If he did, Captain Treasure would turn him over as soon as Greenwood asked. Clark belonged to the army. He still had the serum working in him, blast it all.
If Captain Treasure didn’t know much about Clark—the boy might not have told him the last name he claimed—then he might become suspicious if Greenwood started asking about another Treasure. The army needed Clark as soon as possible.
Captain Treasure’s son, Zachariah, had enlisted in the army. Greenwood could pay a visit to the ranch to contact Zachariah. He could imagine some sort of mission for the lad. Zachariah was always easy to manipulate; he’d fall for whatever excuse Greenwood told. Once there, he could explain about how dangerous Clark was, or even see him. He could bring a wanted poster.
“Make train reservations. I’m going to the Treasure ranch tomorrow.”
Amethyst breathed through her nose to calm her racing heartbeat. Clark had taught her that trick. According to him, it helped the body more than hyperventilating through the mouth.
“Mother, Father.” She glanced at both of them, careful to stay a minute on each face. Clark had promised her a professional attitude would help her plea more than whining. “Clark helped me to learn to speak more rationally.” That would give him some points, prove he was a good influence on their princess. “Joseph thinks I’m materialistic and childish.” She drew another deep breath through her nose. “I don’t want to be like that anymore.”
“Am, honey.” Her mother stood beside her father’s desk, where he sat rubbing his chin. She held out her hands to Amethyst, but she leaned back. “I apologize for not taking a firmer hand in your upbringing. I shouldn’t have allowed your…tendencies.”
“I can write to Joseph,” her father began.
Definitely not. “Please don’t.” Amethyst met his gaze. Clark promised that would help her case more. “Joseph is right about me. I want to change, and having my father tell him I’m a good person won’t help me to seem mature. I really like Joseph.” He was entertaining, as a friend.
“How can we help you?” her mother asked.
Perfect. Amethyst offered a weak smile. Looking too eager might ruin the act. “I would like to spend the rest of the summer finding myself and getting to know Clark better. He’s really opened my eyes to what matters in life. Survival. Being a strong person. He hasn’t been able to travel as we do.”
Her father frowned. “Are you considering travelling overseas?”
She shook her head. “Around Hedlund would be nice. I would like to get to know this state more.”
“We could all take summer trips,” her mother began, but Amethyst shook her head, sighing.
“If I do this with one of you, I may fall into my normal tendencies, and those are the things I want to change. I’m sorry if this hurts you.” Clark had insisted she add that sentence. “Clark is new. I can be someone different. Does that make sense?”
Her father squeezed her mother’s hand. “They have traveled already, and it didn’t hurt either of them.”
Her mother patted his arm. “I think it would help Clark as well. He seems uncomfortable around all of us.”
“Clark and I will plot out a route to show you.” Amethyst curtsied. “Thank you, Father. Thank you, Mother. Your permission is incredibly kind.”
If they let her parents know exactly where they would be at all times, it could further show how mature she’d become. She wouldn’t be blocking them out any longer.
As Jeremiah headed upstairs from the kitchen, he swirled the water around his cup. The heat didn’t usually affect him, but since Ashleigh’s death, he’d lain awake at night watching the stars outside his window.
A knock sounded on the front door.
He paused, his hand on the banister. No one visited at night, and it had to be almost midnight. The servants and slaves slept. If a ranch hand needed his father, they would go through the back door and ring the bedroom from the kitchen.
Jeremiah wiped his wet mouth on the back of his hand and opened the door. The light outside, coming only from the moon and stars, revealed the shape of a young woman. A cloak covered her body, but a round belly protruded from her front.
“Are you here for one of the ranch hands?” Jeremiah stifled a yawn. It wouldn’t be the first time one of them had impregnated a village girl. Garth would insist they married.
“A ranch hand? No.” Her gentle voice slid from beneath the hood. She had to be dying of heat in that wrap.
