True to the Law (13 page)

His head came down slowly; slow enough to allow her another opportunity to say no or turn away. She did neither. Just before his mouth touched hers, her lips parted. She took a breath; cool at first and then warmed by him.

He touched her mouth lightly, and she thought this kiss was like his smile, not fully realized, but a promise of what might be. She held herself very still, waiting.

Cobb kept one hand at the small of her back just below her belted robe while the other slid upward along her spine. The small space that separated them ceased to exist. Her body arched, curving into his until her breasts and belly were snug against him. She wished she had asked him to take off his coat. Why hadn’t she invited him to do that?

His hand fisted around her braid at the base of her neck. He tugged, not hard, but insistently, and changed the tilt of her head so that when his mouth left hers, he had access to the hollow just below her ear.

Tru sought purchase by clutching the front of Cobb’s duster. Her knuckles whitened when she felt the damp edge of his tongue against her skin. Her breath hitched and lodged at the back of her throat. Light-headed, she felt all of her senses stirring. It took a gasp to move air into her lungs, but it was the suck of his mouth on her neck that forced the gasp.

His lips returned to hers but not before he cupped her face and touched his thumb to the faint indentation at the base of her chin. His kiss was different this time, no longer a hint of what might be, but everything his first touch had promised.

This kiss was a claim.

He took her mouth at his leisure, nudging her lips open so that he could have the fullness of her offering. His tongue traced the underside of her upper lip before it dipped inside to meet hers. She was reminded that they both had had the whiskey. The taste of it lingered on his tongue, smooth and velvety and warm. Tru was glad she had learned to appreciate fine spirits.

The kiss deepened. In subtle measures, the tenor of it changed. His lips firmed, pressed, and what had been exploration became something more than that. It felt like a
need.
It felt like hunger.

Tru wanted it too, wanted it from this man, wanted to feel it with him. In that most secret part of her heart, the truth was there. She couldn’t say as much, but there wasn’t any part of her that wasn’t responding as if she were shouting it.

Her fingers slowly uncurled from his coat and slid up his chest. She raised her hands. They hovered just above his shoulders for a moment before clasping behind his neck. He wore his sun-beaten hair slightly longer than what passed for fashion in Bitter Springs. Tru smoothed his nape with her fingertips, dragging her nails against his skin. She felt his shoulders roll. She ruffled his hair and heard him growl low in his throat. The sound of it raised a shiver in her.

Tru felt the edge of the table pressing just below her bottom. She had no idea when he’d turned her, no recollection of resisting him. With very little effort, he lifted her onto the table. Her robe parted below the belt. She was aware of the warm imprint of one of his hands at the center of her back and the even warmer impression of his other hand in the act of raising her nightgown. His palm lightly cupped her calf, lifting the hem with his thumb as it traveled upward toward her knee.

Tru felt cool air against her skin from ankle to thigh before it ever occurred to her that she could stop him. Not that she
should
. Only that she
could
. She had stopped thinking altogether by the time he parted her knees and stepped between them. He pulled her toward him.

She could not distinguish between one kiss and the next. The pauses that had punctuated his first forays were gone. He made each transition smoothly, angling her head and then his, tasting the corner of her mouth, teasing her bottom lip with the tip of his tongue. He never directed her, never told her what to do, but she found her way in spite of that and sensed he was not entirely in command of his every action. It was a heady notion that she was giving as good as she got, not with her wits this time, but with her hands and mouth and clever fingers.

Tru wedged her hands between their bodies and slipped them inside his duster. She lifted the caped shoulders to ease him out of it. He was impatient with the act, as though loath to release her long enough to shrug it off. This time she was insistent, pulling the duster down his arms until it fell to the floor.

He took her back then, holding her close enough to flatten her to his chest. The pressure felt good against her swelling breasts, and when he made to put some space between them, she arched her spine and rubbed.

“Your belt,” he whispered against her mouth.

It seemed forever since she had heard his voice, and this voice was not quite as she remembered it. She was reminded of whiskey again, smooth and velvety and warm, and perhaps even better aged than she was used to.

Without looking away, Tru found his hands and laid hers over them. She felt his fingers still. He was waiting for her, she realized, searching her face with eyes that were darker now with wanting. He tugged at the knot she’d made in her belt and opened her robe.

Then she waited.

His hands moved to her waist. He held her like that for a long time, his palms filling the curves, the pads of his thumbs making a pass across the smooth fabric of her nightgown. Tru wanted to raise his hands to her breasts but anticipation was too rich an experience to be hurried. When he finally cupped their undersides, she gave no thought to coming out of her nightgown. She thought she might come out of her skin.

Tru lifted her face and found Cobb’s mouth. She closed her eyes and moved her lips over his. Her breasts felt heavy in his hands. Her nipples were taut and tender. She wanted his thumbs to make another pass, this time across the budding flesh. When he did, she could barely draw a breath for the sensation of skittering sparks.

A current of electricity went through her, not so charged that it was painful, but with enough energy to make her aware that her toes were curling. It was so wholly unexpected that it made her smile, and she surrendered that smile in her kiss.

Cobb broke the kiss and looked at her again but with something different in his eyes.

A question.

She did not let him ask it, and she did not suppose that she knew him well enough to guess at what it might be. She simply nodded and invited him back to her mouth with lips that parted around her smile.

Groaning softly, Cobb bent his head. His fingers scrabbled at the ribbon closure on her nightgown. He did not ask for Tru’s help this time, and she did not offer it. Their kiss was long and slow and deep. He drew open the neckline of her gown and slipped one hand inside.

