Love on the Line (29 page)

“Then they’ll hatch.”

Duane kicked a rock, sending it skittering down the alley. “If that Necker don’t be careful, he’s gonna be so henpecked he’ll molt twice a year.”

The boy had been sulking all night, and Luke could hardly blame him. His position as best friend had been usurped by a woman. As soon as Luke bid Georgie good night each evening, he’d sought out Duane and Necker. And once Necker had assured himself of Luke’s availability, the recently wed man often bowed out.

Luke hadn’t minded at all. Necker’s idea of fun was of a more sordid nature. Duane, however, had yet to fully develop a taste for the unsavory. His pranks were suited to those of a mischievous youth. He was also less guarded than Necker and easier to extract information from.

“‘Lulie don’t like ta be left alone,’” Duane imitated in a singsong voice. “‘Lulie ain’t feelin’ well tonight. Lulie saw a mouse and gots the shivery creeps.’” His lip curled in disgust. “The shivery creeps. I’d like to show her the shivery creeps.” He pulled up short.

Luke scanned the alley front and back to see what had startled the boy, but saw nothing. “What?”

Duane’s eyes were wide. A slow smile began to form.

A sigh of resignation escaped before Luke could stop it. He’d seen that look before.

“I got an i-deer.” Duane took off at a fast clip. “Faller me.”

They wound their way through town, avoiding the main thoroughfares, finally ending up at the feed store. Striking a match on his back pocket, Duane opened the door to the storage area and quickly lit a lantern. “’Member those traps we set?”

Nodding, Luke closed the door behind him.

“Well, they worked real good. And Pa told me I had ta get rid of the mice ’fore they get loose and I have to catch ’em all over again.”

They skirted around a large feed cutter and past several sacks of grain. The squeaks and distress calls of mice filled the hemmed-in room, backed by the stench of their droppings.

Duane handed him the lantern. “Hold this.” Bending over, he caught hold of a large cage and lifted it from behind a stack of feed troughs.

Four or five dozen mice screeched and crawled over each other like waves cresting and dipping in an ocean.

“Ain’t that somethin’?” Duane tilted the cage, sending the lot of them sliding to one side. “I had no i-deer we had so many of these fellers back here.”

“That’s a mighty big catch, all right.”

Duane bent his face close to the cage and clicked his tongue. “It’s okay, fellers. It’s just me.” He tapped his fingernail against the bars. “Pa tol’ me to drown ’em last week, but I just can’t bring myself to do it again. You have any idea how long it takes to drown a mouse?”

Luke pursed his lips. “Can’t say I do.”

Duane looked over his shoulder. “A looooong time.”

What was this boy doing in Comer’s gang? A boy too tenderhearted to drown a mouse was holding up women and children on trains. How was Luke going to haul him off to the calaboose when he reminded him so much of Alec?

“Listen, Duane—”

Straightening, the boy wagged a finger at Luke. “Now, don’t tell me yer backin’ out ’fore I even tell ya the plan.”

“I’m not trying to back out, I’m just—”

He scowled. “Necker done tol’ me yer all gurgle and no guts, but I stuck up fer ya. Told him I know ya better than he does. I’m gonna be sorely disappointed if’n you turn out to be full o’ butter.”

Luke tensed. Necker still had doubts? Was that why he hadn’t been invited into the gang? What more did they want? “Lead the way. I’m all in.”

Duane clapped him on the back. “That’s it. Now grab two of them buckets over yonder and come with me. It’s a good hike out to Necker’s and we ain’t even made it to Charlie’s yet—though you stink to high heaven as usual. How ’bout letting me have a swill from yer stash?”

Patting the bib hiding his flask of water, Luke shook his head. “Sorry, Duane. I don’t share my coffin varnish with anybody. Not even you.”

“Well, come on, then. Let’s get this over with, ’cause if I don’t get me some neck oil soon, I’m gonna have to prime myself to spit.”

Necker slept awfully sound for a man living on the edge. Between Duane stirring up dust and the mice letting out squeaks, Luke had expected to be on the receiving end of a double-barrel shotgun. But nothing moved inside the little log cabin other than a tiny trickle of smoke from its chimney.

Duane looked at him. “You ready?”

He nodded.

Pointing to a window on the side of the cabin, Duane lowered his voice to a whisper. “That’s the one.” His smile grew wide. “It’s right over the bed.”

Luke couldn’t help but answer the boy’s infectious grin.

“We’ll have to move fast,” Duane continued. “Them critters aren’t gonna like being bounced around. If Necker hears, he’ll go straight fer his gun, but he’ll go round front ’fore he does any shootin’. So keep going, ’cause his missus’ll still be abed. If he catches us ’fore we make cover, he’ll know who it is and aim high.”

Luke set the empty buckets on the ground, his pulse picking up speed. “I’m ready.”

Opening the top of the cage, Duane poured mice into each bucket. Sure enough, the tiny creatures protested. Swooping up the buckets, the two of them raced to the open window and tossed the contents inside.

Horrific screams and a string of curses erupted from the cabin. They sprinted to the thicket, then dove to the ground when the shots started. Duane tried to hold his laughter but couldn’t.

