35
Laurel had a vague memory of Call leaving when she woke and found him gone. She looked around her room to be certain that he had taken everything with him. It didn’t matter that their affair was common knowledge; Laurel decided that she could at least preserve the secret of his coming and going. Mrs. Lancaster didn’t need to know everything.
Laurel washed, dressed, and passed through the kitchen on her way to feed the chickens. Mrs. Lancaster hadn’t yet arrived, which in some ways was a relief. The brush burns from Call’s closely trimmed beard might disappear by the time the cook took over the kitchen. His little love bites weren’t visible, but she couldn’t quite hide the marks where he’d nuzzled her neck. Turning up the collar of her shirt only brought attention to her throat. She would simply have to brazen it out.
Lord, she hoped he was getting that proposal into an acceptable state.
Laurel spread chicken feed and fed the pigs. She put on gloves to gather eggs because two of her best layers were viciously protective. When she carried them into the kitchen, she heard Mrs. Lancaster coming in the front door. Laurel put the eggs in a bowl on the table and hurried out. She was almost sprinting by the time she reached the barn.
“Whoa there, Miss Laurel,” Rooster said, looking upfrom where he was filing one of Sylvia’s hooves. “Something on fire?”
Laurel ground to a halt and smiled weakly. “No fire.”
“Oh. Well, that’s good.” He went back to filing without further comment.
“I thought I’d give Abby a good brushing. She’s been neglected.”
“Uh-huh. And I’m my favorite aunt’s tea trolley.”
Chuckling, Laurel waved off his comment. “I’m going to take care of her anyway. Chickens and hogs are fed. Eggs gathered and in the kitchen.”
Dillon and Hank appeared in tandem from empty stalls. They held up shovels. “Mucking’s underway,” said Hank. “You go on and take care of Abby.”
“Thank you for your permission,” she said grandly. “Where’s Jelly? I thought for sure you’d foist that job on him.”
Dillon made a face and pointed up to the loft. “Call got to him first. Cat had kittens. They’ll get around to pitchin’ hay here in a little while. You’d think they never saw the like before.”
Laurel was tempted to climb the ladder and look for herself, but Jelly was certain to say something that would set her off balance. She elected to stay her course and see to her mare. She went to Abby’s stall and let the animal out to the corral, gathering a brush, currycomb, soap, and a bucket along the way. Laurel let Abby roam inside the fencing while she went to fill the bucket.
She was carrying it back to the corral when a horse and rider coming off the trail caught her attention. They veered away from the house when the rider spotted her. Laurel was so unused to seeing Rayleigh Carter outside of his office that she didn’t trouble herself to hide her surprise. His hat was pulled low over his broad forehead, and he was wearing a jacket that hid the star he always wore on his vest. She set the bucket on the ground and lifted her head to greet him since he made no effort to get down from his horse.
“Good morning, Sheriff. This is unexpected. What can I do for you?”
“Morning,” he said. His response was perfunctory, not friendly. “Thought I’d ride out and hear what you’ve got to say for yourself.”
“About?”
“I’m not really of a mind to be led around by the nose, Miss Laurel. I know you were in my office yesterday. I want to know why.”
“I don’t much care for your tone. Are you accusing me of something?”
“I’m not sure. I reckon that depends on what you’re going to tell me.”
“Sure, but why don’t you get down and come inside for a cup of coffee? We can talk in the kitchen. I’m getting a crick in my neck.” She watched Carter hesitate and thought he was on the verge of accepting her invitation when Rooster stepped out of the barn.
“Everything all right?” he asked, wiping his hands on a rag and looking from Carter to Laurel.
“Just fine,” said Laurel.
“Social call,” said Carter.
Rooster chewed on that some before he finally nodded. “I’ll be getting back to my work, then.”
“Looks like I interrupted what you were doing,” Carter said after Rooster had disappeared into the barn. “Forget the coffee. Go on about your work. Never knew a woman who couldn’t talk and work at the same time. I bet that’s true for you, too.”
Smiling wanly, Laurel picked up the water bucket and headed for the corral. Carter followed her and only dismounted once she was inside the fencing. Abby came right over to her. “Good girl,” she said, rubbing the mare’s neck. She dipped the brush in the water, made a lather with the soap, and began washing down the animal’s coat with long strokes in the direction that Abby’s hair grew.
Laurel looked over her shoulder at the sheriff. He was leaning against the corral, his forearms resting on the top rail. It struck her as odd that he hadn’t prompted her to answer his question because he was looking a miteanxious. Or perhaps it was just that he needed a drink. “I paid you a visit to ask if you’d learned anything new about the robbery or Mr. Pye’s murder.”
