Love on the Line - Deeanne Gist [50]
Anger simmering, he twisted the wires together and forced himself to respond as if he had nothing personal at stake. “Don’t guess I ever thought about it. Can’t say the name’s ever bothered me, though.”
“That’s probably because it isn’t yours. I’m sure if it were, you’d think differently.”
“Maybe so.” Picking up a cloth on the switchboard, he wiped his hands. “Did you get a look at this Lucious fellow?”
“I did.”
He raised a brow. “And was he luscious?”
“Ha!” Folding the paper, she tossed it on the desk. “Hardly. If anybody was luscious, it was Frank Comer.”
Sobering, he snapped the towel over his shoulder. “I’ve reconnected a couple of wires. Plug something in and see if it works.”
She gave a sharp glance at his tone; then her mouth formed a tiny circle, as if just realizing what she’d said to the man who’d kissed her thoroughly not half an hour ago. At least it gave him an excuse to show his irritation.
Putting on the earpiece, she slid into her chair, pushed the drops back in place, and waited for the phone to ring. The silence in the cottage thickened.
She fiddled with cables, wiggling them into place, though they didn’t need it. Finally, she peeked at him through her lashes. “I didn’t mean that like it sounded.”
“Exactly how did you mean it? He wasn’t luscious, after all? You just remembered it wrong?”
Moistening her lips, she clasped her hands. “I only saw his eyes.”
“Eyes the color of blue jays’ feathers?”
She swallowed. “I think it’s his reputation more than anything. You know, all those pulp fiction stories. All the daring escapes he’s made. All the good things he’s done for folks.”
He choked. “Good things? You mean, like robbing people at gunpoint? Stealing from a company who has laid out a great deal of money to bring railroad tracks through this very town? A town which would be dead, just like Burton, if it weren’t for those tracks? Those kinds of good things?”
Ding.
She quickly plugged in a cable. “Hello, Central . . . I had a bit of trouble with the switchboard, but Mr. Palmer has it up and running for me now.” Her eyes connected with his.
He lowered the lid on the hutch.
Her gaze shot to the cable she’d plugged in, her eyes stormy.
He hesitated.
“Yes, Judge. Five live birds is three dollars entrance, including birds. Twenty live birds is fifteen dollars entrance, which also includes the birds.” She pressed her lips together. “You’re welcome.” She snatched the cable from the jack. “I hate this. I’ll have to answer these stupid questions and report on this awful shoot for days.”
“The switchboard’s working, then?” he asked.
“Yes.”
Dropping the cloth on his desk, he made his way to the screen and looked out. The town’s librarian let herself through the gate and hurried up the walk carrying a hatbox.
“Luke?” Georgie’s voice held a quiver.
“There’s someone here to see you.” Opening the screen door, he stepped onto the porch. “Good morning, Mrs. Crutcher.”
“Mr. Palmer.”
Georgie rose. “Come in, Wendy. You have a hat for our contest?”
“I do,” she replied, her smile infectious.
Tugging his brim, he nodded to the women. He could see Georgie’s distress, but he hardened his heart. “I’ll call you with the results of the events as they happen. I’m sure folks will be wanting to know.”
Letting the screen slap shut behind him, he nursed his irritation. Better that than the softer, more dangerous emotions she evoked.
Chapter Fifteen
Crates filled with one thousand fluttering pigeons surrounded Luke, their throaty coos an unceasing clamor, their musky smell overpowering his senses. Reaching into a wooden cage, he grabbed one, its tail feathers fanning.
“Here you go,” he said, handing it to Duane Pfeuffer, the son of the feed store owner.
Skinny as a darning needle, the young man tucked the bird under his arm and jogged to the pigeon ring several yards away. A barricade stretching around the ring