Love on the Line (16 page)

“Thanks.” She fingered one of the leaves on the wheel. “Do you really think someone would try to do it harm?”

He’d seen firsthand what men were capable of and nothing surprised him anymore. “If someone were mad enough, anything’s possible.”

“I probably ought to hide it, then. Can I borrow your horse?”

“Where would you take it?”

She worried her lip, considering. “I could park it behind the Campbellite church.”

He glanced at the church down the street, its steeple peeking above the treetops. “Too close.”

“What about the cemetery? No one would think to look there.”

“Too wide open. They’d be able to see it from the road.” He rubbed his mouth. “What about that abandoned place about a mile north of here?”

She furrowed her brows. “The old Langkwitz place?”

“I don’t know. It’s a run-down, two-story with a giant birch too close to the house.”

She nodded. “I know exactly where you mean. That road dead-ends now. Nobody even lives that direction anymore. If I pulled the float behind their house, it would be completely hidden.”

“That’s as good a spot as any, I guess.”

She smiled. “I can borrow your horse, then?”

“No.”

She blinked.

“I’ll take the float out there myself,” he said. “No woman should be driving a carriage, much less one all decked out like this. No telling what Honey Dew’s reaction is going to be.”

She stiffened. “Being a woman has nothing to do with whether or not I can drive a carriage.”

“It has everything to do with it.”

Narrowing her eyes, she opened her mouth to protest.

He held his hand up in a stop position. “Don’t get yourself in a snit. It’s my horse, and if anyone drives her anywhere, it’s going to be me. Besides, it can’t be moved until after dark or your secret would be up. I’m not about to let you take this thing out in the dark.”

She released a huff of breath. “Fine. You drive. But I’m going with you.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

She took a step toward him, her head jutting forward. “Either I go with you or I borrow someone else’s horse and do it myself.”

He didn’t want her going to anyone else. Not until he knew whom to trust and whom not to. But if she went with him, she’d hinder the operation. He rubbed his forehead. He’d just have to make the best of it. “I’ll pick you up around ten.”

“Ten? Don’t you think that’s a bit late?”

“If anyone decides to do anything, they won’t venture out until after midnight when the town is well and good asleep.” He raked his gaze over her white shirtwaist and blue polka dot skirt. “You’ll need to wear black.”

She gave him a curt nod. “I’ll be ready.”

Georgie sat on her back porch steps, broom in hand. She’d followed her normal evening routine, but instead of donning her nightdress, she’d wrapped her bosom, then pulled on a simple black shirtwaist and a pair of boy’s britches, leggings, and boots. She shifted, trying to find a more comfortable position. It had been years since she’d dressed like a boy and the trousers were a bit tight.

Trapping the broom handle between her knees, she adjusted the stocking cap on her head, its tassel tickling her cheek. She’d had no trouble locating the pants at the back of her bottom drawer, but she couldn’t find her old cap anywhere and had used the only thing available—a night stocking her mother had knitted when Papa was still alive. Though Georgie’s head wasn’t much bigger than it used to be, she had a great deal more hair, and the base of the cap kept creeping up.

Tugging it into place, she settled against the porch railing and listened to the night sounds. Her birds had long since turned in, but the crickets and cicadas kept up a steady conversation. A coyote far away let out a long, sorrowful howl.

Placing the broom across her lap, she gripped its handle, closed her eyes, and concentrated on anything out of the ordinary—a snapping twig or a lull in the katydids’ banter.

A few minutes later, her head bobbed. She jerked awake. Nothing but blackness stretched before her. Stifling a yawn, she wished she could check the time. Tomorrow was sure to be a full day and she had no wish to be up all night. Hopefully, Luke would arrive soon.

It took Luke a moment to realize the boy curled up on the porch was, in fact, Georgie. What the blazes was she doing in britches?

Treading quietly, he almost had Honey Dew hitched up when Georgie stirred.

“Who goes there?” Though her voice was scratchy with sleep, it held a warning.

“It’s me,” he whispered. “Keep your voice down.”

He went around the float, then stopped. “What are you doing?”

Crouched on the porch, she held a broom like a baseball bat, bottom side up, then slowly lowered it. “I wasn’t sure it was you.”

“And you thought to do in whoever it was with a broom?”

“I didn’t have anything else.”

Rolling his eyes, he snatched the broom from her hand and tossed it to the ground. “Go to bed, Georgie. I’ll do this.”

“No, no. I need to come.” She rubbed an eye with her fist, looking like the child she’d dressed to be.

“I mean it.” He turned her toward the door. “Go on.”

She locked her knees. “I’m going with you, Luke.”

His eyes had long since adjusted to the dark, but even still he squinted. “Are you wearing a nightcap?”

