Love on the Line (26 page)

“I see.”

“I’m sorry I’m not going to be able to walk you home, but I’m not in my overalls.”

She looked him up and down. “You look much different in normal clothes.”

“That’s why I wear the overalls.”

Nodding, she backed up a step. “Yes. Well.”

“I need your word you won’t tell anyone who I am or what I’m doing here.”

“Does Sheriff Nussbaum know?”

“No one knows.”

She wrapped the strap of her opera glasses around her finger. “I’d like to see your badge and paperwork.”

“I’ll bring it by as soon as I clean up the glass over there and change back into my overalls. Do I have your word?”

Biting her lip, she nodded.

“The entire operation would be jeopardized if anyone suspected.”

“Do you know where Comer is?”

“Not yet.”

“Are you close to capturing him?”

“Closer than I’ve ever been.”

She looked down. “That isn’t saying much, is it?”

He reared back at the slur but said nothing.

“Well, I’ll see you in a bit, then.” Turning, she headed back the way she’d come, her skirts swaying with each step.

He watched until she disappeared into the thicket. He needed to send word to his captain. Tell him the mission had been compromised. But if he did, Heywood might pull him off the job. And that he could not, would not, allow.

Arriving home, Georgie latched the hook on her screen door, then dropped her opera glasses and field notebook on the easy chair and fell onto the couch. She didn’t change, light a lamp, review her notes, or make supper. She simply sat, staring at the empty fireplace.

Questions swarmed in her head. She tried to go back to her earliest memory of Luke and reconstruct what had happened to see if there were clues she should have seen. But how could she have? Never would it have occurred to her Lucious Landrum was sitting in the desk beside her. Or was it really Ranger Landrum? Perhaps she was right the first time. It was Comer pretending to be Landrum pretending to be Luke.

Her head began to ache. She recalled his splinters that first day he climbed the poles, something a seasoned troubleman would have known how to avoid. She thought of the numerous times he’d heard someone come up her walk well before she did. And then, there was the inordinate amount of time he spent in the field. Was he actually working or spending time with his gang?

Mr. Ragston’s call yesterday came to mind. How he’d specifically asked to speak to Luke, even though most folks reported their problems to her and she conveyed them to Luke. How Luke had insisted on going out to the Ragstons’, even though nothing was wrong. How he’d waited until after hours to clear the Spanish moss off the lines.

Had there even been any moss, or was it all a ruse? Was Mr. Ragston part of the Comer Gang? The idea seemed preposterous. He had a wife, children, and a farm to run. He had no hair, huge ears, and droopy eyes. Outlaws didn’t look like that. She had seen sketches and pulp novels. Why, she’d seen the Comer Gang herself. Not a one of them looked like Mr. Ragston.

But she hadn’t seen them all. Only the ones who’d boarded the train or held them at gunpoint. She closed her eyes, conjuring up Comer. His eyes had been blue, no question. And he’d had extremely wide shoulders. But she wasn’t certain he was as tall as Luke.

No, he’d only been about a head taller than she was. Hadn’t he? And Luke was more like a head and a half. Still, she couldn’t be sure.

She called to mind her impressions of Lucious Landrum. None of them had been favorable, but if she pushed those aside and concentrated solely on physical characteristics, would she recognize him as Luke?

Pulling up her legs, she leaned her head on her knees.
Think. Think.

His silhouette as he talked to the engineer. But it was the engineer who wore overalls, not Landrum.

His scowl as he demanded the widow return the money Comer had given her. But the light had begun to fade and his Stetson had shadowed his face and eyes.

The thick, dark beard had made his features appear round, so different from the sharp, angular lines of Luke’s cheeks and jaw.

No, she simply could not reconcile the man called Lucious Landrum with the man she knew as Luke Palmer.

But there was no disputing those pistols. They were Landrum’s, all right. That didn’t mean it was Landrum who now carried them, though.

She took a deep breath. Luke had certainly looked different today in shirt and pants. She’d not realized how flat his stomach was, how muscular his legs. She thought of the gun belt riding low on his hips, the exquisite scrollwork on his guns, the motto beneath—

Her head whipped up. The gun belt. Lucious Landrum had worn his exactly the same way, but Frank Comer had his cinched around his waist as if he needed it there to hold up his trousers.

She slowly lowered her legs. If there was one thing a man didn’t change, it was the way he wore his guns. In both Comer’s and Landrum’s line of work, their very lives depended on having those pistols exactly where they expected them to be.

Her body began to tremble. He wasn’t Frank Comer pretending to be Lucious Landrum pretending to be Luke Palmer. He really was Lucious Landrum. Texas Ranger.

Covering her mouth, she looked around as if she might find someone in the room who would confirm her realization. But there was no one. Just her, the switchboard, and her birding paraphernalia.

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.

The knock at her door startled a squeak out of her. She jumped to her feet and whirled around. It must be Luke. Or Lucious.

She grimaced. She simply could not be in love with a man named Lucious.

I love you, Georgie.

The words he’d said to her in the glade boomeranged inside her head. He loved her. He’d said he loved her.

“Georgie?” Another knock. “Can I come in?”

