Love on the Line - Deeanne Gist [40]
He reached again. She plastered herself against the door, banging the back of her head.
He picked up Ottfried’s complaint. “As long as you don’t interfere with my work, this document will remain in my possession. The minute you stick your nose in my business, I’ll post it to Dallas.”
Her lips parted.
He folded the complaint and tucked it in his pocket. “Good night, Miss Gail.”
Grabbing his hat off the stand, he let himself out.
Tugging on the reins, Luke squeezed his thighs and directed Honey Dew off the road. He’d left his installer’s cart in town, though he still wore his overalls and packed a few tools so as not to raise suspicion.
Today’s work, however, would not be for SWT&T. He’d had a good look at the territory from the top of his poles and there were a few areas he wanted to scout. He’d spent the morning exploring two of them but had found nothing of interest. It would take the rest of the afternoon to search this third section.
He inhaled deeply, relishing the smell of new growth. After trailing Comer throughout the winter, Luke had promised himself to take particular note of spring’s debut. He made a mental checklist, deriving pleasure from each item added. Cherry laurels filled their branches with an abundance of white blooms. Spring peepers woke from their long winter’s nap. Deciduous trees sprouted green buds. And the temperatures hovered in a range heaven must surely duplicate.
Slowing his horse, he scanned the forested area, parts of it level, parts of it rough. Most outlaws built dugouts or cabins, and though Comer’s boys might live in the open, he couldn’t imagine Frank Comer doing the same. He had to have a refuge of some kind.
Sliding off his horse, Luke secured Honey Dew, deciding to make the rest of his search on foot. He checked concealed areas amid trees, brush, and tall grasses, stopping often to listen and ask himself where he would hide if he were on the run.
After two hours of fruitless searching, he veered into a less dense area, then paused. Voices in hushed tones approached from the southwest. The trees hadn’t leafed out enough to conceal him, so he crouched behind a dense, shrubby section of ligustrum.
The talking stopped and from the sound of the footfalls, there were at least four or five of them.
“What’s that?” a voice whispered.
All movement ceased. Luke held his breath. A bird yodeled, pausing between each phrase.
“That’s a wood thrush,” the hushed response. “He’s much more shy than his cousin the robin.”
Georgie’s voice produced a sense of panic in him. What the blazes was she doing out here?
“Sounds like he’s saying, ‘Here I am. Here I am.’ ” A young voice.
“That’s right. Can you find him? His back and wings are a rich cinnamon brown with brown polka dots on his white chest.”
Pit. Pit. Pit.
“What’s that one?”
“Same wood thrush,” she responded. “If you strike two small stones together, you can imitate it.”
“How come he sounds mad all o’ sudden?”
“We’re a little closer than he deems safe.”
“I see him! I see him!” No whisper here, but an out-and-out yell.
A bird took wing, but Luke didn’t look. Just prayed they wouldn’t come to this side of the giant shrub. How in all that was holy would he explain what he was doing?
She was supposed to hold her Junior Bird meeting in her backyard. There must not have been enough activity to suit.
They tromped closer. Taking advantage of their noise, he went belly-down and slithered beneath the hedge. They passed him by. Four sets of feet belonging to girls. Eight to boys. And Georgie.
“Lookit there.”
Luke tensed, but from the direction of their feet, they were looking away from him.
“Oh, a robin,” Georgie exclaimed. “Next month they’ll search high and low for a place which has a roof. And when they find one, they’ll build a nest.”
“They can come to my house. We have a roof.”
“They’d love that, Eugene. But they can’t trust us. A shame, isn’t it?”
“Why don’t it trust me? I didn’t do nothing.”
Turning around, she paused, then headed straight toward Luke, the toes of her black