He could do some good.
“Are you sure this is the life you want?” Donald stared at her.
She could go home to her city, or hide on the ranch. Clark would never fault her. She hadn’t grown up in the hardened lifestyle he’d known.
“There’re dangers,” he began, but she shook her head.
“It’s not a life,” she said. “It’s an adventure. We’ll go home after we get everything and everything will be fine.” She licked her lips, unpainted for the first time. “Everything will go back to normal.”
Clark squeezed her hand. Nothing would be normal for him. He’d be the Treasure bastard and, if he survived, he’d be free. He might work on the ranch or attend a college. Amethyst…well, she would go back to normal, as normal as possible after killing someone.
Donald pulled back his sleeve to reveal a key hanging from a chain. He fitted it into the top drawer of his desk and slid it open. Clark leaned back in his chair. The air smelled of spiced rum. What odor had clung to Eric? Perhaps his real father had been flavored with sandalwood cologne like Garth Treasure, or maybe it had been more of an oil stench since he worked with machines.
Donald lifted out a leather billfold and set it on the top of his desk. “Eric gave me this. It had all of his banking cards. If you need a place of refuge, you’ll find it in his estates.”
“What?” Clark forced himself to keep still. “My father still has estates? They would’ve been confiscated by the government since he didn’t have an heir. Eric told me that. I’m his only heir.”
“Parents or a cousin?” Amethyst suggested.
Donald pulled out a notebook and set it beside the billfold. “Eric’s parents died in a steamcoach accident. He finished his childhood in a boarding school. The closest relatives would be distant cousins.”
Clark turned his attention to the window behind Donald. No family on his father’s side, and none on his mother’s. Hers had perished in native attacks after first arriving in the west; she was the only survivor of their newly settled town.
“He left me everything so the government couldn’t touch it.” Donald rested his hands over the billfold and notebook. “By law, all of this is yours. You’re his heir.”
“What is it?” His mouth dried as though he sucked on cotton.
Donald smiled. “A house in the east and a house in Hedlund City here in the west. Mines. Some land. An abandoned ranch. After he died, I closed the doors. A few banks. Bank accounts. Eric tended not to spend more than was necessary. He didn’t need much other than supplies for his inventions.”
Clark realized he squeezed her too hard when she yelped. He rested his hands on his knees and leaned forward. “You mean I actually own something more than my cycle?”
Donald chuckled. “Dear boy, Eric was one of the top ten wealthiest men in the country. He’s fallen a bit behind in that now that he hasn’t been inventing or investing, but his riches are still quite up there.”
“So you’re saying,” Clark ran his fingers through his hair, “I actually have money? Honest money?”
“And quite a lot of it.”
lark faced the oval mirror on the staircase landing. He should join Eric, waiting at the bottom as a shimmering spirit, and find Donald on the patio. Georgette would be with him, twirling her lace parasol. She clutched it like a weapon—a woman like her deserved a real tool against evil. She’d look smart with a pearl-handled derringer.
Clark rubbed the blond stubble on his chin. Donald hadn’t provided shaving equipment, so the half-inch-long shadow stretched across the lower portion of his face. He’d gone like that in the desert when he’d run with the Bromis and his gang, had once grown it five inches long to match his shoulder-length hair.
Clean shaven worked best. It made him feel like the type his mother would approve of, with his baby-blue eyes she always called ‘her sapphires’. “I don’t need real gems, since I’ve got you, my Clark.”
Since Garth hadn’t commented on it, Clark had left in his silver loop earring. His gang had used them as a symbol of status. Once you were fully initiated—having proven you weren’t yellow-bellied enough to skedaddle—everyone pitched in to buy you an earring.
He owned land. Money. A house. That man in the mirror, who had once been a Tarnished Silver’s brat and then a runaway, had become a gentleman. Sort of. Clark fixed the collar of his black shirt to make it lay straight. A corner popped back up. He hadn’t been born to this world of smoothly painted walls and family portraits.
