Love on the Line

by Deeanne Gist

  Georgie set the paper on her lap, trying to picture him doing such a thing. But all her memories—other than yesterday—were of him as a troubleman in overalls. Of course, there was the night of the break-in, but she didn’t like to think about that.

  She continued scanning the papers, reading a snippet here and a snippet there. When put all together, they formed an impressive picture. A much more worthy subject for a pulp fiction novel than Frank Comer.

  She thought of the injustice Mr. Ottfried had suffered. He might sell hats with bird parts on them, but according to Luke, he’d had nothing to do with the break-in. She wanted to exonerate him but couldn’t figure out how without revealing Luke’s identity. Still, she had to do something.

  She glanced out the window. What if she went to his millinery and purchased a hat from him to show she’d let bygones be bygones? Yet she didn’t want the men who really did burn her hats to think she wasn’t upset. She was.

  What if she encouraged the women of the Plumage League to purchase a hat from him? But then what would Mr. Mistrot say? Especially after he’d been so supportive from the very beginning.

  “Hey, Miss Georgie.” Bettina pulled open the screen, letting it slam behind her. “Whatcha doin’?”

  “You really mustn’t let the screen bang like that, Bettina. Try to use a little decorum, please.”

  She scrunched up her nose. “What’s got you pullin’ at the bit?”

  “Nothing. It’s just there are some things a lady doesn’t do.”

  “But you always said a gal can do anything a feller can.”

  “That doesn’t mean we have to emulate their bad habits. Only their good ones.” She folded her hands. “Did you find Kyle and tell him his mother wants him?”

  “I found him. Don’t know if he went home, but I done told him.”

  “That was all which was required. Thank you.”

  The girl peered over Georgie’s shoulder. “You readin’ up on Frank, huh?”

  “Things were kind of quiet, so I thought I’d thumb through a few of these.”

  “Which one is that?” She inched closer. “Oh, the bank robbery. That’s a good one.”

  Georgie folded the paper. “You know, Bettina, after looking these over, I’m beginning to wonder just what it is that’s so appealing about Mr. Comer.”

  “What do you mean?” She dug around in her ear.

  Georgie grasped her wrist and pulled, giving a gentle shake of her head. “I mean, he preys on the unsuspecting and takes things which aren’t his and has even been rumored to kill people.”

  “Only lawmen.” She wiped her finger on her dress. “He ain’t never killed no real people.”

  “Lawmen are real people. Many of them have wives and children. Brothers and sisters. Mamas and daddies. Why, look at Sheriff Nussbaum. What would you think if Comer killed our sheriff?”

  Bettina laughed. “Aw, he wouldn’t do that. Not to Nussbaum.”

  She slowly straightened. “Does the sheriff know Frank Comer?”

  The girl’s eyes darted to the window, then back to Georgie. “Well, I wouldn’t know nothin’ about that. What I meant was, Nussbaum don’t think ill o’ Frank any more than you or I do. So Comer pro’bly wouldn’t do nothin’ to him.”

  “But that’s just it. I am beginning to think ill of Mr. Comer.” She patted the papers on her lap. “There are accounts in here of him robbing banks, stagecoaches, trains, and all sorts of things. I just don’t see what there is to admire about that.”

  “He don’t mean nothin’ by it.”

  “What he’s doing is selfish and harmful to others, and it’s against the law. And I, for one, am through being sympathetic toward him.”

  Bettina scratched her head, loosening her braids. “You’re just sore about them hats.”

  “I am. I’m not only sore, I’m furious. How dare those men do that. Think of all the women who worked so hard on their entries.”

  “But that’s just it.” Her eyes lit up. “It worked out even better. If he hadn’t burnt ’em all up, none of them other women would’ve signed yer pledge and brought in all them entries. You made bunches o’ money fer them bird folks up north. You oughta be thanking Frank. He done did you a favor.”

  Georgie held on to her patience. “I know I told you I thought Mr. Comer was there that night, but now I’m not so sure. Still, that’s beside the point. The point is, they didn’t do me any favors, Bettina. They tied me up and burned my hats.”

  The girl rolled her eyes. “Well, if’n you don’t think it was Frank, then how come yer all mad at him?”

  Ding.

  “Never mind. We’ll talk about this later.” She slipped on the earpiece. Before the call was over, Bettina had sidled out the door.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Luke rode clear to Industry to mail his report. He couldn’t send it directly to his captain or even the headquarters in Alice. So he posted it to a contact in Bentonville who’d make sure it was delivered.

  Prysborski’s death was no hunting accident. When Luke had gone out to Ragston’s Saturday to check on his phone, he’d been told there wasn’t a thing wrong with the service. Ragston just wanted him to join a poker game between himself, Necker, Duane, Blesinger, and Finkel.

