The Treasure Hunter's Lady Read online

  “We'll discuss my comings and goings at a later time, Captain. Excuse me.” She brushed past him, bumping his arm as she went. He grunted as she passed by, but said nothing.

  Her boots thumped the stairs as she ran down. She grabbed the rail at the last second before she collided with the shaman. His deep-set brown eyes regarded her gravely from under a thatch of straight, graying hair.

  Romy cleared her throat and straightened herself again. “Excuse me. That man is my friend and I'd like to see how he's doing, if it's all right with your spirits.”

  The shaman raised his hand and like magic, the fang appeared on his palm, looking both innocuous and faintly sinister at the same time. Romy blinked, first baffled by the trick, then furious that the old man was stealing from Abel. Never mind that Abel had stolen it to begin with and she’d stolen it from him.

  “You can't take that!”

  “This bad magic. Serpent want it back and want a soul for payment.” The magician's voice was rusty and dry like the wind through fallen leaves.

  A curl of fear wrapped around Romy's stomach. “That's absurd. The Serpent isn't real. It's a myth.”

  Spidery wrinkles around his eyes deepened as he frowned. He waved his hand and the fang evaporated into a cloud of dust. “I cannot heal him. Only destroying the Serpent can do that. I get him on his way. Give him this, drink it all.”

  He drew a small, corked gourd from the white buckskin satchel at his side. It was painted with a snake baring its fangs. Romy hesitated before reaching for it. “What's in it?”

  The shaman shrugged his thin shoulders “Many good things. This give him time. He sleep now, feel better tomorrow. Then he find Serpent, give it payment. Serpent will decide if he lives or—” He made a slashing motion across his throat.

  Romy couldn’t her voice. What kind of story was this man selling? He slipped by her as she stared at the crudely painted snake on the gourd.

  “Perhaps you can give me some idea of what's wrong with hi—” She turned to look up the stairs but the shaman was gone. A shiver ran up her spine. “He's just an odd old man. Spirits, indeed.”

  A tug pulled the cork free, but before she could inhale, the smell made her eyes water. It reminded her of stagnant water after a rainy season in India. “Good heavens, that can't be safe to consume.”

  She pushed the cork in again and covered her nose. Well, she'd have another look at Abel herself. Then she'd find a way to contact a real physician, even if she had to throw notes off the deck of the ship to get the attention of someone below. She couldn’t figure when she'd gone from being a paying occupant to a captive.

  As she crossed the threshold, Romy released a pent-up breath. Abel lay on the narrow bed beneath a moth-eaten blanket, eyes closed, face drawn, lips slightly parted. She approached, half-afraid of waking him and half-worried he'd never wake up again. Setting the gourd flask aside, she paused before perching on the edge of the bed. He'd regained some of his color, but the flush on his cheeks was too high to be normal.

  “Airsickness. Honestly, what a flimsy excuse you stubborn Texan.” Romy took his hand and pressed her lips against his knuckles. His pulse throbbed under her thumb, steady and strong. It gave her hope. Even at odds with each other over the Diamond, she couldn't imagine a world without Abel in it. Couldn't stomach the thought of settling with Woefield. Not after taking part in Abel's adventure.

  His eyes opened. The barest hint of dark amber showed through his thick lashes, but her heart jumped with happiness. A faint smile crossed his lips and his fingers squeezed hers.

  “You have until the morning to rest. And then if you so much as look the least bit peaky, you're going straight to a doctor with formal training. So you'd best be in top form tomorrow, cowboy.”

  Another quick squeeze and his eyes slid shut again. Tears blurred her vision. How ridiculous not to fetch help now. His breathing settled into an even rhythm, the kind of deep sleep he no doubt needed in order to recover.

  The dark line of his tattoo curved above the blanket. She hated the sight of it. What was it supposed to represent? Some badge of courage among his Neanderthal friends? Or was it something darker? The mark of a man who truly believed in a serpent created to battle the sun? She tugged the blanket down a few inches to trace the eerie design. Up his arm starting at the elbow, across his collarbone, stopping at . . . Romy stared. Hadn't it just been positioned over the right side of his collarbone? She shifted, studying it from another angle. The diamond-shaped head rested on the left now, a few scant inches above his heart. Her eyes were playing tricks. It was the only explanation she'd accept.

