“Really?”
Morgan just stared at Cobb.
The marshal shrugged. “You’re right. It’s your business. The photograph got me thinking, that’s all.”
“It got me thinking, too, but she’s explained it, and I’m not exactly in a position to throw stones, now am I? I had to think about that.”
“Are you going to tell her?”
“I still like to entertain the notion it’ll never come to that.”
Cobb nodded, blew out a long breath. “Then I hope you’re right, Morgan. Whatever you think, I’m not your adversary. I’m on your side.”
“What I think, Marshal, is that it’s better if we just bump along. Keeps things in balance. Standing on my side tends to tip the boat.”
“If that’s the way you want it.”
Morgan nodded once. “I’ll be packed up and out of here by three, four at the latest. I can’t speak for Miss Middlebourne. She’ll be making her own decision. She made that clear.”
Cobb chuckled quietly. He pushed from the railing and touched the brim of his hat. “Nothing wrong with that. Could be the two of you will bump along just fine.”
Jane looked up when Morgan stepped into the dining room. She set her cup of tea down and acknowledged his presence with a brief smile. Beside her, Ida Mae Sterling began to rise. Jane protested, but Ida Mae would hear none of it. She picked up her cup in one hand and patted Jane’s forearm with the other.
“I have things to do if there’s going to be ham and cabbage tonight. You and Morgan can sit here a spell, and if I have my way with the girls, you won’t be disturbed.” Instead of heading straight to the kitchen, she veered in Morgan’s direction. “Here. Take this coffee. I just poured it.” She thrust the cup at him, giving him no choice but to take it, and when his hands were occupied, she gave him an affectionate pinch on his upper arm. “I like her, Morgan. I like her just fine.” Then she was gone.
Mortified, Jane stared at the tea leaves at the bottom of her cup.
Morgan set his coffee down, shrugged out of his coat, and dropped his hat on a nearby table. “You can’t mind her,” he said, sitting beside Jane. “She gets ideas in her head and just says what she thinks.”
Jane lifted her head, glanced sideways. “I believe she holds you in some affection. I observed that yesterday when we arrived, and again just now. Who is she to you?”
“I told you. She’s the widow of the former marshal.”
Disappointed with his answer, Jane pressed. “I imagine she thinks of herself as someone separate from her husband.”
Morgan shrugged. He kept his hands folded around his coffee cup. “Ida Mae’s been free with her opinions since she realized she had a voice. That thought is not original to me. Benton Sterling said that, and I suppose he would have known.” He sat a little lower in his chair, sliding his legs far under the table. His mouth curled to one side. “I guess you could say she’s got me like a chick under her wing. Has for a long time. Even before I settled around here.”
Jane tried to imagine Morgan Longstreet as a chick under anyone’s wing. He stood head and shoulders above Mrs. Sterling, yet from what she had seen, it was probably an apt description of their relationship. Morgan might pretend to chafe at it, dismiss it as unimportant, but what he did not do was try to escape it.
“Does she have children?” asked Jane.
“Yes. And grandchildren. They’re scattered, which makes the rest of us easy pickings.”
Jane hid an amused smile behind her teacup. “Is her advice usually sound?”
“Why? What did she say?”
Jane blinked. His reaction was more reflexive than responsive. “She brought me tea, Mr. Longstreet, and kept me company while you were with the marshal. My question had nothing at all to do with our exchange.” She accepted his suspicious regard without looking away. Mrs. Sterling had advised her to take Morgan Longstreet straight on. He would respect that, she’d said.
Looking away, Morgan raised his coffee cup and breathed deeply before he took a swallow. “I would have to say no one’s gone too far astray listening to Mrs. Sterling.”
“Thank you. That is all I wanted to know.” Jane looked to the window as Walt crossed the porch in front of it carrying a broom. She watched him set it down and begin sweeping around the rocking chairs. “Is Marshal Bridger a friend?”
“I don’t know if he has friends. Friends don’t necessarily settle well with the job.”
It was not an answer to the question she asked, but Jane did not bring it to his attention. “I wondered why you did not introduce me.”
“His business was with me.”