  Luke had excused himself to check the lines anyway, just so he wouldn’t have to lie to Georgie, and ended up cleaning off a bit of Spanish moss. Upon his return, the boys’ voices filtered through the windows in soft, urgent tones.

  Without making a sound, Luke had eased up to the house and crouched beneath the kitchen window. A row of hedges would block him from view should anyone wander by.

  “Prysborski’s heart wasn’t in the last job or the one a’fore that.” Ragston’s voice. “Had he been one o’ the ones Landrum had caught, we’d all be in jail.”

  “But did you haf to kill him?” Finkel asked.

  “Better that than the lot of us rotting in some cell.”

  “I just don’t know why Frank didn’t say nothin’ to me.” Necker’s voice.

  “What’d you expect?” Ragston asked, his inflection filled with disgust. “He sent ya to strip them gals’ float and ya ended up terrorizing the town operator and burnin’ hats the whole county had a hand in making.”

  “That was Duane’s idea.”

  “Since when you takin’ orders from a kid?”

  “Hey—” Duane’s voice. “I ain’t no kid.”

  “It don’t matter,” Ragston responded. “Frank’s worked mighty hard to curry favor with folks. He was spittin’ mad about them hats. You’re just lucky that milliner’s takin’ the blame.”

  “Frank could’ve at least told me.” Necker again. “I didn’t find out ’bout Prysborski ’til them church bells started ringing.”

  “Hush up, all of you.” Finkel. “Palmer’s sure to come back any minute. Now, deal the cards.”

  Luke slipped back to the edge of the yard, then made plenty of noise as he approached. All the while, disappointment and remorse assailed him. Discovering Ragston to be a cold-blooded killer was a great deal worse than suspecting him of train robbery.

  Why would he resort to something so grievous? But greed and fear were powerful motivators and ones Luke had seen at work many a time.

  The cardinals began building their nest not eight feet from Georgie’s corner window. She could not sit still for the excitement. All morning the brownish yellow female with her red underlit wings and orange bill had placed vine stems, small twigs, and bark strips in the tangled, dense interior of Georgie’s ligustrum.

  Many birds had nested in her yard, but never at eye level and never so close to the house. She could not believe her good fortune. Without ever setting foot outdoors, she’d see everything from the building of the nest to the laying of the eggs, the female’s song as she incubated, the hatching of the eggs, the feeding of the young, and the first flight of the fledglings.

  Gathering up cotton and wool, hair from her brush, yarn from her sewing basket, straw from h
er broom, and a beautifully colored ribbon from her drawer, she quietly placed her offerings on the back porch, then retreated inside to watch.

  The mother perched in the shrub, looking at her work, then picked up a twig and moved it just so. Puffing herself up, she squatted down and did a fast little twist. Georgie pressed her knuckles to her mouth, already recognizing the bowl-shaped indention the bird created.

  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.”

  They watched the last-minute scurrying of the cardinals and other songbirds as the sun began to set and they looked for a place to roost. Their grand finale included more songs than he could count.

  He’d not heard back from the captain since sending him a report, but he hadn’t really expected to. Much as Luke wanted to avenge Prysborski’s death, the intent of the mission was to locate Comer. Everything else was secondary.

  He’d been as cryptic as possible in case the letter was intercepted and only hinted he’d had to reveal himself to a third party. He made no mention of it being a woman, only that the party was in his corner.

  He needed to decide what to do about her. Them. She’d not asked for a declaration and he’d not offered one, but his actions were those of a man with marriage on his mind. And that wouldn’t be far from the truth. It was on his mind. The problem was, he hadn’t yet decided if he actually wanted to marry her.

  He tried to imagine walking away from her when the job was over and never coming back. Impossible. He wouldn’t do it. Still, he didn’t want to marry her only to see her for snatches at a time in between assignments. Plenty of Rangers did it, but he wasn’t willing to. If he was going to settle down, it would be in the most literal sense.

  And do what? he thought. Telephone repair work?

  That was the part which always brought him up short—that and the fact he loved rangering. Still, his prejudice against phones wasn’t nearly as bad as it had been. He could actually see some benefits in having one. But there was a big difference between having one and foisting the blame things onto someone else.

  The sun disappeared from the horizon, prompting a need for lanterns, but he was reluctant to move just yet.

  “So tragic about Mr. Prysborski,” Georgie said. “His boys are going to have to grow up mighty fast now. Can you imagine? Fields full of cotton. The price dropping every day. And ten mouths to feed.”

  The telephone poles had stopped well short of Prysborski’s place, which was why Luke had never run across his farm. He’d meant to scout the areas beyond the poles, but he’d always been in a hurry to return to home base at the close of each day. It was no excuse and now a man was dead.

  He wondered if Mrs. Prysborski knew of her husband’s involvement with Comer. Tempted as he was to ride out, he didn’t want to show his cards by asking too many questions. Not when he was so close to finding his quarry. So he’d keep eyes and ears open, and continue to bide his time.

