Love on the Line - Deeanne Gist [86]
Her gaze lowered to his lips. She unconsciously brushed hers against the soft petals of the blooms in her arms.
“Good morning, Luke.” Mrs. Patrick rounded the corner, causing them both to jump.
With gloves and fan in hand, she looked as pretty as one of Georgie’s songbirds in her golden gown, striking red hair, and elaborate hat.
“Good morning, Mrs. Patrick. I didn’t realize you were still here.”
“I’m just finishing up.” Clipping the fan in her hand to Georgie’s chatelaine, she exuded an aura of pride. “Isn’t our girl just about the sweetest thing you ever did see?”
“Breathtaking,” he answered.
The woman’s smile widened, her attention still on Georgie. “Here, let me have those flowers, dear. I’ll take care of them and the hats while you two run on.”
“Are you sure?” But even as Georgie asked, she relinquished the bouquet to Mrs. Patrick in exchange for her gloves.
“Of course. Go on, now. You’re going to have to hurry if you want a good spot for the parade.”
Georgie shook out a glove, but Luke stalled her. “Wait. Not yet.” Capturing her fingers, he tucked them into the crook of his elbow. “Thank you, Mrs. Patrick. We’ll see you there.”
He took a step toward the gate, but Georgie gently broke free, retracing her steps to give the woman a peck on the cheek. “Thank you.”
“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.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
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.