Clark checked his dented pocket watch. “We’ll catch the noon show, then. Should be able to eat in forty-five minutes?”
“Sure thing. Today we have boiled cabbage with chicken and vinegar.”
“And water to drink,” Clark added before Amethyst could ask for alcohol. The meal might not suit her elevated tastes, but if she picked at her food, he could finish it and she could eat whatever Georgette had packed.
“You a couple?” the bartender asked.
Clark started to say they were siblings, when Amethyst clapped her hands. “Indeed we are. My sweetheart wanted to surprise me with an outing. Isn’t he adorable?”
She leaned over to loop her arms around his neck and slammed her mouth into his.
lark closed his eyes, slipping his hand up her back to grab her braid while he nipped her lower lip. She giggled as she leaned back.
“Be right back from the kitchen.” The bartender headed toward a door near the stairs.
“Minx,” Clark whispered. It seemed a far nicer name than the things he’d grown up hearing.
Amethyst smoothed her bodice, her fingers lingering beneath her breasts. “You’re not my brother. We can have fun.”
He rested his arm on the table. “How far do you want to take this?” They could fool around as long as they weren’t caught—it would ruin the sibling façade and the Treasures wouldn’t want their heiress compromised. He owed Garth and Georgette more than that.
Amethyst lifted her gaze off her bosom. Her eyes widened and her lips parted, the flush creeping from her cheeks. “You mean…intercourse?”
Clark bit his cheek to avoid chuckling. How innocent for her to use that formal word. “You play this game with men a lot, don’t you?”
Amethyst coughed as though to clear her throat. “I don’t play…I…in the city we—”
“I’ve worked in enough places to know your kind.” He kept his voice soft so it wouldn’t sound cruel. On ranches across the west, the privileged daughters played with the hired hands and strung suitors along to see how much of a clutch they could gather. In the end, they kept their prized virginity and married the man their father chose.
“I’m not….” She studied her crimson-painted fingernails as if they fascinated her.
“I don’t mind a good time,” he whispered. “I can’t offer you more than that.”
She licked her lips as though nervous, her gaze glued to her hands. “Then we’ll do that.”
The bartender pushed through the kitchen door, carrying two tin plates. He set them on the table. “Be right back with your water, folks.”
“Thanks.” Clark nodded. “Am, I can eat yours—”
“I don’t mind.” She picked up the tin fork and stabbed a hunk of cabbage. “It’s all part of the experience.” She smiled at him from beneath her painted lashes, then ducked her gaze back to the plate and stuffed the vinegar-drenched hunk into her mouth.
Clark drummed his fingertips against the table. The act hadn’t seemed coy, but sincere. Could it be more than a game to her?
Amethyst squeezed her arms tighter around Clark. The helmet would be perfect if it still allowed her to smell him. Instead, the odor of metal slapped her nose. It wasn’t overpowering, but Clark’s musk made her heart race. The metal just annoyed her.
Her stomach rumbled from the plain fare at the public house. Phooey on Clark for not letting her have wine, or whiskey, or whatever strong spirits the establishment offered. One drink wouldn’t make her tipsy.
The dirt road followed wooden fences, past which grew fields and orchards. Cows and horses grazed in pastures. Clark veered toward a farm where blankets had been laid on the grass. One of the men who’d sat near them during lunch had explained that farmers offered land for the organ player’s use.
An organ on a wooden wagon, painted red with yellow stags, rested beside the barn. People sat on the blankets, some with picnic baskets. Small children darted between the groups.
“Women can’t vote,” Amethyst said into her speaker. “That’s mostly all that’s here.”
“Men must come more in the morning or afternoon, when there’s less work to be done.” Clark slowed his cycle as they neared the pedestrians. “Women might not be able to vote in the elections, but they have their husbands’ ears. I’m sure that contributes to it. Women have escorts too.”
Some men sat with the women, but most of the females flocked with others of their own gender. Amethyst leaned her helmet against his shoulder, hoping it didn’t hurt him. Wagons and buggies parked along the roadside. Clark stopped his cycle next to the only other of its kind, a beaten-up version with rust on the metal edges. He swung his leg off and lifted Amethyst down.
