Love on the Line - Deeanne Gist [117]
Field book in hand, she sketched him perched on the side of the nest, mouth open and squawking for Mama. A muffled snort behind her caused her to glance over her shoulder.
Luke had arrived at half past four and fallen asleep in the easy chair. Though he never spoke of his Ranger work, she knew it had kept him up late this past week. She assumed he was writing reports. He certainly couldn’t be looking for men in the dead of night. But whatever it was, it had worn him out.
Her gaze moved to the hat he’d brought her. A double-faced satin straw with maroon on the outside and yellow underneath its brim. A perfect complement to his favorite dress and a poignant apology for burning her hats by mistake. It had to have cost him a fortune.
With warmth spreading through her, she turned back around, then continued to sketch and make notes until the sun completely set and darkness kept her from seeing anything further. She slowly closed her notebook. Victoria hadn’t chosen to night-brood her nestlings. Georgie sat for thirty more minutes in the darkness, but still the queen did not return to the ligustrum.
She bit her lip. The fledglings were too young to be left alone. They were completely defenseless. Perhaps she should keep watch. At least for tonight. Just to be sure they’d be all right.
“Georgie?” His voice held a scratchy, sleep-induced sound.
“I’m here.”
He shifted in his chair. “What are you doing? Why haven’t you lit the lantern?”
“I can’t see anything but my reflection when I do that.”
She heard him stand and move toward her. “You can’t see anything but black when you don’t.”
Sighing, she rose as well. “I know.”
He slipped his arms around her and gave her a long kiss. “I’m sorry I fell asleep.”
“You’re fine. I was making some sketches.”
“Can I see them?”
“If you’d like.”
He gave her another kiss, then released her and lit a lantern.
She told him of the day’s activity. He perused her drawings.
She scrambled them some eggs and fried up a bit of sausage. He sharpened her sketching pencils with his pocketknife.
She read him a chapter out of The Swiss Family Robinson. He fell asleep again.
Closing the book, she placed it on her lap and took the opportunity to look her fill. She noted the curl falling onto his forehead. The short brown eyelashes. The sharp line of his nose. The whiskers beginning to shadow his face.
She’d like to wake up every morning of her life looking at that face, but he’d not so much as hinted at anything permanent, and she’d been too afraid of his answer to bring it up herself. She knew once he caught Frank Comer, he’d be given a new assignment. Then what?
Would he leave and chase down the next criminal without a backward glance? And if he were to ask for her hand, would he still leave her behind while he rode across the hills and plains of Texas?
How long would he be gone? He’d arrived here in March and now it was the first of June. Did every job take an entire season?
He opened his eyes.
She lifted the corners of her lips. “Hello.”
“Why’d you stop reading?”
“You fell asleep.”
“I wasn’t asleep. Just resting my eyes.”
Quirking a brow, she gave him a skeptical look. “What have you been doing during the nights to make you so exhausted?”
“I’m not exhausted.” Locking his hands behind his head, he twisted from side to side. “You know when you check your telephone lines to see if anyone is on them?”
It took her a moment to follow the change in topic. “Yes.”
“And if you don’t hear anyone talking, you unplug the cables?”
“Yes.”
“Well, when you do that—listen in for a couple of seconds—can the people talking tell you’re on the line?”
“Not if I pull the lever back, only if I push it forward.”
Lowering his arms, he rested his elbows on his knees. “If I gave you a couple of names, would you listen in on their conversations and tell me what you hear?”
She stared at him as she considered the question. She’d been anticipating it. Had been surprised