The Treasure Hunter's Lady (11 page)

“What the hell are you doing out here?” he asked.

“Not being sacrificed, that's certain,” she muttered. He gave her a puzzled look. “Never mind. Is it morning already?”

She winced as she pulled herself to her feet and stretched.

“You noticed. Care to explain why you slept on the deck last night?” From the set of his jaw she guessed he was clenching and unclenching his teeth.

She’d nodded off over his papers in spite of her worry about the dynamite, but she’d be hanged if she planned to admit that to him. “You took the cabin. I don't mind sleeping in the open.”

Whiskey-colored eyes flashed. “This ain’t one of your daddy's expeditions. You don't make the rules here. Some of these men aren't the most savory characters, if you catch my drift. From now on, you sleep downstairs.”

She arched a brow and struggled to keep her temper cool. “You're issuing orders to me?”

“Yes,” he growled, “you came aboard a ship where no one wants you. Or aren't you concerned about all the dirty looks you're getting?”

Patience wearing thin, she shook her head and waved a dismissive hand. “They're ignorant men who formed biases based on stories told by other ignorant men. But they aren't going to hurt me. That's foolishness.”

A muscle in his jaw jumped. “The only reason they haven't is because I claimed responsibility for you. And whatever else you think of me, I won't let anyone here hurt you.”

“Oh, a gentleman treasure hunter. That's something I haven't heard before.” She tried to walk away, but he grabbed her shoulders. At first she fought his hold, but the contact combined with his expression made her stop. Could that be genuine concern on his face? She looked down at the time-worn deck so she wouldn't have to decide.

“It's not a laughing matter, Romy.”

His face was close to hers, his mouth inches away. A hot, heavy emotion poured through her like honey over bread. Heaven help her, Abel in a temper made her jittery and not because he was intimidating. Every muscle in her body wanted to pull him closer to her. She licked her lips, anticipating the missed kiss from yesterday afternoon. Her eyes roved down to the crotch of his denims. If the bulge behind the fly was any indication, he wanted the kiss as much as she did. That and more.

Behind them, someone snorted in unmistakable disgust. “Take it downstairs. Both of you will feel better after a good romp.”

Romy spun like the guilt-ridden, lusting creature she was and came eye-to-chest with Van Buren's knit sweater. She tilted her head back to look up at him. “Excuse me?”

“Too many excuses between the two of you already,” he said. “Settle your differences now so when you get to Bismarck you have no regrets.”

“Thank you for the insight, Captain,” Abel said through his teeth.

Romy glared at the Dutchman. How dare he suggest that she and Abel were going to make use of the cabin for anything other than sleeping? “Disgusting, dirty, gutter-wallowing—”

Abel's hand landed over her mouth. She attempted to bite him, but he jerked away.

“Enough.” He scrubbed the same hand through his hair. “For your safety, please consider sleeping in the cabin at night. I'd feel responsible if something happened to you.”

Surprise jolted through her. The cowboy truly sounded like he meant that. Her pride butted the shock away. With her chin up, she met his gaze. “Wouldn't it better serve your purposes if I stayed out of your way?”

“Where I'm from we treat ladies a certain way,
Miz
Farrington. A gentleman never sits while a lady stands. So you take the cabin.”

What an absurd philosophy, coming from Abel! “Now you concede I'm a lady. Is this how you cowboys treat women on the frontier? You—what's the phrase? You ‘stake your claim’ on a woman, then threaten any other man bold enough to look in her direction? I believe that's precisely how the Neanderthals handled their disputes. It appears you Americans failed to evolve.”

He didn't break eye contact. “You'll give these rough crewmen the wrong idea about us if you keep on this way,
darlin'
.”

“Don't call me that.” She sighed and rubbed her lower back. Maybe the hard bed in the cabin would be better than out here. “Fine. In order to spare you undue worry, I'll sleep inside. Now wasn't asking easier than ordering me about like some two-bit trollop?”

“No, actually.”

“You wouldn't have to worry about my safety if the captain returned my gun.” She looked pointedly at Van Buren, who didn't give an inch. He stared back, unfazed by her request.

Abel gave her a dry look that spoke volumes. “No, I'd have to worry about mine.”