She closed her eyes as she leaned into his hands. Even with gloves on, their strength reached her. They weren’t pale and skinny like Zachariah’s, not ink-stained like her father’s, and not stubby like Jeremiah’s; these were long and muscled. Callused and tan.
“Man fingers,” she whispered.
He pulled off her helmet. “What was that?”
Amethyst coughed. “Nothing.” Rusty gears, she never acted the fool around men.
He set their helmets on the cycle and took her arm. “I apologize for not thinking to bring a blanket. It never crossed my mind how we would sit. Eric should’ve mentioned that.” He grumbled the last sentence and she smiled.
“It’s fine. I don’t mind sitting on the grass.” One of the Bromi slaves could wash out the stains later. “Aren’t you afraid someone will steal the helmets?”
“Most farmers are honest. They wouldn’t need the helmets, anyway.”
People in the city didn’t steal because they needed the goods. They stole for fun, to see if they could get away with it. Amethyst smoothed her bodice to avoid looking at Clark. Despite his wretched life, he hadn’t resorted to petty crimes.
Clark pressed his hand against her hip to steer her between the blankets to the back of the gathering. “We’ll stay here so we can talk.”
She settled beside him and ran her fingers across the grass. The last time she’d sat on the ground had been with Clark when she’d been shot. Amethyst shuddered. The time before that had been a year ago when a suitor took her to the park. They’d sat on a blanket while his servant fed them fruit and cheese cubes.
“There’re quite a few people,” Clark whispered.
Amethyst leaned her head against his shoulder. “I noticed.” A little boy wearing only denim overalls tripped over her leg and fell onto his front, sliding in the grass. He rolled back to his feet and darted across the blankets.
“Eric wants me to take it back to your ranch.”
Amethyst rubbed her leg where the boy had kicked her. Other than leaving a speck of dirt on her slacks, he hadn’t given her a mark. “How would that work? Father will ask where you got an organ from, and how would we even take it away from here? You can’t hook that wagon to your cycle.” She might not know much about vehicles, but the wagon was as long as her walk-in closet. His small cycle wouldn’t have enough power to pull it. “Plus, there are so many people here. We would have to trick them into thinking we were fixing it.” She widened her eyes. “We could tell them our father owns an organ shop—”
He brushed his fingers over her cheek and kissed the top of her head. “Hush, dear.”
Her heartbeat thudded. He’d called her “dear.” Was it part of their façade or did he mean it?
“We’re not going to take it,” Clark murmured. “We’re going to destroy it.”
lark leaned back on his elbows and tipped his head toward the sky to keep appearing calm. No one seemed to notice them, and the few stares sent their way had to be due to seeing strangers.
Amethyst folded her hands in her lap. “How will that work?”
Eric appeared above her. “You can’t! That’s my invention.”
“We’ll see how things go.” Clark shrugged and closed his eyes so he wouldn’t have to observe Eric.
“I’m your father,”
the ghost howled. “Don’t ruin my invention! I spent years creating that.”
“He’s your father,” Amethyst snapped. “How can you want to destroy something he created?”
Clark winced.
“She understands,” Eric screamed. “Listen to her. The organ belongs to me.”
Clark kept his eyes shut. “We can’t steal it. It would be too obvious and the senator might be able to track it. We can make destroying it look like an accident. Eric will have to decide if he wants to leave it in the senator’s stash or if he wants it gone.”
Amethyst sucked in a breath. “I…is he here?”
Clark nodded. “He thinks the same as you do.”
“Where is he?” When she scrambled, he opened his eyes. She’d twisted to her knees as she studied the surroundings.
“Above you.” Clark lifted his gaze to his father.
Eric nodded, defeated. “Do what you have to. It shouldn’t be used for coercing votes.”
“We’ll destroy it.” Clark tipped his head back. “We wait and watch for an opportunity.”
