“Why am I not flattered? Tell me about this narrowed field. Exactly how narrow was it?”
“You’re not going to let this go, are you?”
“Not a chance.”
Laurel sighed. “Very well. There were three remaining.”
“Oh, no. You can’t leave it there. Who were they?”
“I don’t think anything good can come of you knowing.”
“Tell me and we’ll see.”
Trying to decide how serious he was, Laurel hesitated before surrendering. She sighed. “The only one you knowis Rayleigh Carter.” She turned her head to gauge his reaction and was immediately suspicious. “Are you trying not to choke on your laughter? Stop it. You look apoplectic.”
Call buried his face in his pillow. His shoulders shook.
“So help me, Call, if you smother yourself, I’ll feed you to the hogs.”
Lifting his face, Call gasped once for air and steadied himself. Biting the inside of his cheek helped. “Go on,” he said. His voice had a quaver in it, but he managed to set his features gravely.
“Jack Friendly. You might have seen him at church services. Beanpole tall and just about as skinny, but he’s a kind and gentle soul. He’s a second-generation farmer.” Laurel observed that Call had no urge to laugh now. He was thinking, obviously trying to place Jack. She knew the moment he did because a gleam crept into his eye.
“He’s more than twice your age.”
“So?”
Call pressed his lips together and avoided going facedown in his pillow. “Yes, you’re right,” he said after a moment. “He’s a kind and gentle soul.”
“His first two wives thought so.”
“Dear God,” he said under his breath. He briefly closed his eyes, rubbed above them with a thumb and forefinger. “And the third man?”
“Sweeny.”
Now Call’s eyes opened wide. “Sweeny? Sweeny’s Saloon Sweeny?”
“No. His nephew Malcolm. He’s a lawyer. His practice is in Stonechurch but he comes to Falls Hollow a couple of times a month to see folks who need his help. You probably saw him getting on or off the stage here and didn’t pay him any mind. He’s about your age so you can’t find fault there, and he’s fit and fine looking. I am not alone in that opinion.”
“Does he carry a leather case? Wear a brown bowler with a little feather on the side? Talk like someone has him by the—”
“All right,” she said, interrupting. “You know who he is.”
“Yeah, I do. Why wasn’t he acceptable?”
“He talks like someone has him by the balls. Would you want that voice whispering in your ear?”
Call leaned over and whispered, “No.”
She pushed him back in spite of the little burst of pleasure she felt when his breath touched her cheek. “Satisfied?” she asked.
“Hmm,” he murmured, giving her a most significant look. “I could be. I reckon that depends on you.”
Laurel’s eyes widened a fraction and her lips parted. Her voice came so softly, she barely heard her own question. “Again?”
Call nodded, raised a brow, and leaned in. This time she did not push him away.
24
