The Treasure Hunter's Lady (9 page)

She started to tell him off, given it had to be early morning and no one had been in to check on her. For all anyone knew she'd died of thirst. Her thoughts tapered off when she saw two pitchers in his hands. If she had any luck remaining at all, they'd be full of water.

Abel kicked the door shut. Without a word, he settled the ewers on a fold-out shelf nailed to the wall. The way he stood allowed her to admire his profile, the straight nose and smooth-shaven face, high cheekbones that hinted at Native American ancestry.

As if she didn't exist, he pulled his shirt off, dropped it on the floor and took up a rag, which he dipped in one of the pitchers. Thick, muscled arms brought it above his head. Silvery rivulets of water trickled through his golden hair, down his shoulders and back. Muscles rippled with each movement.

A tingle surged in Romy's veins, tickled its way around her body and into her very center. Water hugged the lines of his body and she longed to mold herself around him in a similar manner. A cough escaped her and she realized she'd forgotten to breathe for a few seconds. She'd seen countless tribal people in various states of undress, but none compared to the Texan in front of her.

He continued to ignore her as he gave himself a slow bath with the rag. The cloth glided over the sinuous cords in his arms, down the hard chest and for a moment, she thought he would take it lower, to the place where the trail of gilded hair must stop.

Instead, he placed the rag over the rim of the pitcher and turned his face toward her. “The other one is for you.”

“How generous,” she replied, rolling her eyes. There was no sense in maintaining her ladylike pretense now.

“After you wash up, you can join the crew for breakfast. I'd hate to deny them the pleasure of your wicked tongue.”

She ran her tongue over her lower lip. Her eyes remained fixed on his sun-kissed skin. If Abel's magnificent body was the last thing she ever saw, she'd die happy.

“Well?” he asked.

“Sounds lovely. Please tell the crew it will be my pleasure to join them.” Dining with sky pirates beat starving to death. Or surviving on crusts of bread and stagnant water.

“You look fit to melt. The breeze is nice on the upper deck.”

The concern on his face irritated her. “I wouldn't be if you'd let me out sooner.”

“I thought it might do you some good to be alone with your thoughts.”

He reached for his shirt. Something dark and winding stained his right arm. “You've missed a spot,” she pointed out. “A particularly large smear there.”

Abel froze then ran his fingers over the stain. She remembered he hadn't turned that side to her while taking his bath.

Her feet propelled her forward as her hand shot out to trace the darkened skin. The image of a serpent snaked around his bicep, curled once all the way around his arm. The triangular head rested on his collar bone. He stood perfectly still as she examined the work. It was as wide as three of her fingers put together. His skin was smooth, but the scales gave the appearance that a real snake used his arm as a perch. The eyes were eerily alive, as if they could see Romy. Repulsed but curious, she blinked at him.

“Why ever would you have something like that tattooed on your person?”

She expected some scathing remark about a drunken affair or a rebellion against his family, but received neither. Abel brushed at it with his fingers as though hoping the illustration would fall away or smudge into shapelessness.

“Aren't you going to say anything?” she demanded.

Slinging his shirt over his forearm, he jerked his head at the door. “Cook won't hold your food.”

So he wasn't going to answer her questions. Curious. “Leave me be and I'll wash up. I'm starving, though I can't imagine why after the fine fare you brought last night.”

Abel shrugged. “If you don't care for the way you're being treated, I'm sure Captain Van Buren has a telegram device. You could send a message to your fiancé and have him meet you in Bismarck.”

If he believed for a minute she was going to send a message to her father or anyone else, he was sadly mistaken. Romy grabbed the wet rag and threw it at him. It landed with splat against his bare chest before falling to the floor. “To the devil with you, Abel Courte! I'm not going home.”

In a fluid motion he turned and left, leaving the door open. If she hadn't been so hungry, she'd stay there to spite him, but her stomach protested the idea.

“And put some bloody clothes on before we eat,” she muttered.

Trying not to remember his actions at the washstand, she made a few quick swipes over her own body, donned her shirt and scurried up the stairs before he changed his mind about feeding her.

