The Treasure Hunter's Lady (20 page)

“Shut up,” he told the voice. It sounded suspiciously like his uncle.

Cranking the shaft again, the boat picked up some of the speed it had lost over the last couple of hours as the gears wound down. He turned to face Romy again. The two things he wanted most in the world—to find happiness with her and to save his uncle. He’d have to fight harder than he ever had in his life. Without a doubt, the fight was worth it.

****

The boat rolled against the current, sun bright and river swift. Romy wasn't sure, but she thought they'd traveled a fair distance during the night. In the shade of the canopy, she traced the riverbanks on the topographical map with her finger.

“Are you sure we're on the right track? This is impossible.” She squinted at the map.

“You're holding it upside down. We're here.” Abel tapped a spot. “You see? We're a good ways down river. No need to worry.”

She stared doubtfully at the slopping hills, then the map. “I thought the Serpent is supposed to live under water?”

“Have a little faith.”

She frowned at his back. “It seems too easy. If I were a giant serpent, I shouldn't want my hiding place to be so easy to find.”

Abel faced her again, eyes light with amusement. “You didn't think it was so easy when the map was turned the other way.”

“You're the clever one, aren't you?”

A lazy grin spread across his face. “It appears so. I'm going to sleep a while. Have you got this? Should be a straight shot through here. We only have a few more bends to get through. If you run into any problems wake me.”

“Do you feel all right?” She stared up at him, searching his face for signs of illness.

A tan hand ran through the golden hair. “I'm not dead yet. Just tired from staying up all night. Remember to wake me if you run into trouble.”

“Trouble,” she muttered. “Aside from a dodgy map and a derelict boat, what trouble could there be?”

The sun made brilliant sparkling diamonds across the water. The Missouri River was named for the Indians who travelled the waterway using canoes. She hoped they didn't run into any of them.

As she took in the scenery, she longed to get her fingers on a sketchpad and some watercolors. Beautiful and strange things haunted the green shores of the Missouri. Huge, smooth rocks lined the river.

“Stone, stone,” she muttered, trying to dredge up a memory of something she'd read not so long ago. A poem, perhaps. Like the flare of light inside a lamp, it came to her.

“Abel, wake up!” Romy shook his shoulder, shivering with excitement. Abel blinked her owlishly.

“What?”

“A river with an old name! This is it,” she said.

He stared at her like she'd gone out of her mind. “It's pretty old, darlin', but I don’t know what you’re getting at.”

She shook her head and recited the poem that she hadn't thought about since he let her read the legends.

“On a river with an old name,

A stone's throw if you've fine aim,

Where silence falls,

'Tween broken walls,

There's a canyon where you'll find things.

Within golden eye,

The truth doth lie,

Be careful what your heart brings.”

“You think it's some kind of riddle?” he asked, sitting up in the hammock.

She bounced on the balls of her feet. “Yes! The river is the Missouri, where tribes have lived for hundreds of years. The lair can't be far. Plenty of reptiles hide among rocks. It must be the canyon the poem speaks of.”

“What about the rest of it? Silence falls?”

She gnawed her lip thoughtfully. “I haven't got to that bit yet. But couldn’t broken walls be a cave? It's all pointing at a hidden place. The lair.”

“It could be referring to that.” He stroked her arm. “Try not to get worked up about it. The map will lead us there. Christensen put some time in on this and I got my information from him.”

“I just thought it might contain clues.” Her enthusiasm faded bit by bit. “Sorry I disturbed you.”

He shrugged away the apology. “For a minute there I thought you were about to warn me we were capsizing or something. Next time maybe wake me up a little more gently.”

The rhyme felt important. She remembered he'd made fun of the poem when she first dictated it. “It might be located in a peaceful spot. Silence falling and all that.”

He smiled, but it didn't cheer her. “Yeah, that could be it.”

There was no need for him to voice his doubt. It reflected in his words.

“I'll keep thinking about it,” she said. “You may as well go back to resting. It's dead dull on this river and even with my poor navigation skills, I can tell you we haven't arrived yet.”

“Don't fret over it too much. That poem was mixed in with a bunch of myths.” Sweeping his legs up, he settled into the hammock again, hat over his face. In minutes he was snoring.