He left her standing by the crates. Her mouth dropped open and Van Buren chuckled. Unafraid of him despite Abel's warning, she silently dared him to make another crude comment. At last he turned away. Only then did she look around for hidden or obvious threats. Nothing appeared out of the ordinary, though she felt shaken from her dream—always the bloody Amazon, would it never change?—and another close call with Abel's lips.

****

The galley was empty save for messy pots in the washbasin and a tiny table with two stools. As Abel slopped thin gruel into a bowl, he considered going back to Romy and paddling her. For her own good. Damned if she didn't seem to think this voyage was a game. Lives were at stake, though he doubted she knew it. He hooked one foot around a stool, pulled it out and sat down. Inside his head, a monkey with a tom-tom pounded out a ceaseless rhythm. It didn't help that she'd looked at him with eyes riveted to his mouth and then the little minx had the gall to look square at his crotch as though she could see right through his pants. She had all the subtlety of a starved coyote running down a rabbit.

The captain appeared at the bottom of the steps, quiet for a man so big. “I don't trust her, Abel.” Van Buren's thick eyebrows drew together. “She spoke with Elliot about the Diamond. I cannot say if she gave him information, nevertheless the situation doesn’t sit well with me.”

Abel ground his teeth, but didn't look up at his old friend. “Lucky for you it doesn't matter if you like or trust her. It's just a few more days. I can't afford to let something happen to her.”

Couldn't live with himself if she fell into danger. She was treading close to it just by being with him.

“Because of Farrington or Caden?” Van Buren asked.

Hearing his uncle's name sent a wave of homesickness rolling through him. “Both. Not to mention Patience.” If his Aunt Patience ever thought he'd allowed harm come to a woman, even one as stubborn and thick-headed as Romy, when he could've stepped in, he'd never hear the end of it.

“Miss Farrington complicates things.” Van Buren poured a cup of coffee. He glanced up, eyes mischievous. “You want me to keep her busy when we arrive in Bismarck? I could hand deliver her to Maggard.”

Abel rubbed the bruise on the side of his head. “Believe me, there's nothing I'd like better than to march her straight up to her daddy and say 'keep this one locked up'. She's frustrating, that girl.”

“But pretty, no?”

The tone of the captain's accented voice didn't escape Abel's notice. He glowered at his friend. “Pretty, but not to be trifled with. Like a Venus fly trap to an insect.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it. Not for a fleet of airships bearing my name.” He looked thoughtful for a moment. “Do you think her father realizes she's with you?”

Abel didn't know how to answer. He hadn't spared Maggard much thought, especially where it concerned Romy. “In some ways I hope he does. In others, for the sake of my own hide, I hope not.”

Van Buren grunted. “I had not thought of that. Fathers of beautiful young women the world over must tremble with rage at the idea of you sharing a cabin with their beloved offspring.”

“Don't laugh. Someday you might learn how they feel.” Abel stabbed the spoon into his gruel. As though he needed reminding that Romy would be within arm's reach all night long. Annoyed, he scratched at his collarbone. “I don't think she knows anything about the Diamond that will help Elliot.”

“How much do you think she knows about sharing small spaces with men? Or do you think she's aware of the hunger men have for women?”

She was perfectly aware, of that he had no doubt. “For the love of God, Dutchman. I don't know, and what's more, I don't care. I have to find the Diamond. Then I can think about—oh, hell. She's beautiful, but she's just a woman. You can get a woman anywhere.”

Van Buren nodded. “Perhaps it’s better to find one that doesn’t want to kill you. Speaking of.” He lost his amused look and nodded toward the stairs where Romy was watching them. “I have things to see to.”

He rose and strode toward the staircase. Romy didn't acknowledge the captain as she passed by him, but came to stand squarely in front of Abel. Red tresses hung free around her shoulders. Her clothes had a rumpled, worn look that added fatigue to her face along with the circles beneath her eyes.

“Forgive me for mocking you on the deck,” she said.

He studied her, letting his eyes graze her from head to toe before he spoke. “Is this a peace offering,
Miz
Farrington?”

She fidgeted with her shirtsleeves, tugging them down over her wrists then shifted her weight as if she was uncomfortable by his gaze. “You could call it that. Where will you sleep?”

