“I was looking after my own neck. Rooster would string me up if he thought I was treating you poorly and Mrs. Lancaster would kick out the stool from under me.”
Laurel was intrigued. “And Hank and Dillon? What would they be doing?”
“Knitting.”
Laurel gave a short shout of laughter before shecovered her mouth with a hand and muffled her mirth. When she could speak, she said, “Like Madame Defarge at the guillotine. Oh, that’s an image.”
Call massaged the back of his neck as if he could feel the blade or the hitch of the rope.
Watching him, Laurel said, “Maybe too clear an image.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Let’s walk.”
“All right.” He pushed away from the corral and held out a hand to help her down. She shook her head at the offer and executed a nimble jump to the ground. “Which way?” he asked.
“The same way we went this morning. Toward town. There’s still plenty of light. We’ll be back before dark settles.”
Call fell in step beside her. Laurel stopped as they were about to pass Hank and Dillon and inquired about their mother even though she had seen Mrs. Booker only that morning. They didn’t act as if there was anything odd about her going for a walk with Call, but when Call looked back over his shoulder, they were both looking back over theirs, and they were grinning.
“They’re a pair,” he said.
“They’re good boys. Young men, really. I have to keep reminding myself.”
They walked in silence after that. The pace was leisurely, suited to the warm evening. Pink and purple wildflowers, early risers in May, appeared in grassy spreads and rocky crevices. They walked on the edge of the trail, careful to stay away from the ruts made by the stagecoaches and the plodding of the horses.
“Have you seen the falls?” she asked suddenly.
“The falls? No. I didn’t know there were any.”
“It’s Falls Hollow.”
“Lots of places have names that have nothing to do with their geography.”
“Well, Falls Hollow does. It’ll take us away from town, but it’s not far. Would you like to see?”
“Sure.”
“I’m not taking you there for my own nefarious purposes, if that’s what you’re thinking.” She stepped off the trail onto a narrow path that was only obvious if you knew where to look.
“I wasn’t thinking that,” he said. It wasn’t exactly a lie, but he had been hopeful.
Laurel paused, eyeing him narrowly. His gaze was steady in return. His gunmetal gray eyes were as seductive as moonlight. She blinked. “This way,” she said. “You should follow me. The path isn’t wide enough to walk beside me.”
Walking behind Laurel was not exactly a hardship. She didn’t have to be wearing a bustle to bring a man’s attention to her, well, to her bustle. She didn’t swing her hips. The movement was subtler than that, more suited to her character. There was an easy sway, a roll in her step that was visible because she wore trousers. Not for the first time, Call thought there was a lot to recommend trousers on a woman, most particularly this woman.
Occasionally she glanced back to make sure he was following. She never caught him staring at her behind, and he didn’t dwell on what she would have done if she had.
By Call’s estimation, they walked three-quarters of a mile, most of it uphill, before he heard the rush of water that signaled they were approaching the falls. Their destination was another half mile beyond that. He caught glimpses of the falls between thick nests of pine trees but didn’t have the full view until they broke into a clearing at the foot. He’d wondered why they hadn’t been following a stream and now the answer was obvious. The path of the water coming off the falls veered sharply in the direction opposite of the one they had taken. The pool at the base churned and bubbled with the force of the falling water.
Laurel led him to the pool, picked her way across some flat boulders, and stood perilously close to the edge. A fine spray of water touched her upturned face. She licked her lips and waved him over. “C’mon. It’s better here.”
“I’m fine where I am, thank you.”
“Suit yourself.”
“Is the water in the pool deep?” Which was his way of asking if she’d ever been swimming in it.