“Silence. Falls,” she mused. How could it fall? Sound echoed. She shivered and hoped it didn't mean waterfalls. Aesthetically pleasing or not, she didn't much care for the idea of going over one. They weren't silent anyhow. The roar of water would blot out any other sounds. And what about the golden eye? The writer wasn't referring to a real serpent's eye. Was he? Of course, he never mentioned a serpent at all. Ill at ease, she locked the wheel into place and went to find Abel's papers. Perhaps she'd forgotten one of the lines or missed some clue of importance.

****

The wind blew in dark clouds. They dropped lower, hanging over the riverbank like wispy fingers. The river picked up speed and choppy waves lapped at the sides of the boat. A flash of lightning glittered through the sky.

Romy grasped the wheel. Ahead of the boat, rain dimpled the river's current. The roar of the water almost drowned out the propeller. Fat splatters of rain hit the deck, raising tiny puffs of dust. Squinting, she gripped the wheel tight.

Rapids. Did rapids count as trouble? No diagram on Abel's map indicated rapids. Large, jagged chunks of rock protruded from the river. Rocks that could cripple a boat.

“Abel.”

Her voice came out in a choked whisper. The vessel hit a rough spot, tilting to the port side. A wave washed over the deck before the boat righted. Cold water splashed over her boots and soaked into her stockings. The lock slipped from the wheel and it jerked from her grip, spinning out of control. She grabbed at it, but drew back as the spokes cracked against her fingers. Abel went on sleeping.

Racing to the stern, Romy stared out into the frothy water. The river forked ahead; to the port side the water looked calmer. An easy decision there. The starboard side was draped in heavy fog. No telling what sort of obstacles the boat would run into. It looked more treacherous than any they'd come through so far. After studying the map for so long, she knew it didn't show a fork. Where in heaven's name had they gone wrong?

At risk to her fingers, she grabbed the spinning wheel and wrestled it to the left. And to her consternation, the boat sailed right as though guided by an invisible hand. Stunned, she let go of the wheel and her jaw dropped when it held steady. The lock swung wildly on its chain a few inches below the spokes.

Her boots slipped on the wet deck, but she hurried back to the canopy. She shook Abel until his eyes opened.

“We have a problem. A big problem.”

He sat up, rubbed a hand across his face and blinked. “What is it?”

She pointed at the land. “We may run aground. Or worse.”

It only took him a second to grasp the situation. “Worse.” He sprang from the hammock to the wheel. It didn't budge as he tried to turn it. “Get the packs and prepare to abandon ship. The boat could capsize and we've got to be ready if that happens.”

She scrambled to do as he ordered. His pack was heavier than she expected. Hoisting it over her shoulder, she clung to the deck rail while Abel tried to correct the steering. For a moment it looked as if he'd steer left and avoid the danger. The boat hit a wave and the aft crashed into a rock. The tension in Abel's arms slackened.

“We've lost the rudder,” he shouted.

The boat spun around and the stern rose out of the water. Romy clutched the slick wood, willing her feet to stay planted on the deck.

Abel pulled himself along the rail and grabbed his pack. “We're taking on water.”

“We're going to die, aren't we?” Her hands didn't want to relinquish the rail, but she didn’t want to go down the boat either.

A reckless look came into Abel's eyes. He offered his arm. “We're not going to die. I won't let anything happen to you.”

Swallowing her fear, she linked her arm through his and raised her eyes away from the turbulent river. His face was turned to upstream; all the color had faded from his skin, leaving it pale beneath his tan. The roar of tons of water crashing onto rocks filled the air.

“Abel? Is that—”

Her voice was drowned out by the sound. For a second she thought she'd gone deaf. He didn't act as if he'd heard her. Where silence falls, she thought, dizzy with fear. Broken walls meant the sharp jags of rock surrounding them. A silent, frightened giggle left her throat. They were about to plunge over a waterfall with no chance of surviving. Abel's hand tightened around hers for a moment before he let go to dig a strand of rope out of her pack and dragged her to a canopy pole. He fashioned a loop around both of them in a slipknot.