The week with Donald had given him more stories about Eric and opportunities to ride horses through the vineyards. That didn’t make him high society.
“How can I act like this if that’s what it takes?” When he glanced down the stairway, Eric had disappeared. Sighing, he shifted his gaze out the windows in the front of the house.
Amethyst stood on the porch with the late afternoon sunshine forming a golden shield around her body. Claiming fatigue, she’d slept the day away, and somehow assumed that meant she didn’t need to get dressed. Her long, slender legs appeared as pale as mother of pearl. A black, silk camisole clung to her curves.
How erotic to pull the jeweled pins from her bun and let her curls down. He could push her against the railing and slide his fingers over her thighs, lifting the lace hem of her camisole. He could explore what lay beneath while she moaned against his mouth.
Coughing to scatter his thoughts, he hurried down and jumped off the bottom two steps since no one lurked in the foyer. Donald stood on the back porch with Georgette; both turned to face him when he opened the door.
“I was telling Donald how much we’ll miss him.” Georgette dragged her painted fingernails over his jacket in a teasing fashion.
“You’ll have to stay longer, my dears.” Donald pecked her cheek. “Actually, there was something I wanted to bring up.”
Clark schooled his expression to remain stoic.
“I need to visit my mines to make sure everything is running up to par,” Donald continued. “Would it be all right if Clark and Amethyst accompanied me? It would be better on my old bones if I had pleasant companions.”
Clark widened his eyes to appear surprised. “Which mines?”
“Don’t worry, son.” Donald lifted his hand. “It would be nowhere near Tangled Wire. This mine is farther into the desert. The travel might be a bit rough. Of course, this all depends on Georgette’s approval.”
“Would you like to, Clark?” She frowned, twirling her parasol.
“I haven’t experienced too much of the country.” Clark hoped the sentences didn’t sound too rehearsed. “I’d be honored to accompany you. Learn more about my father.” My real father.
“It does sound like fun,” Amethyst trilled from behind him.
Georgette’s hands froze on the parasol’s polished handle. “Am, I really don’t think—”
“I’ve never seen a mine before!” She looped her arm through Clark’s and leaned her cheek against his shoulder. “It would be so exciting to get to know my new brother more. What an adventure.”
He stuffed his hands into his slacks pockets. It would make him look like even more of a scoundrel if he ogled the shadow between her breasts, the whiteness of her chest, the way the hem of her camisole barely covered the curve of her buttocks.
“Your father has plenty of mines,” Georgette said. “You also hate adventures. In every letter, you stress how you despise the west.”
“I’m doing this for you,” Amethyst whined. “You’ll love me more if I love your land.”
“We love you—”
“Please?” Amethyst flicked her wrist at Donald. “He asked. It would be rude to refuse.”
Georgette gave her parasol a hard twist. “Think on it. We can tell Donald our decision in the morning. I’ll be leaving. If you want to stay with him, I’ll leave you enough money for a new wardrobe.”
“I’m sure I won’t change my opinion.” Amethyst winked at Clark.
He would need to learn h
ow to twist propriety to fit his needs.
“Where to next?” Amethyst stretched her legs across his bed and flexed her bare toes, the nails painted purple. They shimmered in the light of the gas lamps.
Clark leaned over the desk in his bedroom. “You should get back to your room.”
“Mother goes to bed so early and Donald sleeps downstairs. Who’s going to care? The slaves?”
“They can gossip.” He trailed the lead pencil over the route Eric had helped him mark on the map Donald had provided.
She laid back against the brocade coverlet and fanned her curls over his pillow. “Will you do me a favor?”
“Sure.” He set the pencil beside the brass candleholder. “Eric said it should only take us a month. I don’t want to disregard your father’s hospitality.”
“I looked through your saddlebags. I’m sorry.”
He narrowed his eyes at her. “Back at the ranch? Not much in them.”
“I…found stuff.” She licked her painted lips.
He searched his brain for what he might’ve stored. A flask, extra bullets… “I didn’t steal any of that.” She couldn’t think that of him.