A handful of the crew gathered around the deck threw her scathing looks. It didn't take much to figure out they weren't keen on stowaways. Something in the air smelled wretched; she thought there was a good possibility the stench came from them.

“'Tis bad luck to have a woman aboard,” someone muttered as she passed.

She stopped and turned toward the knot of men. “You don't really believe that. And if you do you're—”

“Romy, don't agitate the crew. They aren't as civil as the captain.”

Abel's disembodied voice floated to her over the howl of the wind. She didn't know how he knew she was about to give them the lecture of a lifetime.

His head appeared out of another hole in the deck. “The galley,” he explained. “The fare ain't much, but it's better than starving.”

“Hey,” another bodiless voice yelled. “I heard that!”

Abel, fully dressed and wearing his cowboy hat, emerged from below. “I'll find something unpleasant in my next meal.”

Romy tried not to gag at his implication. The plates he carried had charred hunks of what she hoped was meat and two small bowls of something that looked like lumpy gravy with withered vegetables. Her stomach turned to lead.

Abel handed her a plate and gestured toward the bow. “Let's sit upwind of the galley. Makes the food taste a little better.”

They passed by the hole and the horrid smell vanished. Not the crew then. Which didn't reassure her because she still had to look at the food as well as smell it. She didn’t expect gourmet dining, but she’d never seen such a sorry display of food in her life.

He led her to the shelter of several tall crates. “For the lady, mutton stew and the cook's specialty, roast rump of possum.”

The plate trembled in her hands. Horrified, she stared at him. “Opossums are scavengers.”

A lazy smile turned up the corners of Abel's mouth. “I thought you were well-traveled. Think of it as rabbit. It'll go down smoother.”

If he could eat it, then she could too. Men respected colleagues who didn't complain and accepted the same challenges they did. Deep down, she was afraid of becoming ill. It was almost gruesome, the way he tore apart the meat and chewed. He didn't appear to notice her lack of appetite.

Picking up the battered, flattened spoon, she poked the lumpy stew. Took a scoopful and put it in her mouth. Taking out her handkerchief, she spit the gelatinous mess into it. She suspected it might also contain possum. Or worse.

“That's awful.” How to rid her tongue of the taste? “Was it prepared last week?”

“It ought to be good enough for a starving woman.” He gestured with his fork. “You gonna eat that marsupial or stare holes in it?”

Extending the plate to him, she nodded at it. “Be my guest.”

He jabbed it with a knife. The airship lurched, dropped a few feet and regained its forward momentum. Abel's dishes and silverware clattered to the deck. A green tint washed the tan from his face.

“Turbulence,” he muttered, staring down at the remains of his meal.

Romy laughed. “That was fun. Do you think he'll do it again?”

“You've lost your wits.”

Van Buren strolled around the crates and glanced at the spilled food with distaste. “We are approaching severe weather. Because of the storm, we will experience some minor turbulence. The navigator is plotting a new course to keep us above the rain.” He eyed Romy. “Do not allow her around the deck rails if you've a mind to keep her.”

“Excuse me?” Romy stood, though the top of her head barely reached Van Buren 's shoulder. “I'm not going to fall off your ship. Either by accident or on purpose.”

He stared down his nose at her. “Good. It will ruin my record of keeping passengers alive if you do. Abel, control your . . . friend.”

“We're not friends!” she called to his back.

A flurry of curse words spilled from Abel's lips. She faced him again. His color hadn't returned to normal. “Damn fool is going to kill us all. We can't get to Bismarck soon enough.”

It was amusing, that someone so sure of himself was made nervous by air travel. Abel slid off the crate and headed for the cabin, leaving her unchaperoned. She smirked. Whether the captain and crew liked it or not, she had no intention of going below again until nightfall.

****

The stars looked close enough to touch. Icy white, sapphire blue and fiery red, they glistened against the velvety sky. The earlier breeze had turned cold. Romy gathered her jacket tighter. The sailing hadn't been as rough as Van Buren predicted, with only a few turbulent spots during the course of the afternoon, yet Abel stayed below the entire time.