  “Want to play Around the World With Nellie Bly?” Georgie asked.

  He cringed. Never had he played a more ridiculous board game. It could be worse, he supposed. It could be All Around Texas With Frank Comer.

  “Sure,” he said, releasing her. “I’ll light the lanterns.”

  He moved to the match safe, and she fairly flew to the shelves housing her beloved game.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  If anyone had told him being a Ranger would require trapping mice in Mason jars, he wouldn’t have believed it.

  “Make sure that string’s good ’n’ tight, now,” Duane cautioned, stretching a piece of brown paper over the lid of his jar while simultaneously keeping an eye on Luke.

  Luke secured the string around the rim of his, then flicked the paper covering with his middle finger. Tight as a drum.

  “Good. Now take yer knife and cut a little x right in the center o’ yer paper.”

  Opening his pocketknife, Luke did as instructed.

  “That’s it. Now start on the next one.”

  The two of them sat in the back room of Pfeuffer Feed Store preparing a dozen traps. It was Duane’s job to keep the storage area clear of rodents, and he’d been negligent of late. The overwhelming odor of grain and rodent feces made it difficult to breathe.

  Luke repositioned the lantern to better see, its moving flame throwing shadows over bags of feed piled in every available corner like hulking ghosts. A selection of new and old cast-iron feed boxes, feed trays, and feed troughs leaned against the south wall.

  “I’m gettin’ mighty tired of Necker always making excuses ever’ time I wanna go night hunting.” With a put-upon sigh, Duane shook his head. “Don’t ever get hitched, Luke. It done ruins yer life.”

  Luke had met Necker’s new wife for the first time at Maifest. She was a pretty little thing and clearly thought he walked on water. If he felt the same of her, he gave no indication—other than his reluctance to spend too many evenings carousing with the fellas.

  “How long they been married?” he asked.

  “He doubled up soon as the harvest was in. Said he didn’t wanna go through another winter without a gal to snuggle up to.”

  Luke smiled. “Well, I can appreciate that.”

  “I can’t. I don’t want my haunches spurred by no drip-nose of a gal.”

  “I imagine you’ll change your mind one of these days.”

  “I don’t know. They seem like an awful lot o’ trouble to me. Besides, you ain’t doubled up and yer lots older than me.” Duane looked up from the lid he was slicing. “Or are you thinkin’ on it now that you got yer eye on our hello girl?”

  The last impression Luke wanted to give was one which placed any more importance on Georgie than he already had. “I’m not what you’d call the marrying type.”

  Tension eased from Duane’s shoulders. “Me neither.”

  After finishing the last jar, they bent pieces of thin wire into J-shapes, turned them upside down, and secured one to each jar. From the tip of the wire, Duane hung a piece of toasted cheese. Though Luke recognized immediately how the trap would work, he allowed the boy to demonstrate.

  With eyes alight, Duane cycled his fingers as if they were the mouse. “It’ll reach for the bait, see, an
d fall right through them cuts we made in the paper. Quick as a wink, the paper will flap back into place and wait fer the next mouse to come along.”

  Luke watched the boy with a pang of grief. He wasn’t a bad sort and hadn’t done any killing that he knew of, but was simply bored and without direction. From what Luke could tell, his father didn’t interact with him much. He went through the same routine every day of opening the feed store, running the feed store, closing the feed store, then going home. He never kept up with Duane’s comings and goings. Never asked what he did with his time. Never praised, nor criticized.

  It was another reason Luke hated going undercover. Under normal circumstances, he went in, made his arrests, and dropped the men off at jail. They had names, of course, and sometimes even faces, but Luke didn’t know them. They were outlaws and scoundrels, not men with parents, wives, children, and a sense of humor.

  Duane continued to speak, animated in his excitement over the simple task of catching a few rodents. Luke wanted to interrupt him, talk to him about what he was doing, the direction he was taking, the different choices he had available to him. But his assignment was to become one of them and to cross enemy lines. If he tried to reform Duane or any of the rest of them, he’d never find Frank Comer, much less stop any train robberies.

  The constraints left him frustrated and unsettled.

  Georgie pushed open the heavy oak door and stepped into Ottfried’s Millinery. In the year she’d lived in Brenham, she’d only been inside the shop once. She’d taken one sweeping glance at his inventory, then promptly turned around and left. This time, however, she was determined to stay.

  The thick door closed behind her, shutting off sounds from the street. Not another soul was in the room. Lush carpets covered the wooden floor and cushioned her feet. Light-colored walls held drawers with shiny brass knobs, shelves with charming displays, and glass-fronted cabinets packed with merchandise.

  Ottfried swept through a curtain in the back, then pulled up short. His face flushed. His breathing grew labored.