“You’re one of Amethyst’s friends.” A city girl. Maybe she’d gotten in trouble with a boy and come to Amethyst for help, or she was another friend who’d decided to visit unannounced. “I’m sorry, but she’s traveling with…our brother.” Same excuse as when that boy, Joseph, showed up on the doorstep. At least he’d arrived in the morning.
“I’m Ashleigh’s sister,” the figure said. “Alyssa Ottman.”
Jeremiah clenched his fist around his glass. Maybe he had fallen asleep after all and he dreamt. “You’re her sister?”
“Yes. You met me at the camp. You might not remember. I know things became terrible.”
“Why…are you on my front porch?”
“I had to find you.”
He shook his head, stepping back. “Come in, Alyssa.”
“Yes.” She sashayed in and pushed back her hood. Curls frizzed around her face.
He shut the door. “Follow me.” He led her into the parlor where he lit one of the gas lamps. In the light, he saw she wore a green traveling gown. The lump he’d supposed was a swollen belly happened to be a leather reticule.
She set it on the floor and knelt beside it, rifling through the contents before she lifted out a small book. “This is Ashleigh’s diary.”
“Does your family know you’re here?” Of course the sister of the girl who’d died would show up at midnight with her diary.
“They do. It was important for me to come find you.” She rose, holding out the diary. “I would have come sooner, but I couldn’t find a ride from town, so I walked.”
“You walked from the train station?”
“Yes. I apologize for the intrusion, but my heart broke when I saw how upset you were. I don’t want you to blame yourself for my sister’s death.”
Jeremiah sank onto the settee and set his glass of water on the floor. “I was next to her. I could’ve grabbed her.” Pressure built behind his brow and he rubbed his hand over his face. “I shouldn’t have taken her to the ravine.”
Alyssa set the diary in his lap. “Please, Mr. Treasure. I found her diary and I read it. I know it was naughty of me, but I needed to connect with her again, at least one more time. My sister was ill. Ashleigh knew she didn’t have long to live. She wrote about how she hoped to have an accident while on the camping trip.”
Jeremiah studied the sincerity in her eyes as they reflected the gas lamp. “You’re serious?” Clark had hinted at the same thing.
“I’m positive. I wanted to show you the diary so that you could move on. Please, don’t harm yourself over this. We can both be sad, but Ashleigh is happy now.”
“Was the diary at the camp?” How had Clark known? He might’ve seen the book if Ashleigh had it there.
“She kept it in her desk at home. She didn’t take it to the camp.”
Ashleigh might have told him.
“Ashleigh must’ve suffered with such a secret,” Alyssa said, as if she knew his thoughts.
Somehow, Clark had known. How?
Clark’s heart pounded and his head whirled. His mind spun in a circle as if it couldn’t grasp a tangible point. Let it all rot! He’d lived in fear of the army, but they couldn’t touch a Treasure. They couldn’t harm a Grisham.
Amethyst stood in front of him, her hands resting in his. She’d purchased a white dress from a shop. It didn’t fit as well as her other clothes, the corset with gold embellishments squeezing her breasts up too high, a silk chemise peeking over the top. Her lips, painted scarlet, curved into a smile.
“You’re certain?�
� Clark whispered as the sheriff of Little Rock Detail meandered across the court house.
“Of course.” She blinked her painted lashes.
“We can’t tell your parents yet.” They’d find a way somehow. “We’ll do this one step at a time. Inventions first.”
“Is your father here?”
“By the door.” The ghost beamed, hovering near the secretary who organized a stack of wanted posters. There wouldn’t be one of Clark Grisham in there. Clark Treasure, yes, but not the newly discovered Clark Grisham.
The sheriff cleared his throat. “I bind you both in holy matrimony. You’ll be together until the ends of your days. Clark Grisham will be husband of Amethyst Treasure. You’ll protect her with your life and offer her your name. That agreeable?”
Clark smiled into Amethyst’s blue eyes. “That’s more than agreeable.”
“Amethyst Treasure, you agree to do all this Clark Grisham tells you to do. Keep his house and bear his children?”
