Her Sky Cowboy (27 page)

“Her hair’s pink.”

Tuck ignored Axel’s observation as Amelia stormed past. “So the blasterbeefs are in top form?”

“For now. Can’t say what’ll happen once we take off. What with a woman aboard and all.”

“Don’t start.”

“She seems upset,” StarMan said. “Maybe you should—”

“Butt out.”

Axel whistled. “Talk about rotten luck.”

Tuck raised an inquiring brow while trading his Stetson for a flight cap.

“You’re sweet on Miss Crazy Pants.”

“One more derogatory remark about Miss Darcy, Axel, and I’ll knock you on your ass.”

“If that don’t beat all.” The thick-necked engineer plucked a fat stogie from his pocket and clamped it between his teeth. “Of all the women in all the world,” he muttered while scuffling toward the engines.

“Want to talk about it?” StarMan asked.

“About as much as I want to roll around bare-assed in a nest of red ants.” Tuck rounded the thermoplastic shield of the cockpit, inspected the wheel and controls. He noted a few upgrades and repairs. Axel was no slouch, but Gaston’s mechanics were exceptional. “Have Eli saddle Peg. I’ll ride out and thank the duke for his hospitality while we’re waiting for Birdman and Doc to return.”

“The Duke of Anjou left last night on unexpected business. Asked me to bid you farewell and good luck.”

“Something we could all use, if you ask Axel.”

“Not that I’m buying into that particular superstition, but you have to admit we experienced an unusual amount of malfunctions and crises last time we flew with Miss Darcy.”

Tuck shot him a look.

“Right. I’ll have Eli ready the bally. Birdman boarded about an hour ago. He’s below nursing a
baijiu
binge. Soon as Doc joins us we can cast off.” StarMan moved to his custom-made station. Charts, maps, an iron-based globe, and a navigational and astronomical sextant were just a few of the items crowding the rear of the cockpit. He rooted himself, then looked to Tuck. “Where in Italy?”

Sensible question, especially for his chief navigator. In order to plot a course he needed a destination. “Tuscany.”

“Can you be more specific?”

“Not at the moment.” Tuck had been stewing on Amelia’s invention of historical significance ever since she’d confided in him about the secret room. What was the connection between Briscoe Darcy’s time machine and Leonardo da Vinci’s ornithopter, if any? Why had Darcy left the miracle invention hidden where he’d found it? Why tell Amelia’s pa about the secret vault, and why did Lord Ashford keep it a secret all those years? One thing was for sure and certain: Amelia knew more than she was letting on. He sensed something big. Something dangerous. Until he knew more, he figured it was best to keep his crew in the dark. The more they knew, the greater the risk of a leak. Given the money and notoriety at stake, this could be the discovery of a lifetime. Not that he didn’t trust his crew, but—

“Sorry I’m late. Lost track of time. You know how it is in a skytown.” Doc Blue adjusted his goggles and sleeved sweat from his brow. “Axel said we’re clear for takeoff.” He gestured to the globe. “Still heading for Italy?”

Tuck nodded.

“Miss Darcy clue you in on what we’re after?”

“Why?”

Doc jammed his fingers through his spiky white hair. “Just curious, is all. I mean, we were pondering on the matter, you and me,” he said to Tuck, “and I…I was just curious.” After an awkward moment, he jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “I’ll help Eli with the bally.”

The anxious man trotted off nearly as fast as he’d blown in.

StarMan raised a brow. “What’s going on with Doc?”

“That’s what I’d like to know.” Tuck couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d been up to no good with his fellow Freaks. Nor could he dismiss Doc’s nervous interest in their destination. Given his usually calm demeanor, his anxious behavior was damned suspicious.

“Maybe he finally danced the mattress jig.” StarMan shook his head and returned his attention to the map. “Only Doc would get all flustered and self-conscious about bedding a woman.”

Tuck didn’t think that was it, but what the hell did he know? Maybe Doc had finally let his guard down, relaxed and indulged with one of his own kind. The woman in the shadows—maybe she’d been his first lover. He didn’t want to suspect Doc Blue of ill intent. No, he did not.

Tuck heard the blasterbeefs firing up, saw the bally inflating via the steam engine. Soon they’d be in the air, and maybe his goddamned head would clear.

“You want the fastest or safest course?” StarMan asked.

“I want a long way ’round.” Tuck moved in, placed his palms on the map, and studied the terrain alongside his friend. “If Dunkirk or anyone else is tailing us, I don’t want to broadcast our destination.”

