Love on the Line - Deeanne Gist [2]
“Rosella lost her hat,” she said.
“Well, now.” He looked at the girl. “I do believe there was a hat left behind on the train. Did it have a fetching brown ribbon wrapped around a straw crown?”
“Yes, sir,” Rosella breathed. “It did.”
“That’d probably be it, then. So don’t you worry none.”
A full head taller than Georgie, he turned his attention to her. “Might I have a look-see inside your reticule, miss?”
Blue. His eyes were definitely blue with thick brows above them.
Lowering her arms, she slid her handbag to her wrist.
“She’s a telephone operator,” Rosella offered, her voice filled with awe.
The man paused and looked again at Georgie. “That a fact? You run a switchboard?”
“I do.”
“Where abouts?”
“Washington County.”
Leaning back, he angled his head for a better view beneath her hat. “Don’t reckon I’ve ever met a real switchboard operator.”
“Then I’d say we’re even, sir.” She slid her fingers into the mouth of her bag, loosening its strings. “I’ve never met a real train robber.”
His eyes crinkled; then he peeked inside the reticule and gently pushed it back toward her. “Thank you, miss.”
“But . . . don’t you want the money?”
“You on your own?”
“I am.”
“You earn that money telephone operatin’?”
“I did.”
“Well, you go on and keep it, then.”
Her shoulders relaxed. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure.” He continued down the line, but instead of grabbing purses or yanking watches from their chains, he reassured an elderly woman, refusing her handbag and telling her to put her arms down. “I reckon they’re awfully tired by now.”
A few steps later, he gave a thin, pallid youth a few coins he’d taken from the express car.
“Is that Frank Comer?” Rosella whispered. “The real Frank Comer?”
“I believe it is,” Georgie answered, excitement bubbling.
“He likes you.”
Shushing the girl with her hand, Georgie willed away the heat springing to her cheeks and sliced another glance at the famous outlaw.
Comer clapped a man’s shoulder, said something to make them both laugh, then tensed and swung his gaze to the left. “That’s it, boys! Run for it!”
The gang members broke for their horses, their bags of loot banging against them as they ran. Some leapt onto their animals; others tried to grab hold of their frightened mounts.
From the opposite end of the train, a man on horseback burst from the forest. “Get down!”
The command sailed above their heads and broached no argument. Like dominos, the passengers tumbled to the ground. Rosella kicked, trying to wriggle as close to Georgie as possible.
“Shhh.” Georgie squeezed her shoulder. “Hold still.”
The men exchanged gunfire, and with each loud crack, Georgie jerked. The temptation to cover her ears was great, but she didn’t dare.
A woman close by screamed, setting off a chain reaction. Georgie felt as if she stood in a bell tower while every bell tolled. Still, she wondered if some of the screams were coming from wounded members of the gang.
She hoped not. Please, Lord, let Frank Comer and his men make it to safety.
Like the rest of the state’s population, she closely followed the stories of Comer’s escapades and his continual benevolence toward the old, the infirm, and the poor.
The man beside her shifted. Dirt puffed into her nose and mouth, grit sticking to her teeth. Sputtering, she lifted her head just a mite and swiped a glove across her lips. A zing tore through the air, perilously close above her.
Flattening herself back down, she ignored the awkward angle of her hat and its holding pin, which pressed against her scalp. Instead, she absorbed the sound of hooves reverberating beneath her, amazed at how the earth trembled in response to the scrambling men and beasts.
Rosella began to whimper. Curling up, Georgie pulled the child closer, murmuring words of comfort.
As quickly as it started, the clash between the outlaws and the charging lawman ended. The tremors, the gunshots, the shouts . . . all