She rolled onto her stomach and held up a flat package two inches across by two inches. “Why do you carry rising wraps with you?”
Clark covered his mouth with his fist to hide his chuckle. “I’m a man, sweetie. I saw my mother suffer because she raised me alone. I wouldn’t do that to a woman.”
Amethyst tossed the rubbers across the bed and sat up. “Make love to me before we leave.”
Clark blinked. The corners of his eyes burned and his right one felt as if something had lodged against his eyelid. “What?” She couldn’t have said that.
She kicked off her slippers; they hit the floor with twin thumps. “I want you, Clark.” She lifted the hem of her camisole. “You’ve saved my life. You’ve taught me to protect myself. I’ve never been so…I’ve never been like this before.” Cherries blossomed in her cheeks as she slid the silk over her head to drop it atop her slippers.
He averted his gaze to the bedroom door. “I won’t take advantage of you.” The trauma had disrupted her brain. In the Bromi camps, they would have inauguration rights for the men and women who took another’s life. They would mediate in a tent, alone, for a week, while eating mushrooms and drinking cactus juice. When someone took a life, that person needed to come to terms with the deed before it darkened them.
“You should rest,” Clark whispered. “You need to think more. Rest. We can wait; Donald will understand.”
Her footsteps padded across the hardwood floor until she stood behind him. “Don’t you want me?” Her hands slid over his shoulders and hesitated at his throat. “You have a tattoo.”
His hair or bandanas covered it most of the time. “It’s a Bromi tribe symbol.” He traced where he knew the sun and crescent moon shape was beneath his ear. “It means that everything must happen, like how the sun rises and sets, and how everything must share its place. When the sun is up, the moon is down.”
She didn’t tug at his shirt buttons like a Tarnished Silver would have, and she didn’t nip at his ear. Her sigh brushed the back of his neck.
He folded his hands over hers. “Amethyst….”
“Don’t give me nonsense about how I’m so much better than you. I don’t believe in that.”
He chuckled. When he first met her, he would’ve doubted that. Spoiled girls didn’t want to make love with paupers. Amethyst, however, didn’t live for propriety. She lived for her. Everything had to do with her.
The murder might have altered her perspective, but if it had scarred her, she would’ve fixated on it. She really did want him.
He turned as he stood, clamping his hands around her waist and pinning her against his chest. He slanted his mouth over hers and ran his tongue along her lips. Skin, soft and smooth, beneath his callused hands; she could’ve been porcelain about to break.
He might be a bastard. Wanted by the army. A mining town brat. A fugitive among the savage Bromi tribes.
A con-artist in a wealthy family.
But he could keep her safe.
onald tipped his hat, the sun making the silver bead on the rim glitter. “Good luck to you both.”
Clark nodded. “Your words are well thanked.” A Bromi statement. His gaze wandered to the town behind them, the last before this stretch of desert. He’d first fled there, to Barrera, after his mother’s death. Past Barrera, desert made farming impossible, and only the Bromi dared navigate the rocks and dunes.
He’d run, knowing the army wouldn’t think to look for him there. He’d fallen near nightfall, parched and weak. Darkness had come, death without pain. His body felt nothing. With holes in his knees and elbows, his shirt torn and one suspender hanging loose, he’d lifted his hands and closed his eyes.
A tingle through the numbness had forced him to look again; a little girl floated above him, her body shimmering—a ghost. He’d seen enough of them by then, skirting from town to town while the army pursued.
From her knee-length black hair and fringed skirt, she had to be Bromi. She’d pointed at him, wordless, and might have smiled.
Next time he opened his eyes, at dawn, he’d panted. Already the heat baked off the rocks, Barrera lost behind him. Another Bromi girl knelt at his side. Alive, since she didn’t shimmer. Ankle-long black hair, set in two plaits, showed off her tribal neck tattoo. Bare feet with copper rings on her toes. A blue skirt and a deerskin shirt. His mind wouldn’t make proper thoughts.
