Love on the Line Quotes

“There’s a big difference in reaching for the best we can be and in trying to be something we are not and never will be.” “So women can’t do everything men can?” Tina clarified. “I’m afraid not.” A slow grin began to form. “Women can do more.” “Georgie,” Lucious admonished. Laughter bubbled up within her. “Some things are just different, that’s all.” He grabbed her around the waist and pulled her close. “I think, Bettina Landrum, your mama is full of sass from getting that piece of legislation named after her.” “She is?” Tina asked. “She is.” He looked over his brood of girls. “But the truth is, your mama can do anything she sets her mind to.” Georgie gave him a playful push. “Don’t tease, Lucious. They’ll believe you.” “And well they should.” Leaning over, he gave her a kiss flush on the lips.”
― Deeanne Gist, Love on the Line

“Still, he’d kept up his membership in the Gun Club. Had taken the girls hunting every chance he could. And still went everywhere with Odysseus—having retired Penelope the day they were married, for Georgie was now closest to his heart.”
― Deeanne Gist, Love on the Line

“Fine. You’re Lucious Landrum and I’m Annie Oakley. Can I go now?”
― Deeanne Gist, Love on the Line

“What’s going on in your backyard?” He heard her chair creak. “Mr. Bluebird’s nowhere in sight. He must be out hunting for food. Mrs. Bluebird is incubating her eggs.” “They’re married?” “Of course.” “How do you know?” “Because . . . they’re, you know, they’re having a family.” “Did Audubon’s publication tell you birds who nest are married?” “I’ll have you know, sir, bluebirds mate for life.” “They do?” “They do.” “Well, then. I stand corrected.” Across the room a pair of carved cuckoo birds in an ornate clock poked out to announce the quarter hour. “Are cuckoo birds monogamous?” “Mostly.” “In that case, Mr. and Mrs. Cuckoo say hello.”
― Deeanne Gist, Love on the Line

“I do know,” she continued, “finches sing to us from March to October.” Leaning forward, her eyes picked up the lantern’s flame. “You should see them when they go a-wooing.” “A-wooing?” “Yes. The male springs into the air singing to his ladylove while going higher and higher.” Clasping her hands, she pressed them against her chest. “That’s when his song reaches its highest ecstasy. Why, I’ve seen him go fifteen—no, twenty feet above his mate before dropping exhausted at her side.” Raising a brow, he lowered his voice. “And did he get what he was going after?” She gave a soft smile. “He certainly did, Mr. Palmer. He most certainly did.”
― Deeanne Gist, Love on the Line

“she had no use for men who were so narrow-minded they could look through a keyhole with both eyes at the same time.”
― Deeanne Gist, Love on the Line

“I’m glad I’m a woman and you’re a man. And there are some things I do well, and some things you do well. And together, we know when to hold tight and when to let go.” Lifting a corner of his mouth, he gave her hand a squeeze. “I love you, Georgie Gail.” She smiled. “And I love you, Lucious Landrum. Name and all.”
― Deeanne Gist, Love on the Line

“Was Comer in the area? Would he try to get the drop on them? When would he realize his men had not met up at their rendezvous points? And when he did, would Georgie be in harm’s way? But he already knew the answer. She would. And if anything happened to her, he’d never forgive himself. He glanced at her again, her nose and cheeks a muted pink where the sun had touched them. A deep well of love for her sprang from within. So sweet. So brave. And, Lord help him, but he wanted her with him always. Feeling his regard, she glanced over. He winked, then returned his attention to the men in the back.”
― Deeanne Gist, Love on the Line

“Luke climbed up next to Georgie. “You did real good, honey. Since we’re done for now, you just put your thumb here on the hammer and pull back, then ease it forward. Make sure your barrel isn’t pointing at anyone when you do it, though.” He cocked it again. “Now you try.” She aimed in the direction of his horse. Luke gently lowered the barrel. “These bullets go far. You don’t want to accidentally shoot anything.” Keeping the pistol trained to the ground, she released the hammer, then looked up at him, her green eyes sparkling with pride. “That’s the way,” he said. “You can relax now. I’ll guard the men while you drive. You needn’t be afraid to put your back to them. I’ll protect you.” Her eyes softened. “Thank you.”
― Deeanne Gist, Love on the Line

