Now it was Call who grinned. “Duly noted.”
When they reached the station, they were on even footing. Laurel accepted Call’s offer to look after both horses and went to her office to sort the post and respond tomessages. It was not until she was sitting behind her desk and certain that she was alone that she allowed herself to think about Call’s kiss. It had been unexpected, but it was not unwelcome. If he stayed past a few weeks, she would tell him that. Maybe. In the meantime, it was for her alone to know.
14
Call posted a letter to Ramsey Stonechurch detailing his progress and the lack of the same. He visited Sweeny’s again, this time with Dillon, to see if there was anything more to be learned from the locals. He was curious about Digger Leary’s drinking habits, and while the information he gleaned was edifying, he learned considerably more watching Dillon match his father shot for shot at the bar.
He had a chance to return to town some two weeks later. The Booker brothers were once again escorting Laurel to church and this time Call caught up and joined them. The boys expressed surprise at his sudden appearance, but Laurel took it in stride.
Services were held beneath a large tent that could easily accommodate a quarter of the town’s three hundred people. Still, it was standing room only on the sides and at the back after the benches were filled. Call and Hank gave up their seats to a young mother with a child gripping each hand. Hank grumbled under his breath, but Call was happy enough to surrender the hard bench and lean comfortably against one of the supporting tent poles. It was one of the few times that Call could remember when standing was preferable to sitting. In addition to being at his ease, he was able to survey the congregation.
He didn’t expect to recognize many people, but he counted eighteen faces he’d seen at Sweeny’s, a few othersthat he’d seen on his walk through town, and three of the women he’d seen at Mrs. Fry’s, along with the madam herself. Desiree was sitting toward the back of the tent, bearing little resemblance to the woman he’d met sitting at the piano or spoken to in her room. She sat on the backless bench with a straight spine and a lifted chin, and when her gaze happened upon him, there was a moment’s recognition but no acknowledgment before her eyes moved on.
Call studied Laurel’s profile until her head swiveled in his direction and she caught him out. Shameless, he grinned at her. He swallowed his laughter when she pursed her lips and turned away, lifting her chin at precisely the same angle as Desiree.
When the service was over, the majority of the congregation did not leave immediately. Folks lingered to greet their friends and neighbors and share stories. Laurel and the Bookers were no exception. Call did not mingle. Neither did Mrs. Fry or any of her entourage. He gave them ten minutes before he slipped out the side and followed.
***
Call was standing at the corral, ostensibly watching the horses as they moved listlessly inside the fencing, when Laurel came upon him. She was no longer confined by her Sunday-go-to-meeting dress, and she climbed the rails so she could perch on top. Call’s forearms rested on the rail beside her as he leaned in. He looked up at her when she was still.
“Yes?” he asked.
“You hardly spoke at dinner.”
“I didn’t have anything to say.”
“Is something wrong?”
“No.”
“Should I leave?”
“Not unless you want to.”
“I don’t.”
Call nodded and resumed looking over the horses.
“You’re not really watching the animals, are you?”
“No. I was thinking.” He removed his hat and hung it on a post, then he shoved his fingers through his hair. “Hard business, thinking.”
“It seems so, at least the way you do it.”
Call’s eyebrows lifted and fell as though in agreement. “Why do suppose he took Penelope?”
“Ah. So that’s what you have on your mind.”
He slid her a sideways glance. “Only the part that you don’t occupy.”
Laurel wished she could pretend she hadn’t heard, but her face was already registering the opposite. Her mouth curled to one side and her eyes went heavenward. She shook her head. “You’re not even sorry you said that.”
“I rarely am. So what do you think?” He lifted a finger, cautioning her. “Be careful what you say. I’m asking about Penelope.”
“I knew that.”
“Uh-huh.”
