“Oh, you heard that, too.”
He spoke as if she hadn’t. “Laurel, I could make a convincing argument in front of a jury that you’re downright loco, and I’m no kind of lawyer.”
She smiled. “And my defense is that you made me that way.”
Call saw there was nothing to be gained by advancing his argument so he advanced on her. She peeled herself away from Abby and tried to duck out of his reach. Hecaught her easily, spun her around, and pulled her flush to his chest. His arms settled around her; his hands folded into a fist at the small of her back. She looked up at him, grinning.
“I love you,” she said.
He kissed her. He didn’t think about where they were, who might be watching, or what they might think. She obviously didn’t either because she didn’t try to wriggle out of his arms or rear back and push him away. She kissed him back with all the enthusiasm he had come to expect. If she was loco, then so was he, and there was no point in not reveling in it.
The clapping came to him distantly at first. Call opened one eye and saw Mrs. Lancaster standing on the back porch holding a cured ham under one arm so her hands were free to applaud. “Oh, Lord,” he whispered against Laurel’s mouth. Then he heard clapping coming from behind him, this ovation louder and slightly out of sync indicating it was the admiration from more than one individual. He felt Laurel nod and tasted the bubble of laughter on her lips. She’d heard what he had and she didn’t care.
He would have dropped to one knee and proposed right there, but she had been clear about what she wanted. No knees. No public proposal. Besides, he didn’t have flowers or all the promises worked out. It would have to wait.
The kiss lingered a couple of mutual heartbeats longer before Call took her by the upper arms and steadied her while he stepped back. He gently turned her to face their audience, first Mrs. Lancaster and then the rowdy bunch loitering at the barn’s open doorway. He made a courtly bow and Laurel, her cheeks tinged with a becoming pink, did the same. No simpering curtsy for the woman he was going to marry. No, she bowed with the confidence of a stage actor after a great performance, the star of the show.
And she was.
36
Desiree removed a stocking from the back of her overstuffed armchair and flung it at the bed. It landed at Rayleigh Carter’s feet. He was stretched out on her quilt, his hands cradling his head. He didn’t give the stocking any attention, nor did he trouble himself to look in Desiree’s direction when she flopped onto the chair cushion and adopted a most unladylike posture by hooking one leg over the wide arm.
“You should straighten up this room, Desi,” said Carter. “How do you find anything?”
“I found your cock, didn’t I?”
“And serviced it admirably.”
“Cover yourself,” she said, not bothering to hide her disgust. “It looks like a slug trying to crawl out of your trousers.”
Carter raised his head only that degree necessary to get a look. Desiree wasn’t wrong. He tucked his sluggish cock inside his trousers and drawers and lay back again. He wished he’d taken the time to get out of his boots, but he was already so randy by the time he reached Mrs. Fry’s that he thought he’d come when Desiree took his hand and led him up the stairs.
“Help me out of my boots, will you?”
Desiree merely stared at him. She idly toyed with the ruffle on her knickers, smoothing it between her fingertips. “I want to leave,” she said.
“Go. Send someone up who’ll help me with my boots.”
“I meant I want to leave this town.”
“I know what you meant. Go.”
“I need money.”
“God almighty. I just paid Mrs. Fry for your time. See her.”
“What she gives me won’t be enough to get me halfway to Denver.”
He turned his head slightly so he could see her and troubled himself enough to raise an eyebrow. “What the hell do you spend your money on? I know what I pay for you, know how many men you entertain in a week, and know how long you’ve been in Falls Hollow. You should be almost as rich as Stonechurch by now and you never had to pick up a shovel.”
“Go to hell.”
“Probably.” He twisted onto his side, raised himself on an elbow, and regarded her frankly. “Now’s not a good time.”
“You always say that.”
“And it’s always true. Why are you so bent on getting to Denver? Digger Leary is sitting in a cell there. Landry told me when we were on our way to Beckley’s place with Pye’s body.”