A man strode from the barn and lifted his hands to the crowd. He wore a black suit with a red bow tied at the collar of his white shirt, his hair slicked back with oil. The crowd clapped, children stood, and a man toward the front whistled. Clark clapped with them, and hooted, to seem as excited.
Amethyst giggled as she clapped. “Good job becoming involved, my dear.”
He nodded to her. If he’d worn a hat, he could’ve tipped it. “Thank you, miss.”
Her smile slipped and her hands stilled. Did she feel overwhelmed? He couldn’t send her back to the cycle. She might ride off, knowing her. Did he know her that well yet?
“I am pleased to have come here,” the organ player called. The clapping stilled. “This town has been remarkable. Thank you all. Any requests?”
“Old Steamer’s gone to Pasture,” a man called.
“Load up the Gears,” a woman suggested.
“I’ve never heard of these songs,” Amethyst whispered.
“They’re working songs,” Clark whispered back. “Farmers sing them in the fields to make the time go by. Your father’s workers sing them, too.” Garth had taken him on a tour of the ranch, with Jeremiah pouting behind.
“Aren’t you a lively group?” The organ player slapped his leg. “I’ll play more tonight. Don’t want to keep you folks too long from your work. I’ll start with Old Steamer and see where it goes.” Flicking his wrists, he swung onto the wagon and sat at the bench. He cracked his knuckles and set his fingers to the keys. Strong music blasted from the organ, peeling into the air with a grace Clark had never heard before. He frowned, leaning forward. The beat seemed to enter his soul.
“Don’t listen,” Eric said. “Horan has it tuned to turn your mind.”
“It’s beautiful,” Clark admitted. “I’ve never heard music so smooth.” Usually, an instrument hadn’t been tuned in ages, or was too old to sound correct. He recognized the tune as Old Steamer, but it had never sounded so sweet.
“He could be a professional musician,” Amethyst breathed.
“Tell her not to listen,” Eric squawked.
“Eric said not to listen.” Clark shook his head to clear his mind.
“How can I not? He’s amazing.”
Clark grabbed her hand and squeezed it. “Think about something else or plug your ears.”
She blinked at him before that smile emerged on her lips. “Maybe I’ll think about you, then.”
“How can I destroy it?” Clark glanced over his shoulder at Eric.
The ghost wavered, flapping his hands. “You can’t break it unless you use a sledgehammer. I made it strong. You’ll have to burn it.”
Clark gazed into Amethyst’s eyes to keep his mind off the tantalizing melody. “We need fire.” A better way to stay distracted: he linked his hands behind her head to kiss her.
After an hour, the organ player rose and bowed to the crowd from the wagon. “Thank you, my wonderful audience. You have done me proud. I am pleased to know that my music has brought you joy.”
The crowd clapped and whistled. Men and women stood. The children waved. Clark grasped Amethyst’s hand to help her up. The gathered group had been too mesmerized by the music to notice the couple in the back. Clark lips had dried from kissing her. Hers appeared dark and swollen. The bite mark on her neck showed above her scarf. Chuckling, Clark adjusted the silk to hide it.
“That…is the most I’ve ever kissed someone.” She blinked at him as though dazed.
For all her flirting, she wasn’t experienced enough. He pecked her forehead before turning back to the organ player.
“At least we didn’t get lost in the music.” The sweetness of her voice had become hoarse. His lips curled into a smile. He’d done that.
“I’ll be back at suppertime.” The player saluted the group. “I hope to see many of you again. If you’d like to donate to my cause—that I may continue traveling the west sharing my music—there is a collection box here in the wagon.” The player hopped off and bowed again.
The group hurried forward, pulling coins from purses and pockets to place into the slot on the box attached to the side of the wagon. Clark kept his arm around Amethyst’s shoulders to keep her in the back. The player shook hands with his fans, laughing with them.
“He seems very sincere,” Clark murmured to Amethyst. “Do you suppose he knows what Horan is using the organ for?”