“Duane Pfeuffer, you no ’count son of a pig keeper, I’m gonna knock yer ears down so they’ll do ya fer wings.”

The boy rolled to his back, laughter pouring from his gut. The sound echoed across the landscape and mixed with a woman using words so hot they’d burn her throat. The coarser her curses, the harder Duane laughed. “Who-wee, but that gal sure knows how to air her lungs.”

“You out there with him, Palmer, you lily-livered dog?”

“I am,” he shouted, then rolled to the right as more gunfire sounded. But he needn’t have bothered. Necker was clearly shooting into the sky. “Well, get back here and help me catch these godforsaken things.”

Scrambling to his feet, but keeping low, Duane half ran, half crawled in the opposite direction. “Come on,” he whispered. “Let’s get outta here.”

Luke needed no urging. When Necker realized they weren’t returning, the gunfire came a bit closer, but they pressed on until they were well out of range.

Three of the four eggs hatched. Georgie named them Edward, Alice, and Leopold. The children filed in and out, checking on the progress of the chicks. They watched Victoria and Albert take turns hunting for food. Grabbed their throats when they saw how far the monarchs inserted their bills when feeding the fledglings. And asked if birds ever ran out of bugs.

From her position at the switchboard, she could see them perfectly, though sometimes she used her opera glasses just to get a close-up look. Today was Day Five, and as soon as quitting time came, she rolled her chair to the corner. Through her glasses she could see a tiny crest on top of Edward’s head.

Field book in hand, she sketched him perched on the side of the nest, mouth open and squawking for Mama. A muffled snort behind her caused her to glance over her shoulder.

Luke had arrived at half past four and fallen asleep in the easy chair. Though he never spoke of his Ranger work, she knew it had kept him up late this past week. She assumed he was writing reports. He certainly couldn’t be looking for men in the dead of night. But whatever it was, it had worn him out.

Her gaze moved to the hat he’d brought her. A double-faced satin straw with maroon on the outside and yellow underneath its brim. A perfect complement to his favorite dress and a poignant apology for burning her hats by mistake. It had to have cost him a fortune.

With warmth spreading through her, she turned back around, then continued to sketch and make notes until the sun completely set and darkness kept her from seeing anything further. She slowly closed her notebook. Victoria hadn’t chosen to night-brood her nestlings. Georgie sat for thirty more minutes in the darkness, but still the queen did not return to the ligustrum.

She bit her lip. The fledglings were too young to be left alone. They were completely defenseless. Perhaps she should keep watch. At least for tonight. Just to be sure they’d be all right.

“Georgie?” His voice held a scratchy, sleep-induced sound.

“I’m here.”

He shifted in his chair. “What are you doing? Why haven’t you lit the lantern?”

“I can’t see anything but my reflection when I do that.”

She heard him stand and move toward her. “You can’t see anything but black when you don’t.”

Sighing, she rose as well. “I know.”

He slipped his arms around her and gave her a long kiss. “I’m sorry I fell asleep.”

“You’re fine. I was making some sketches.”

“Can I see them?”

“If you’d like.”

He gave her another kiss, then released her and lit a lantern.

She told him of the day’s activity. He perused her drawings.

She scrambled them some eggs and fried up a bit of sausage. He sharpened her sketching pencils with his pocketknife.

She read him a chapter out of
The Swiss Family Robinson.
He fell asleep again.

Closing the book, she placed it on her lap and took the opportunity to look her fill. She noted the curl falling onto his forehead. The short brown eyelashes. The sharp line of his nose. The whiskers beginning to shadow his face.

She’d like to wake up every morning of her life looking at that face, but he’d not so much as hinted at anything permanent, and she’d been too afraid of his answer to bring it up herself. She knew once he caught Frank Comer, he’d be given a new assignment. Then what?

Would he leave and chase down the next criminal without a backward glance? And if he were to ask for her hand, would he still leave her behind while he rode across the hills and plains of Texas?

How long would he be gone? He’d arrived here in March and now it was the first of June. Did every job take an entire season?

He opened his eyes.

She lifted the corners of her lips. “Hello.”

“Why’d you stop reading?”

“You fell asleep.”

“I wasn’t asleep. Just resting my eyes.”

Quirking a brow, she gave him a skeptical look. “What have you been doing during the nights to make you so exhausted?”

“I’m not exhausted.” Locking his hands behind his head, he twisted from side to side. “You know when you check your telephone lines to see if anyone is on them?”

It took her a moment to follow the change in topic. “Yes.”

“And if you don’t hear anyone talking, you unplug the cables?”

“Yes.”

“Well, when you do that—listen in for a couple of seconds—can the people talking tell you’re on the line?”

“Not if I pull the lever back, only if I push it forward.”

Lowering his arms, he rested his elbows on his knees. “If I gave you a couple of names, would you listen in on their conversations and tell me what you hear?”

She stared at him as she considered the question. She’d been anticipating it. Had been surprised it hadn’t come up earlier. Yet she was no more sure how to answer now than she had been when she first thought of it. “It’s against company policy.”