“Well, what?”
“When can I expect you to come to my room?”
The shadow of a smile crossed his face. He knuckled his beard. “About that, Laurel. I’m thinking it’ll be better if I surprise you.” With that, he pushed back from her desk and stood, leaving her in no doubt he was done with his side of their conversation.
18
Laurel changed her clothes after church services, relieved to be done with the corset and bustle and stockings and garters, all the things that confined her. She put on a faded blue shirt that was soft against her skin and a pair of well-worn trousers that still fit comfortably after being scrubbed against a washboard dozens of times. She rolled up her shirtsleeves until they were elbow length and slipped an old leather belt around her waist. Her hips mostly kept the trousers in place, but you could never be too careful, and suspenders invariably brought attention to breasts in a way she found more immodest than the deeply scooped bodice of her fanciest gown.
She saddled Abby herself, though Hank and Dillon both offered. She liked taking care of her mare, the quiet time they had together before she swung into the saddle. The boys asked where she was going, but she only gave them a vague answer because she didn’t know herself. She felt restless and unsettled and simply needed to be away from the station for a few hours. There was nothing going on that someone else couldn’t manage, and they weren’t expecting a stage until the following afternoon.
Call was loitering by the corral when she rode by. She nodded to him and he touched the brim of his hat, acknowledging her. They’d had plenty of exchanges in the five days since they’d spoken in her office, but Call had yet to surprise her. Every day, everynight, that she spenton her own made the next twenty-four hours just that much more fraught with the anxiety of anticipation. For his part, she thought he seemed perfectly untroubled. And why shouldn’t he be? She had given him the reins when she should have kept them for herself.
For a while she let Abby wander the property. She passed the boarded-up mine entrances and saw that Call’s work was still in place. It made her smile to remember how he’d made light of his own lack of skill with a hammer and nails. Under Rooster’s guidance, he’d improved since then, learned how to hold a hammer properly so he could drive a nail in cleanly and mostly miss his thumb.
She remembered the kiss, too. How swift and sweet it had been. He had surprised her with it, and she wouldn’t have minded at all if he had surprised her again.
It was inevitable, she supposed, that the wide circle she took around the station would eventually lead her to the falls. Although it seemed that Abby had taken the route on her own, Laurel knew that wasn’t so, that without her gentle, almost imperceptible guidance, the mare would have followed a different path entirely.
Laurel didn’t dismount immediately. She sat in the saddle for a time, content to watch the falling water and catch rainbows when sunlight illuminated the spray so that prisms appeared. Leaning forward, she patted Abby’s neck and spoke to her gently before sliding off her back. Laurel led the mare to a shallow section of the stream away from the falls and let her drink briefly before tethering her to a juniper. Abby rubbed her hindquarters against the bark’s red-brown scales, scratching an itch that hadn’t seemed to bother her until now.
Lucky Abby, Laurel thought. She also had an itch and had been bothered by it far longer. Rubbing against the juniper trunk wasn’t going to take care of it either.
She walked the short distance back to the deep pool at the base of the falls and stood at the edge of the flat slab of rock where she often perched when she was watching her brothers splash and dunk each other. She rarely joinedthem when they were roughhousing, preferring the safety of her stony seat. When they wore themselves out being idiots, she’d dive in and tug on their ankles, pulling them under. They’d play along for a while and then climb out and let her have the pool to herself. They never left her, though, and she’d never resented their watchfulness. They were good big brothers.
The memory tugged at her heart and she blinked back unexpected, though not unwelcome, tears. Hunkering down on the lip of the rock, Laurel dashed at her eyes. She smiled to herself, a little crookedly, a trifle watery, and began unbuttoning her shirt. When she removed the shirt, she folded it and placed it off to the side and behind her where it was in no danger of getting wet. She tossed her hat beside it and then stood again to remove her boots and belt and trousers. Finally she took off her socks and stuffed them inside her boots.
She didn’t hesitate, then. Standing just a couple of feet above the water in her cotton camisole and knickers, she jumped in just as her brothers had taught her, knees clasped close to her chest so she was curled in a ball to make the biggest splash she could. The jump was accompanied by a shout because, well, that’s the way it was done. She supposed they’d all hollered in anticipation of the cold that was waiting, but then again, it could have been the sheer joy of the leap and splash and dropping like a stone into the pool.
Laurel allowed herself to sink deeply and then uncurled so her feet touched the bottom and pushed up. She gasped when she resurfaced. The water was colder than she remembered, but then she had been younger and probably hadn’t cared. Everything was a good adventure when you were of an age to enjoy it.
Treading water, she gazed up to where water spilled over the rocky ledge above her. She regarded the path she had once climbed to get there and shook her head at the sheer folly of it. She must have frightened George andMartin near out of their britches when she took up their challenge. Chuckling at the remembrance of them scrambling after her, she breathed in a mouthful of water and sputtered and spit until she cleared her throat. Served her right, she thought, and this time when she chuckled, she was careful not to breathe in water.
The falls poured into the pool with enough force to hold Laurel back when she swam toward it. She dove under and was immersed in froth and bubbles. Holding her breath, she let the power of the falling water push her away. She drifted and reemerged in the relative calm of the middle of the pool. Strands of hair that had escaped her braid fell across her eyes and cheeks. She lowered her head back into the water so they floated away from her face and temporarily plastered themselves to the rest of her hair.
She swiped at her eyes and blinked away water, clearing her vision. What she saw had her wondering if she should dunk her head again or appreciate the view.
McCall Landry was standing on the same slab of stone where she had stood, wearing nothing except a pair of low-slung drawers. “Surprise,” he said, and jumped. He didn’t curl into a ball or shout or make much of a splash. He entered the water as an arrow might, clean and straight and sharp.
Laurel waited, eyebrows raised, mouth open, to see if his head would break the surface. Certainly he should have been able to push off the bottom and get his head above water even if it was only briefly. He didn’t, though. Call stayed under for what she considered an inordinately long time. The fact that he wasn’t thrashing about told her that he wasn’t panicked. He’d lied to her. He could swim at least well enough to hold his own.
He pushed hair out of his eyes and grinned at her when he came up for air.
“You lied to me,” she said. “You can swim.”
“No lie. Dillon’s a fish. I asked him to teach me a fewthings that’ll keep me from drowning. Give me a moment.” He dropped under the water again.
The water was clear enough that Laurel could see he was wrestling with something at his waist. What in the— She didn’t have to finish the thought. He was wrestling with his drawers, which were apparently in danger of getting away from him. He wasn’t able to tread water with only his legs so he had to go under while he used his hands on the drawstring.
“Better?” she asked when he surfaced.
“Hmm. Dillon didn’t think to mention the drawers would drag.”
So they had been skinny-dipping. Laurel didn’t want to think about that, at least not about Dillon Booker. She simply nodded her understanding. “How did you know I was here?”
“I didn’t. I guess we were of similar minds this afternoon. Sun’s hot and high. No breeze. Just seemed right to head out here, maybe get in a little practice keeping my head up.”
“Not a good idea by yourself.” She looked around. “Unless you’re expecting someone. Dillon?”