“Standing behind Georgie, Luke slipped his arms about her waist and pulled her back against him. She rested her hands on his. “She used my colored ribbon. Do you see it?” They faced her corner window, watching as the mama cardinal nosed the edges of her nest. It had taken her only three days to build it. The compact bowl was a masterpiece of twigs, rootlets, vines, and strips of bark. Interlaced within its siding was a frivolous piece of yellow-and-orange frippery. “I do,” he said. “Definitely gives it the woman’s touch.” She smiled. He had to admit the process was fascinating. The male had kept a close eye on his mate during construction, but didn’t offer any help. He wondered if it contributed at all once copulation had occurred, but wasn’t quite sure how to pose the question. “How long before she lays?” he asked. “Five or six days.” “Then how long before they hatch?” “Another twelve, give or take.” He rested his mouth against her hair and inhaled the flowery-cinnamon shampoo paste she used. “You going to name them?” She angled her head back. “I believe the most romantic couple’s names have already been taken.” Unable to resist, he gave her a soft kiss. “There’s Romeo and Juliet.” Scrunching her nose, she turned back around. “I don’t much care for the ending of that tale.” The female cardinal hopped to the edge of the ligustrum, then darted away in search of food. “Cleopatra and Caesar?” “No, I’m through glamorizing people who don’t deserve it.” He gave her a quick squeeze. “Then what about Queen Victoria and Prince Albert?” Her spine straightened. “Oh, I like that. And with the cardinals’ rich beautiful plumage, they deserve royal names.”
― Deeanne Gist, Love on the Line

“He tugged on her hand, but instead of going to him, she looked at the timepiece above her breast. “It’s getting late.” “Are you coming over here or not?” “Not.” But she smiled to lessen the refusal. After a moment, he stood. “I was planning to cover the south side tomorrow. Sales have been kind of slow and I need to find us some new subscribers.” Unfolding herself from the couch, she rose as well. “Does SWT&T know who you are?” “Only the chairman. Everyone else thinks I’m a troubleman, including our boss.” She tilted her head. “Are you really going to try and sell phones or are you doing your, um, other work?” He ran the back of his knuckles against her cheek. “Both. I’m always doing both.” Twisting her face to the side, she gave his hand a peck. “You be careful, then.” He slid his hand around the nape of her neck, and gently pulled her toward him. Defenses melting, she let him reel her in as surely as if she were one of his fish. The kiss was slow, gentle, and devastating. “If I don’t see you tomorrow,” he whispered, “I’ll see you on Tuesday.”
― Deeanne Gist, Love on the Line

“One minute she was facing the table, the next she was in his arms, his mouth pressed to hers, his arms crushing her against him. Hmmmm. Luscious. She giggled. He pulled back. “Are you laughing? Is something funny?” His voice held a decidedly affronted tone. “I think you’re luscious,” she whispered. “That’s not funny.” She giggled again. “We’ll discuss it later.” He continued with his kiss. By the time he was finished, she couldn’t think, much less laugh. He appeared satisfied with her reaction. Arrogant man.”
― Deeanne Gist, Love on the Line

“She moved her fingers across her lips. She’d been kissed by Lucious Landrum. Luscious Lucious Landrum. Panicky giggles escaped her before horror quickly replaced them. Good heavens. She’d made fun of his name right in front of him. She pressed two fists against her mouth. What had she said? She couldn’t remember. Something about it being a ridiculous name—which it was—and something about it sounding like luscious—which it did. What had he said? She slid her eyes closed but couldn’t recall the words. She could recall his expression, though. He’d been furious.”
― Deeanne Gist, Love on the Line

“He slipped his arm around her and pulled her close to keep them in unison. Even so, the tassel on her hat slapped him with each bound. Reluctantly, he had to admit she hadn’t been lying when she said she could ride without a saddle. She kept her back straight, her body in tune with the horse. In another minute, he’d slow them down. But for now, he enjoyed the feel of her in his arms. He wished he could see her costume in daylight. He felt sure she wouldn’t fool anyone. With their positions as such, he could tell she’d bound her chest. Why go to all that trouble only to wear a lady’s shirtwaist? And that stocking cap was about to drive him— The cap flew from her head, releasing a bounty of hair and a burst of cinnamon. She whipped her face around. “My hat!” A thick braid, loosened from the cap’s constant agitation, began to swiftly unravel. He tightened his grip on her. “I’ll go back for it later. First, we get you home.” “But my mother—” “Shush.” Reaching around her neck, she grabbed the remains of her braid and pulled it over her shoulder, holding it tight against her collarbone. Instead of slowing them, he continued at a trot, bouncing as one atop the horse. Finally, when the cottage came into sight, he slowed to a walk, but kept his arm where it was.”
― Deeanne Gist, Love on the Line

