Love on the Line - Deeanne Gist [56]
One last scan. Still no sign of Comer.
In typical Necker style, the farmer walked to the line and mounted his gun without any shilly-shally. If he grassed the bird, he and Faurote would go into a shootout. If he missed, Faurote would win.
With a championship, prize money, and a thousand dollars at stake, Blesinger would be a fool to try anything.
“Puller ready?” Necker asked.
“Ready,” Blesinger responded.
“Pull.”
Trap Two flung a pigeon into the air, its flight erratic before it found its wings. Necker fired. The bird dropped, but not until it lay outside the fence.
“Lost bird!”
Roaring, Faurote’s fans leapt over the barricade, storming the shooter’s tent and hoisting the 1903 Texas State Champion onto their shoulders.
Swanning picked up the winnings, shook Abney’s hand, then quickly gathered his men around him, making his way to his carriage.
“Can you handle things without me?” Luke asked Duane.
The young man stepped back, stunned and openmouthed. Luke assumed Necker and Blesinger were the same, but he couldn’t see them over the crush.
So much for all their efforts to cheat. Without waiting for further permission, Luke quickly followed Swanning. If anything would bring Comer out of hiding, it would be a man traveling by train with two thousand dollars in his possession.
Dropping all pretense, Luke ran to his room. He needed his guns. No matter how far he went or how long he was gone, he planned to follow Mr. Hurless Swanning and hope for the best.
Chapter Seventeen
Instead of taking the train, Swanning immediately rode his carriage out of town. Keeping well out of sight, Luke trailed him for a few miles, then pulled Honey Dew to a stop. He studied the road. Partially covered tracks indicated a man had alighted from the vehicle and made his way into the woods.
Tempted as Luke was to see if Comer went after the carriage, his gut told him to follow the money. And if he didn’t miss his guess, the money was now on foot.
Urging his mare into the copse, he discovered fresh tracks of a horse who’d been tied and waiting for its rider. No attempt had been made to cover these, nor was the rider in any hurry.
Luke frowned. The rider was either planning to lead any followers on a merry chase, or he was too arrogant to realize a decent tracker would know he’d left the carriage. Whatever the case, Luke had expected him to put as much distance as possible between Brenham and himself, not mosey along at an unhurried pace.
Keeping well behind the man, Luke ignored the smell of fowl still clinging to him. He’d exchanged his overalls for trousers, but hadn’t taken the time to change shirts. It felt good to have Odysseus and Penelope strapped about his hips, though. He’d missed them.
As if having a boy pistol and a girl pistol wasn’t bad enough, he goes and names them. Odysseus and Penelope. But then, what can you expect from somebody named Lucious?
He shifted in his saddle. She didn’t understand. He didn’t have family to speak of. He didn’t have a place to call home. He didn’t have anything but his horse, his saddle, his guns, and the clothes on his back. So he lavished them with all the attention others lavished onto their dwelling places.
When he wasn’t undercover, his clothes were the best money could buy. His boots were custom made and ornate. His saddle, the same. His horse he’d broken himself. But his guns—his guns were his pride and joy. A pair of Colt automatics with carved bone handles and inlaid steelwork clear down to the muzzle.
They were one of a kind, had served him well, and were worthy of being named. She could laugh all she wanted, but they’d helped protect the very lifestyle she took for granted.
A deer galloped across his path in three graceful bounds followed by a leap high into the air, its white tail up, its head held high. He yanked on his reins. White-tailed deer needed only to hear a rustle in the underbrush to zip away as fast as their legs could carry them.
If the deer had been fleeing