The Treasure Hunter's Lady (16 page)

She ducked her head, causing her curtain of hair to hide her face. Abel reached out and touched her shoulder. She didn't respond.

Van Buren shook Elliot hard enough to make the smaller man stagger. “For the remainder of the journey he shall be locked in his cabin. No one but the first mate and I are to have contact with him. Understood?”

Without waiting for an answer, Van Buren growled and dragged Elliot behind him. A murmur ran through the crew, but they dispersed before Abel could puzzle out what was said.

Romy looked out into the sky beyond the ship. "Sabotage. If Van Buren hadn't caught him, do you think we'd have crashed?"

“Never mind that. Why did he attack you?” He took her by the shoulders and turned her toward him. She avoided his eyes. “For God's sake, Romy, tell me what happened.”

“He didn't like that I wouldn't tell him any more about the Serpent. The captain is taking care of the details.”

Where had he been? Sleeping while she was in trouble. Elliot might have done a lot worse than lay a hand on her. Hot rage settled in Abel's stomach, both at himself and at the man who'd hurt her. “I'll kill him.”

Romy grabbed his arm. “Don't. Van Buren won't let him get out of that room. I don't want anyone to fight over me. It doesn't even hurt, Abel.”

His name was like a signal that made him come to his senses. Of course killing Elliot wasn't the answer. It might make him feel better temporarily, but the real issue was making sure Romy wasn't hurt worse than she let on.

She shivered. Abel took her in his arms where she put her head on his collarbone, in the exact spot where the serpent marking laid its head. Little tremors ran through her.

“I'm all right,” she said after a few moments. She pulled away. “Something he said shook me up a bit. That Christensen was using me to control Papa. I don't understand what he meant.”

Abel stared at her. Using Romy was a better idea than putting a gun to Farrington's head. The perfect item to blackmail Maggard into searching for the Diamond. Fresh hatred for Christensen welled up in Abel’s chest.

“Abel, I'm afraid.”

Dark blue eyes sought his and a little frown creased her brow. Her words stopped him in his tracks. Romy admitting she was afraid? “Of what?”

“Elliot would have killed us all. Himself included. I don't understand why.”

“You said he asked you about the legends.”

She ran her tongue over her lower lip. “Yes, but is it really as important as everyone makes it out to be? Important enough to kill for? To die for?”

He frowned. If Christensen stood between him and the Diamond, he wavered on choosing to save himself, but saving Caden, that was a different matter entirely.

It was hard to think with all the swirling thoughts in his head. The noise from the propellers seemed unnaturally loud. Romy's mouth pulled into a frown. He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and finger.

“Feeling worse?” she asked.

He dropped his hand. “I'm ready to get off the ship.”

“I suppose you are,” she said softly.

"You ready to go home? To get away from maniacs like Elliot?"

"I can't wait."

Horse thieves at the gallows had more enthusiasm than she did.

"You're better off there.” Her father would keep men like Elliot—men like him—away from her. She didn't belong with ill-mannered airship crews and fortune hunters. “Besides, with the engagement there'll be plenty of excitement in your life. Parties, new dress fittings, plans for the big day. Maybe he'll take you somewhere nice for a honeymoon." It galled him to think another man would touch her. Share hot kisses. Touch the tender flesh between her legs. He was the first and damned if he didn't want to be the only one.

Ignoring him, she rested her elbows against the rail and stared into the sky.

“I'm trying to make you feel better. You won't die from it. I promise.”

She sighed. “You'll find the Diamond, sell it for an obscene amount of money and trot off to your next big treasure hunt. I'll have to learn to arrange flowers or some other useless hobby for bored wives.”

“After nearly getting killed, you’re worried about being bored?” Abel shifted his weight from one foot to the other. His anger rose again. “If it wasn't for me needing to find the Diamond, you wouldn't be here in the first place.”

She turned on him, sparks flying from her eyes. “You stubborn Yank! This is where I want to be!”

He sighed. “Maybe that makes both of us crazy, then.”

“Maybe,” she muttered, crossing her arms.

“I'm sorry you think civilization is so terrible.”

