True to the Law (32 page)

Chapter Twelve

Tru went to the parlor window and parted the curtains the few inches necessary to observe Andrew Mackey’s departure. When she saw that he had cleared the porch and was walking in the direction of the Pennyroyal, she stepped back from window and let the curtains fall in place.

“So help me, Cobb Bridger,” she called out. “I have a good mind to leave the lamp here and bring the shotgun.” In spite of her threat, it was the lamp she carried upstairs. “Don’t you dare step out of the shadows and scare me.” She proceeded cautiously anyway, holding the lamp in both hands as she walked down the hallway to her room. “Cobb? Say something. I know you’re here. Andrew’s gone. You can come out.”

Nothing. Tru glanced around her room. Feeling slightly ridiculous, she stooped to look under the bed and even opened the wardrobe. The thought that Cobb might be crouched inside was an image worth cherishing well into old age. She was a little disappointed when he wasn’t there.

Tru retraced her steps in the hall and went to the first bedroom. It required less than a minute to prove that he wasn’t there. There were only a few pieces of furniture to hide behind or under or in. There was just one place left, and even though Tru was no longer as confident of his presence as she had been when she climbed the stairs, she kept the lamp steady and walked into the rear bedroom.

She saw immediately that it was also empty. Frowning, she stood in the doorway for a long moment while she reconsidered how Cobb could have exited the house. He had not left by the back door. She wouldn’t have known that if Andrew hadn’t remarked on it being locked. She also realized that he couldn’t have gone out the front while she and Andrew were in the kitchen. They might not have heard him opening and closing the door, but they certainly would have felt the blast of cold air that action would have invited.

Eliminating the possibility that he had used either of the doors to make his exit led Tru to believe that he had moved into the dining room while she and Andrew headed to the kitchen, and while they were in that room, he had slipped around to the front and taken the stairs. She had been so certain that was his route that she covered for him by engaging Andrew in conversation to mask any noise he might make.

Now it seemed that she had been mistaken. She wondered if she went back downstairs if she would find the kitchen door unlocked. It seemed unlikely, if not impossible, that Cobb could have avoided Andrew’s search by circling around to the parlor. And that meant he still would have been in the house when she threatened him with the shotgun. That should have gotten his attention.

Tru lowered the lamp. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught the eerie, ghost-like reflection of that movement in the window and immediately retreated a step. She mocked herself with a wry smile as she realized she was jumping at shadows of her own making. Here was the evidence that she was responsible for setting her nerves on edge.

She raised the lamp again, proved to herself that it was its flame that she had seen, and started to exit.

The light could not have dawned any brighter if the sun had suddenly appeared in the night sky. Tru steadied the lamp as she whipped around and made straight for the window. She felt for the latch first, knowing full well that she had closed it after her conversation with Cobb and Evelyn Stillwell.

It was open now. Tru placed the lamp on the floor, threw up the sash, and leaned out the window exactly as she had done the previous night. Snowflakes drifted into her hair and melted on her face. A half-inch of snow already covered the peaked roof of the back porch. She withdrew from the window to retrieve the lamp and then held it out to make a second examination.

Tru had no difficulty finding Cobb’s footprints in the snowcap. Her eyes followed them to the roof’s lip. Judging by swirling patterns there, it looked to Tru as if his coat disturbed the snow when he stooped to make his leap. She hoped he hadn’t broken his neck. She very much wanted the pleasure of doing that for herself.

* * *

“Now how’d you do this again, Marshal?” Walt Mangold poured whiskey over a cotton pad and set it against the cuts on Cobb’s side. Not only didn’t he remove it when Cobb winced, he actually pressed a little more firmly. “Told you it would sting.”

“You did. I didn’t think you would relish it quite so much.”

“A man has to find his amusements where he can. You sure you don’t want to tell folks this happened in a knife fight? It looks a little like a knife caught you here and there. I wouldn’t say different.”

