Love on the Line (18 page)

“If you think this puny gesture will make up for how you’ve behaved tonight, then you greatly overestimate your charm.” She set her jaw. “You’re a rogue and a scoundrel. And I’ll make sure everyone in the county knows it the moment I’m free.”

Irritation flicked through him. What was she thinking to threaten the man she believed to be Frank Comer? Had she no sense at all?

He swiped up the handkerchief, wadding it in his fist and holding it in front of her lips. She tightened them and turned her head to the side.

He stood in indecision, wanting to impress upon her the danger of her bravado, but unwilling to gag her.

Duane stepped into the room, grabbed the hanky, and tossed it on the bed. “Let’s go.”

After a slight hesitation, Luke turned and followed Duane from her bedroom, then out the back door.

Grabbing the ax and Honey Dew, the three men headed out. After putting some distance between themselves and Georgie’s lot, Necker glanced at Luke. “You leave her tied up?”

He nodded.

Necker tightened his lips. “The boss won’t like that. He’s particular about the ladies.”

“I can still fetch a Mai tree for her,” he offered. “Then make enough noise to wake the dead when I deliver it. I’m sure she’ll cry out. That’ll be all the excuse I need to go in and free her.”

“Duane, you help him find one, then. I don’t wanna leave her like that any longer than I have to.”

“Where ya goin’?” Duane asked.

“I’m gonna report in.”

Luke suppressed his frustration. If Duane weren’t to accompany him, he could follow Necker and see whom he was working for, then go free Georgie.

Stopping, Necker ran a gaze over Luke. “Gimme my jacket and belt.”

Now that the imminent danger for Georgie had passed, Luke realized his participation in tonight’s activities might have inadvertently strengthened his position with Necker. It was a small consolation.

He returned all articles of clothing to their rightful owners and secured Honey Dew to a tree just inside a copse. Necker continued north while Duane joined Luke and the two moved into the woods.

He glanced at his companion, unable to see much of the young man from the little bit of moonlight filtering through the trees. “I’m sorry about all that back there. Your face all right?”

“It hurts like the dickens. What’d ya go and hit me fer?”

“I told you. I have feelings for her. Weren’t you listening?”

Duane rubbed his jaw. “Not good enough, I guess.”

“You didn’t lose any teeth, did you?”

“Nah. Just my pride.”

Luke slapped him on the shoulder. “Well, I’m sorry, friend. I guess I’m a little touchy when it comes to females. I don’t like to see them ill-treated. Particularly that one.”

Duane grunted, but he wasn’t the type to hold a grudge. Much as Luke would have preferred to talk of something else, Duane relived the excitement of the evening, taking out each moment and recounting it for pleasure’s sake. “What happened while I was out cold?”

“Not much. I finished tying her up, then woke you.”

“Is her skin as soft as it looks?”

Luke growled.

The boy held up his hands, pale swatches of flesh in the darkness. “Come on, have pity. Cain’t ya tell me nothin’?”

“I took no pleasure in tying her up, Duane, or manhandling her.”

“Ya sound like Frank.”

He slanted the boy a quick glance. “Frank? Is that who Necker’s going to see?”

They moved into a clearing, allowing enough moonlight for Luke to see Duane flip up his collar. “I’m not supposed to say nothing.”

Halting, Luke pretended surprise. “You don’t mean Frank Comer, do you? That fellow who robs trains and shares his loot with the poor?”

“He don’t share near as much as them papers say.” Duane strode to a twelve-foot tree on the edge of the clearing and looked up. “This one oughta do.”

“You’ve seen Frank Comer?” Luke infused his voice with awe and admiration. “Talked to him?”

Duane straightened his shoulders, hooking a thumb in his waistband. “That ain’t the half of it.”

“Tell me.”

The boy cocked a hip. “I’m in his gang.”

“You aren’t.”

“I am.”

“You’ve robbed a train?” He widened his eyes.

