Love on the Line - Deeanne Gist [13]
She’d known he was coming, she just didn’t know it was going to be today. Now. This minute. And he wasn’t at all what she’d expected.
There’d been lots of troublemen in Dallas and none of them had been so . . . virile. It wasn’t an attribute she often assigned to men of her acquaintance. None, actually, now that she thought on it.
Tilting her head, she considered exactly what it was that made him so. When studying her birds, she made note of every feature. Her gaze moved to the top of Mr. Palmer’s head.
Crown: curly brown hair, which no comb had tamed. Eye ring: blue, the exact shade of an indigo bunting. Forehead: perfectly normal. Nothing of note there. Bill: intoxicating smile he flashed at the most unexpected moments. Chin: square jaw, which would need a shave by the end of the day. Throat: prominent Adam’s apple. Chest: a physique any pugilist would envy. Plumage: Denim work overalls and white chambray shirt.
She sighed. No, it wasn’t any one thing. Rather, the entire body, from head to tail, back to belly.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “Calling upon nonsubscribers will have to wait until all urgent matters have been completed.”
“My orders come from SWT&T, not you.” He took a step forward, crowding her. “So, I’d appreciate it if you gave me the list of who has service and who doesn’t.”
She offered him a patient smile. “You don’t seem to understand, Mr. Palmer. We have to take care of the customers we have first; then we can start introducing more.”
He held out his hand. Wing: calloused, large, and strong.
“The list, please,” he said.
“Don’t you think you’ll have a much better chance of drawing in new customers once we have real telephone wire fastened to real telephone poles, instead of common wire tacked onto trees, fences, and anything else which happens to be available? For heaven’s sake, some folks are receiving service over barbed wire.”
He kept his hand where it was. “I will string the wire, Miss Gail. But first, I’d like that list.”
“I’m afraid I must insist. First, you string the wire.”
Ding.
She glanced at the switchboard. Number nine had dropped. Suppressing her frustration, she skirted around him, slipped on her earpiece, plugged in a cable, and pushed the key forward. “Hello, Central.”
“It’s L.J. I hear tell the new troubleman’s done made it to town. Is he comin’ to get his cart and all this stuff them linemen left fer him? I really need the space back.”
She glanced at Mr. Palmer. He brushed his fingers across some papers on her desk, fanning them out.
“I’ll send him right over, Mr. Lockett. I know he’s anxious to get started.”
Palmer shot her a sideways glance, then returned to his nosing around.
She pulled out the cable. “That was the livery. Your installer’s cart is there, along with miles of galvanized wire, insulators, brackets, climbers, and everything else you need to get started.”
He ignored her. A brown curl fell across his forehead.
“Mr. Palmer, would you kindly step away from my desk?”
Scooping the papers together, he set them on end and tapped their edges straight. “I believe, Miss Gail, this is my desk.”
She stiffened. “I beg your pardon? That desk belongs to—”
“The Southwestern Telegraph and Telephone Company. And they have asked me to take over the billing, collecting, and trouble tickets. Since this is where the offices of SWT&T are located, well, it makes sense this is where the billing, collecting, and trouble tickets are generated. So this, Miss Gail, is now my desk.”
She’d been told he was to take over those duties, but she had no intention of giving up either them or her desk. And when she’d asked Mr. Marshall in the Dallas office about it, he’d chuckled. “Well, of course he’ll do those things,” he’d said. “With a man there, we’ve no need to depend on a woman any longer.”
Just thinking about it made her want to snatch him baldheaded.
She took a deep breath. “You’re not going to have time for that just yet, Mr. Palmer. As I mentioned before, your first priority is to string wire.”
He set her papers on the corner