  Reluctant to sever physical contact with him, she laid her hand across his chest under the tattoo, letting her fingers linger on his skin before she rested her eyes on his pack. The medicine man had conjured the fang and her curiosity wouldn't allow her to rest until she knew if it was an illusion or the real item. She glanced at Abel again, but realized how silly it was to care if he caught her going through his things. She'd taken it from him before.

  It was perched on top. The neat little wrapping job she'd done in Boston was still intact. Pulling the string bow apart, she unfolded the cheesecloth and looked down at the snake's tooth. The idea of touching it again repulsed her. It was cursed all right. It made otherwise seemingly sane men greedy.

  She refolded the cloth and glanced into the pack again. A wooden box, similar to the kind cigars came in, sat on top of a folded cotton shirt. The little metal clasp holding it closed gleamed in the light. There weren’t any markings to tell her what was inside, which made her curiosity grow. Romy glanced at Abel, but he hadn’t moved. She laid the fang aside and reached for the box.

  The clasp opened without resistance and she raised the lid. Inside, three slender metal tubes as long as her pointer finger and a small pistol lay nestled in sawdust. She lifted one of the tubes. It had no markings, no way to distinguish what the contents might be. The liquid inside sloshed as she tipped it end to end. Spiral grooves marked one end, as though something screwed onto it.

  The gun had a bolt-action slide and as she opened it, she saw it only had room for one bullet. There wasn’t any ammunition in the box, which puzzled her until she pushed some of the sawdust out of the way and found the needles in a pouch. Romy stared at it, thinking of poison dart guns. She closed the box and placed it back inside the rucksack.

  Worry had her addled and left her exhausted. If it were anyone but Abel, all charm and infuriating high-handedness, she'd have left him to the Serpent. Consequences of the find—or lack thereof—be damned.

  Romy lifted his duster from a hook behind the door and curled up near the bed on the floor. She needed rest, needed a few hours to get her thoughts together. As if it were so easy, Abel starred in every one of her thoughts.

  ****

  Dark and quiet. Cool, but not too cold. Abel decided he had to be dead. The relentless pounding in his head was nothing but a memory. If he was buried, he hoped Van Buren had gotten him back to Texas soil. Buried alone in a land that hadn't even made it into the Union didn't appeal to him. Since he couldn't remember finding the Diamond, he assumed he'd failed his uncle. If they met up in the afterlife would Caden understand, or would he be disappointed?

  Romy's heart-shaped face and glossy hair came to mind. Was she safe at home, planning her marriage to one of the wealthiest men on the East Coast? Or had she escaped Van Buren's ship and gone to find the Serpent's lair herself? He wouldn't put it past her.

  The longer he laid there, the more it occurred to him that he was hungry—starving really—for the first time in days. And he was breathing. He'd never known a dead man to breathe. On top of that, his heart beat in his chest, slow but steady. Not dead. Probably not back in Texas then.

  All in all, alive wasn't such a bad way to wake up, considering he'd expected the alternative. The thing to do was find out what day it was and how much time he had to get to the lair. Farrington and Christensen were in town now too. That made things trickier.
It meant he'd have to stop anyone who tried to get in his way.

  Opening his eyes, he stared at a familiar ceiling of the cabin inside the airship. He turned his head, searching for Romy or any sign she hadn't left yet. Maybe drawn to her by thought, he found her huddled on the floor.

  She slept curled up under his duster, her hair fanned out on the floor like a wave of fire. Dark circles stained the delicate skin beneath her eyes.

  The Serpent's fang gleamed on top of the canvas material. Pushing the thin quilt back, he raised himself on one elbow, blinking as dizziness washed over him. After a few seconds the world returned to its stationary state.

  “I see you've been rifling through my pockets again.”

  She started, her wide eyes turned toward him. The fang clattered to the floor. “Abel!”

  The sparkle faded from her eyes and her expression turned serious. “You should lie down. Don't move around too much. I'll fetch anything you need.” Her cool fingers pressed against his forehead, testing for fever. Satisfied, she put her hands against his bare shoulders to push him back down.

