Love on the Line - Deeanne Gist [87]
When the crowd finally broke, the boy had been returned to his mother, his eyes bright with excitement. Men shook Luke’s hand, pounded his back, and offered to buy him a beer when they reached the pavilion.
He made light of his actions, as if they were nothing out of the ordinary. His freshly laundered and ironed overalls were caked with dirt. His hair mussed. His hat crushed.
In that moment, as she stood on the periphery watching him slap the dust from his pant leg, punch his hat back into shape, and chuckle at something someone said, it hit her. She was falling in love with him. And it had nothing to do with his devastating good looks and intoxicating kisses.
It had to do with his uncanny ability to always be there when she needed him. With his willingness to serve others and repair their phone lines no matter what the hour. With his willingness to respect her views, yet not be manipulated by them. With his tenderness toward Bettina, Fritz, and the other children in her Junior Audubon Society. With his capacity for acting quickly and decisively in times of danger.
He glanced her way, his eyes stalling. Though vehicles still rolled by and men still shouted and horses still whinnied, for her all sounds receded. All movement ceased. All of time stood still.
Glancing neither left nor right, he walked toward her. Men parted like a curtain on opening night. And then he was there. Something about his eyes unsettled her, but a curl slipped down against his forehead, distracting her.
She reached up, pushing the curl back into place. “You could have been killed.”
“I’m fine. I was never in any danger. I saw the other team coming. I knew I had time to get the boy out of the way.”
“You saw all that in the split second before you hurled yourself into the middle of this mess?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t know how.” She bit her cheeks. “You scared me, Luke.”
“I’m sorry.”
A wave of vulnerability swept over her. The what-ifs, the what-could-have-beens, the what-could-bes. “You may kiss me now.”
He swept his gaze across the panorama just above and behind her. A mixture of chagrin and amusement touched his lips. “Much as I hate to pass up such a sweet offer, I think I’d better take a rain check. I’m not sure now’s a good time, exactly.”
She blinked. The sounds slowly returned. Creaking wheels. Jingling harnesses. Merry voices. She looked around.
The crowd had dispersed and she was no longer standing in the middle of the street, but on the edge of the boardwalk. She had no recollection of getting there.
“You all right?” he asked.
No. “Just a little too much excitement, I think.”
“You want me to take you home?”
Shaking herself, she took a deep breath. “No, no. I’ll be fine. I’m just . . .”
What? she thought. In love with you?
She swallowed. “The parade should be starting soon. I don’t want to miss the Patricks in our float.”
“You sure you’re okay?”
“Yes.” She gave him a small smile. “I’m fine.”
“You’re awfully pale.”
“Am I?” Touching her cheeks, she realized she still wasn’t wearing gloves. She removed them from the hidden pocket of her skirt and quickly pulled them on. “Well, I’m sure it’s nothing a walk downtown won’t cure.”
If he wasn’t completely convinced, he at least didn’t argue. Placing a hand beneath her elbow, he fell in step with others on the sidewalk and guided her toward Main.
In his line of work, Luke didn’t have much opportunity for play and absolutely none for festivals. He’d attended a boxing match a couple of years ago, but for crowd control, not pleasure.
Today, however, he had full license to enjoy Brenham’s Maifest. He’d still do some work. He’d keep an eye out for his primary suspects—Necker, Duane, Blesinger, and the two farmers Finkel and Ragston. He’d see whom they interacted with. See if they were bold enough to join one other. See if he could discover a connection between them and the milliner—if there even was one. He’d also be interested to see if the betting man from the shooting tournament—Hurless Swanning—made an appearance.