“What about a gun?” “LaVerne didn’t shoot guns.” He scanned the area in front of them. He’d never heard of a boy who didn’t shoot guns. “You’re from Texas, right?” “All my life.” “Then why didn’t your brother shoot?” “He just didn’t care for the sport, I guess. I don’t know.” He thought about her living in that cottage all by herself with nothing but a broomstick for protection. “When Maifest is over, I’m teaching you to shoot a gun.” “No, thank you. I don’t care to—” “Shhh.” He pulled up short, cocking an ear. “Somebody’s coming.” “I don’t hear—” Tossing the reins over Honey Dew’s head, he swung up behind Georgie. “Hang on.”
― Deeanne Gist, Love on the Line

“He went around the float, then stopped. “What are you doing?” Crouched on the porch, she held a broom like a baseball bat, bottom side up, then slowly lowered it. “I wasn’t sure it was you.” “And you thought to do in whoever it was with a broom?” “I didn’t have anything else.” Rolling his eyes, he snatched the broom from her hand and tossed it to the ground. “Go to bed, Georgie. I’ll do this.” “No, no. I need to come.” She rubbed an eye with her fist, looking like the child she’d dressed to be. “I mean it.” He turned her toward the door. “Go on.” She locked her knees. “I’m going with you, Luke.” His eyes had long since adjusted to the dark, but even still he squinted. “Are you wearing a nightcap?” Straightening the stocking on her head, she circled round him, then climbed up into the float. She might think she wore a clever disguise, but no boy he’d ever seen moved like that. He slammed his eyes shut. The woman was crazy as popcorn on a hot skillet.”
― Deeanne Gist, Love on the Line

“Luke hadn’t been nervous when he’d disarmed a cold-eyed gunslinger in an El Paso saloon. Nor when he’d charged the hideout of the notorious Miller Gang. Nor when he’d single-handedly subdued a mob. But as he tied Honey Dew to Georgie’s hitching post, his hands shook, his forehead beaded with sweat, and his mouth went dry. He blew out a long breath. It was just a woman. And she was tiny as a cricket bug.”
― Deeanne Gist, Love on the Line

“He wound the cord of the receiver around his thumb. “I can’t be by for you right at five. Not if I clean up first.” “That’s fine. I want to eat a little supper anyway.” “Okay, but don’t fill up.” “I won’t.” “Georgie?” He touched the unit, willing her to hear him before she pulled the plug. “Yes?” He let out his breath. “Don’t change. I like that dress.” “All right.” He dropped his hand. “Bye.” “Bye.” She hesitated before finally disconnecting them.”
― Deeanne Gist, Love on the Line

“You know what you need?” “What?” she asked. “An ice cream.” “What?” “An ice cream.” He pictured the new ice cream parlor next door to the post office. “Hodde & Kruse opened up today. They’re going to dispense cream, soda, and soft drinks all through the summer.” “Oh my.” “You want some?” “Well, I . . . do you?” “Why, sure. Don’t you?” “I, yes. I love ice cream.” “Then, let’s go get some. Right after work.” “Today?” she squeaked. “Why not?” Every alarm bell in his system rang in earnest. He ignored them all. He was a man. She was a woman. He was interested in her. She was interested in him. He’d told her he wasn’t looking for a wife. She’d not pressed for an explanation. “Well . . . all right,” she said. “After work?” Suddenly, he couldn’t finish fast enough. “Five o’clock. I’ll pick you up.”
― Deeanne Gist, Love on the Line

“Did you know he named his pistols?” she asked. He felt his jaw begin to tick and immediately forced himself to relax. “I think I’ve read that before.” “Well, I just read it recently. As if having a boy pistol and a girl pistol wasn’t bad enough, he goes and names them. Odysseus and Penelope.” She laughed. A full-throated, from-the-belly laugh. “But what can you expect from somebody named Lucious?” Over his four years as a Ranger, he’d traveled seventy-four thousand miles, made two hundred scouts, and one hundred eighty-two arrests. He’d endured cold, hunger, and fatigue without a murmur. He’d been said to have the eyes of a fox, the ears of a wolf, and the ability to follow scent like a hound. Yet this tiny bit of fluff could throw him off-kilter like no other. He counted to ten. “What’s wrong with the name Lucious?” She looked at him, incredulous. “What’s wrong with Lucious? It’s . . . it’s . . . I don’t know . . . silly, don’t you think? Sounds like luscious.” He was named after his father. The father whose life had been senselessly snuffed out by Mother Nature. Carrying his dad’s name was a great privilege and a source of pride for Luke. How dare she make fun of it. 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.”
― Deeanne Gist, Love on the Line

