoken them, Tru winced. She gave Cobb credit for not doing the same. His reaction was to have none at all. He simply continued to study her as though she were an insect pinned to a felt board. “I mean I’m not Nancy to your Bill. My imagination is not wound that tightly.”

“So you say.”

Tru watched his eyes lower to her mouth. She felt his gaze as a physical touch, his pale blue eyes grazing her lips as his fingers might. She kept her hands on the table, unwilling to reveal by raising one to her mouth that she was affected in any way. It was only when she made to speak that she realized she had pressed her lips together.

“I
do
say, Mr. Bridger.”

His faint smile communicated what he thought of her formality. “Mrs. Sterling warned me to stay away from you.”

“You mean to explain that, don’t you?”

“I’m a little parched.” He touched his throat.

She stared at him, shaking her head. “You are extraordinary.”

“I’m not sensing that you mean that as a compliment.”

“Oh, good for you, Mr. Bridger.” She stood and put out her hand to indicate he was to stay precisely where he was. “I’ll be right back with your whiskey.” It was tempting to glance over her shoulder as she walked away. She was certain he had a sly smile on his face, and equally certain that confronting it would turn her to stone or a pillar of salt depending if she referenced the Greeks or the Hebrews. Tru had no real hope that he would remain at the table.

She wasn’t wrong. When she returned with a tumbler of whiskey for him and what remained of the drink she had poured for herself earlier, he was standing with his back to the sink, his feet slightly parted, hands at his back, surveying her kitchen as if he were a ship’s captain and this area was his deck and domain. Her eyes went to the table to confirm that she still had a slice of pound cake sitting there.

Cobb followed her glance. “As tempting as it was, I left it for you.”

Tru set his whiskey on the table and pointed to the chair. Again, she waited for him to sit before she did. “About Ida Mae Sterling.”

Cobb sipped, lifted his eyebrows. “This is excellent.”

“My father taught me to appreciate fine spirits.”

He raised his glass, studied the amber liquid against the golden glow of the lamp. “To your father, then. Even if he could claim no other accomplishments, it would be enough that he educated his daughter to know an excellent whiskey.”

“He would be glad to hear it,” she said dryly and continued to regard him expectantly over the rim of her glass.

“Yes. Your good friend Mrs. Sterling. She cautioned me against enjoying myself with no heed as to how I left you. She didn’t tell me what to do one way or the other, but she did indicate that there was an empty seat at Mr. and Mrs. Washington’s table.”

“This really happened?” asked Tru. “You’re not making this up?”

He raised his right hand. “Swear.”

Tru sighed. “It’s not very flattering, is it?”

“No, I was almost offended.”

“I wasn’t talking about you. What she did is not very flattering to me. I think I’m the one she doesn’t trust. She truly must believe that I am a single dinner away from having my head turned and my heart turned over.”

“Are you?”

“No. And don’t pretend that you were hopeful.”

“I was a little hopeful.”

Tru snorted. “Admit it, Mr. Bridger, you wouldn’t know what to do with my heart if you had it.” She anticipated a quick reply, something flippant and of no worth, but Cobb fell unexpectedly silent and his level gaze held hers. His eyes darkened and she couldn’t look away.

“Don’t be so sure, Miss Morrow. I’d know.”

Tru felt her breath hitch. She quickly lifted her glass and took a sip. “It won’t come to that. My heart—and my head—will remain my own.”

Cobb did not challenge her assertion on the surface. Instead, he said, “Perhaps you’ll want to assure Mrs. Sterling. She’s the one who seems to think you might be vulnerable.”

“I don’t know why she has that impression.”

“I suspect you gave it to her.”

“Me?”

He nodded, watching her carefully. “You’ll have to think back to when you arrived in Bitter Springs. Mrs. Sterling said she had the sense that you were leaving something behind. Running away was how she described it. She acknowledged that she might have it wrong, but—”

“She has it all wrong,” Tru said.

Cobb ignored her. “But she thinks that if she peels the layers away from this onion, she’ll find there’s a man.”

“There’s no man.”

Again, Cobb went on as if Tru hadn’t. “Mrs. Sterling knows about the deaths of your father and your employer, but she is still betting that it’s a man.”

“It’s a bad wager. There is no man.”

This time Cobb allowed her words to lie there.

“No man,” she repeated, this time quietly and more to herself than to Cobb.

“You might want to tell Mrs. Sterling,” he said after a while. “She has some notion that it’s her duty to protect you.”

Tru finished off her drink. “I have no idea what she means by that.”

Cobb had nothing to offer.

“I will speak to her,” said Tru. “Of course I will. I’m sure she has my best interests in mind, but I am not her responsibility.”

“If I may make a suggestion, it would be not to tell her that.”

“What? That I am not her responsibility?”

He nodded. “At least not say it in your usual straightforward manner. She strikes me as someone who lives to take care of others. She wouldn’t know how to stop if you asked. It comes as naturally as breathing.”

“I know she means well, but I am not a child. I am not even one of her girls.”

Cobb slowly turned his tumbler in his hands. “I saw you as you were leaving the dining room. You looked . . . unhappy.”

“And you naturally thought it must have something to do with you.”

“I
hoped
it had something to do with me. Was I wrong?”

“My, but it’s a wonder you found a hat big enough for your head.”

“You didn’t answer my question. Were you unhappy because I didn’t join you this evening?”

“I was disappointed that you did not bother to acknowledge my presence, but that was short-lived, and I was not
unhappy when I left the hotel. I had excellent company at dinner.”

“Jack and Howard.”

“Yes.”

“Then I suppose I mistook what I saw. Was Mrs. Sterling right to warn me off?”

“No. That’s for me to do.”

“Then if I ask to join you tomorrow evening, I’ll be welcome?”

Tru lifted her chin a notch. “Ask me tomorrow evening.”

He nodded slowly. “I will, Miss Morrow.” He finished his drink and set down the glass. “And about Mrs. Sterling?”

“I’ll find a way to tell her that I did not arrive in Bitter Springs with a broken heart. As for the rest, I’ll let it lie.”

Cobb pushed his chair back and stood. “All right. I’m going.”

Tru got to her feet and skirted the corner of the table. He stepped in front of her so smoothly that she didn’t have time to react. She walked into him, and when his arms came around her waist to steady her, she was struck by the thought that she hadn’t been off balance until she was in his embrace.

She didn’t struggle. She raised her face and met his eyes.

“Warn me off,” he said.

Almost infinitesimally, Tru shook her head. The agitation she felt moments earlier fled, and now she understood that the source of it wasn’t anything Cobb Bridger had done, but what he hadn’t done. She had wanted this. Wanted it still. How had he known?