Love on the Line - Deeanne Gist [134]
But he already knew the answer. She would. And if anything happened to her, he’d never forgive himself. He glanced at her again, her nose and cheeks a muted pink where the sun had touched them. A deep well of love for her sprang from within. So sweet. So brave. And, Lord help him, but he wanted her with him always.
Feeling his regard, she glanced over.
He winked, then returned his attention to the men in the back.
They approached Ragston’s house with extreme caution. He’d planned to have Georgie wait for him well away from the house. But if Comer really was out there, he wanted to be within hearing distance. They pulled to a stop just before a bend in the road.
The men quieted. After Finkel, they knew Luke would take them in dead or alive. And they wanted their buddy Ragston alive. So rather than shout a warning, they anxiously awaited Ragston’s reaction. Would he run or would he come in peacefully?
He gave each of the men a hard look. “Nothing is to happen to Georgie. If Comer comes, as you expect him to, I want your word you’ll protect her.”
Necker spit. “That’s askin’ an awful lot. She’s been pointin’ a gun at us all day.”
“I’ll have your word.” His voice was short, clipped.
“Ya got mine,” Duane offered.
“And mine.” This from Finkel, echoed then by Blesinger.
Necker shook his head. “I ain’t makin’ any promises. If she gets in the way, well . . .” He shrugged.
Dismounting, Luke walked over to Necker and, with one swing of his fist, put him to sleep.
Necker slumped over. Georgie squeaked.
Duane grimaced. “Who-wee. That hurt yer hand, Luke?”
Blesinger rolled his eyes.
“Get your pistol out,” Luke said to Georgie. “If anything happens, and I mean anything, you shoot. You hear me?”
Swallowing, she nodded, the color in her cheeks fading a bit.
“He don’t mean shoot us,” Duane clarified. “He just means, ya know, shoot up at the sky or somethin’.”
Pinning her with his gaze, Luke waved his hand in a circular motion encompassing his own torso. “Aim anywhere in here. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
“Aw, come on, Luke,” Duane whined. “Ya cain’t leave us here. We cain’t see nothing. Take us round the corner.”
Ignoring him, Luke grabbed his Winchester, then crept toward the house. The morning was well advanced, reducing his chances for success astronomically. The place was awfully quiet for a family the size of Ragston’s.
Keeping cover among the shrubs, he darted from tree to tree until he was pressed against the house’s whitewashed siding. He stayed where he was, listening.
A man’s rumble followed by a child’s giggle came from the back window. Luke eased that direction, inclining his ears, but could only make out voices, not actual words. He didn’t risk looking inside, but from the sound of it, Ragston had one of his daughters with him.
Where was the missus? The rest of the children?
Creeping toward the kitchen door, he flung it open and pointed the gun, not at Ragston, but at a man playing cards with . . . Bettina.
A pistol sat on the table, a foot from the card-player’s hand. Darting a glance at the weapon, the man grabbed for it.
Luke fired the Winchester. The bullet sent the pistol skittering across the room, well out of reach. Bettina dropped to the floor, covering her head with her arms.
Luke cocked his rifle and kept the barrel leveled at the stranger. “Where’s Ragston?”
The man made no move to raise his hands, but instead settled into his chair and played a card as if he didn’t have a care in the world. He was about Luke’s age, brown hair, blue eyes, very familiar looking. Where had he seen him?
“Ragston’s not here.” The man’s voice sent shock waves through Luke. He knew him. Knew him well. But from where? Where?
He kept his rifle steady but spoke to Bettina. “What are you doing here, girl? You’re supposed to be on your way to Industry.”
Her eyes wide, she slowly straightened. “Mr. Luke? What happened to yer overalls?”
“My real name’s Lucious Landrum.”
Her lips parted. “The Ranger?”