“I appreciate the offer, Walt, but there were plenty of witnesses at Whistler’s place that know there was no knife fight. I picked up a glass from one of the tables thinking I could use it to knock some sense into Tom Bailey’s head—he was on top of Al Farrell at the time—but I ended up dragging him away instead. I don’t even remember putting the glass in my pocket.”

“I’m still thinking we can encourage people to remember a knife fight. That’d be a mite better for your reputation than folks hearing how you tripped comin’ up the steps of the Pennyroyal and pierced your side on a couple shards of glass.”

Cobb decided that he needed to establish a little dignity in his lie. “I didn’t trip. I
slid
. Someone—and I’m not pointing fingers—hadn’t swept the steps.”

Walt nodded. “I see where you’re going here, Marshal. That’s why I’m in favor of the knife fight. No sense the town knowing that you went ass over teakettle in the first itty-bitty snow we had in these parts.”

So much for dignity, Cobb thought. “How are people going to know if you don’t tell them?”

“Well, you’re going to be favorin’ your left side for a while. Folks will see that and they’re bound to ask. Then there’s that shirt you were wearing. It will need to be laundered to get the blood out and repaired by a fine hand so the rent ain’t noticeable. That’s Mrs. Taylor and Mrs. Garvin that you’ll be seeing about those matters, unless you mean to toss the shirt away in which case Cil or Renee will probably come across it and have a few things to say. And you’ll most likely want to do something about that pocket. The lining’s ripped clean through. I figure it’ll take about a day and a half before everyone hears about your misfortune.”

“You make a compelling argument, Walt, but I can’t accuse a couple of rowdy ranch hands of cutting me to salve my pride.”

Walt considered that, nodding slowly. “Guess that’s what makes you different than the last man we had wearing a badge. Dan Sugar would have kept those boys in jail and made a case for hanging them. To my way of thinking, that’s more proof that you’re real good for Bitter Springs. And you’re not the first person to fall off the porch, although most of the time it’s on account of someone being drunk and wandering the wrong way from the saloon. I probably didn’t sweep as good as I should have. Mrs. Sterling will scold, but that doesn’t bother me much.”

“Let’s just say I tripped, Walt. There’s no point in you taking the fall for me.”

Walt’s laughter boomed. “Takin’ the fall. That’s what they call a pun, ain’t it? Usually I don’t get those, but that’s a good one.”

Walt’s enjoyment made Cobb chuckle. That slight movement caused him to wince again. He looked down at himself to get a glimpse of his wounds. Walt still had the cotton pad over the cuts. “Let me have a look.”

Walt lifted the pad a fraction to see if there was still bleeding. “You got one here that’s plenty deep.” He dabbed at the wound as it began to seep blood. “It could be that Doc Kent would want to stitch it. And I’m not real confident that I got all the glass out. I should fetch him.”

“It’s late.”

“The doc’s used it to. He says there’s nothin’ that happens on a schedule.”

Cobb leaned back against the headboard. “All right. Ask the doctor if he’ll come.” When Walt began to collect the supplies he’d brought, Cobb stopped him. “Leave the whiskey.”

Grinning, Walt slapped the bottle into Cobb’s palm. “Mind that you go easy.” He picked up Cobb’s jacket and shirt. “You want me to look after these?”

Cobb nodded. “Thank you. And if you could remove what’s left of the glass from the pocket that would be a kindness to Mrs. Garvin.”

“I’ll take care of it right after I bring the doc back.” Then he was gone.

Cobb was still favoring his left side when he walked into church Sunday morning. He was painfully aware of heads turning in his direction as he made his way down the aisle. Even Pastor Robbins looked amused, although to be fair to the man and his position, there was more grace in his smile than sly humor.

It was Cobb’s usual practice to sit beside Jim Phillips if there was room in the pew. This morning that pew was filled. Not only were the Burnsides and their children present, but also Andrew Mackey was sitting squarely between Tru and Jenny. Cobb wondered how Mackey had managed that. Jim had warned him against even trying to separate the two women, and Cobb accepted that Jim knew what he was talking about.