Straightening the stocking on her head, she circled round him, then climbed up into the float. She might think she wore a clever disguise, but no boy he’d ever seen moved like that. He slammed his eyes shut. The woman was crazy as popcorn on a hot skillet.

Drawing on the calm he was known for, he joined her on the float, released the brake, and slapped the reins.

“Watch out for my dewberries,” she said.

He was tempted to run them over as punishment for her stubbornness, but refrained. Shifting, he tried to find some elbow room. The basket phaeton was cozy in the best of times, but the decorations along the seat’s sides forced the two of them even closer.

The carriage hit a rut, jostling them from side to side. Without the normal layers of skirts and petticoats between them, he found himself very aware of the feminine leg plastered against his.

“What are you wearing?” he asked.

She tugged on her stocking cap. “You told me to wear black.”

“You have black skirts.”

“Well, I couldn’t very well wear those. If someone were to see us riding out at this time of night to the place sparking couples go when they don’t want to be discovered, why, my reputation would be ruined.”

Yanking the carriage to a halt, he looked at her aghast. “Langkwitz’s place is Lovers’ Walk?” He couldn’t believe he hadn’t learned of it earlier. What was the matter with him?

“So?”

“You chose to hide the float in the one place sure to have nighttime visitors.”

He couldn’t see her expression, but he felt her bristle.

“Not tonight, it won’t be.” Her voice held a defensive edge. “Not only is it way too late for sparking, our young men are spending tonight chopping down birch trees, decorating them with streamers, and delivering them to their sweethearts.”

The Mai tree tradition. He’d forgotten about that. Still, there were always exceptions. “We can’t take it there.”

“There’s nowhere else.”

Removing his hat, he dragged a hand through his hair. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me about this.” An unsettling thought occurred to him. “How do you know it’s Lovers’ Walk?”

She flipped the pom-pom on the end of her stocking as if it were a swath of hair. “I’m the telephone operator, Luke. I’m privy to all sorts of things.”

“No one’s ever taken you there?”

“Of course not.”

“Then how did you know what the place looked like when I described it to you?”

She folded her hands in her lap, prim as a Sunday school teacher. “I’ve done some birding over there.”

He couldn’t decide if she was telling the truth or not, but even if she weren’t, it wasn’t his business. Still, he didn’t like the idea of it one iota.

Slamming his hat back on, he shook the reins. “We’d best get a move on, then. If a bunch of fellows are combing the area for trees, I need to get this blame thing hidden and return you home. If you’re seen in that getup, there’ll be the devil to pay.”

“If I’m seen in this ‘getup,’ no one will recognize me.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure. So, if we run across anyone, you pull that cap down and let me do the talking.”

But luck was with them, and they made it to Langkwitz’s without mishap. He checked the likely spots couples would go for privacy, but none were occupied. Pulling the float behind the house, the two of them unhitched Honey Dew and carefully stored her harnesses in the boot box of the carriage.

“That’s it. Let’s move.” He cupped his hands together and made a stirrup, Honey Dew’s hide smelling like a warm barn. “You’ll have to straddle her and go without saddle, but don’t worry. Just hang on to her mane and I’ll walk us back.”

“I know how to ride bareback.”

He slowly straightened. “And how in the blazes do you know how to do that?”

The moon had come out from behind the clouds, offering plenty of light to see her shrug. “My brother, the only boy in our family, died when I was eleven. My father was inconsolable. Told me he wished I were a boy. So I vowed I would be. Then I set out to do everything LaVerne had.”

He pursed his lips. That explained a lot. “And LaVerne rode bareback?”

“LaVerne did a lot of things.”

He made another stirrup with his hands. “Well, come on, then. Up you go.”

She glanced at the float. “We’re just going to leave it here?”

Sighing, he straightened again. “What did you think we were going to do?”

“I don’t know. Guard it?”

“Nobody’s guarding anything. Whoever was wanting to sabotage your float—if there even was anyone—will check your place and maybe the immediate vicinity before getting discouraged and giving up. No one will come looking for it out here. Now, come on.”

She nibbled her lip. “What if they happen upon it by accident?”

“Georgie.” He heard the strain in his voice.

“I can’t just leave it out here.” She tugged her cap down. “Maybe we should make some scarecrows.”

“Scarecrows.”

“Yes. Then if someone does poke around, they’ll think the thing is being guarded and won’t bother it.”

“You have nothing to make them with. No hay. No poles. No men’s clothing.”

“Then I’ll stand guard myself.”

He fisted his hands. “With what? You don’t have your broom.”

“Then take me home and I’ll get my broom.”

Over my dead body,
he thought.