  He didn't budge. “What're you doin', darlin'?”

  Tears welled up in her eyes. “You mustn't get excited.”

  The anxiety on her face made his heart leap into this throat. “Tell me what you're so upset about.”

  Ringing her hands, but never breaking eye contact, she sighed. “I tried to get Van Buren to locate a physician for you, but he went for a shaman instead. Twaddle, of course.”

  A chill spread through his veins and turned his stomach to ice. One hand flew to the snake image on his chest, but he couldn't bring himself to look down at it. “When did he come?”

  “Yesterday. I'm not certain that spell caster used one shred of proper medicine, but I must admit you do look better.” She pressed her hands against his face and smoothed his hair.

  “Van Buren was following my orders.”

  Her brow furrowed. “You asked for an Indian?”

  Maggard’s plea for them to leave surfaced in his mind, but he didn’t think he could pry Romy away from him now if he tried—but he didn’t plan on it. “A Chickasaw shaman told me it might not be a bad idea to look up the local medicine men.”

  “Chicka-what?” Romy blinked and her expression of confusion melted into one of sympathy. She patted his shoulder. “There, there, Abel. You're talking nonsense. You must rest.”

  “I don't have time. Tell me exactly what the shaman said.”

  “He said I was in the way and mucking things up.” She folded her arms across her chest, clearly annoyed by the announcement. He had to fight a smile as she continued.

  “Your dear friend the pirate agreed with him. But he left some sort of jug with a foul-smelling liquid in it and instructions that you ought to drink it. Personally, I think you should pour it over the side of the ship.” She paused. “On second thought, it might splatter on the docks and corrode the wood.”

  “Let me see it,” Abel urged.

  Romy moved to the desk and lifted the gourd. She brought it to him and he pulled the cork from the top. A smell like pig wallows wafted out of the top.

  “Tell me you don't have any intentions of drinking that.” Her nose wrinkled as she fanned air away from her face. “The smell alone is enough to kill a dozen vultures. You'll never keep it down.”

  To prove her wrong, he put the spout to his lips, tilted his head back and swallowed a mouthful of the concoction. A bitter, grainy texture slid across his tongue and burned down this throat. His eyes watered in protest as he coughed.

  “That's awful,” he admitted. Warmth curled through his chest, spiraling down through his stomach and his body.

  She scowled. “That charlatan said it's not a cure, just something to get you on your way, but you're in no state to travel. This ridiculous hunt is over, Abel. There's no sense in killing yourself over a myth. We can go back to Boston, or even St. Louis, and get you to a real doctor.”

  He ignored her. There was no time to waste. He'd done too much of that already. “Where are my clothes?”

  “Don't be a fool. You can't travel. You'll never make it out of Bismarck.”

  Romy's hand clasped his in a tight grip that conveyed her worry. He remembered the fortuneteller and the strange snake on her shoulders. Both he and Romy were in this journey too deep now for him not to tell her the truth. She deserved to hear the whole story.

  “I think it's time we had a talk, you and I.”

  She gave his hand a squeeze. “I've been awful; stealing your things and hitting you on the head. Scaring you by climbing up to repair the balloon. I'm sorry for it and if you'll stay here, rest a while, I'm sure everything will turn out all right in the end.”

  Tears sparkled in her eyes. The urge to pull her into his arms and kiss her hit him hard. He wanted to dry her tears and protect her from the reality of the situation they were in, but wasn’t right to hide his problems from her any longer.

  “Damn, Romy. If I didn't know better, I'd say you cared for me.” He brushed his thumb across her cheek.

  “This is serious.” Ducking her head, she tried to pull away.

  “More than you know,” he admitted. “Let’s talk about the Horned Serpent.”

  Her gaze flew back to him. “What about it?”

  “It's a long story, but you need to know. And you might think I'm a certified madman when it's over, but I swear it's true.”

  Romy leaned forward, her eyes intense, her brow creased with interest. “Tell me.”