“We’re going over. This’ll keep us together. Don't watch,” he urged, mouth next to her ear. She strained to hear him. “Look at me.”

“The dynamite?” she shouted.

He shook his head. “Not waterproof. It’s as good as gone.”

She locked eyes with him. Despite the worry lines carved into his face, she saw the man who'd kissed her in the alley, handsome and heroic, a man willing to throw himself into the face of danger without worrying about the consequences. He'd make it out of this because he believed he could save his uncle. The idea strengthened her.

She grasped his shoulders, lifted her head high and kissed him. Whether this rebellious trip into the wilderness against her father's wishes spurred her into oblivion, or she found herself still locked in a kiss with Abel, still breathing after they fell, she'd never regret opening her heart to him.

Abel's hands cupped her head, his lips hungry and passionate against her mouth. Over the noise of water, her heart pounded in her ears and she forgot to breathe. The boat tipped sideways and the sickening sensation of falling made her stomach lurch. She didn't dare open her eyes as Abel's fingers caressed her face and hair. His body pressed into hers, solid and warm in contrast to the cold spray that saturated her clothes and stung her bare skin.

Chapter Seventeen

They hit the water hard enough to jar every bone in Romy’s body. If not for the rope, she’d have been sucked into the undertow that pulled at her hair and clothes. The ship splintered, falling apart like a child’s puzzle. Foaming white water surrounded them. Already breathless from fear and anticipation, Romy's lungs burned as she clung to Abel.

He kept one arm around her as he tugged at the end of the rope, loosening the knot. Her hands felt frozen and stiff as she fought to maintain her hold on his arm. They swirled away from the pole, caught in the dizzying madness of the current. He kicked, looking at her to follow along. Around them, the world was white, filled with bubbles and flashes of brown and green. Debris swirled around them like odd fish. Her sense of direction was disabled. Were they making progress or fighting the inevitable? Her boots threatened to drag her down. The weight of the pack pulled against her shoulders, but she didn't dare abandon it.

The hand around her wrist slipped away. Abel's eyes rounded as the distance widened between them. She kicked hard, reaching out, but didn't get near him. Bright spots floated in her vision and she struggled not to draw in a lungful of water as she kicked, hoping to go up. Her head broke the surface. Coughing and wiping hair away from her face, she inhaled greedily.

“Abel? Abel!” His name sounded like the weak croak of a frog.

She bobbed in the river, paddling a little as she searched for him and a place to crawl on shore. The broken shell of the boat rested against a rock. Its ugly exterior looked more forlorn than ever. The boiler threw wisps of ghostly steam into the air. If she could grab on to wood or rock, she might be able to pull herself from the water and find Abel.

Paddling in the direction of the hull while letting the current do most of the work, she reached out to catch a splintered board. It creaked, broke free and smashed against her cheek. Romy groaned as blinding pain flared in her face and she drifted for a few seconds. She raised her hand to rub the area, relieved when it came away without blood.

The water was too deep for her to touch bottom. Tired from fighting, she floated helplessly while the icy water numbed her limbs. The pack snagged something. Water surged over her head and up her nose. Choking, she struggled against the pack, but the straps tightened around her shoulders. They pinched her skin. The current was too strong to allow any slack. Even as she fought to get free, her body was too tired and heavy to continue. Blackness called to her, gentle and soft around the edges compared to where she was now.

****

Romy woke to the sensation of floating. Thunder rumbled next to her ear. She coughed and drew in a deep breath. Abel looked down at her, his expression full of hope and relief. He was safe! The arms supporting her—his—tightened around her.

“Didn't I tell you I wouldn’t to let you die? A week together and you still don't believe a word I say.”

She wondered where he found the strength to talk and smile, much less carry her. It required massive amounts of energy to raise her hand and hold her finger and thumb an inch apart.

“Came this close, cowboy.”

“Closer, probably. Here we go.”

He grunted as he set her down on a rock. Water dripped from their clothes and hair. In spite of the sun's reappearance, her teeth chattered.

“Wh-where are we?”

“I'm not sure.” Abel looked around and sighed. “You should get out of those clothes and let them dry.”