Love on the Line (21 page)

“
Pshaw.
It was nothing. Now, quit your dallying. A man doesn’t like to be kept waiting, you know.”

Smiling, Georgie extended her naked hand toward him. His heart swelled and this time, instead of placing it on his arm, he entwined his fingers with hers and they headed to Main Street hand-in-hand.

Georgie loved Maifest. It wasn’t a holiday her hometown had celebrated, nor had Dallas when she’d worked the switchboard in SWT&T’s large exchange. But here in Brenham it was the biggest festival of the year.

Farmers ignored their crops. Men ignored their businesses. Women ignored their chores. And for one blessed day everyone devoted themselves to renewing old friendships, forming new ones, and breathing the air of heaven.

At the moment, however, heaven’s air was riddled with dust from a multitude of wagons. They entered the county seat from every direction. A freckle-faced boy hung off the edge of a green one, pointing to red, white, and blue bunting draped across residences and businesses. A tiny dog barked, weaving between horses’ hooves and nipping at the wheels of a buckboard.

Georgie smiled. “Wonder what he’d do if he actually caught the thing.”

Before Luke could respond, an automobile squawked its horn like a loud, angry goose.

The horse pulling the green wagon whinnied and bucked, tossing the freckled boy inside its bed into the oncoming traffic.

Georgie screamed, her shriek underscored by a dozen more. Luke dove into the street like a baseball player reaching for a low flying ball. Scooping the boy into his arms, he adroitly rolled out of harm’s way, barely missing the hooves of an oncoming team.

It happened so fast, Georgie hadn’t time to react. But realization quickly crashed down upon her. Her heart jumped to her throat. Both the boy and Luke could have been killed.

Traffic came to a standstill. The farmer guiding the boy’s wagon surged to his feet, his face florid. Shaking his fist, he cursed the driver of the automobile.

Men from every wagon in the vicinity jumped to the ground like corn popping from a pan. The automobile driver swung open his door, accidentally cutting off an approaching couple on a bicycle-built-for-two.

They swerved, their bike teetering. Wrestling the handlebars, the rider at the back put out one trousered leg and then the other, kicking up dirt. In front of him, the woman rider screeched, slapping a hand onto her hat while desperately hanging on with the other.

Georgie held her breath. The man somehow righted the bicycle and continued on his way. Releasing a whoosh of air, she turned her attention back to Luke. A large press of bodies blocked her view.

She tried to push through, but they were too compressed. Standing on tiptoes, she hopped. It was no use. She couldn’t see a thing.

When the crowd finally broke, the boy had been returned to his mother, his eyes bright with excitement. Men shook Luke’s hand, pounded his back, and offered to buy him a beer when they reached the pavilion.

He made light of his actions, as if they were nothing out of the ordinary. His freshly laundered and ironed overalls were caked with dirt. His hair mussed. His hat crushed.

In that moment, as she stood on the periphery watching him slap the dust from his pant leg, punch his hat back into shape, and chuckle at something someone said, it hit her. She was falling in love with him. And it had nothing to do with his devastating good looks and intoxicating kisses.

It had to do with his uncanny ability to always be there when she needed him. With his willingness to serve others and repair their phone lines no matter what the hour. With his willingness to respect her views, yet not be manipulated by them. With his tenderness toward Bettina, Fritz, and the other children in her Junior Audubon Society. With his capacity for acting quickly and decisively in times of danger.

He glanced her way, his eyes stalling. Though vehicles still rolled by and men still shouted and horses still whinnied, for her all sounds receded. All movement ceased. All of time stood still.

Glancing neither left nor right, he walked toward her. Men parted like a curtain on opening night. And then he was there. Something about his eyes unsettled her, but a curl slipped down against his forehead, distracting her.

She reached up, pushing the curl back into place. “You could have been killed.”

“I’m fine. I was never in any danger. I saw the other team coming. I knew I had time to get the boy out of the way.”

“You saw all that in the split second before you hurled yourself into the middle of this mess?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t know how.” She bit her cheeks. “You scared me, Luke.”

“I’m sorry.”

A wave of vulnerability swept over her. The what-ifs, the what-could-have-beens, the what-could-bes. “You may kiss me now.”

He swept his gaze across the panorama just above and behind her. A mixture of chagrin and amusement touched his lips. “Much as I hate to pass up such a sweet offer, I think I’d better take a rain check. I’m not sure now’s a good time, exactly.”

She blinked. The sounds slowly returned. Creaking wheels. Jingling harnesses. Merry voices. She looked around.

The crowd had dispersed and she was no longer standing in the middle of the street, but on the edge of the boardwalk. She had no recollection of getting there.

“You all right?” he asked.

No.
“Just a little too much excitement, I think.”

“You want me to take you home?”

Shaking herself, she took a deep breath. “No, no. I’ll be fine. I’m just . . .”

What?
she thought.
In love with you?

She swallowed. “The parade should be starting soon. I don’t want to miss the Patricks in our float.”

“You sure you’re okay?”

“Yes.” She gave him a small smile. “I’m fine.”

“You’re awfully pale.”

“Am I?” Touching her cheeks, she realized she still wasn’t wearing gloves. She removed them from the hidden pocket of her skirt and quickly pulled them on. “Well, I’m sure it’s nothing a walk downtown won’t cure.”

If he wasn’t completely convinced, he at least didn’t argue. Placing a hand beneath her elbow, he fell in step with others on the sidewalk and guided her toward Main.