“In the cabin. I'm not taking any chances on your friend the human stork slitting my throat over a legend.” The only people who knew about the Diamond and hadn't attempted to kill him so far were Van Buren and Farrington. How Elliot had learned of it didn't interest Abel, but he damn sure didn't want to wind up murdered over the thing.

A soft, surprised laugh left her mouth and her eyes grew wide. “In the cabin? Are we sleeping in shifts?”

“I'll sleep on the floor.” Couldn't be any worse than the rough excuse for a bed. At least the floor was worn down and free of splinters. He almost laughed at her expression. If she didn't get control of her emotions, her eyes would pop right out.

Romy seated herself across from him and leaned in to whisper. “Everyone is going to think that you and I are . . . that something is going on between us. Something that most assuredly is not, and will never go on between us.”

It sounded like a challenge to him. He fought back a smile. “You don't have to whisper. We're alone. Besides, it's too late for that. They already do. It's better this way. If the crew thinks you're my woman, they won't bother you. I have a threshold of respect among men like these.”

The disgust that crossed her face sent a pang through him. She couldn't see beyond her own illusions. Men like these. None of Van Buren's crew were in the league of murderers or thugs, but Abel felt Romy would be safer tucked away in the cabin. As for anything between them, hell, they'd shared one innocent kiss. Some of the things he'd said were ill placed, but she seemed to expect that of him. Things would be much simpler if everything was black and white, the way she believed. It was no good denying that he wasn't a rugged cowboy out for riches and glory.

She pointed at him. “One lustful look or crude comment and I'll . . . .”

“I'm terrified to hear the end of that sentence,” he muttered dryly. “Let's call a truce for the remainder of the journey, darlin'. As much fun as it is to needle you, I have bigger issues to consider.”

Petal pink lips tightened for a moment. A worry line developed between her winged eyebrows then faded. “Truce, Abel. For now.”

“Good enough,” he conceded. “You gonna eat? Don't you have a long day of informing Mr. Elliot about the Horned Serpent?”

The line formed again. “I did no such thing yesterday.”

Nonchalant, Abel shrugged. “That’s not what Van Buren reports.”

“Maybe he should stick to operating this flying death trap!” She pushed the stool back and stood up. “All you men care about is finding that stupid rock and making money off of it. I've had it with all of you!”

“Romy,” he said.

“What?”

He smiled. “Did anyone ever tell you that you're beautiful when you're angry?”

The stiffness went out of her spine. “You're needling again, cowboy.”

Instead of answering her, he started in on his cold breakfast. Romy huffed and went up the stairs. Abel watched her bottom sway as she took the stairs two at a time and smiled to himself. Keeping the peace with her would be harder than he imagined.

Chapter Ten

Cursing broke into Abel's concentration. He looked up from the map he was copying and tilted his head.

“Stubborn, stupid lock.”

Romy. Causing trouble despite their agreement. With a sigh, he stood up from the empty crate he'd used as a seat and moved to the cabin doorway. At the end of the hall, the vixen crouched on her knees, poking a hairpin into the lock on a trapdoor that led to the cargo area. Her bottom strained against the fabric of her britches, wagging back and forth as she jiggled the lock.

“As handsome a picture as I've ever seen, but I have to interrupt and ask what it is you're attempting to do here, darlin'.”

She bolted up and assumed an innocent expression—until she got a good look at him. Frustration clouded her face. “Oh. Just you.”

“Just me,” he confirmed, leaning against the doorjamb and folding his arms over his chest. “I'd still like an answer.”

Romy stood straight, lifted her chin and looked down her nose at him. An expression that was getting tiresome.

“I would like a change of clothes.” She might have been asking someone to pass the gravy dish as polite as her words were.

“What makes you think they're in the cargo hold?”

She threw her hands in the air and rolled her eyes toward the upper deck, all pretense of politeness forgotten. “Where are items stored until they become useful?”

Abel nodded. Most of the items in her pack would never come in useful if he had his way about it, but if she wanted clothes, he could arrange it. “I'll ask Van Buren for the key. Then, to prove I can be a gentleman, I'll even fetch you some more water. I know this ain’t one of those luxury passenger ships you're used to, but they can spare a few drops for bathing.”

For a second, her eyes sparkled and he saw her fight for control of her temper. She resumed her vaguely polite expression. “That would be preferable. Thank you.”