patiently at her table for Cobb to make an appearance. She had a pot of tea to keep her company and the mirrored window to keep her amused.
* * *
Mrs. Sterling made it her mission to intercept Cobb before he reached the dining room. With Walt’s help, she was able to leave the kitchen in time to catch him coming down the stairs. She waited until he reached the landing before she returned his greeting. She knew a thing or two about giving up the high ground, and Cobb’s height already gave him a distinct advantage.
Cobb straightened the sleeves of his black wool jacket and ran his hands over the buttons of his vest. The cook made him want to present himself like a soldier for inspection. “Mrs. Sterling.”
“Mr. Bridger.” She wiped her damp hands on her apron front. “I know it’s none of my business, but that’s never stopped me from telling folks what I think. I don’t know what you have in mind for that gal in there, but she’s a good soul, and I think I’d have to cut you off at the knees if your aim is to enjoy yourself with no heed as to how she might be left the worse for it. I got the sense that when she came here she was startin’ over, leavin’ something behind that near to broke her heart. Now, that could be a fancy on my part. Her father passed on, and then that woman she worked for died, and that is surely enough to make any good heart heavy, but I’m holding on to a suspicion that there was more. Usually that means a man, and another man is never the cure for what grieves a woman in times like that.”
“What are you proposing I do, Mrs. Sterling?”
She took off her spectacles and cleaned them with one corner of her apron. “I’m not proposing you do or you don’t. I’m just sayin’, Mr. Bridger. I’m just sayin’.” She returned her gold-wired rimmed glasses to her nose and regarded Cobb over the top. “Looks to me like she’s ignoring my advice and waiting for you, but you think about whether it’s a good idea to sit with her this evening. There’s a place at the table with Mr. and Mrs. Washington.”
“The couple in the room next to mine from Denver?”
“Yes.”
Cobb regarded her with a flat expression. “Did I offend you in some way? Surely what you are suggesting is a punishment.”
“You take it as you like,” she said tartly. “I’m doing my duty.” With that, Mrs. Sterling turned on her heel with the precision of a praetorian and left the lobby for the kitchen.
Cobb’s eyes followed her. He wasn’t sure what he was going to do until he walked into the dining room and saw Gertrude Morrow sitting at her usual table, her face visible only in three-quarter view as she looked at the dining room reflected in the window. He thought she might have seen him. The slight lift in her chin made him think she had. Smiling with more grit than pleasure, he walked straight to the table—of Mr. and Mrs. Washington.
* * *
The main thoroughfare was largely deserted when Tru left the hotel. Lamplight illuminated windows above the storefronts where some of the owners lived with their families. Most of the businesses were dark, having closed for the evening. Light and music streamed from the town’s only other saloon. Tru gave it a wide berth because it tended to draw a rowdier crowd of young, restless cowhands than the Pennyroyal. Hurrying along, she glanced at Dr. Kent’s lighted window as she passed and saw him sitting at his desk hovering over a microscope. She thought it must be fascinating, the things that he saw.
Tru did not pause as she walked by Jennifer’s bakery. She had nothing to say to her friend that would not sound pitiful. Perhaps tomorrow, when she was in a better frame of mind, she would be able to share how Cobb Bridger had come to the dining room and acted as if he didn’t know she were there.
The few people she met on her way nodded a greeting or stopped to inquire about her health and report on their own. She spent several minutes with Mrs.
* * *
Mrs. Sterling made it her mission to intercept Cobb before he reached the dining room. With Walt’s help, she was able to leave the kitchen in time to catch him coming down the stairs. She waited until he reached the landing before she returned his greeting. She knew a thing or two about giving up the high ground, and Cobb’s height already gave him a distinct advantage.
Cobb straightened the sleeves of his black wool jacket and ran his hands over the buttons of his vest. The cook made him want to present himself like a soldier for inspection. “Mrs. Sterling.”
“Mr. Bridger.” She wiped her damp hands on her apron front. “I know it’s none of my business, but that’s never stopped me from telling folks what I think. I don’t know what you have in mind for that gal in there, but she’s a good soul, and I think I’d have to cut you off at the knees if your aim is to enjoy yourself with no heed as to how she might be left the worse for it. I got the sense that when she came here she was startin’ over, leavin’ something behind that near to broke her heart. Now, that could be a fancy on my part. Her father passed on, and then that woman she worked for died, and that is surely enough to make any good heart heavy, but I’m holding on to a suspicion that there was more. Usually that means a man, and another man is never the cure for what grieves a woman in times like that.”
“What are you proposing I do, Mrs. Sterling?”
She took off her spectacles and cleaned them with one corner of her apron. “I’m not proposing you do or you don’t. I’m just sayin’, Mr. Bridger. I’m just sayin’.” She returned her gold-wired rimmed glasses to her nose and regarded Cobb over the top. “Looks to me like she’s ignoring my advice and waiting for you, but you think about whether it’s a good idea to sit with her this evening. There’s a place at the table with Mr. and Mrs. Washington.”
“The couple in the room next to mine from Denver?”
“Yes.”
Cobb regarded her with a flat expression. “Did I offend you in some way? Surely what you are suggesting is a punishment.”
“You take it as you like,” she said tartly. “I’m doing my duty.” With that, Mrs. Sterling turned on her heel with the precision of a praetorian and left the lobby for the kitchen.
Cobb’s eyes followed her. He wasn’t sure what he was going to do until he walked into the dining room and saw Gertrude Morrow sitting at her usual table, her face visible only in three-quarter view as she looked at the dining room reflected in the window. He thought she might have seen him. The slight lift in her chin made him think she had. Smiling with more grit than pleasure, he walked straight to the table—of Mr. and Mrs. Washington.
* * *
The main thoroughfare was largely deserted when Tru left the hotel. Lamplight illuminated windows above the storefronts where some of the owners lived with their families. Most of the businesses were dark, having closed for the evening. Light and music streamed from the town’s only other saloon. Tru gave it a wide berth because it tended to draw a rowdier crowd of young, restless cowhands than the Pennyroyal. Hurrying along, she glanced at Dr. Kent’s lighted window as she passed and saw him sitting at his desk hovering over a microscope. She thought it must be fascinating, the things that he saw.
Tru did not pause as she walked by Jennifer’s bakery. She had nothing to say to her friend that would not sound pitiful. Perhaps tomorrow, when she was in a better frame of mind, she would be able to share how Cobb Bridger had come to the dining room and acted as if he didn’t know she were there.
The few people she met on her way nodded a greeting or stopped to inquire about her health and report on their own. She spent several minutes with Mrs.
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