In his line of work, Luke didn’t have much opportunity for play and absolutely none for festivals. He’d attended a boxing match a couple of years ago, but for crowd control, not pleasure.

Today, however, he had full license to enjoy Brenham’s Maifest. He’d still do some work. He’d keep an eye out for his primary suspects—Necker, Duane, Blesinger, and the two farmers Finkel and Ragston. He’d see whom they interacted with. See if they were bold enough to join one other. See if he could discover a connection between them and the milliner—if there even was one. He’d also be interested to see if the betting man from the shooting tournament—Hurless Swanning—made an appearance.

For the most part, though, he could enjoy examining the stock exhibits, listening to orations, watching the Maypole dance, attending a Texas A&M College baseball game, and best of all, taking Georgie to tonight’s dance. He glanced at her, his eyes drawn for the umpteenth time to her animated expression, her wide smile, and the tiny mole beneath her lips.

Her color had much improved since his rescue of the boy. He’d tried to play it down, hoping word would not get around with so much else going on. But already several townsfolk had approached him, saying they’d been told of his efforts and wanted to thank him.

He sighed. Being undercover was not one of his strong suits. He often acted first and thought later. But what else could he have done? He couldn’t exactly leave the boy to his own devices.

Still, his actions could undermine the impression he was trying to give. An ordinary telephone repairman wouldn’t be expected to jump in front of an oncoming team. He hoped word of his swift reaction wouldn’t get back to Necker.

Georgie pointed to the Maifest Queen’s float pulled by high-stepping iron-grays with white tasseled trappings draped across their backs. Luke admired the driver as he kept his horses in perfect time to the music of the marching band.

This year’s theme was the lily, the violet, and the rose. The milliner’s daughter, Lillie Ottfried, had been elected reigning queen and sat in white splendor, clutching a lily in one hand and waving with the other.

White, purple, and red flowers festooned her carriage’s frame while evergreens and arbor vines wreathed the supports of its canopy. The finest decoration by far, however, was the collection of little girls sitting at Miss Ottfried’s feet. Crowns of dainty white flowers rested upon heads of golden curls, their frothy white dresses poofing about them. A more lovely group of train bearers he’d never seen.

Miss Ottfried’s gaze traveled across the crowd, snagging on Georgie. The girl’s smile stiffened. Switching her flowers to the other hand, she turned to the opposite side of the street and began to wave again.

Georgie looked down, her teeth catching her lower lip.

Reaching for her hand, he tucked it in his elbow and gave it a squeeze.

Two carriages containing the queen’s maids of honor followed, with the speakers’ wagonette next, the Hook and Ladder Company, the Bellville brass band, and finally, the decorated wagons and floats representing German mythology, German history, local businesses, and social societies.

Luke recalled his hometown’s parades on the Fourth of July. One year, instead of wrapping his little wooden wagon with bunting, he’d painted its sides red with big white stars. When he was done, the stars looked more like giant circles, but he’d never forgotten the pride he felt pulling his little brother behind him in such a finely turned-out cart.

This parade, however, was nothing like home’s. He couldn’t imagine New York City itself putting out a finer, more elaborate show. A two-seated surrey with a yellow-and-black scheme passed by. A single white horse drew a creation in pink chrysanthemums. And then Georgie’s float, its red-rose cardinal flying high over the procession.

Ladies ooohed, gentleman hooted, children pointed. From inside the carriage, Mr. and Mrs. Patrick saw the two of them, their smiles widening, their waves more insistent. Laughing, Georgie used her entire arm to wave back, jumping up and down like a schoolgirl.

A well of protectiveness bubbled up inside him. She was so young. So naïve. And she had no idea he wasn’t a telephone repairman.

His impromptu marriage proposal flashed through his mind. Never once had he thought the break-in might jeopardize her reputation. He’d been too long on the move. Too out of touch with what it was like to live in a town where everybody knew everybody else’s business.

Had he known what it would come down to, he’d have led Necker and Duane to the float. But he hadn’t known. He should have, though. He should have.

Georgie clasped her hands together, resting them against her lips as she regarded the back of the Plumage League’s carriage. Thanks to the Patricks, it appeared as if her reputation would remain intact.

And though he was grateful, he was also, strangely enough, disappointed there’d be no need for a wedding. He found himself wondering what changes he’d have made if she’d said yes.

Would he quit his job? Two months ago the thought would have been ludicrous. Now, however, when he lay down at night, instead of dwelling on lawbreakers and hideouts and desperados, he dwelt on Georgie.

Georgie wearing a blue gingham apron in a bright, sunny kitchen. Clamping her tongue between her teeth when she withdrew his splinters. Laughing when he said something which somehow amused her. Frowning when he refused to capitulate or agree with her.

Even during the days she’d haunt his thoughts. His duties as troubleman required time on lonely roads and quiet hillsides. More and more he’d catch himself ruminating like a lovesick swain.

He’d picture her feeding birds out of her hand. Protecting them by beating off cats, educating children, or spearheading a countywide campaign. He’d picture her at the switchboard looking out her window with opera glasses and exclaiming over every species that visited her fiefdom.

And now, he pictured her squaring up to her intruders, determined to protect those hats without thought to her own safety. His blood turned cold. Thank the good Lord he’d been there. No telling what would’ve happened.

A bystander jostled her, momentarily bumping her into his side. Brief as the contact was, desire flared within him.