  “My father was no good, like I told you. I'd be lying if I said he did the best he could, but it doesn't matter now. Mostly an old Mexican woman watched after me until I was old enough to decide I didn't need a keeper. I took to stealing to stay fed and to make a little money. I got caught once with a young piglet. The sheriff tossed me in jail. I thought I'd die there. Until Caden came. My father's brother has a soft heart.”

  He smiled as he remembered. “He got me out, gave me the scolding of a lifetime and took me to his home. He told me that if I was going to live with him, there were rules I had to abide by. I hated it at first. There wasn't a word he said that I didn't challenge. Instead of kicking me out, he tightened the reins and reminded me that decent men don't break the rules. I thought one day he'd get tired of it and I could go my own way. He must've seen something in me that no one else did.”

  The lines in Romy's forehead deepened. Her hand tightened over his.

  “Around the time I turned sixteen, he met a woman. Her named was Patience. Beautiful, charming, sweet as you'd want—a real southern belle. I figured that was it for me. Raising a know-it-all boy couldn't have been easy for Caden and she wouldn't want any part of it. She'd snap her ivory fingers and away I'd go, like a bad puppy or a servant who wasn't useful anymore.”

  “She didn't,” Romy whispered.

  Abel smiled. “She didn't. Patience is a brilliant woman with a sharp mind. Caden has a laboratory in his basement, a mad scientist, if you will, but in a good way. He’s got patents on all kinds of antidotes and anti-venoms. Patience was intrigued by his work. She helps him down there. You can see I was a stupid young man, because instead of turning me out, they included me. They never once let me think I was unloved, even when they had children of their own. Whatever adventure took my fancy, they encouraged me to pursue it. I was expected to graduate school and take a scholarship to an Ivy League college. I did because I didn't want to disappoint them. Not after the kindness they showed.”

  She gaped at him. “You have an Ivy League education?”

  “Harvard, darlin'.” He exaggerated his accent and winked at her. “Biology. Guess we both kind of fibbed about who we are.”

  “All right, the gun was a bit of giveaway about me, but you don't act like anything more than an uneducated—” She broke off, blushing. “I mean to say—”

  “An uneducated cowboy, I know. Fools everybody. I kinda like it that way.”

  “But what does this have to do with the Diamond?�
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  Drawing in a deep breath, he wondered how to continue. He ruffled his hair and let the breath out slowly. “Two months ago, Caden received a package from an old friend of his. Given my degree, he insisted I have a look. The package contained a fang unlike anything I'd ever seen. It appeared to be made from—”

  “Obsidian.” Her voice was hushed, eyes wide.

  “Yes. Clearly not a fossil, but something that almost looked man-made. Except it wasn't. It oozed a thin, milky liquid. On its own with no rhyme or reason.” He remembered Caden's excitement and curiosity. “Caden, of course, had to investigate it. Break it down, find out what it was and experiment with the liquid.”

  “Abel.” The pity on her face was almost too much to bear. He wanted to stop talking, to pretend like none of the past had happened. Instead he took a deep breath and went on.

  “It was some kind of venom, but not from any sort of reptile I know. It's powerful stuff. Gets into the blood and slowly breaks down the body. The rats he tested it on had symptoms like dizziness, fever, chills, coma and finally death. The older or weaker the rat he used, the faster the symptoms developed.”

  The blood drained from her face as his words sank in. Her hand clutched his hard enough to make him wince. He didn't know how to comfort her, because the story got worse.

  “He told his friend what the venom did and considered writing up a paper for some journals. Someone found out about it. Caden went into the lab one afternoon and all the rats were running loose. A bunch of vials were turned over, broken and such. The same someone ambushed him, pulled a knife, demanded all the information he had on the fang or else. I think now the thief must've worked for Christensen. There was a scuffle and Caden got cut on a test tube containing the venom.” He paused as a knot of anger and sadness formed in his throat. “If I hadn't been off with friends, I might have stopped it. I got back too late and the thief got away with the fang.”

  Caden was sick, dying and it was partly Abel's fault. He'd let down the only people who ever cared about him. Romy sat next to him and put her arms around him. He wanted to bury his face in her hair and forget the hardships that still loomed in front of him.