“You were robbed on a train?” Her face lit. “Yes. By Frank Comer himself. He knew I had money, too, but he let me keep it. He actually gave some coins to a widow and a poor boy. It was terribly exciting.” She must have been on that train from Dallas. He tried to recall seeing her but couldn’t. “You got a pretty good look at Comer, then?” “I did, though a neckerchief and hat covered everything but his eyes.” She looked out the window, her face softening. “They were blue. Not a subtle blue, like robins’ eggs, but a vibrant blue, like the feathers of a blue jay.” His eyes were blue, too. He wondered if she’d noticed. Stuffing down his irritation, he shifted his weight onto one foot.”
― Deeanne Gist, Love on the Line

“The third time it landed on her apron, cocked its head, then fluttered to her hand. Luke held his breath. The bird nipped a piece of cake and whisked away. She never moved a muscle. Die and be blamed, but she was beautiful. The breeze ruffling her hair, blooms trimming her silhouetted figure, birds eating out of her hand. He swallowed. He needed to get out of here.”
― Deeanne Gist, Love on the Line

“As soon as she finished, she cupped his elbow, taking the weight of his forearm in hers, and sat back. The motion pulled his wrist toward her, bringing his knuckles within grazing distance of her rib cage. He relaxed his fingers, allowing them to curl down toward his palm. But if he unfurled them, they’d reach the top of her corset. Swallowing, he moved his attention to the window. A bluebird landed on the starch box in her yard, a tiny twig in its mouth. She blew on his arm. He jumped, the recoil pulling his arm back, then forward, straight into her. His hand opened instinctively, before he immediately closed it. “Oh!” Her eyes widened. “I’m sorry.” “No, I am. Did that sting or something?” Her face filled with concern. He searched her expression. Had she not noticed? How could she not notice? “No, ma’am.” He cleared his throat. “I was just looking out the window and wasn’t, I didn’t . . .” He took a deep breath. “No, ma’am. Didn’t sting. I’m sorry to have jumped.” “It’s almost ready. Just another minute or so.” She tapped the edges of the mixture and blew on it again. He slammed his eyes shut, but it only heightened his other senses. What the blazes was he doing, letting this woman tend to his needs as if he was some drugstore cowboy? He should have known better.”
― Deeanne Gist, Love on the Line

“Miss Gail yanked open the screen door and charged straight into her room, immediately to the left of the front entrance. He jumped to his feet, the cord of the earpiece pulling him up short like a dog on a leash. She slapped the door shut behind her. In the brief seconds he had, he catalogued mussed hair, pale face, red nose, and fresh tears. “Would you like to join my family for supper, Mr. Palmer?” Miss Honnkernamp asked. “Now that we know what your favorite is, I’m sure—” Throwing off the earpiece, he yanked the cable from the jack and rushed to her bedroom door. “Miss Gail? Are you all right? Are you hurt? What’s happened?” No answer. He cocked his ear and held himself still. The sound of suppressed sobs came from the direction of the veranda. Pushing open the screen, he stuck his head out. The crying was louder. He looked toward the swing, then remembered. Her window. It was open. Easing onto the porch, he stood and listened. Whatever happened had been catastrophic. She took deep, broken breaths, followed by a long series of quiet, staccato sobs. He rubbed his mouth. What in tarnation?”
― Deeanne Gist, Love on the Line

“She was staring at him, only she wasn’t taking in the view the way he’d done earlier. No, she was looking at him as if he was a polecat at a picnic. He lowered his arms. “How does everything look?” she asked. It was the best record keeping he’d ever seen. And he’d seen plenty. “It’ll do.” Her lips thinned. The little mole beneath them shifted. “Do you have any questions?” “Not as yet.” “How long are you going to sit there?” He leaned back in his chair. “Am I bothering you?” “Yes.” He didn’t try to hide his amusement. “Gloating?” she asked. “No, ma’am.”
― Deeanne Gist, Love on the Line