“Unless?”
“Unless someone did see and is not speaking up.” Laurel regarded Call openly. “You’re not surprised. It’s already occurred to you.”
“It’s occurred.”
“Not one of my employees,” she said, making it clear she would not entertain a different opinion.
“That is precisely why I kept my thoughts to myself. I have a fairly good idea of what you’re willing and not willing to explore.”
“Maybe you do. I am not going to apologize for defending Rooster and the boys.”
“They’re not the only people who work for you.”
Laurel actually gaped at him. “Mrs. Lancaster? You would accuse Mrs. Lancaster?”
“I didn’t accuse her of anything. I’m merely pointing out that you keep forgetting her.”
“Well, I don’t mention myself either. Perhaps you think I should.”
“I’ve already eliminated you from consideration.”
Strangely, this did not mollify Laurel. “Maybe I wish Ihadseen something and was keeping it all to myself.”
“All right,” he said. “I’ll bite. Why would you wish that?”
“To prove you wrong.”
Call watched her for a long moment, saying nothing. Had he ever known anyone quite like her? Maddeningly attractive and then simply maddening? “You’re annoyed because Idon’tsuspect you? I’m not even going to try to understand that.”
Laurel realized she had been puffed up with an unwarranted sense of righteousness and now felt deflated. She stared at her hands and wondered if she could have possibly made herself more foolish in his eyes. She sighed inaudibly, reminding herself they were really very lovely eyes. “Good,” she said quietly, in the manner of a confession. “I don’t think I can explain it to myself.”
Call was grateful for her downcast eyes. There was no chance of her seeing his amusement. He sobered quickly, thinking her loyalty to the men who worked for her—her friends—was admirable. He said, “There are passengers to consider. And Brady.”
“Brady?”
“I keep going back and forth about Brady. So does Mr. Stonechurch.”
“Does Brady know?”
“I don’t know how he couldn’t.”
“He’d been driving for years. I think he would have found a way to take the payroll without bringing suspicion down on himself.”
“A fair point.”
Laurel was preparing to ask about the passengers when Mrs. Lancaster appeared in the doorway and announced that Sunday supper was ready. Mrs. Lancaster cocked an ear toward the kitchen. “Hear that?” she asked, referring to the thunder of footsteps and elbow jostling that was occurring out of her sight. “Troops have arrived.”
Call did not have to be told twice. He managed to launch himself out of his chair in spite of its being armless. A childhood deferring to women was all that kept him from cutting in front of Laurel on his way to the dining room. The heady aroma of roasting chicken had been teasing him since he’d entered the farmhouse. He found it was a vast improvement over the fragrances that permeated the brothel.
Jed Holloway, by the virtue of there being no Sunday stage, was enjoying the additional day of rest. He had asked to be awakened for church services but slept throughthem. He had been up for several hours already but still managed to come to the table looking sleepy-eyed and disheveled. He held out a chair for Laurel before he set his lean, loose-limbed frame into one beside her. Rooster made grumbling noises as he took his seat and gave Jed an eyeful for occupying what was normally his chair.
When everyone was at the table, Dillon Booker folded his hands, bowed his head, and said grace. The young man wasted no time after that, taking the platter closest to him and dropping two biscuits on his plate.
Laurel looked around as the food was being passed. “Where is Digger? This is not a meal he’ll want to miss.”
Hank pretended to be holding a mug in his hand and tipped it back as though he were drinking.
“He’s at Sweeny’s?” she asked. “Still?”