Her cheeks flushed, but she didn’t break his gaze. “I do.”
The sheriff set a paper on the desk in front of them. “You’ll both sign here and it’ll be legal.” He held out a glass stylus.
“Thanks.” Clark signed his name on the first line. It was time he did something for himself. His mother would’ve liked Amethyst, and his father approved. His real father liked what he did.
Amethyst accepted the pen. “Thank you.” She signed her name with a flourish across the second line.
“You’re married.” The sheriff stamped the paper. “I’ll make you both a formal copy of this and you’ll be set. Congratulations, Clark and Amethyst Grisham.”
Clark lowered his lips to his wife’s, the softness of her mouth parting without resistance. He could ignore his floating father so long as the woman who loved him leaned against his chest and dug her nails into his shoulders.
His father cleared his nonexistent throat. “Behave, boy. You’re in public.”
That was a little harder to ignore.
My mother decided to introduce me to her childhood so I wouldn’t miss out on anything. This endeavor might have been partially due to our satellite television offering a channel of old time shows. During dinner, we watched the Big Valley, the Lone Ranger, and countless others. I’d never been that into Westerns – not like my mother, who grew up wearing moccasins, holsters, toy guns, and riding a rocking horse – but something about the shows caught my attention. The setting was dangerous and the characters, although tame by today’s standards, had rough hero qualities. I began to wonder what those stories would be like with steampunk aspects.
Along came Clark Treasure, a noble bad boy. He had to have a love interest, so hello feisty Amethyst. They needed a Wild West setting, a prosperous ranch, angry neighbors, and a corrupt villain. You might feel that Hedlund reminds you of America’s “Wild West.” The story needed something else… so why not add a few ghosts?
I wrote TREASURE, DARKLY in only a few months. The Utica Writers Club deserves gratitude for listening to the rough drafts of my first chapters and for helping me develop the Bromi.
My critique partners not only offered writing advice and caught my typos, but their support has helped me along this winding trail.
Gratifying words from my editor, Jessa Russo, allowed me to walk around the house for days with gigantic smiles. I’m so glad you love these characters as much as I do.
The staff at Curiosity Quills has aided me on this journey. For my agent, Sharon Belcastro, thanks for having my back. My family and friends will forever be my cheering squad. As for the readers, I hope you guys love the feel of the setting sun against your back and the smell of a dusty road at twilight.
I should also acknowledge that without penning this steampunk-western series, I wouldn’t have been inspired to purchase a pair of moccasins…or fringed boots…or cowboy boots, for that matter. I also own a plaid shirt and plain blue jeans now. They look wicked awesome with my steampunk corset.
methyst exhaled as loudly as she could. The painter displaying his artwork could’ve had the decency to create exciting works. The paintings in the elaborate frames that covered the walls of the exhibition house couldn’t have been less exciting if they were straight gray.
The one in front of her consisted of a cat’s paw on green, which might have been grass. How did that count as art?
“How morbid. A paw. What happened to the poor kitty?”
The girl beside her, Mary, covered her ears with her hands. “I swear I’m not listening to you. You’re going to make me laugh.”
Amethyst sighed again. “I hope the painter at least gave the cat a proper funeral. With all the money he’s making off this exhibition, he can afford a gravestone.”
“Am, it’s art,” her friend hissed. “He didn’t really chop up a pet.”
“I never claimed it was anyone’s pet.” Amethyst sashayed to the next painting. Society’s best milled around her, a plethora of giggles and gasps. Did they truly find art that entertaining?
She leaned against the velvet rope keeping her far enough from the wall to avoid touching any paintings, as if she would. Only one of them contained a likeness of her.
“What do you think of this one, Mary? I think someone ate too many gears.”
Mary grabbed her arm. “For shame. This one is beautiful.”
Brass circles covered a black backdrop. The circles almost made the image of a man’s face. Almost, but not quite. The artist probably thought that meant more to the world.
“What are you looking at?” Amethyst rolled her eyes.
