Love on the Line

by Deeanne Gist

  Someone let out a long keen.

  Scowling, the large man looked over his shoulder and touched a finger to his mouth again.

  Then she realized, it had been she who’d moaned. With renewed determination, she struggled against the bindings. Yet the more she struggled, the tighter they became.

  Leaning over, she picked at the knots with her teeth. But they were too secure.

  Finally, sinking to the edge of the mattress, she watched through silent, blurry tears as the men tore open box after box and tossed the beloved hats into the fire. She had always loved the smell of burning logs. Straw, fabric, and tissue, however, gave off a completely different odor. A harsh, astringent one.

  She tried to convince herself they were only things. But they weren’t. It was as if they took her dreams and threw them into the fire.

  With a deep, gripping ache in her heart, she finished reciting the Twenty-third Psalm. She moved to the Lord’s Prayer, then every memory verse she knew about fear, courage, grief, heartache, and vengeance.

  Luke shut off the part of him which ached to respond to Georgie’s distress. First and foremost, he must do whatever it took to protect her from a fate much worse than being bound at wrists and ankles.

  He felt sure Necker’s intent was to impair the Plumage League, not bring harm to Georgie. Duane, however, was another matter. The boy had had too much to drink and, from what Luke could tell, had allowed his mind to wander.

  Still, Luke would need to make amends with Duane once the boy sobered up. He didn’t want tonight’s rough handling to sabotage his chances of getting into Comer’s gang.

  He tossed a hat into the fire. The frilly confection burned like corn husks and produced an abundance of smoke. Flames high, heat stifled the room. Sweat beaded along his forehead and neck.

  Moaning, Duane finally pushed himself to his feet.

  “You finish up in here,” Necker murmured to Luke. “I want every last one of ’em destroyed.”

  He nodded. Necker looked at Duane, signaling him to follow. The two left the room.

  Tempted as he was to check on Georgie, he concentrated on his task. But that didn’t keep him from picturing her in his mind. Her thick blond braid reached clear down to her waist, and her white nightdress looked nothing like his mother’s.

  His mother’s had always reminded him of a flour sack with sleeves and a bow at the throat. But Georgie’s was light as a feather, had a scoop-necked, lacy yoke, and a tiny ribbon gathering up the gown just below her breasts. Its sleeves tied below her elbows, trimming them with a ruffle of lace.

  When she’d struggled with Duane, her gown had twisted and hiked up, exposing not only delicate ankles and well-formed feet, but a good portion of shapely calf.

  He hated knowing the other men had seen her so tousled. Were probably picturing her in their minds, as well. At least he’d managed to cover her up some with the wrap. Still, the suppleness of her ankles and the high arches of her feet as he tied them seared his brain. He swallowed. The less interaction he had with her the better.

  For a moment, he’d thought she’d recognized him. But if she had, she never called him by name.

  A giant crash came from the living area. He glanced at the door, but couldn’t see anything beyond a chair and the bookshelf. Kicking empty boxes out of the way, he found the last dozen and started on them.

  “Why are you doing this?” she asked, her voice soft enough to keep from being overheard by the others.

  He threw in a hat, shoving it to the back with a poker.

  “You have a reputation to uphold,” she continued. “Why would you mar it over a bunch of women’s hats?”

  He frowned. A reputation? What was she talking about?

  “I know who you are.”

  He stiffened.

  “You’re Frank Comer.”

  He wheeled around, startled.

  “You needn’t act so surprised. I was on the train you robbed in February. The switchboard operator. Remember?”

  Instead of answering, he pulled a lid off the next box and snatched the hat from packing tissue.

  “I’ve followed every article they’ve written on you. Read the pulp fiction novels about you. Sang your praises to my friends and neighbors.” She wiped a tear with her shoulder. “I just don’t understand. This isn’t like you at all.”

  He gave her his back and continued his task. But her words confused him. He knew Comer was broad of shoulder and had blue eyes, but he was well under six feet. Could she be mistaken about having met him? But no, if she’d been on that train from Dallas, she’d definitely met the man.

  “I can’t feel my feet and my wrists are bleeding.”

  He hesitated. Her wrists shouldn’t be bleeding. Tossing the hat in the fire, he approached her and pulled back the bindings. Sure enough, her skin had been scraped raw. Clearly, she’d been trying to work herself free.

  The sooner they left the better. Hardening his heart, he returned to the task at hand. Only four more hats to go.

  Duane stepped to the threshold and leaned against the doorframe. He didn’t speak, but eyed Georgie with interest. Luke opened the last of the boxes, stuffed the hat in the fire, then nudged Duane into the living area.

  The switchboard lay on its side, severed wires coming out its back. Necker was nowhere in sight.

  “Ya finished?” Duane asked, his voice low.

  Luke nodded.

  “Then let’s go.”

  Returning to Georgie’s room, Luke assured himself the fire was safe, then checked her bindings. They were tight, but not dangerously so.

  Her chest rose and fell. Her eyes darkened with fury and loathing.

  He picked up her pillow and wedged it between her head and the headboard. He wasn’t sure how long it would be before he could return for her. Hopefully, the pillow would allow her to rest a bit more comfortably until then.

  “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.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  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 insid
e 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 highlight
ed 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?