Her Sky Cowboy (10 page)

“Marshal insists you take your meals here. How’s that leg?”

“Mending.”

Doc grinned while pouring her tea.

“What?”

“Told Axel you were tough. Now I get to tell him again.”

“Mr. O’Donnell is a cantankerous man.”

“Socially inept, but essentially a good man. So the marshal keeps telling me.”

“I sense you don’t care for the ship’s engineer.”

“Don’t care for his uneducated views and suspicious nature. Other than that…”

“He’s a good man,” Amelia said, repeating Tucker’s opinion of Axel. Doc seemed unconvinced. Amelia had her own reservations about the surly engineer, but another knock averted her attention. Her face burned red when she spied Birdman Chang on the threshold, partly because he’d held her firm when the pain had been at its worst, but mostly because he’d knocked her unconscious with a finger tap. Something called acupressure, according to Doc. “As an apology for assaulting my person,” Amelia blurted, midthought, “you can teach me how to do the same. Render someone unconscious, that is.”

He raised a dark brow. “I can?”

“I insist.”

“For what purpose?”

“Defensive purposes.”

“Seems reasonable,” Doc said.

“A fair exchange,” Amelia said.

“Perhaps.” Chang pulled a shiny gadget from his coat pocket: a brass knob attached to a four-inch rod. “Eli made this for you. Would’ve given it to you himself, but he’s dealing with a mechanical problem.”

She stared. It looked like a gavel or maybe a hammer of sorts. “What is it?”

“A walking stick. He saw the marshal carrying you on deck last night. Thought you could use some help. You’ll mend in no time under Doc’s care, but until then…”

She flushed. “I appreciate the gesture, but…” She shook her head. “Surely you can see it’s far too short—”

Chang pressed a rivet at the base of the knob.
Snick, snick, snick
. Joints popped and clicked into place at astonishing speed. Amelia stared as the four-inch rod expanded to a full-fledged walking cane.

“Works on the same principle as our retractable masts,” Chang said.

“I…Goodness. That was thoughtful. Please thank—”

“Of course.” He handed over the impressive gadget, then left.

Amelia pressed the rivet.
Snick, snick, snick
. Six sections retracted to one. “Amazing.”

“Eli’s a machinist by trade. I swan, that man can craft a working mechanism out of two bolts and a scrap of metal.”

She swallowed hard, remembering how Papa had constructed Loco-Bug and Bess out of available scraps. Indeed, most of his inventions were two parts materials, one part imagination. Suddenly Amelia wanted nothing more than to indulge in a lengthy conversation with Eli Boone.

“Ingenious, really,” Amelia said whilst admiring his work. “A pocket cane.”

“And a handy weapon.” Doc mimicked conking someone using the heavy knob, then followed through with a stabbing motion.

She depressed the rivet, felt the power of the sections snapping into place, and then noted the tip of the cane—perhaps not pointy enough to pierce skin, but surely a good jab would do some damage. She smiled. “Indeed.”

“Allow me to check your wound before you dress for the day.”

Her smile faded. She’d had quite enough of men viewing her bare legs and brief bloomers. “I assure you I am fine.”

“Have a degree in medicine, do you?”

She’d not meant to insult the man. She would be a shrew to do so, considering his bountiful kindness. “Remarkable that you have a license to practice at such a young age,” she said whilst pulling aside the folds of her dressing gown. “You look no more than my twenty summers.”

He stooped to inspect his work. “I’m twenty-one.”

“Still—”

“A child prodigy.”

“Indeed?” She felt him unwinding the tight bandage, felt him covering her wound with his palm as he had last night,
and felt the same comforting warmth and vibrations radiating through the affected area. She wanted to ask about the odd sensation and also about the tattoos on the backs of his hands—so intriguing—but his actions were hurried this morning, his manner brusque in comparison to the day before.

Within seconds, he’d replaced the bandage and distanced himself. “Looks good, but don’t overtax yourself today, Miss Darcy. If you must leave the room, please rely on Eli’s cane.”

She thought about the way Tucker had ordered her to stay below and out of sight and felt an overwhelming urge to defy him posthaste. “Is Mr. Boone topside?”

“I believe so, but—”

“Not to bother you further, but I’d like to bathe.” She glanced at the screened panel that shielded a claw-footed slipper tub. “Do you suppose—”

“Best not to get those stitches wet, but I can provide a basin of hot water and soap.”

