“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 l
isten 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.”
“That's what I'm afraid of. He'll be on my heels like a shadow if I don't get a move on.” With Christensen bringing down the whip like a coachman from hell. Abel's gut clenched in a way that didn't have anything to do with serpents or treasure; he was mere feet from Romy and he missed her already.
“Be careful, my friend. If you find what you’re searching for the ship will be here waiting for you.”
Van Buren offered his hand. Abel accepted it with the hope he'd make it back. “It should be a short trip. If I'm not back within the week, you may as well go on.” Any number of things could happen while he was on his own in the wild country.
“A little faith might serve you as well as determination.” The captain lifted his hat in salute and headed for his ship again.
Sweat gathered at Abel's collar and on his brow. The flight of stairs that took him from the lowest floor of the three-level dock to the street below left him winded. Not a promising sign. He shrugged off the thought. Caden had worked through this stage of the illness to gather information about the Serpent and make the proper arrangements and contacts for his nephew. At nearly thirty years Abel's senior, Caden's efforts made him feel unworthy of the task set to him.
An image of home invaded his mind. Patience and her children were waiting for Abel to save the day. He couldn't let them down. But what if none of this was real? What if all the stories, all the endeavors came to nothing? He swallowed past the dry taste of dust and fear that threatened to suffocate him.
No, the strange feeling that he got when he held the fang meant something. Whether it was a legendary serpent or not, something drew him here. He'd find it.
On the street he stopped and looked back at the docks. The Ursula Ann's aft was just visible from his position. Her faded and patched gray balloon glared against the azure sky.
The street was nearly deserted except for a couple of dogs and a petite, ancient-faced old woman decorated with trailing scarves. Perched on the palm of one gnarled, veiny hand, a crystal ball caught and bent the midday sun, casting miniature rainbows on the ground. Something long and sinuous stretched across her shoulders and up the arm that held the gazing ball.
A poison green serpent rested its head on the crystal before turning to peer at Abel. If the dogs noticed the apparition, they had no interest in it. Even from a few feet away he caught the foggy glare of the old woman's eyes. Her lips moved in a silent prophecy that raised the hair on Abel's neck.
He remembered her prediction of a beautiful woman and he thought of Romy.
Abel blinked. Heat waves shimmered in the place where the fortuneteller had stood. The dogs trotted off, kicking up puffs of dust as they went.
“What the hell?” He searched the street for any sign of human life. “A trick of the light. A gypsy woman with a pet snake isn't following me.”
The gypsy didn't have a snake in Boston. Why would she have one now? His heart thudded in his ears. There he was, considering the possibility that she had arrived in Bismarck. That she truly knew where this venture might take him and that it might end badly. His mouth felt dry as Death Valley.
Two men descended the stairs. Looking oddly formal in his crisp suit, Christensen paused on the landing. His cold eyes brushed over Abel before a sneer pulled his lips away from his teeth. He flicked his wrist in a dismissing gesture. “Out of the way, vagabond.”
Behind him, in khaki trousers and a chamois shirt, Maggard Farrington stared, mouth slightly agape at the sight of Abel. Their eyes met. Farrington closed his mouth and shook his head, a minute movement Abel nearly missed. The doctor's face was sallow and lined. He looked like he was on death’s doorstep.
Beads of sweat dampened Abel's shirt, but an icy chill covered him, racing along his skin. Farrington stumbled and collided with Abel's shoulder. The weight of the pack toppled him. He sprawled on the gravel-strewn path, wincing at the pain in his tailbone.
“I beg your pardon,” Farrington said, staring down at him. His dark blue gaze—much like Romy's—darted between Abel and Christensen.
“Come along, Maggard,” Christensen snapped.
“One moment, Andrew.” Farrington crouched beside Abel. “Are you all right, sir?”
“Fine, I think.” Though the temptation to remain on the ground had him in its clutches.
Christensen's head jerked around.
“Allow me to help you up, my boy.” Farrington extended his hand, leaning closer to Abel.
Farrington ignored his boss's questioning look, so Abel followed in suit. The older man's mouth came near his ear as Maggard pulled him up.
“Is Romancia safe?”
