He smiled. She was almost asleep on her feet and didn’t know it. Call watched her disappear into the house and then stood in the doorway to make sure she made it up the stairs. When he heard the door to her bedroom close, he figured he’d done as much as he could, or at least as much as she’d let him. He walked from room to room, extinguishing all but one of the lamps, and then he left by the kitchen door and headed for the bunkhouse.
Laurel was sound asleep when he let himself into her room, but she was lying on the far side of the bed as though she meant to leave space for him. Call set the lamp he was carrying on the bedside table beside her spectacles and sat down on the ladder-back chair to remove his boots. Remembering Mrs. Lancaster’s advice, he rolled his socks and put them inside his boots. He didn’t mind if the cook wanted to believe Laurel was training him as long as Laurel didn’t think she had him on a leash.
Call stood and placed his hat on the caned seat before he stripped down to his drawers. He didn’t fold his clothes, but he did lay them neatly over the back of the chair. Laurel’s things were lying willy-nilly on the floor. Amused, he stepped around them on his way to the bed and turned back the lamp. Raising the sheet, Call slipped under it and lay down. He was only halfway to turning on his side when Laurel rolled to the middle of the bed and sought his warmth. He whispered her name, but as he suspected, she was sound asleep. At the moment, that was fine with him. He’d forgotten about the French letters. They were still tucked in his hatband, where they would do neither of them any good.
34
Laurel stretched, turned, and rolled right into Call’s chest. She didn’t know it was Call’s chest until he grunted. She recognized that sound. “Sorry,” she whispered.
“That’s your fist in my belly.”
She unfolded her fingers and laid her open palm against his skin. “You’re toasty.”
“Not toasty,” he said quietly. “Hot.” He circled her wrist and drew her hand down to where his cock was straining against the front of his drawers. “I’ve been awake longer than you have.”
She lifted her head just enough to see past his shoulder to the window. The bedside lamp had been extinguished. The curtains were drawn but a sliver of moonlight was visible at the edges. “Did you just get here?” she asked, walking back her fingers and plumping the pillow under head.
“Hours ago.”
“I didn’t hear you. Why did you let me sleep?”
“There’s nothing wrong with you and I using a bed for sleeping.”
“Maybe when we’ve been together for fifty years. Where are those French letters?”
Laughter rumbled in his throat. “Tucked in my hatband.”
At any other time she would have taken a moment to comment on his choice to carry them there, but right now she was feeling fairly warm herself. “And your hat is...”
Call grimaced. “On the chair.”
“I don’t suppose you pulled the chair closer to the bed?”
“Nope.”
“We could do without them, I suppose. You managed before.”
“Not again. Not until we’re married.”
“Married? You only just brought me flowers.” When he didn’t respond, she cast him a sideways glance. He was staring at the ceiling, his jaw set. She thought a muscle might have ticked in his cheek, but she couldn’t be sure. “Never mind. I’ll get them.” She crawled over him and slid out of bed on the other side. She stumbled once when her toes struck one of her shoes, but it was her only misstep. Unsure of what she was looking for, Laurel didn’t search for the French letters. She carried Call’s hat back to him and handed it over. “Should I light the lamp?”
“Please.”
She opened the drawer in the bedside table and felt around for the box of matches. She warned him she was going to light the match before she struck it. They both squinted against the flare. She lit the wick, replaced the globe, and waved the match until it was extinguished. Call made room for her to sit on the edge of the bed.
“How many did you bring?” she asked.
“Not all twelve.” He held up two fingers and turned the hat over. “I was probably being hopeful anyway. It’ll be morning soon.” He removed one of the flat packet squares. The manufacturer’s trademark was in bold red lettering.
“Can you use that more than once?”
“Only if I’m prepared to father a bastard,” he said bluntly. “I’m not.”
“Call. That wasn’t kind.”
“I love you, Laurel, but I don’t always feel kind toward you.”
“Why? Because I won’t allow you to use marriage as a trump card? I wanted to make love to you and I thought you wanted the same and then you toss out marriage as a condition to do it without one of those. I could be carryingyour child already, you know. You said your method wasn’t certain.”
