“No sermon. No admonishment. I don’t think she’s unhappy about it. Oh, but she did say I should tell you to pick up after yourself. Begin the way you mean to go on, she told me. Apparently, it’s my responsibility to train you.”
“We can start tonight,” he said, “unless you have some objection.”
“Not a one, but I’d rather we didn’t attend to the socks.”
“Fine with me. I bought some French letters.”
“Can I see one?”
“Later. I don’t have one on me. I put them in my foot locker.”
“How many did you buy?”
“A dozen. They come a dozen to a packet.”
Laurel nodded sagely. “Enough for one night, then.”
Call’s shout of laughter jostled the swing. He put his heels down to set it still but it continued to bounce in time with his shoulders. He required a full minute to get himself under control. “Sorry,” he said, knuckling his eyes to dash the tears. “I appreciate your confidence, but unless you’re inviting a garrison to your bed, there will be plenty left for another night.” He studied her face when his vision finally cleared. She looked disappointed. “You knew that, right? You were pulling my leg.” When she didn’t say anything, he frowned. “Laurel? Youwerepulling my leg, weren’t you?”
The laughter she had been suppressing broke free. “Yes, I know,” she said between taking in gulps of air. “You looked so worried there for a moment. It was—it was—oh, I don’t know what it was except funny. Twelve times in one night. Would we even be able to walk, do you think?” She sobered a little thinking on that and had an urge to cross her legs that she did not give in to. “It feels good to laugh, doesn’t it? It’s been too long.”
He nodded. “I reckon laughing requires exercise like any other part.”
“Mm.” Laurel rested her head in the curve of his shoulder. She felt his lips brush her hair and then kiss the crown of her head. She closed her eyes.
Call waited until he was certain she’d fallen asleep before he eased his arm from around her. He wanted to shake it out, but he couldn’t do it without jostling her so he let the limb return to life slowly, pins and needles pricking his skin as it woke. Nightfall blanketed them and still he didn’t move. It was comfortable sitting with herlike this; it always had been even when he was relegated to the safe distance of the rocker. This was where he wanted to be. He remembered asking his mother how he would know when he met the girl he was meant to marry. She’d given it a great deal of thought before she answered. After all, he’d been only seven at the time and didn’t fully understand the breadth of the question he was asking.
She’d said, “You’ll know because there will be times when she’s out of your sight and it will feel as if you can’t quite catch your breath, and when you see her, you’ll feel exactly the same.”
“It’s like that with Mary Louise Emberly sometimes,” he’d told her.
“Only sometimes? Then she’s probably not the one.”
His mother had been right. Over the years he’d used her measure to gauge his feelings toward a woman. Until Laurel, it was always sometimes, never always. Call had known when he left Morrison Station the very first time that he would be going back eventually. Working for Mr. Stonechurch made it easier for him to return, but he would have found a way sooner or later. He hadn’t been able to catch his breath since he’d met her.
“Hey, sleepyhead,” he said, nudging her. “You might want to think about heading to bed.”
She stirred but didn’t lift her head. “Fine here.”
“You’re going to have a stiff neck.”
“Mm.”
“Do you want me to carry you?” As he’d anticipated, that suggestion had a predictable reaction. She sat straight up.
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Laurel blinked, rubbed her eyes. “It’s dark.”
“It’s late.”
She covered a yawn with the back of her hand. “Oh, my.”
Call chuckled. “Indeed.” He slid a hand behind her back and gave her a gentle push as he held the swing still. “Go on.”
Laurel nodded and slowly got to her feet. Once she wassteady, she leaned over Call and kissed him on the cheek. “You’re coming, aren’t you?”
“Shortly.”
“Right,” she whispered. “French letters.”
