True to the Law by Jo Goodman Read Free Book Online Page A

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.”
    He paused again, then took a mouthful of food and washed it down with a sip of beer. “After Hempstead, I set a different course.”
    Tru considered that. “So you might not always play at the tables for your livelihood.”
    “I might. I might not. I’m making no plans.” He jabbed at another dumpling. “Is it important? I recall you saying that you do not pass judgment on