“Shore. Plenty o’ times.”

He whistled. “How’d you get in with Comer?”

“Necker introduced us.”

“Does he need anybody else? Can I join? You’ve seen me, I’m good with a gun.”

Duane considered him. “I’ll ask. I know Necker thought ya done good tonight and word is Frank’s thinkin’ about another train job. But don’t say nothin’ ’til I talk to Necker.”

A rush of energy sluiced through him. “Another train? When?”

“Don’t know.”

Luke forced a grin. “That’d be something. I guess I can’t write home about it, though.”

Chuckling, Duane stepped away from the tree. “No, you cain’t write home. Cain’t tell nobody. Folks round here like Comer well enough, but things is kinda uneasy right now.” He pointed to the tree. “You start. I’ll spell ya when ya get winded.”

Bracing his legs, Luke swung the ax, biting into the wood, then alternated between uppercut and undercut. Chips scattered with each slice. After several minutes, he paused to catch his breath.

“Ya quitting already?”

He shook his head. “I still can’t get over you knowing Comer. What’s he like?”

“Nothing like those pulp fiction novels, I can tell ya that.”

“Really?”

“Oh, he puts on a show fer folks when he’s out and about, but truth is, he’s meaner ’n a bitin’ boar.”

Luke wiped his forehead with his sleeve. “Then, why do you run with him?”

“The money. The excitement. You shoulda been at this last robbery. Who-wee, this Ranger come outta nowhere. I thought we was caught fer sure.”

“What happened?”

“We split up. Gave him the slip. It was close, though.”

“Must have set your heart to thumping.”

“Shore ’nough.”

Returning his attention to the tree, Luke circled around it, chopping his way to its core. He noted Duane didn’t mention the six men Luke had captured.

He wanted to push for more information—what did Comer look like, was he anybody Luke knew, where was he hiding out, who else was in the gang—but he refrained. Too many questions would look suspicious. Best to extract the particulars a little at a time.

“Watch out,” Luke said, backing up. “Here she goes.”

The birch fell to the ground with a thump, stirring up a tiny puff of dirt. Positioning themselves at separate ends, they picked it up and carried it to Honey Dew.

“Where’s yer saddle?” Duane asked.

“Didn’t think I was going to need one.”

“Well, leave the mare here, then, and I’ll help ya tote it the rest of the way.”

Luke put his end down. “No, I need to wash in the creek and then change. I smell like smoke from all those hats. I’ll saddle up before I come back, then drag it with a rope.”

“Ya sure?”

“Yeah.” He extended his hand. “Thanks for your help and again, I’m sorry about your jaw.”

Shaking hands, Duane crooked up a corner of his mouth. “It’s all right. Though I may think different tomorry when the beer’s worn off.”

A twinge of remorse flickered through Luke. He hadn’t meant to hit him quite so hard. “Where you off to?”

“Home. Watchin’ you chop down that tree plumb wore me out.”

Chuckling, Luke lifted himself onto Honey Dew. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then. Don’t sleep through the festivities.”

“I wouldn’t miss ’em.”

Touching his heels to the horse’s flank, Luke hurried toward Mrs. Sealsfield’s boardinghouse for a clean set of clothes.

A thump outside jarred Georgie awake, sending tremors of pain to her wrists and ankles. Had they come back? Terror overrode the burning sensation in her limbs. She forced herself to sit still.

In between grunts and thuds, someone whistled a popular love song
.
Upon reaching the chorus, his baritone voice broke into song.

Her eyes don’t shine like diamonds,

She has no golden hair.

I know she loves me dearly,

Then what more need I care.

Frowning, she squinted, trying to see out the open window overlooking the porch, but her fire still burned, making it impossible.

With a smile she always greets me,

From her I ne’er will part.

He paused, letting out a grunt as if he were lifting something, followed by a whoosh of air. A loud thud signaled the dropping of something against her cottage.