Her hands flew to her hair. She’d not changed or freshened up or combed her hair.

The screen rattled. There was nothing for it.

“Coming.” She scrambled to the door, unhooked it, and swung it open.

Pushing her aside, he rushed in, looking left and right. “Why was the screen latched? Why are all the lamps out? What’s the matter?”

She smiled. He was doing his Texas Ranger stuff, except in overalls. How could she not have noticed?

He turned around, the worry on his brow slowly transforming into uncertainty. “What?”

“I love you, too.”

He blinked, then utter shock. “What?”

She let the screen close. When had the sun gone down? She must have been sitting on that couch for quite some time. “I said, I love you, too.”

“Yes, I heard you. Why did you say it?”

She moved to the lantern and lifted its globe. “Because you said it first. This afternoon while we were talking.” She struck a match, touched it to the wick, then shook out the flame. “I can’t remember what I said, but I know I didn’t tell you—”

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.

As the fog began to clear, her curiosity swelled. She wanted to know everything there was to know about Lucious Landrum. “Do you have your badge and Warrant of Authority?”

Slipping a hand in his pocket, he withdrew a silver five-pointed star, then handed it to her. The cold metal spanned her entire palm. In its center, RANGER had been engraved in large, bold letters. Arced above it, TEXAS. Below it, STATE.

She pressed it against his chest. “Looks kind of silly with overalls, doesn’t it?”

He smiled. His eyes patient. Tolerant. And smoldering.

Swallowing, she handed it back to him and exchanged it for a black pocket-size folding case. She smoothed her hand over the soft, well-worn leather, wondering what stories it could tell. Inside she opened a small official-looking document with fancy lettering.

This is to certify the bearer, Lucious Landrum, is a Private in Company “A” Ranger Force, State of Texas, and this is his Warrant of Authority as a Ranger and will be exhibited as his authority to act as a Ranger when called upon for his credentials.

Beneath it was a descriptive list.

It was signed and sealed by the Adjutant General and the Captain of the Ranger Force.

She looked up. “You’re twenty-six now?”

He nodded.

“I believed you before you showed me all that,” she said, handing it back to him. “I was just curious.”

Refolding the document, he tucked it inside the case, then slipped it into the pocket on his bib and snapped it closed.

“Have you eaten?” she asked.

“Mrs. Sealsfield had some sandwiches set aside. I ate one on the way over.”

“Well, I haven’t. Come into the kitchen while I find me something.”

She fried a slice of ham, whipped up some gravy, and asked him about his growing-up years.

Leaning back in a spindly chair, he spoke at length of his father, their hounds, and the deer, fox, and raccoons they’d hunted. She noticed he skipped over any mention of birds.

Over their meal, she told him of her father and his reaction to her ambition of becoming a boy. His pride, as well as her mother’s horror, when she won the prize for being best in Greek studies.

Though Luke attended Soule’s Commercial College as an adult, he admitted to playing hooky from school as a child, preferring to ride, shoot, swim, and fish.

He shook his head. “I’ll never forget the time a bunch of us were at our favorite swimming hole trying to catch fish with our bare hands. We’d muddied the water good with all our thrashing about, making it impossible to see.”

They’d moved into the living area where he’d made a small fire. The pleasant odor of burning wood permeated the room. He sat facing her on the couch, his arm hooked across its back, his knee hiked up onto the cushion.

“I plunged my hands into the water and right smack-dab onto a big ol’ catch. I was boasting about its size before I ever even swung it up out of the water. Told my friends there wasn’t a one of them who’d be able to beat mine.”

Leaning against the corner of the couch, she tucked her feet up under her skirt and smoothed its hem over her boots.

Amusement played across his features. “And that certainly ended up being the case, for in my hands was the biggest water moccasin you ever did see.”

She sucked in her breath. She’d never personally known anyone who’d been bitten by the deadly snake, but she’d read many accounts of those who had—and died because of it.

“Fortunately,” he continued, “I had it good and tight about the neck so it couldn’t bite me, but it immediately coiled itself around my arm.” He smiled. “You’ve never seen a bunch of boys move so fast. I waded out of the water calm as you please, though I thought I was dead for sure. I strode up to one after another asking them to unwind it, but none of them would have anything to do with it.”

She bit her lip, trying to picture a seven- or eight-year-old Luke. “What did you do?”

He gave her a wry look. “Told Alec I’d beat him to death, cut off his ears, and skin him alive if he didn’t unwind that stupid thing.”

She curled her knees up closer to her chest. “Did he?”

“He did. His face was awfully gray, but he unwound it. After about a yard or so, he undid the last coil. I flung the thing down and stomped on it good.”

“In your bare feet? It didn’t bite you?”

“Nah. I’d practically choked it to death already.” His smile slowly faded. “I sure do miss him, Georgie. I’d give anything to go back and redo that last night I saw him.”

A log on the fire collapsed, popping and throwing sparks.

She reached out a hand. “He could have said no. Nobody made him race down that street with you.”

He hooked his fingers with hers. “He’d have done anything I asked. He idolized me and I knew it.”

“Which was also his choice.”

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.