Rubbing her arms against the chill, she wondered whether to go down to the cabin or not. Abel's green face swam in front of her eyes. He hadn't looked well. As much as he irritated her, and went out of his way to do it, she didn't want to bother him if he was sick.

“You are not supposed to be by the rails.”

Van Buren's deep voice rumbled behind Romy. She turned and smiled sheepishly. “I know, but when I stand here, it's as though I'm flying right alongside the stars.”

“You are.” He was no-nonsense in the declaration.

She wasn’t sure he had any imagination. How could one sail the skies and not be inspired by the view? So much for having a civil conversation, but what had she expected from him?

He looked out into the night, then back at her. “What are you doing on my ship?”

She flinched. It was a hard question. With a lot of free time to consider her actions, she wasn't sure. Nothing had gone according to plan. So she gave him the answer that made the most sense to her. “I'm going to stop Abel from selling a priceless artifact to the highest bidder.”

The Dutchman's frown increased. Thick eyebrows formed a single slash across his forehead. “I think you’re sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong. This is not the first trip I've made with Abel. He doesn't need a girl tagging behind him, dogging his every move. You should stay in Bismarck when we arrive.”

Romy stiffened. “You opinion is noted and quite unnecessary.”

“Mind your manners, young lady. You're too quick to judge those who are not cut from the same cloth you are. You will only bring misery to Abel and his business. A woman like you cannot understand his purpose for making such a journey.”

Her hands balled into fists inside her pockets. “Men like you and my father believe a woman has no business in a man's world. But things are changing and soon it will be a world for both genders. I can handle myself, Captain. I'm aware of what Abel is after. He has to be stopped.”

His face turned stony. “If you are capable of saying that, you have no idea what you are getting into.”

He strode away, his boots thumping on the weathered deck.

“Sky pirate.” Too afraid to say it to his face, she whispered the insult as soon as she was sure he couldn't hear.

Chapter Eight

Perched on the crates out of the wind, Abel tried to absorb the words on the wrinkled papers in his hands. Charts of taxonomic groups and mathematical equations made sense to him. Old Indian lore didn't. How anyone could believe the nonsense baffled him. A grown person might as well believe in St. Nick leaving lumps of coal in their shoes.

“What are you reading?” Romy offered him a tiny smile and rocked forward on her toes as she stared down at him. Probably hoping to find a way to interfere. As far as he was concerned, nothing in the mess would help her. He lifted the papers. “What folks in Texas call hogwash.”

She took the top sheet, read it and frowned. “Legends about the Horned Serpent. I think it's interesting. Listen to this.” She sat beside him and read from the paper. “The Sun was tired of man's vile ways and sent a disease to destroy all living things. The tribes performed a blood ceremony to raise the Horned Serpent, Uktena, to kill the Sun, but after a long, furious battle, the Serpent failed. Angry that it had been called forth and then ridiculed for being unable to complete its task, it grew vengeful against man. Uktena called the water to it and caused flood to swallow all the land.”

Abel closed his eyes, listening to the soft melody of Romy's voice. She smelled like fresh rain. It was hard to concentrate on the story when her voice made him want to explore the possibility of another kiss.

“The people who didn't drown were left to climb the tallest mountain in the world. They bickered over fault and more died from starvation and fighting until a giant eagle came and rescued the last woman. The waters receded and the woman and her eagle, who could transform into a man, were the parents of a new tribe. But they always watched for Uktena. Every noise the tribe heard and every shadowy ripple under the water might be the snake waiting to snatch them.” Romy read silently for a moment. “One warrior spied the Serpent and became entranced with the jewel on its head, but the Serpent moved and the earth trembled, so he ran. When he returned home, his entire family had died. To see Uktena is death.”

He leaned back and nodded. “Typical of a god-like being, killing everything in its path.”

“But the jewel on its head was said to bring prosperity and good fortune. The Diamond is more beautiful than a thousand sunsets and sunrises. Anyone who could kill Uktena and take the Diamond would be hailed as a hero. Like a trophy,” she mused.

“The most important trophy in the world,” he agreed. He only needed to hold it for a little while, just use it to find a cure and solve all of his problems.