“It's not that. Not really. Woefield will take me away from everything I know. I won't even have my father to talk to.”

Abel leaned against the rail, half homesick himself. At least he knew where he belonged. A few years of travel had been enough to cure him of wanderlust. A woman like Romy might never be satisfied in one spot. “I'm sure he'll visit you.”

Romy looked as though he'd offended her. That was clearly the wrong choice of words, but he didn't have any idea how to make it better. He brushed his thumb across her bottom lip. Too far gone to tell her the truth, he just looked down at her. “I need the fang, Romy.”

Her body tensed. “No.”

“I have your Lighthouser. Seems like a fair trade to me.”

She glared. “I'll shoot you before you leave Bismarck.”

He forced a grin. “You like me too much.”

A pout took over her mouth. “Why didn't you just take your old rubbish when I was locked in the cabin?”

“Seemed like asking for it back was the proper thing to do. I know how you love to be proper.” He wanted her to smile, to make her forget they were nearly to Bismarck and their time together was running out. He wanted the Romy he'd known a few hours ago.

“Nothing has changed.”

“What do you mean?” He attempted to put his arm around her, but she threw it off.

“I don't expect you to rush in and be the hero. We had relations.” Her tone was business, as though their lovemaking was inconsequential. “We're still going our separate ways.”

He must have looked as stunned as he felt. Her blue irises hardened into inky ice.

“I'm not foolish enough to believe that sleeping with you means you've recanted your intentions. I understand well enough how people react in the heat of the moment. Let's put it behind us.”

Abel's throat felt dry. “And pretend it didn't happen.”

“It was a one-time situation, an act that shouldn't have occurred. If I'd been thinking clearly it wouldn't have happened.”

His hands balled into fists. “I reckon we all do things we regret. Forgive me for tromping across Woefield's territory.”

Surprise and hurt flashed across her face, but vanished a second later. “Once a treasure hunter, always a treasure hunter. Perhaps you need to rethink what you're doing here, Abel. You don't want to end up like Elliot.”

There was little chance of that happening. Was it just days ago all he’d wanted was to return home? Now he didn’t want to go without Romy, no matter how she tried to push him away.

He wanted to settle down with her. But there was still so much to do before he could even consider that—if he ever reached that point. He didn't need her sympathy if she learned the truth about the curse. He damn sure didn't want to lead her into a relationship that might not last more than a few days. Everything depended on finding the Diamond. And he hated it worse than ever.

Chapter Fourteen

Bismarck, Dakota Territory

Abel watched Romy's silhouette from the corner of his eye as he re-wrapped a rope and stuffed it into his pack. He tried to get his mind on the next steps. Organize his supplies, arrange for transportation to the Horned Serpent's lair, and make sure Van Buren found Romy a ride home. Not that, according to her, it was any of his business. Her stubborn silence did little to put distance between them. Whatever she believed, he wasn't thinking solely of mystical serpents anymore.

The severe pounding in his head hadn't let up all night. His hands shook enough that he stuffed them into his pockets so no one would notice. Sleep hadn't come last night and he'd sat up alternately rearranging his supplies, pacing and attempting a last minute study of maps and folklore. Nothing held his interest because he knew that below deck Romy slept on a bed they'd shared while he’d spent another night in the crew’s quarters.

But judging from the dark circles under her eyes, she hadn't slept well either.

Romy stood away from him with her arms crossed as she watched the crew scurry around. In a few minutes they'd dock the ship. No one needed to tell her what was going to happen when the
Ursula Ann
settled into a slip.

He stepped up beside her, hesitating before he rested his hand on her low back. “Van Buren will escort you into a good part of town. He'll find you lodging and you can send a 'gram to your father. Don't try to sneak off, because he'll have someone watching. Whatever happens then is up to Maggard, I guess.”

For a long moment she said nothing, but gazed down at her pack like she hated it.

“I suppose I owe you a fang,” she said grudgingly.

“The parting gesture wouldn't go unappreciated.” He didn't know what it meant, but the urge to get his hands on the fang was almost as strong as the urge to keep Romy at his side. The warring sentiments troubled him.

