“I didn’t mean it literal.” She sighed heavily. “I swear, you are trying my patience this morning. Next time I find you sleeping in, I’m going to shake you awake.”
That startled Laurel. “You were in my room?”
“Sure. When you didn’t come down, I went up to check on you. I can’t remember the last time you slept so soundly. I picked up the mess of clothes you left on the floor and opened the curtains so maybe you’d wake gentle like, but you didn’t stir. I reckon all that nasty business yesterday—and on the Lord’s Sabbath no less—must’ve left you plum tuckered. Me? I hardly slept a wink and I only know what Dillon told me.”
“I’m sure he was descriptive.”
“Right down to the fish nibbles on the man’s neck and the waxy gray skin.” She shivered. “See that? Now I got it in my mind again.”
Laurel’s cheeks puffed as she blew out a breath. “I think I’ve heard enough.” She stood, spun the chair around, and pushed it under the table. “I’m going to my office. If someone needs me, that’s where I’ll be.”
“Won’t be long before the stage arrives,” said the cook. “Call says he’s expecting a doctor from Stonechurch.”
Laurel had forgotten. Her conversation with Mrs. Lancaster must have rattled her. It was an unfamiliar feeling and it had nothing at all to do with finding Mr. Pye or being reminded of his appearance.
He talks like he wants to stick.
Laurel had heard words to that effect from Call, but she hadn’t wanted to believe them. The fact that Mrs. Lancaster had heard the same made her think that she’d been wrong to dismiss them.
He talks like he wants to stick.
They were tempting words, and she was tempted.
25
Call was exercising one of the mares in the corral when Laurel came over and perched herself on the uppermost rail. She waved him on when he and Mary Ann approached her and closely watched the mare’s awkward gait. “She’s looking a little puddin’ footed. Did you check her shoes?”
“I did. I had Rooster give them a look, too. Picked them clean. I thought I’d give her a chance to work it out. It might not be the shoes at all.”
Laurel nodded. “She can’t make an exchange this morning. Not today.”
“Rooster and I decided to let the paint take Mary Ann’s place.”
“The paint? Oh, you mean Marigold.”
“Right. She’s rested and in good form.”
“Good. Do you mind if I have a look at Mary Ann?”
“No. More eyes can’t hurt.”
“Not right now,” she said when he started to bring the mare over. “Later this afternoon. The stage from Stonechurch will be here soon.”
“Is that what you came to tell me?”
She shook her head. “I couldn’t spend another minute looking at the accounts. I figured fresh air was what I needed so I came over here.”
“Glad you did.”
“Where are the boys?”
Call pointed to the barn loft. “Pitching hay. Jelly’s with them and I suspect he’s doing most of the work. He’s at an age where he still thinks it’s fun. Hank and Dillon are taking advantage of that.”
“Rascals,” she said.
“Rooster’s in the kitchen snapping beans for Mrs. Lancaster,” he said without being asked. Call looped Mary Ann’s leading rope over her back and patted her flank to move her along without him. He leaned a shoulder against the rail beside Laurel and looked up at her. In spite of the fact that there was no one around to hear him, he asked quietly, “How are you?”
“Fine,” she said. “I’m fine.” She hesitated. “I have marks on my skin.”