“We could lose them in the Alps.”

“Make it so.” The long way around would also buy Tuck more time with Amelia. One way or another they were going to discuss what burned between them. They were sure as hell going to have a frank and detailed discussion about the Time Voyager and the ornithopter. He aimed on giving her the space she claimed she wanted. For now. Meanwhile he’d work out matters in his mind and determine a course of action. He’d outsmarted some of the most brilliant criminal minds in America, for chrissake. He could sure as hell handle Flygirl.

“You’ve been at the wheel for hours.”

Tuck ignored StarMan, even though he hovered.

“You’re two hours into my watch,” he persisted.

“I’m good.”

“Doc’s got your supper waiting below.”

“Not hungry.”

“That’s what Miss Darcy said.”

Tuck glanced over his shoulder. “She still at it?”

“Even Eli, who typically minds his own affairs, voiced concern. She’s been sequestered in that workroom since we launched from Château de Malmaison. Intent on repairing that dig. Unnaturally intent.”

Tuck heard his friend’s thinking loud and clear: He wanted Tuck to intercede. It had been the very action he’d been avoiding. He’d aimed at giving her time and space. Was certain she’d grow bored and come up for air. She’d pester him about something, like better supplies, or ask him to make good on his promise regarding Doc. She’d pick his brain about the blasterbeefs, or Peg, or question him about the estimated time of arrival in Italy. But here they were, hours later and sailing over southern France, and she hadn’t done any one of those things.

Nor, for all of his deep thinking, had Tuck formulated a clear plan regarding their circumstance. If only he’d kept things professional. He’d been a fool to think he could engage in a sexual relationship with that woman without risking his heart. He’d known before he’d even kissed Amelia that she was different. She’d lassoed his interest when she’d tried pulling that kitecycle out of a nosedive, stirred his blood when she’d pointed a gun at Axel in defense of her bird. The warning signs had been plentiful; he’d just ignored them. He wanted Amelia, but he also wanted his life back. He needed that ornithopter, but so did she. The future of his family (including his crew) was at stake. So was hers. “What a mess.”

“You’ll sort it out.” StarMan nudged him aside. “Meanwhile, go tend to Miss Darcy. Her self-imposed confinement is making the crew twitchy. Me included.”

Tuck rolled his tense shoulders, glanced up through the shield, and saw Birdman in his crow’s nest with Leo perched alongside, both looking down at him. He clearly read the minds of both man and bird.
Go to her
.

He looked toward the bow and caught Eli giving him the
evil eye before returning to whatever gadget he was tinkering with. Axel was busy polishing the blasterbeefs even though they gleamed. “What the hell’s Ax got to be nervous about? Thought he’d be thrilled by Amelia’s absence. Less chance of chaos.”

“He thinks trouble’s brewing.”

At that moment, Axel shot him a look of the damned.

“Oh, for chrissake.” Tuck swept off his flight cap and goggles, shoved them in a cubby on the console, then tugged off his gloves. “I’ll be back.”

“No hurry. Sun’s setting. When night falls I’m doubling back. All’s clear.”

“For now.” Tuck strode toward the stern, deep in thought. He couldn’t shake the sense of foreboding that had dogged him since morning. Since the skytown. He hated fanning Axel’s unfounded fears, but he felt it too: Trouble was brewing.

Just as he neared the ladder he caught sight of Peg, who’d been given free range of the deck for the past couple of hours. His heart swelled when the black steed left the rail he’d been staring over and walked toward Tuck, his mane and tail ruffling in the wind, soft black muzzle twitching. Tuck figured he wanted a licorice treat or his ears scratched. At the very least, an affectionate nuzzle. Instead, Peg nosed his shoulder, giving him a good hard shove toward the ladder.

“You, too, huh? Don’t worry. I’m going.”

Moments later Tuck stood two decks below, staring at the closed door of the workroom. He knocked.

“Go away.”

Her voice was choked and quiet. Concern slithered under his skin. He knocked again. No answer. Tried the handle. Locked. “Amelia, it’s Tuck. Open the door.”

Silence.

Hitching back his coat, he reached in his vest pocket for a skeleton key. The key tripped the lock and Tuck entered the vast room, shutting the door softly behind him.
Whoa
.
Somehow, some way, she’d constructed new wings. That had meant building the frames, then measuring, cutting, and mounting the strong canvas. The wing span was greater than what he remembered of the original kitecycle. Impressive design, reminiscent of a da Vinci, even though he wasn’t sure the dimensions would coincide with the tandem bicycle’s chassis.