At the first touch of his fingers against her skin, Tru released what was left of the breath she had been holding. Her sigh was lost in the kiss.

Tru released Cobb and sought to steady herself by placing her hands slightly behind her and flat on the table. One of her palms found the purchase she was seeking. The other landed squarely on the wrapped slice of molasses pound cake.

Jenny came to mind immediately. Jenny who had made the pound cake and said to her on the subject of morals and intentions, “
And then intentions go to hell in a handcart
.”

On the heels of that thought came Mrs. Sterling. Ida Mae who had served the cake in her dining room and said to her on the subject of Cobb Bridger, “
I hope you aren’t moved to fluttering when he looks at you sideways.
”

Tru realized she was proving her friend right and her self-appointed guardian angel wrong. Neither set well with her. Before she said a word, Cobb was straightening and closing the gap in her neckline. His fingers tugged gently on the ribbons. His hands were not entirely steady as he tied them. She let him smooth the robe over her shoulders without shrugging him off, but she stiffened when his hands began to run down the length of her arms. He let her go and stepped back. She closed her legs and pushed her nightgown over her knees.

“What happened?” he asked. His voice was still like whiskey, but with some grit in it now, as if it had been poured over sand.

Tru stared at her hands in her lap long enough to recognize her avoidance for cowardice. She lifted her eyes to his. “I’m sorry.”

“So am I. But I wasn’t asking for an apology. I asked what happened.”

Tru reached behind her and found the molasses pound cake. She showed him the parcel.

“It looks as if you flattened it.”

“I did.”

“Did I sit you on it?”

Tru shook her head and held up the offending hand. “This.” She hesitated, uncertain that she could explain. In the end, she didn’t have to.

“A slice of reality, I imagine.” Cobb relieved her of the cake and examined it from all sides. “Even so, it’s probably still tasty.”

She couldn’t help herself. She laughed, and it felt better than good. It felt right. “Would you like to share it, Mr. Bridger?”

He cocked an eyebrow at her.

“Would you like to share it, Cobb?”

“That’s better. Yes, I’d like that.”

She didn’t say anything about the two slices he claimed to have eaten earlier in the evening. Even if it were true, he probably had an appetite that matched hers now. She took the cake back when he stooped to pick up his coat.

“You can hang that by the back door. Your hat also.”

Cobb took both away while Tru got out plates. She set them on the table, belted her robe, and then found a knife and two forks. She carefully unwrapped the misshapen cake and sliced it in two. “You choose,” she told him when he returned to the table. “I did the cutting.”

He smiled. “That’s a mother’s trick.”

“And a teacher’s.”

Cobb eyed both slices and made his selection. “If there’s a difference in their size, I can’t tell.”

“Good. That’s the way it’s supposed to work.” She sat down and pulled her plate toward her. “You said it was a mother’s trick. Is that where you learned it? Your mother?”

“I did.”

“Then you must have had at least one sibling.”

Cobb put down his fork and held up eight fingers. He nodded when her eyes widened. “Farm family.”

Tru couldn’t keep her eyes from widening further. “Farmers? Tilling-the-soil and reaping-the-harvest farmers?”

“I’m not sure I understand your surprise, but yes, tilling and reaping. You neglected to mention planting. That’s at least as important as the others. My father did it all. His father before him. My brother Adam is taking over. Farming’s always been in his blood.”

“Not yours?”

“Never.”

“And the rest of your family? Are they still connected to the farm?”

“Some more than others. Saul is a minister. Edie’s married to a druggist. They own a shop not far from the farm in Lima.”

“You’re from Ohio?”

“Born and raised.”

“I took you for city bred.”

“Oh? On what evidence?”

“None at all, I’m realizing. Merely a wrong-headed assumption.” She took a bite of cake. “What about your other siblings? You’ve named three.”

“Teddy died of scarlet fever when he was eight. He was two years older. Michael didn’t live to see his first birthday. He was six years younger. Amy came after me, and Jeremiah after her. Amy married a farmer. Jeremiah joined the Army. He’s stationed at the military prison at Alcatraz. Seth is the youngest. He’s still on the farm and probably will stay there until he marries.”

“Your mother and father?”

“Both well and working as hard as they did when they were my age.”

“You’re in the middle.”

“Four ahead. Four behind. A brother dead on either side, so I’m still in the middle.”

Tru tried to imagine what it would be like to be part of a family that large. It was one of the few times her imagination failed her. “I had two younger sisters. Amity and Clara. They died in ’71. October. The Chicago Fire. My mother also.”

Cobb said nothing for a time, taking it in. “How is it that you and your father were spared?”

“We were at the church. It was Sunday evening. I was helping my father look for a piece of jewelry one of the parishioners lost. Mrs. Mackey sent—”

Cobb interrupted. “The same Mrs. Mackey that would later employ you?”

“Yes,” she said, surprised that he remembered. “The same. She lost a brooch in church that morning, or at least she thought she had. Father and I were alone at the rectory when her message arrived so we went to the church together. Mother had taken my sisters with her when she went to visit her parents and hadn’t returned. My grandparents lived only a few blocks northeast of DeKoven Street.” She waited to see if he reacted to that. Sometimes people did. When he remained silent, she went on. “You probably heard that the O’Learys’ cow started the fire. I don’t concern myself with whether that’s true or not. It’s the least important thing. What is true is that the fire began on DeKoven Street and spread northeast.

“It was a conflagration. I thought hell had come to earth. It very nearly did. No one who wasn’t there can properly imagine how fast the flames spread. They leaped from roof to roof, spire to spire. The heat was so terrible that wooden houses burst into flame in advance of the fire. Father and I escaped, but my mother and sisters did not.”