“He must know who’s letting him use the organ. Senator Horan wouldn’t give it away if he wants it used in his territory.”
“I don’t want an honest man out of a job.” If the organ player were innocent, Clark would hate to know he suddenly had to steal or cheat to make a living.
Amethyst rested her head against him. “I’ll recommend he see my great-uncle in the city. He knows many musicians and music halls. They can help him to find work.”
“Thank you.” That would have to be enough.
The viewers drifted to their horses to head back to their farms. Clark drew Amethyst forward and held out his hand to the organ player to shake.
“Pleased to meet you. My wife,” she would have to be that to avoid their love play appearing awkward, “enjoyed this tremendously.”
The organ player kissed her hand. “I’m glad to be of service to you both. It is by the grace of our good Senator Horan that I bring you this entertainment. Make sure to vote for him in the next election to ensure this continues.”
That in itself sealed Clark’s mind: the organ player had to know a bit of what he did.
“Of course.” Clark slapped his knee. “Wouldn’t think of it otherwise. May I see the organ? It’s a wonderful piece.”
“I’m thinking of buying my husband one for his birthday.” Amethyst stroked his back, sending tingles across his skin.
“You, an organ player?” The man slicked back his hair. “It is a noble pursuit to share music with others.”
Oiled words. Senator Horan must’ve taught him well. Clark tugged on Amethyst’s braid—the sign.
Amethyst held out her hands to the player. “Please, sir. I would love to see the river that runs through here. They say it is black, since the river bottom is made entirely of slate.”
“Yes, ma’am. Amazing river to behold.”
“Is it that way?” Amethyst pointed to the west, the opposite direction.
“No, ma’am. It lies in the east.”
“All the way back east?” She covered her mouth as though to hide a gasp. “Will you point the way?”
“Here, ma’am.” He stepped around the bar and waved toward the east. “A few miles that way. There’s a bridge that crosses it. I’ve seen children fishing from there.”
Clark pulled his electronic lighter from his jacket pocket and flipped the switch. A tiny flame blazed on the tip. While Amethyst led the organ player around the barn, he hopped onto the wagon’s wheel and set the lighter near the edge of the organ.
It ha
d better catch soon.
He pulled out the flask of whiskey from his other jacket pocket—used for wounds, not drinking so much—and trickled it nearby. The flames spread fast, catching the wagon and the organ.
“Look,” Clark yelped when he heard their voices approaching. “There’s some sort of fire!”
The organ player bolted around, gasping and yelping. “Not the organ! Put it out. Find me water. We have to stop it. Horan will….”
The flames crept up the sides to lick the air. Through them, Eric shimmered, his head downturned. If the elder Grisham weren’t dead, Clark knew he would see tears on his father’s face.
Clark parked his cycle in the back of the vehicle garage. Garth had offered to build Clark his own garage for other vehicles and tools he would accumulate, a place only he would have access to.
“I’m sure you like to fix things yourself,” Garth had said.
To have his own place, something just for him—but not his—because it was Garth’s land, his money for the labor and supplies. He could accept gifts from Garth to fill a garage.
Amethyst slid off the back. “Can you take me riding again tomorrow?”
He hung his helmet on the hook in the back and reached for hers. “If your parents let us. Don’t we have work to do?” There had to be something he could help with on the ranch. Charity wasn’t for the likes of him. He already owed them more than his share of free labor for a year.
“That’s what the servants and ranch hands are for.” She stepped up behind him and slid her hands over his back, trailing her fingers toward his waist. “I promise we’ll have fun.”
He turned in the circle of her arms to tap her chin. “I need to see what Eric wants next.” At least investigating the inventions served as something constructive to do. For as long as he could remember, he’d never had to not work. There had been moments of play, such as with Mable back at the saloon, but then there had been stealing for his mother, working at the mine, helping in the establishment.
Footsteps crunched in the dirt outside the open garage door. Clark stepped backward as Jeremiah appeared in the doorway, framed by the orange dusk.
Treasure, Darkly (Treasure Chronicles Book 1) Page 13