For lads, I love my mother,

And she’s my sweeeeeet-heart.

He began to whistle again.

Mustering up her courage, she drew in a breath. “Who’s there?”

All sound and movement ceased.

Her heart began to hammer. “Who’s there?” she asked, raising her voice even more.

“Georgie?”

Relief welled up inside her. “Luke?”

Heavy footfalls clomped up the steps and to her window. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“What are you doing?”

His shadowy form was obscured by her lace curtains. “I’m leaving you a Mai tree. But it was a surprise. You’re supposed to be asleep.”

Tears sprang to her eyes. “Help me, Luke. Someone broke in.”

“What?”

“Someone broke in.” Her voice cracked. “I’m tied up. Please. I need you to—”

She never finished her sentence. He burst into her bedroom, took one look at her, checked behind her door, then rushed out to check the rest of the house. The fire highlighted a multitude of empty hatboxes and lids strewn about her floor. The lingering smell of burnt fabric stirred her emotions.

“They’re gone,” she called, choking on the last word. “They’ve been gone for some time.”

He returned, kneeling before her and slicing her pillow slip with a knife from his pocket. “What happened?”

Pain flared through her wrists and spread to her fingers as blood rushed back in. She tried to choke back her cry, but couldn’t completely muffle it.

He sawed through the stocking around her ankles. “What the blazes happened? Are you all right?” He whipped up his head. “Did they—”

“They burned the hats.” The horror she’d been holding inside spilled over, bringing an ocean of tears.

He spared no glance for the boxes strewn about the room, but kept his attention solely on her. “Did they hurt you?”

“A little. When I fought. But mostly it’s my hands and feet that hurt.”

Grimacing, he lifted her into his arms and carried her to the living area. The switchboard lay on its side, a sad hulk in the darkness. “No! Oh, Luke. Look what they did.”

“Shhhh. I’ll fix it.” He set her on the couch, then disappeared inside her bedroom, returning with her coverlet. He tucked it around her body, his movements swift but gentle. “Tell me everything.”

With broken sentences, she told him all that happened. The more she talked, the more her body began to tremble. It refused to stop shaking. She looked at it as if it were not her own.

Scooping her up, he pulled her to his lap, blanket and all, then tucked her head beneath his chin. He smelled of soap and rainwater.

“It’s okay.” He wrapped his arms around her as if he could will her shakes away. “They’re gone now. You’re safe.”

Both his words and his embrace brought warmth and relief, triggering fresh tears. Not only for herself, but for her hats and all they represented.

She still couldn’t make sense of it. Why would Frank Comer burn her hats? Why would he act so dishonorably toward a woman? What on earth did he have to gain?

She knew of only one person who would benefit from the destruction of her hats. Ernst Ottfried. Had the milliner put Comer up to this?

Luke kissed her scalp, rubbed her arms and legs through the blanket, and rocked her like a baby, his touches bringing comfort and reassurance. Still the tears fell.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, over and over.

Her cries turned into hiccups. She wiped her face and nose with a corner of the blanket.

“We need to tell the sheriff,” he said.

She burrowed closer, drawing up her knees. “Not yet. Please. I don’t want to be alone.”

“He needs to know.”

“Then, take me with you. But don’t leave me by myself.” The tears started again.

He rested his cheek against her head. “I’ll be back quick as a wink.”

“No.” She wrapped a fist around his overall strap. “No.”

He acquiesced, making no move to leave the couch.

Her breathing leveled. Her tears slowed. “You brought me a Mai tree?”

Running a hand over her hair, he kissed her head. “Yes.”

She lifted her chin. “Why?”

He traced her jawline with a finger, its roughness abrading her skin and sending tingles along its path. “I don’t know.”

“No one’s ever brought me a Mai tree before.”

“Then the men of this town are idiots.”

Snaking a hand out from the blanket, she drove her fingers into his thick, rich hair. “Your hair’s wet.”