Love on the Line (14 page)

“I did.”

“It’s nice.”

She looked at the towel. It was nothing out of the ordinary. Just a huck towel she used to dry her hands and face. “Thank you. And thank you for helping me with the boxes.”

“You’re welcome.” His voice was quiet, still lost on some distant memory.

“Do you see your mother very often?”

“Not since I left home.”

“Me neither.”

His eyes connected with hers. So blue. So very blue.

After a moment, she widened the door. “You should probably come on out.”

He snatched his hand back and took a quick glance at her bed, as if just realizing where he was.

“Excuse me.” He strode from the room.

She closed the door behind them, its soft click loud in the quiet of the cottage.

“I’m sorry.” He stood in the center of the room like a chastised child. “I didn’t mean to offend.”

“You didn’t.”

“I don’t know what I was thinking—I wasn’t. I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right. And I do appreciate your help.”

He swallowed. “Right. Well. I guess I better go.”

“Schmid Brothers Mercantile needs a new battery for their wall unit, as does Mr. Leatherman over on West Street.”

“Yes. I heard. If I can’t get to it today, I’ll do it first thing in the morning.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Clearing his throat, he grabbed his hat and pushed through the screen.

She caught the door with her hand, guiding it shut. She never knew what to expect when she saw him. One minute he’d be grouchy, the next just the opposite. But no matter his mood or hers, the tension between them remained constant.

She watched through the tightly woven mesh of the door as he strode to his horse and unbuckled its breast collar. The pinto turned her head toward him, the reins holding her to the hitching post. He stroked her neck and murmured something, his tone deep, gentle.

Unsaddling a horse was as everyday as washing one’s face, yet seeing him undo the flank strap, toss up the stirrup, and release the cinch fascinated her. Each movement sure, fluid, and economic. She pressed a hand against her midriff, but it did little to settle the commotion within.

He grabbed both ends of the saddle blanket and tugged. His back and shoulder muscles bunched as saddle, pads, and bags slid off the horse and into his hands. With a shortened stride, he hauled his burden to her side-yard shed, disappearing inside.

Moments later, he reappeared with the cart harness. His pinto perked her ears and swished her white tail. It was a beautiful horse. Deep brown head, neck, and shoulders. White mane, tail, girth, and legs from the hocks down. Georgie still couldn’t believe he’d named it after a brand of chewing tobacco.

Did he chew? she wondered. If he did, she’d never seen him, nor did he ever reek of it.

He sorted out the tangle of leather straps in his arms. Attaching a cart harness was every bit as complicated as attiring a woman for a night at the ball. He buckled the breast collar onto Honey Dew, smoothed out the backstrap, arranged the breeching strap, and tightened her belly band.

In between each step, his large hands stroked, patted, and checked for a tight but comfortable fit. Georgie wished she could hear what he was saying to the mare, for he kept up a steady stream of dialog.

He slipped a bridle with blinders over the horse’s nose and ears, fluffing the forelock as if it were a woman’s coiffure. Georgie smoothed the back of her hair, tucking loose tendrils into her twist.

Honey Dew bumped Luke with her muzzle. He leaned in and whispered. The horse gave a long, blustery sigh, flicking her ears. Luke chuckled, the deep tenor of it causing Georgie’s stomach to drop.

Releasing Honey Dew from the hitching post, he led her to the side of the house where he stored his installer’s cart. Georgie couldn’t see them, but she could hear the creak of the wheels, the looping of straps, the undertone of Luke’s voice. Finally, he walked Honey Dew to the street and climbed onto the green driver’s seat. Picking up the reins, he turned his head toward Georgie, his eyes connecting with hers, his gaze intense.

She fell back and out of sight, her breath lodged in her throat. He’d known. He’d known she stood there and ogled him. She pressed her hands against her cheeks.

After a moment, he clicked his tongue, signaling his horse. Georgie stayed in the shadows of her living room until the jangle of harness and creak of wheel had long since faded.

“Hello, Central.”

“It’s me,” Luke said.

A slight intake of breath. “Oh. Well, um, hello. Did you want to connect to someone?”

“No. I’m at the Oodsons’. In order to isolate the trouble, I’m going to stop at each farm or ranch on this line and ring back to you until I find one that doesn’t work properly.”

“All right.”

“Everything’s good here, sounds like.”

“Yes. I believe the earth would have stopped spinning had Mrs. Oodson’s line been down.”

He smiled. “Party lines, Miss Gail. Anyone can hear.”

A soft snort carried over the wire. “I guess she isn’t there, since the Reading Circle’s meeting at Mrs. Patrick’s right now?”

“No, she isn’t here. I let myself in.”

“You’re off to the Klebergs’ next?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll talk to you in a bit, then.”

“All right.”

Neither hung up.

He pictured her as he’d left her, standing at the screen door, watching his every move. Why did she do that? But he knew why. And try as he might, he couldn’t deny his fascination with her, either.

She’d looked like a living sunset in a dress he’d not seen before. High yellow collar, fawn-colored yoke, deep maroon gown, all trimmed with golden fringe which quivered at the tiniest encouragement. He’d wanted to trace the fringe with his finger, follow it from epaulets to the vee of her yoke.

“Is that a new dress you’re wearing?” he asked.

“No. Yes. A little.”

He propped a shoulder against the wall. “It’s nice. I like it.”

A pause. “Thank you.”

“What’s going on in your backyard?”

He heard her chair creak. “Mr. Bluebird’s nowhere in sight. He must be out hunting for food. Mrs. Bluebird is incubating her eggs.”