It depended on one's definition of safe. She'd stowed away on an airship, nearly fallen out of the same ship, been threatened by another man after the Diamond and wound up sharing Abel's bed. But he believed, for the moment she wasn't in harm's way. Damned if he'd explain all that to Maggard.
Abel nodded and raised his chin toward Van Buren's ship to indicate she was on the docks. Christensen still watched, shifting his weight and huffing as though annoyed by the delay. Abel rubbed at his neck with his free hand, pretending to stretch it out. Farrington's hand tightened on his for a split second.
“She's in danger. Both of you are,” Farrington muttered. He looked heartsick. “Tell her I love her. You must go. Now.”
“Thank you,” Abel said. The longer Farrington's eyes lingered on the docks, the more suspicious Christensen's expression grew. Abel hitched up the pack and mounted the stairs, one slow step at a time. He paused to listen to Christensen complain about Farrington's bleeding heart before the pair moved on.
Why the warning? Farrington knew the stakes as well as Abel. If he thought for a second Abel was going to abandon the search because of a little menace like Christensen, he needed to think again. But he had to let Romy know her father was in town. Even if it wasn't safe for her to see him.
By the time he reached the deck where the Ursula Ann rested, his knees were soft as fresh mud. His mind raced with the idea that Christensen’s wanted notice. Either he hadn't recognized Abel or he was so determined to get to the Diamond, he couldn't see what was right in front of him. With a shrug, Abel dropped the pack and stepped onto the gangplank.
The first mate threw a puzzled look his way. “What are you doing back so soon?”
“I need to see Romy,” he said.
“She's moping near that pile of crates the pair of you favored all journey.”
Abel nodded his thanks and clutched the rail as he made his way across the deck. Romy sat with her knees tucked up, chin resting on them and eyes glazed over. She blinked when she saw him. “Abel!”
His head pounded. Spots blurred his vision. She flew to her feet, meeting him halfway. Soft hands pressed against his face. "Your skin is so hot."
Her voice sounded distant and echoing. He leaned toward her, intending to tell her about her father.
The fortuneteller shimmered in front of him like a mirage, blotting out Romy's face.
The world faded into dismal gray before falling completely black.
Chapter Fifteen
Romy paced the width of the ship's bow. She twisted the ends of her hair around her fingers, ignoring the curious stares of the remaining crew. Her heart was in her throat, pounding out a tempo only slightly faster than her feet. She'd tried sitting still, but it made her feel useless. As long as she kept moving, she could be certain the world was the same place it had been
before Abel left the Ursula Ann. The same place where he still lived and breathed and vexed her with his plans to get to the Diamond.
In his haste to get to Bismarck, he hadn't gotten proper rest or a decent meal. A few days in bed, he'd be back on his feet and . . . they would be right back where they started. Her on a flight to Boston and him on the way to the Diamond. Being separated from Abel by death was a distance she didn’t want to contemplate.
Under her worry, anger bubbled like molten lava. Trust that damned sky pirate to bar her from Abel's cabin. At the insistence of a shaman. The feathered and painted man took one look at her and declared she was in the way. He'd rattled something off in broken English, and when she looked for Van Buren to explain, he'd replied with, “He says you are tainting the air with your worry. The spirits do not like you. Perhaps it is best if you wait above deck.”
For all her protesting that he ought to find a real doctor, Van Buren wouldn't budge on the subject. The nerve of the man! Well, she'd find one herself. She spun on the ball of her foot and headed for the gangplank.
“Where are you off to, Miss Farrington?”
Romy froze, ready to ask how Abel was, when she thought of her new quest. She faced Van Buren, arms akimbo, shoulders square as she looked into his face. “To find him a real doctor. None of this mumbo jumbo you seem so fond of.”
Van Buren didn't seem intimidated by her stance. He stared at her coolly. “The mumbo jumbo, as you say, was not my decision. I suggest you take it up with Abel when he wakes. You are prohibited from leaving my ship.”
Instead of feeling trapped by his words, relief fluttered through her. They weren't going to keep Abel from her. Surely he wasn't going to die. “Is he going to be all right? That witch doctor has cured him?”
“I believe the term is medicine man.” Van Buren's face didn't change, but something in his eyes shifted, almost as though he agreed with her idea. “Go on down, Miss Farrington. You may as well decide for yourself if the medicine he uses is real.”
The Treasure Hunter's Lady Page 13