“Thank you, Doc Blue.”

“Just Doc is fine.”

“Then you must call me Amelia.”

“Marshal wouldn’t approve. Told us not to get familiar.”

Hence Doc’s more formal behavior. Why was Tucker so intent on isolating her? Did he worry that one of his crew would make an inappropriate advance? Or that she’d distract them from their chores? All in all his restrictions implied she was a hindrance. The notion rankled. Arms crossed in defiance, Amelia challenged the good doctor with a raised brow. “Do you obey all of former Air Marshal Gentry’s directives? Even the ridiculous ones?”

“His boat. His rules.” Adjusting his peculiar spectacles, Doc nabbed his tray and strode toward the threshold.

“I can take care of myself,” she grumbled.

“Don’t know if it’s you he’s worried about so much as us.”

“What does that mean?”

“Ask the marshal,” Doc said, then shut the door behind him.

Irritated beyond reason, Amelia hobbled into action. “Indeed I will.”

“Told you this would happen,” Axel complained as Tuck joined him at the starboard turbine. “Yesterday there was a problem with the auxiliary oil pump. Last night the masts jammed, and since we’ve yet to free them, we’ve been forced to fly under decreased speed, relying mostly on the bally. Not long after, the control valve on the port turbine clogged, and now this.”

Tuck knew about the masts. He’d been at the wheel when they’d failed. Figured between Eli and Axel they’d have the problem solved in a timely manner. When they’d hit a stone wall, he’d inspected the mechanisms himself but couldn’t find fault. Even now Eli was concentrating his efforts on righting the problem. These kinks in the turbine added insult to injury. He pushed back the brim of his hat and studied the steam-belching machine that not only supplied an extra burst of power to the blasterbeefs but also generated electricity for the entire ship. He saw nothing amiss. “What am I looking for?”

“Listening for.”

“Specifically.”

“The clanking.”

“What clanking?”

“In the coils. You don’t hear that?”

Sleep-deprived and distracted, Tuck realized his senses weren’t as sharp as usual. Listening harder he did indeed hear an ominous clank. “Sounds like the coupling is getting ready to seize.” Which would cause an even greater delay.

“Not the coupling,” Axel argued. “Problem’s in the stator coils. Been trying to fix it all morning but I’ll be damned if I know what’s wrong. Ain’t never had so many
malfunctions in such a short time.” He shook a wrench at Tuck. “Dump that woman in Dieppe, or we’ll never make it to Paris.”

“Holster your superstitions, Ax. Miss Darcy didn’t bring this on. The
Maverick
’s in need of extra maintenance, is all. We’ll gussy up in Paris. Just keep her runnin’ till then.” If anyone could, Axel could. Tuck forced an easy smile. “Think of it as a challenge.”

The man grunted, then, after a double take, cursed. “Don’t let her near this turbine, Marshal. The whole thing might blow.”

Tuck looked over his shoulder and cursed as well. Limping toward them with the aid of an odd-looking walking stick was the woman who’d kept him awake all night. He’d returned to his cabin at half past midnight and bedded down on the floor, but damned if he could sleep with Amelia tossing and turning in a fitful bout of dreams. Her pitiful moans had grown louder, tangling his heartstrings. He’d intended to rouse her, but then he’d noticed her tears and he’d frozen.

She’d plummeted out of the sky, crashed her beloved kitecycle, but hadn’t cried. A damned hunk of metal had skewered her leg. No crying. Though tears had filled her eyes when Doc mended that wound, not one tear had fallen. So what the hell tortured this courageous gal in her sleep? Tears had turned into choked sobs and then she’d gasped for air. On instinct he’d soothed her brow, stroked her hair, and made tender shushing sounds. Within seconds, she’d settled and drifted into a more peaceful rest. Intrigued and concerned, Tuck had watched over her till the break of dawn; then he’d left to catch some winks on deck. That hadn’t panned out either. He’d ended up bringing Peg topside for a bout of exercise, then taking another crack at the jammed masts.

As Amelia approached, his senses sharpened. Her face was scrubbed pink. Her eyes, though shadowed, sparked
with defiance. The long, soft curls he’d stroked were now braided and coiled in a whimsical fashion. Her delectable body was hidden beneath her duster—thank God for small favors. He noted two colorful scarves—one red, one purple—looped around her neck, and the clunky boots, and almost smiled.