“They’re married?”

“Of course.”

“How do you know?”

“Because . . . they’re, you know, they’re having a family.”

“Did Audubon’s publication tell you birds who nest are married?”

“I’ll have you know, sir, bluebirds mate for life.”

“They do?”

“They do.”

“Well, then. I stand corrected.” Across the room a pair of carved cuckoo birds in an ornate clock poked out to announce the quarter hour. “Are cuckoo birds monogamous?”

“Mostly.”

“In that case, Mr. and Mrs. Cuckoo say hello.”

She chuckled.

He pushed away from the wall. “Listen, I better go. I’ll talk to you in a bit.”

“All right.” This time, she pulled the plug.

“Hello, Central.”

“It’s me.”

“Hello.” Her voice dropped to an intimate level.

Slipping a hand into his pocket, he looked down. Mud caked the toe of his left boot. He’d have to be careful not to leave a mess in Mrs. Dobbing’s hallway. “Sounds like this line is working, too.”

“Yes. What took you so long to get there?”

“I stopped by the Grants’. And guess what? They bought a subscription.”

“They did? Congratulations.”

“Thanks.” He jingled the coins in his pocket. “Mrs. Grant was telling me about Maifest. She says it’s the biggest event of the year.”

“I suppose it is.”

“She said fellas secretly place Mai trees in front of the windows of their sweethearts.”

“Yes. The phone lines are always buzzing the next morning.”

He wondered if anyone had ever left one for her. “She told me about a parade. Plus a greased pig chase and a Maypole dance.”

“I’ve only been to last year’s, but they had all that and a merry-go-round, too.”

“Yeah?” He lifted his brows. “I’ve never seen a merry-go-round.”

“It was my first, as well. From what I hear, they aren’t bringing it in again. It was evidently quite expensive.”

“That’s too bad.” He cleared his throat. “Are you going with anyone in particular this year?”

A slight pause. “No, I’m not.”

“Oh.”

“Are you?” she asked.

“Um, no.”

Silence.

“Well.” He shifted his weight onto one foot. “I guess I’ll head on to the next phone.”

“That would be the Halls.”

“The Halls. Okay. I’ll call you from there.”

“I’ll be right here.”

“Talk to you in a bit, then.” This time, he hung up first.

“Hello, Central.”

“It’s me.” He plugged up one ear. “Are you there?”

“Yes.” She raised her voice.

“Can you hear me okay? The Halls have a passel of kids and I can’t hear a thing.”

“You’re coming through loud and clear.”

“Okay. I’m gonna keep going.” He hung up without waiting for a response.

“Hello, Central.”

“Hi.”

“Hi.” Her voice dropped again, doing strange things to his stomach.

“This is much better,” he said. “Much quieter.”

“You’re at the Tanskes’?”

“Yes. They’re out in the fields.”

“Did you stop somewhere on the way?”

“I tried to sell Mr. Büchner a subscription, but he wouldn’t have anything to do with it. Mrs. Büchner fed me lunch, though.”

“What did you have?”

“Barbeque and some kind of potato dish I can’t pronounce, but it was really good. What about you? What did you have for lunch?”

“I didn’t eat.”

“Why not?”

“I wanted to make some sugar water for the hummingbirds.”

He frowned. “You do that a lot, don’t you? Skip lunch, I mean.”

“I don’t know if I’d say a lot, but sometimes.”

“You’re going to be the size of those hummingbirds if you’re not careful.”

“I doubt that.” He could hear the smile in her voice.

“You know what you need?”

“What?” she asked.

“An ice cream.”

“What?”

“An ice cream.” He pictured the new ice cream parlor next door to the post office. “Hodde & Kruse opened up today. They’re going to dispense cream, soda, and soft drinks all through the summer.”

“Oh my.”

“You want some?”

“Well, I . . . do you?”

“Why, sure. Don’t you?”

“I, yes. I love ice cream.”

“Then, let’s go get some. Right after work.”

“Today?” she squeaked.

“Why not?”

Every alarm bell in his system rang in earnest. He ignored them all. He was a man. She was a woman. He was interested in her. She was interested in him. He’d told her he wasn’t looking for a wife. She’d not pressed for an explanation.

“Well . . . all right,” she said. “After work?”

Suddenly, he couldn’t finish fast enough. “Five o’clock. I’ll pick you up.”

“Someone’s ringing in,” she said.

“I’ll let you go, then. Call you at the next stop.” Hanging up, he hurried out to Honey Dew, anxious to find the trouble so he could return to town in time to clean up.

“Hello, Central.”

“Can you hear me now?” Luke asked.

“Yes. Was that you trying to call earlier?”

“Yeah, but I couldn’t get through.”

“What happened?”

He shook his head. “Mrs. Ragston had grounded out the circuit by wrapping a hairpin around the line and the ground posts of the phone.”

“Good heavens.”

“I know. I’ve fixed it, though.”

“You’re all done, then?”

“I am. It’ll be quitting time when I get back to town. So would you let Schmid know I’ll bring him his battery first thing in the morning?”

“Of course.”

“Thanks.” He wound the cord of the receiver around his thumb. “I can’t be by for you right at five. Not if I clean up first.”

“That’s fine. I want to eat a little supper anyway.”

“Okay, but don’t fill up.”

“I won’t.”

“Georgie?” He touched the unit, willing her to hear him before she pulled the plug.

“Yes?”

He let out his breath. “Don’t change. I like that dress.”

“All right.”

He dropped his hand. “Bye.”

“Bye.”

She hesitated before finally disconnecting them.