Squatting, she opened her rucksack and rummaged through some of her things. She'd been prepared to face almost anything if the items he caught glimpses of were any indication. Poor woman really thought she'd get away with stopping him. At worst it made her crazy and at best hopelessly optimistic. With a pang, he realized he liked that about her. More than liked it, he loved it. She wasn't like any woman he'd known before. And
he
wasn't likely to forget her anytime soon.

She pulled out a small object wrapped in cheesecloth and shoved it into his hand. “Here.”

Even wrapped innocently and tied with a string bow, Abel felt an unnatural kinship with the fang. It . . . wanted to go home and it needed him to be the one who took it. Shaking off the feeling, he looked into Romy's face. Her eyes were scrunched; he thought she might be about to cry.

He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, at a loss on how to offer comfort. “Thanks. For some reason, I feel like I needed it back.”

“What are your plans now? Find the Serpent and blow it to pieces?”

“It’s a little more complicated than that. That was more like a back-up plan.” 

She sniffed and a fat tear slid down her face. “Whatever you're doing, I hope it's worth your effort.”

“Me too,” he said softly.

“I don't think you're a bad man, Abel. Just misguided. That's what puzzles me so about this whole thing. At first I thought I'd have no difficulty putting a stop to this. Everything changed when . . . oh, bother. I should have known it wouldn't work out after you danced with me.” She sniffed again. “No one else in that whole dashed ballroom would have anything to do with me unless it was to offer ridicule. One
cowboy
steps out of the shadows and now nothing will ever be the same.”

She was right. Her words resounded in his mind. He didn’t want to leave her here or send her back to Boston. Something had changed when he saw her at Christensen’s manor and the whole world turned upside down when she’d given herself to him. It pained him to think he wouldn’t have her nearby anymore.

The
Ursula Ann
sailed into her slip with the slightest bump. Two of the deck hands secured the lines. Abel directed his focus solely on Romy. “I’m sorry, darlin'.”

Tears glistened in her eyes. “I once believed I could never love a man like Woefield. And now I'm certain of it.” She paused, blue pools drawing him in. “Oh, hell. If I'm never going to see you again, I might as well have one more kiss to remember you by."

She threw her arms around his waist, stretched up and placed her lips against his. Her breasts flattened against his chest. His willpower snapped and he cupped her buttocks, drawing her as close as their clothing would allow. Her warm tongue slipped into his mouth. All the noise around them ceased as if they were the only beings in the world whose feelings mattered.

Abel forget his concern for Caden, forgot his own pain and worries. The flesh-and-blood woman next to him filled his senses like nothing else. Soft curls of hair tickled his face and her scent reminded him of lazy afternoons spent roaming rolling plains amid wildflowers and sweet herbs. She tasted like a fresh apple plucked from the limb in the fall; sweet and juicy and refreshing.

Like a flash of lightning his headache returned and his stomach roiled. He pulled his head back and stared down at her.

"Abel?" Her voice sounded miles away.

Bismarck. The Diamond. The Horned Serpent's lair. The Missouri River. The fang. Caden on his deathbed. A hundred maps and pages filled with legend. He struggled to get his thoughts in order.

“You really don't look well. Perhaps if you rested for a little while longer.” Her hands clasped his arms. “Or we should call for a doctor.”

 “I'm fine, I don't need a doctor. Just have to find that stupid serpent and put an end to all this.”

Her brow creased. “End to what?”

“I only have so much time. And it's ticking away faster than normal. I'm sorry, Romy. I have to go now.”

The sorrow in her eyes crashed against his resolve. “I can help you. You know I can. Anyone can see you're tired and unwell. Let me do something.”

Silence would have to be answer enough. He couldn't delay any longer and he couldn't stand to listen to Romy beg. His own pack sat near the ramp. Without a word he turned, shaking his head to clear the surge of dizziness and swept forward to grab the pack, slinging it across his back. The ramp shook beneath his feet as he walked across it.

Van Buren stood on the dock, appraising Abel with his stoic face. “Will you be all right on your own?”

“Guess I'll have to be.” He adjusted the straps and looked into the crowd of people milling around the docks.

“I will watch out for Miss Farrington. It shouldn’t be long before her father arrives.”