Cobb stood at the end of a pew occupied by the Ransoms and the Stillwells and waited for them to slide down just enough to make room for him. He felt Doc Kent’s stitches pulling at his skin as he sat. The service began as soon as he was seated, confirming his suspicion that the congregation had been waiting on him.

It was little wonder that he felt at home in Bitter Springs.

Jim Phillips caught up to Cobb right after the service. He kicked snow out of the way as he followed Cobb’s route off the shoveled path. “I guess you came this way to avoid a lot of questions. I could see that more folks were wanting to line up to say something to you than Pastor Robbins.”

Cobb tugged on the brim of his hat, lowering it over his forehead. “What do you want to know, Jim?”

“Is it true?”

“Depends. What did you hear?”

“Heard you broke a glass with your backside tripping on the front steps of the Pennyroyal.”

“It’s my left side not my backside. The rest is true.”

Jim pulled a long face and shook his head. “Did you even consider telling a different story? Maybe a knife fight. Something like that.”

“Something like folks would read in a Nat Church adventure?”

“Exactly.”

Cobb looked sideways at Jim and said dryly, “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Jim grinned with his usual good nature. “Glad to help.” He stayed at Cobb’s side as they crossed the street. “What do you know about that Mackey fellow? He seems friendly with Tru, but Jenny disliked him on sight. She was huffing all through the service about him sitting between her and Tru. I thought for sure he’d hear her.”

Cobb gave Jim the short version and then asked, “Didn’t Tru tell you all of that when she was at your house Friday night?”

“I didn’t hear a word about him. Well, she might have said something to Jenny, but Jenny usually tells me things like that.”

Cobb wondered what other secrets Tru was keeping from her best friend.

Jim reached the boarded sidewalk in front of the drugstore first. He waited to make sure Cobb didn’t need a hand up.

“I’m not an invalid,” Cobb said.

“I wasn’t thinking about your injury. I wanted to make sure you didn’t trip.”

“Funny.” It wasn’t much of a step up, and Cobb would have taken a knife to his own throat rather than show Jim that he felt the tug of the stitches again. Doc Kent also seemed to think he had bruised a couple of ribs, which explained the ache in his chest when he drew a deep breath. The doctor also had done him the favor of believing he had sustained the injuries falling backward off the steps. Kent only puzzled aloud once about Cobb’s momentum carrying him in the wrong direction.

“Oh,” Jim said suddenly. “I’m supposed to invite you to Sunday dinner at our house. Jenny’s got a ham she’s fixin’ to bake. She told me to mention that there would be greens and scalloped apples on the side. She said you’re partial to scalloped apples.”

“I am.”

Jim nodded. “So you’ll come?”

Cobb wondered if Tru would be there. He didn’t ask. “Sure. I have a few things to do first. Can I have an hour or will that make me late?”

“That’ll be fine. See you soon.”

While Jim headed for home, Cobb turned the corner before the Pennyroyal and took the alleyway to the train station. Avoiding the people still milling around the churchyard was his main objective, but he also did not want to chance being observed by Tru or Andrew Mackey on his way to the station. Even though there were any number of explanations he could make for the trip, he simply did not want to offer even one. The most difficult aspect of his job was performing it under the scrutiny of every citizen in Bitter Springs.

No one was in the station house, so Cobb went around to the Collins residence. Heather Collins came to the door and invited him in. She was a slight woman with a straightforward stare, strong jaw, and firm mouth. He thought she was genuinely pleased to see him, but he couldn’t be sure. He asked after her husband.

When Jefferson came at her call, Rabbit and Finn were on his heels. Cobb greeted the boys and congratulated himself on his excellent timing. All of his deputies were accounted for.

“There is a young man on his way to Bitter Springs from Chicago. I’d like to know he’s here as soon as his feet touch the platform.”

“Plenty of young men come this way and call Chicago home,” said Mr. Collins. “You have a name?”