On the far side of one wing, he spotted Amelia sitting on the planked floor, cross-legged, hunched over, and, Christ almighty, sobbing. Though she barely made a sound, her small shoulders shook and she rocked back and forth. As he neared, he made out choked sobs and wheezes that tore at his heart.

Kneeling in front of her, he gently smoothed tangled pink curls from her tearstained face. “Amelia, honey, what’s wrong?”

“I broke it.”

“Broke what?”

“My screwdriver.”

She was breaking down over a broken tool?

“The frame of the velocipede is horribly bent,” she choked out. “I was trying to…”
Sniffle
. “…and then I…”
Wheeze
. “…when it…and then I…See?” Bawling loudly now, she offered up the mangled tool. “How am I supposed to…How can I finish…with this?”

Torn between amusement and perplexity, Tuck inspected the damage. The steel rod had broken plumb off of the wooden handle. The handle itself was in two splintered pieces. No way in hell could he fix it. “I’ll get you another.”

“But this was Papa’s. He gave it to me. Gave me the whole set. I promised I’d take care,” she sobbed, “but then I got frustrated and now he’s broken.”

He?

Oh, Christ.
This wasn’t about the damned screwdriver. “Amelia—”

“I should have been there. He’d been so obsessed with
Apollo
. Trying to outdo Briscoe, I think. Or maybe…maybe he wanted to fly me to the moon. He got distracted sometimes. Scatterbrained. But usually I was there to help. Only I wasn’t. I was…I was…” She doubled over, racked with grief.

Hell’s fire
. This girl blamed herself for her pa’s death. Heart in throat, Tuck pulled Amelia into his arms. He leaned against the wall with her cradled in his lap. He shushed and rocked gently. Stroked her wet cheeks as she gripped his coat and soaked his shirtfront with tears.

“I’m sorry. I can’t…”
Sob
. “…can’t stop…”
Hiccup
. “…crying.”

He thought about her nightmares, how she cried in her sleep but suppressed her grief by day.

“I can’t remember the last time I cried.”

“Long time coming, darlin’. Let it out. You’ll feel better.”

“I don’t want to feel better. I don’t want to heal and move on. I want to go back. I want one more day. No, fifty more years! I want to watch him fiddle with his toaster contraption. Do you know how many pieces of soggy or crispy charred bread popped out of that thing? But we always slathered it with jam and ate it.
Always
. I want burned bread. I want to help him test the wireless telecommunicator he’d been tinkering with for four years.” She swiped her sleeve under her running nose, then held her thumb and index finger an inch apart. “He was
this
close to perfecting a palm-size telecommunicator. Do you know how famous he would have been if he could’ve marketed that?”

“And rich,” Tuck said, wanting to support her elevated view of her pa.

“Stinking rich! But he could not focus on one thing long enough to perfect it. He had all these ideas”—she rapped her knuckles to her temple—“jumping and swelling in his brain. Imagine how that would
feel
? So you have to purge
them, and because you are impatient things go wrong. Except I was usually there to help. I couldn’t always make things right, but I could keep him safe.”

She locked eyes with Tuck then, and his damned heart shredded and bled. “His obsession of the moment was
Apollo 02
,” she said in a cross between a crazy and reverent whisper. “Have you ever seen a rocket ship?”

“Only in sketches.”

“It was a magnificent thing, but Papa had been studying and experimenting with different fuels. I asked him to hold off until I got back. I wanted to be there in case he got, you know, distracted. He said he would, but he did not. I should’ve been there, but I was not.” She choked and sniffled and raised her voice. “I was petty and selfish and now he’s gone!”

Tuck held her close as she wept against his chest. “I’d bring him back if I could, Amelia.”

“But you can’t.”

“No, I can’t. And neither can you.”

“I miss him, Tucker.”

“I know, honey.” Her words dried up, but the tears flowed. Tuck held tight, offering his presence, his calm. He didn’t know what else to do. Hell, he’d thought he could handle Flygirl, but he’d never handled anything like this. Her tears, her guilt tore at his very soul.

After a spell the sobs eased and she relaxed in his arms. Exhausted, no doubt, between the hours of physical labor and the emotional breakdown. He stroked her back, kissed the top of her head. “Amelia—”