But then she was toe-to-toe, in his face. The impact of her presence knocked him off balance—not a feeling he welcomed.

“Good morning, Mr. Gentry.”

“Miss Darcy.” He lassoed his emotions, battling for control. “You’ve met Axel.”

She cast the engineer a look. “Wish I could say it was a pleasure.”

“Same here,” Axel said, then turned his back.

Amelia fixed her devastating blue gaze on Tuck. “I need to speak with you.”

Conversation was the last thing on his mind. He imagined pulling her against his body, kissing those rosebud lips, tracing his thumb along her prominent cheekbones….“Go on.”

“Perhaps someplace quieter. It’s hard to think with all this noise.”

“I’m working on it,” Axel groused.

“Say your piece,” Tuck said.
And move along before I sweep you off your feet and whisk you to my bed.

She blew out a breath. “It occurs to me that you are unhappy about my presence on your ship.”

“There’s an understatement,” Axel mumbled.

“I’m not keen on being where I am not wanted.”

“Wouldn’t want the lady feeling uncomfortable,” Axel said to Tuck as he poked and prodded the turbine. “Drop her in Dieppe.”

“Where’s Dieppe?” she asked Tuck.

“Coastal town in France.”

She shook her head. “Though I am an inconvenience,
since you are traveling in that direction anyway, I must insist you honor your commitment and take me as far as Paris. The closer to Italy, the better. Plus it will allow me more time to reconstruct Bess.”

“No way in hell are you gonna rebuild that dig before we reach Paris, darlin’.”

“How much time do I have?”

“Not enough.”

“That will have to do.”

Her stubborn determination gave Tuck a hard-on and a goddamned pain in the neck. “Travel would be swifter and for sure and certain safer if you purchased passage from France to Italy on a commercial airship.”

“Do I look as though I am made of money?”

“The train then.”

Though she maintained fierce eye contact, she lowered her voice to a ragged whisper. “My family is…We recently learned…” She cleared her throat. “There is no money to squander on commercial travel.”

“You sayin’ your family’s down and out?”

“Financially challenged. Temporarily.”

Tuck noted the pride in her voice and his natural inclination to help. Seemed to him this gal had suffered a whole lot of heartbreak as of late. Maybe it was a culmination of personal debacles that tortured her dreams. The urge to somehow right her world was almighty, but it wasn’t his place. Nor could he afford the distraction. He had his own family to worry about.

Specifically his sister, Lily.

With an ocean between them it had become next to impossible to monitor her well-being. Since the day they’d been orphaned, Tuck had considered Lily his responsibility. Even though she’d ended up living most of her life with their aunt, he’d seen to her financial needs, maintaining a long-distance relationship in order to shelter her from his dangerous profession.

After his rise to fame as the Sky Cowboy, he’d done his almighty best to keep Lily’s existence out of the press. Luckily, the dime novels had focused mostly on his adventures. When things had turned sour, reporters had started digging into his personal life, and Tuck had sent Lily and their aunt to live with a distant cousin in New York City.

In the past year, their aunt had died, and now, more than ever, Tuck regretted leaving his sister behind in the States, even though it had seemed the right thing at the time. He no longer trusted the family she was living with, suspecting they were poisoning Lily against him and mishandling her finances. Tuck had to get to his sister or get her to him.

Way he saw it, he had two choices: appease or bribe Judge Titan so that he dropped the twisted charges against Tuck, clearing his name and his path to home, or…secure a fortune, enabling Tuck to smuggle Lily out of America, after which he’d set them both up with aliases and a new life in Europe.

“How long before we reach Paris?” Amelia asked again, diverting talk of funds, or lack thereof.

Though, like his sister, Amelia was young and somewhat gullible, Tuck reminded himself that she had two capable and older brothers on this continent, neither of them wanted by the law. Neither of them currently indulging in a dangerous and disreputable profession. She wasn’t entirely on her own, so why was Tuck compelled to ease her troubles? He glanced up at the steam-powered balloon, then frowned at the lowered masts and compromised blasterbeefs. “At this rate it’ll be another hour before we reach the coast.”

She turned her face to the south. “Given the strong winds, we’d make greater haste with the sails.”

“That’s a fact.” Her profile was stunning. Her knowledge of aviation stimulating.