“Amethyst Treasure,” a male said. She turned to face the caller, smoothing her gloved hands over her gown. A photographer set up his tripod behind her, a grin splitting his youthful face.
“Yes.” She drawled out the affirmation.
“A picture, please?” He ducked behind his camera before she could answer.
Amethyst laughed. “Why of course.” She slid her arm through Mary’s, pulling her friend against her side, and parted her rouged lips to give him a glimpse of her perfect teeth. Mary, wearing a simple dress suit, would complement her gown well; let everyone know Amethyst spared no worry for too much extravagance.
“That’s the Amethyst Treasure,” an elderly woman whispered to her companion. “Did you hear about her sixteenth birthday party last month? They say she rented an elephant from the circus to give her guests rides.”
The flash bulb went off and she blinked to clear the white stars from her eyes. That had been her best birthday yet.
“Miss Treasure?” A hand brushed her elbow.
“Yes?” She turned to smile at whatever adoring fan wanted her autograph next, and her breath caught in her throat. A young man stood behind her, his top hat in his hands. Black hair curled around his forehead and neck, silver spectacles propped on his nose. His suit remained crisp against him. A red velvet cravat decorated the collar of his white shirt.
“Miss Treasure.” He bowed. “I’m pleased to make your acquaintance.”
“Likewise,” she breathed. His skin had a perfect tan, his teeth were even like hers, and he had to be a foot taller. Lifting her chest, she tipped her head to the side. “I’m afraid I don’t know who I’m addressing.”
“Kenneth Marshall.” His words rolled off his tongue with a slight accent. It reminded her of how her brothers spoke.
“Are you from the west?”
He blinked his clear, emerald eyes. “Yes, I am. How did you know?”
“I’m a language expert.” At least in regards to people who moved west. They developed that rolling drawl. This Kenneth didn’t need to know she was limited, though.
Kenneth shone that fabulous smile at her again. “I might sound a bit like… Well, I’ve traveled overseas for the past few years.”
“Oh my.” She removed her sandalwood fan from her sash to flip it open. “I’ve been longing to travel overseas. My uncle offered to take me, but it wouldn’t be wise for his health.” Plus, over
seas they might not realize how important she was.
“Perhaps someday, I might be able to show you around there.” Kenneth extended his arm. “Would it be too forward of me to ask you to lunch?”
Amethyst glanced back at Mary, who ogled a painting of an enlarged pocket watch. “I’d be delighted.”
“Welcome to Charles Belle.” The hostess curtsied to Amethyst and Kenneth at the entrance to the café. “Will it be two this afternoon?”
“My favorite table please.” Amethyst flashed Kenneth a smile. He should know she knew her way around New Addison City. “I come here quite often with my uncle and my friends.” He should also know how important family was to her, and how popular she was. Men loved popular girls.
The hostess led them through the room to the stairs, leading them up to the second floor balcony where they could overlook the ocean. A steamship glided into port and smaller fishing vessels mingled along the docks.
Kenneth pulled out the chair facing inward. “For you, Miss Treasure.”
That seat wouldn’t do. She needed to be in full light to make her yellow hair glow, and her golden silk dress needed to shimmer. “I’d prefer next to the railing.”
He ducked his head. “At once.”
Good boy. He pulled out the high-backed chair and Amethyst slid onto it, smoothing out her two skirts. Her white lace petticoat showed when she crossed her legs.
A waitress appeared and handed them their menus. She wore the uniform required of all servers: a dark brown dress with a white shawl buttoned over the shoulders. The uniform fit her slender form exceptionally well. She had blonde hair that hung in ringlets.
Amethyst clenched her jaw, but Kenneth never glanced at the waitress, his gaze on Amethyst. Excellent.
“Two champagnes.” Amethyst waved the girl away. “Won’t you tell me about yourself, Ken?” A nickname always helped her get closer to a man’s heart.
He cleared his throat. “I was born in Hedlund.”
Treasure, Darkly (Treasure Chronicles Book 1) Page 25