She fit her boot into his hand and swung on. Blustering, Honey Dew shied at the feel of a saddleless rider.

Shushing the animal, she leaned over and stroked its neck. “Hand me the reins, please.”

“Not likely,” he mumbled, and began leading the horse toward home.

Though the soft grassy ground absorbed Honey Dew’s clomps, it didn’t completely silence them.

“You can’t go back there, Georgie.”

She said nothing.

“I mean it. If someone wants to retaliate for the trouble you’ve caused over the birds, and they catch you out at night alone, no telling what would happen.”

“They don’t frighten me.”

“They should.” He wondered at her father’s admonition she be a boy. What a great bunch of foolishness. He glanced over his shoulder. She appeared to be relaxed atop the horse, but being walked while astride was a great deal different than riding bareback.

“So what else did LaVerne do?” he asked.

She sighed. “Well, he climbed trees. He studied Latin, Greek, and mathematics. He jumped hurdles with his horse. He rafted across rivers. All kinds of things.”

He shook his head. “You telling me you’ve done all those things, too?”

“Once or twice.”

“Yet you plan to defend the float with a broomstick.”

“It’s the only thing I have.”

“What about a gun?”

“LaVerne didn’t shoot guns.”

He scanned the area in front of them. He’d never heard of a boy who didn’t shoot guns. “You’re from Texas, right?”

“All my life.”

“Then why didn’t your brother shoot?”

“He just didn’t care for the sport, I guess. I don’t know.”

He thought about her living in that cottage all by herself with nothing but a broomstick for protection. “When Maifest is over, I’m teaching you to shoot a gun.”

“No, thank you. I don’t care to—”

“Shhh.” He pulled up short, cocking an ear. “Somebody’s coming.”

“I don’t hear—”

Tossing the reins over Honey Dew’s head, he swung up behind Georgie. “Hang on.”

He dug into the horse’s sides. It was probably a group of kids with their Mai trees in tow, but even still, he had no wish to be caught with a female in britches. If they recognized her, not only would her reputation be in shreds, she’d lose her job. SWT&T held high standards for their employees—particularly the women.

Clinging to the shadows as best he could, he kept them at a trot and on the road. The last thing he wanted was for Honey Dew to twist an ankle. With each of the mare’s strides, he and Georgie bounced, rising and descending at different times.

He slipped his arm around her and pulled her close to keep them in unison. Even so, the tassel on her hat slapped him with each bound. Reluctantly, he had to admit she hadn’t been lying when she said she could ride without a saddle. She kept her back straight, her body in tune with the horse.

In another minute, he’d slow them down. But for now, he enjoyed the feel of her in his arms. He wished he could see her costume in daylight. He felt sure she wouldn’t fool anyone. With their positions as such, he could tell she’d bound her chest. Why go to all that trouble only to wear a lady’s shirtwaist? And that stocking cap was about to drive him—

The cap flew from her head, releasing a bounty of hair and a burst of cinnamon.

She whipped her face around. “My hat!”

A thick braid, loosened from the cap’s constant agitation, began to swiftly unravel.

He tightened his grip on her. “I’ll go back for it later. First, we get you home.”

“But my mother—”

“Shush.”

Reaching around her neck, she grabbed the remains of her braid and pulled it over her shoulder, holding it tight against her collarbone.

Instead of slowing them, he continued at a trot, bouncing as one atop the horse. Finally, when the cottage came into sight, he slowed to a walk, but kept his arm where it was.

She plaited the ends of her braid with quick, efficient movements. “My mother made me that cap.”

“I’ll go get it.”

“I don’t know why we couldn’t have just stopped.”

He guided Honey Dew to the backyard, slid off, then took Georgie by the waist and pulled her to the ground. “You can’t go back.”

She took a quick step away from him, breaking their contact. “Thank you for helping with the float. I could have done it, but it was nice to have some help.”

“You can’t go back.”

“I can and will do whatever I please.”

He felt his jaw begin to tick. “Then you leave me no choice.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’m taking Honey Dew and I’m moving the float. You won’t be able to guard it because you won’t know where it is.”

She gasped. “You wouldn’t dare.”

He strode to Honey Dew. “I’ll pick your cap up on my way and bring it back to you in the morning.”

Racing after him, she tried to grab his shirt, but he swung astride before she could.

“Where will you take it? There aren’t any other good hiding places.”

“There are plenty of places.” He spied the broomstick he’d thrown down earlier. “Take your weapon with you to your bedroom and lock the door behind you.”

“I never lock my door.”

He turned Honey Dew toward the Langkwitzs’. “Well, lock it tonight and I’ll see you in the morning.” Tapping his heels into the horse’s flanks, he rode from her yard.