She held a skinsack to his lips to pour water over his mouth. He’d coughed, but it had been his salvation. A man—her brother, he’d later discovered—followed minutes after to carry Clark back to their tribe.
“You’re certain we have enough supplies?” Amethyst fanned herself with her hand. Perspiration dotted her flushed cheeks.
“Don’t waste it.” Donald squeezed her shoulder, but he stared at Clark. “The town is abandoned. You shouldn’t find anyone there. Spend the night and move on.”
“Move on to Quencher.” Clark patted his jacket pocket, which housed the map. “I’ll send you a message when we get there.”
“You would’ve gotten along well with Eric, my boy. Nothing slowed him.”
Clark turned his attention to the desert to hide the shadow in his eyes. Instead of living in luxury with people who seemed to actually care about him, he chose to ravage the desert to help his deceased father. Yup, life was screwed.
Amethyst tucked her hair into the helmet Donald had given her and fastened the strap. “Ready?” She winked at him.
He could taste her skin on his tongue, a mixture of lavender and her. Maybe not so screwed.
Clark settled his helmet over his head and swung onto the steamcycle Donald had bought for him.
Another stranger had purchased something for him. Clark had promised to pay him back once he had his father’s inheritance, but Donald had lifted his hand. “If your father had lived, I would’ve seen you a few times a year. Eric visited often. I would’ve spoiled you rotten, son.”
Clark revved the engine while Amethyst settled behind him, her bosoms pressed against his back. Her arms slid around his sides to his front. If they had Eric’s helmets, they would’ve been able to talk during the ride.
“Squeeze extra hard if you need to stop,” Clark shouted over the engine and through the thickness of the helmet.
“Yes,” she yelled back.
The steamcycle shot into the desert.
After three hours, judging by the sun, she squeezed her arms around him beneath his ribs. Clark slowed the cycle and turned it off. They would still need a few more hours until noon to ride. According to Donald, they should reach the abandoned village by evening.
“What is it?” He adjusted the helmet strap where it rubbed on his chin.
“I….” She pulled off her helmet, eyes bright. “Where are the toiletries?”
Did she think she should fix her perfume? “You’re
beautiful.” The dark blue of her suit made her eyes shimmer.
“To….” She licked her lips. “Relieve myself.”
Mirth bubbled from his belly to make him laugh. Actual funds, a girl who liked him, a future worth living for, and a new steamcycle. Life hadn’t gotten too harsh.
“You’re rude!” She slapped his arm.
“Sweetheart,” he said, “you go wherever you want.”
“I don’t see an outhouse.” She turned her attention to the stretching plains.
“There aren’t any out here.” Poor sheltered puppy. “Go wherever you need to.”
“I just what? I squat?” She flapped her hands. “I can’t do that in front of you!”
He stroked her gloved palm. “I’ve seen your private parts. Don’t be embarrassed. I’ve seen girls pee before.”
“That’s crass. An ugly word.” She swung her leg off the steamcycle so fast she stumbled. Her bladder must have been really full to put up so little a fight. “Don’t you dare look.”
“As you wish.” He scanned the plains for a glimpse of the Bromi, but nothing stirred.
A Bromi wasn’t seen until he or she wished it.
Brown dots rose onto the horizon. Amethyst sagged against him too heavily; he pushed with his shoulder to jolt her awake. Her body stiffened and her arms clenched around his waist.
“We’re there,” he shouted over the rumble and through their helmets.
Wind blew dust across the main street in the town. Skeleton buildings rose over it, nothing beyond the outskirts but an empty wilderness. Broken glass left darkened holes in the windows. A ragged curtain blew through one.
Clark parked in front of the building with a faded sign that read BNl in red.
“Bank.” He tugged off his helmet. “Looks like some of the letters are missing.”
Amethyst staggered off the back of his steamcycle and stretched her legs with a groan. “Donald wasn’t kidding about this being nothing.”
Treasure, Darkly (Treasure Chronicles Book 1) Page 17
