Love on the Line - Deeanne Gist [38]
“Yes, sir.”
Georgie jumped to her feet. “I’m right here, Mr. Ottfried. No need to talk around me.”
He whirled on her. Luke immediately rose.
“I have no intention of talking to the likes of you, Miss Gail.” He stabbed his finger in the air, punctuating his words. “Not here, not about town, and certainly not on the telephone.” He marched to the door, pushed opened the screen, then paused and turned to Luke. “Thank you. I’ll see you at the trap shoot next weekend.”
Luke gave a slight nod. The screen door slammed behind the man.
Gasping, Georgie stared at Luke. “Trap shoot? Have you . . . have you joined the Gun Club?”
But the truth was in his eyes. Unable to catch a breath, she gripped the switchboard, the wood biting into her fingers. “The Gun Club shoots birds for fun.”
Luke dragged a hand down his face. “It’s business. I’m trying to create goodwill with the men so I can sell phones.”
“The members of the Gun Club already have phones.”
He fingered Ottfried’s cancellation. “Not all of them.”
Why, Lord? Why didn’t you make me a man?
Unwilling to attack him again or try to throw him out, she crossed to her bedroom and shut herself inside. Leaning her back against the door, she slid down, propped her head against her knees, and waited for him to leave.
Chapter Twelve
Setting his elbows on the desk, Luke rested his head in his hands. He was being undone by a mere wisp of a girl.
Though his work usually had him dealing with men, he’d certainly had to interact with women. Of course, they weren’t often the respectable kind and rarely captured his attention. If they had, he’d managed to walk away without much trouble. But Georgie was different. And this was no brief encounter. He would be in close proximity to her until the end of summer.
So he’d stayed away for two weeks and shored up his defenses. Yet within the space of three hours, his resolve had cratered.
It had to stop. He couldn’t do his job and court a woman at the same time. He couldn’t court a woman at all. Not with his lifestyle. He called to mind Rangers who were married. Who went home between jobs and stayed just long enough to propagate more offspring before hitting the trail once again.
He rubbed his eyes. That might work well and good for them, but not for him. He knew firsthand what it was like to grow up without a father. He wasn’t interested in putting his kids or his wife through that. Not when he was alive and well.
So what did that mean? He’d never marry? Never settle down? Never have kids? Looking out the window, he watched a bluebird bring food to its mate nesting inside Georgie’s starch box. All afternoon the male had flown to and from the nest feeding her, singing to her, protecting her, pampering her. What if someone killed the father bird and turned it over to Ottfried? What would the mother bird do?
The question brought back unpleasant memories. His widowed mother gathering up him and Alec, leaving all they knew and moving to a new county to live with his uncle. A man who saw Luke and Alec as free labor. A man who loved nothing and no one but himself.
Georgie’s door opened. She’d changed into a simple white shirtwaist and brown walking skirt. Its hem, shortened to accommodate her stride in case she were to set a brisk pace, revealed tiny black boots the size of a child’s. Her ankles couldn’t be much bigger than his wrist.
He rose, but she whisked by him and into the kitchen, closing the door firmly behind her. It was after hours. He needed to leave. But he hadn’t completed half of what he’d intended. Not while she’d been six feet away, flustered and stealing glances at him. He couldn’t sit through another afternoon of that. Not with the way he was feeling.
Nor could he stay when the workday was over. Sighing, he lowered himself into his chair. He only had five collection notices left. He’d finish those, then leave. Hopefully, she’d stay in the kitchen.
He hadn’t even finished two when the clinking and clanking of plates and