Her Sky Cowboy (29 page)

“The retracting mechanisms on the masts iced over, Marshal.”

“Unfreeze them.”

“I did. Five minutes later, they iced over again.”

Tuck, who’d been at the wheel for two hours, noted a rise in temperature in the shielded cockpit as his men crowded in, bundled up and bent out of shape. You’d think they’d never flown through the mountains in the dead of winter. “I’m sure you’ll think of something, Eli.”

“You think you have problems,” Birdman said, “try climbing the shrouds in subzero weather. Or sitting in my iron nest. My caboose near ’bout froze to the grille.”

“Never mind your scrawny ass,” Axel grumbled, then held up his meaty paws. “What about my fingers? How am I supposed to maintain machinery when my digits are frozen stiff?”

“You could trade your leather gauntlets for fur-lined gloves,” StarMan said reasonably.

“Yeah, well, you could plot a less hostile course next time,” Axel said, his breath coming out in white puffs.

“Not to complain,” Eli said, clapping the flaps of his aviator cap over his big ears, “but why are we serpentining through the Alps when we could have flown on to the south of France and over the Mediterranean Sea?”

“Or even a straight shot from Geneva to Genoa and on to Florence,” Birdman said, shifting back and forth to keep his blood pumping. “You did say Tuscany, right, Marshal?”

“I did. But given our hot cargo—”

“Meaning Miss Craz…er, Darcy,” Axel said.

“—and the fact that we’re in pursuit of a historical invention of monumental value—”

“Whatever that is,” Birdman said.

“—I preferred a less direct route.” Tuck consulted his astronomical compendium while the crew absorbed his meaning. Because of the run-in with Dunkirk, they knew Amelia had knowledge that would lead her to a treasure. They read the
Informer
and various other newspapers and therefore knew about the Triple R Tourney.

“You’re trying to lose Captain Dunkirk or anyone like him who may be tracking us,” Eli said. “Makes sense, I guess.”

Birdman hopped faster. “Best be worth a case of frostbite.”

“What is our cut, anyway?” Axel asked point-blank.

Tuck had pretty much decided how he wanted to handle this transaction, but he’d yet to broach it with Amelia. It was all in the timing. “Working out the details, boys, but I promise it’ll be worthwhile.”

Just then footsteps and an ecstatic “Remarkable!” turned everyone’s head.

Tuck pushed his goggles to his forehead for a crystal-clear view.
Amelia
. Bundled up and wide-eyed with wonder. Spinning around to get a hundred-and-eighty-degree view of the snow-covered peaks. He sensed the same awe she’d expressed flying over the English Channel. Didn’t surprise him one bit when she turned and smiled at him and his damned heart skipped.

“Have you ever seen anything so incredible?” she asked them all. “So majestic? So terrifyingly dangerous? And what about all that snow?” She spread her arms wide and breathed deeply. “How invigorating!”

“I’m shiverin’ like a lizard lookin’ for a hot rock,” Axel grumbled, “and she’s invigorated.”

Tuck grinned. “Why don’t you boys head below. See if
Doc’ll wrestle you up some hot cider?” He hadn’t had a private moment with Doc Blue since the skytown near-miss. Then again, Tuck had been preoccupied with Amelia, and Doc had been plain preoccupied.

“Could do with getting out of this wind for a while,” Eli said.

Birdman rubbed his ass. “Maybe hot cider will warm my numb caboose.”

“Supposed to drink it, not soak in it,” Axel said as the three men moved away from the cockpit.

Amelia moved in and blinked in their wake. “Was it something I said?”

“Think I’ll join the men.” StarMan dipped his head in greeting—“Morning, Miss Darcy”—then strode after the crew.

She frowned. “I interrupted something.”

“Just a boodle of bellyaching.”

“About me?”

“About the weather.”

“It is quite brisk.” She adjusted her goggles, tugged down her cap. “Thank goodness for fur and fleece.”

Damn, she was pretty. Even trussed up like an Eskimo, Flygirl ignited randy thoughts. Instead of pinning her against the chart podium and exploring her curvy landscape, Tuck offered his hand. When she took it he pulled her into the cockpit and placed her gloved hands on the ship’s wheel, just where his had been. He pointed out various controls and functions. She absorbed his words, intently focused, interrupting only twice to ask for clarification.

He tried not to notice how good she smelled, or how fetching she looked with her long curls tumbling to her waist. “Don’t stray too close to the peaks,” he said. “Hold steady.”

Standing flush to her back, Tuck looked over her shoulder, delighting in her exuberant expression as she piloted his airship through the Alps.

I’ve always dreamed of owning and piloting my own airship
.

She’d fired off those words when telling him about her big plans and venting about the shackles of marriage. He admired her passion, but damn, it worried him to think about her living that dream alone. Later, when she’d broken down and confessed her guilt regarding her pa, he’d tucked away her every wish and memory. He’d learned more about Amelia Darcy during that short breakdown than he knew about women he’d been acquainted with for months. He knew that he liked her, admired her, and wanted her in his life.

After last night, he wasn’t sure how’d she’d feel today. Although he’d taken it as a good sign that she’d slept restfully through the night. No nightmares. No tears. Just now her mood seemed bright, her world balanced as she gripped the ship’s wheel. “How’s she feel?”

“Big. Powerful. The controls—indeed, the entire construction—is far more advanced than the
Flying Cloud
. The clipper ship Papa altered three years back,” she clarified. “Simon confiscated her for his quest. I wonder how he’s faring. The
Flying Cloud
, like Bess, was prone to malfunctions.”

“Simon’s an engineer, right? He’ll manage.”

“He did mention upgrades. I just wish…Do you perchance have a Teletype and printer aboard?”

“You want to contact Simon?”

“The
Flying Cloud
lacks any sort of telecommunication device. Or at least it did before Simon seized it. No, I wish to contact Mother. I want to make sure she is faring well and to ask whether she has heard from either Simon or Jules. I just…I need some sort of reassurance regarding my family.”

He understood more than she knew. Lack of contact with his sister was a constant source of frustration. “The
Maverick
’s equipped with ship-to-shore and ship-to-ship,
but I’m not keen on transmitting signals. Could alert anyone listening to our presence.”

“Like Captain Dunkirk?”

“Maybe. I definitely sense trouble’s coming, just not sure from what direction.”

Amelia relaxed against him. “We’ll handle it.”

Christ, yes, he’d made up his mind on that one thing, at least.
We
. The two of them.
Together
. Wrapping his hands over hers, he nuzzled her ear. “Yes, we will.”

“Forgive the intrusion.” StarMan stepped in and offered two steaming mugs. “Thought you might like some hot cider.” He jerked his head as if to prod them out of the cockpit. “My watch.”

Tuck wasn’t sure whether his navigator was nervous about Amelia piloting the
Maverick
or if he simply wanted to afford them time alone. He had to admit the route was tricky, but so far she’d exhibited sound judgment.

Amelia relinquished the wheel with a gracious smile and accepted a mug. “How thoughtful. Thank you, StarMan.”

The man nodded, and Tuck knew she’d just won points with his navigator.

“Perfect timing.” She looked up at Tuck. “May we talk?”

“Let’s go below, where it’s warmer.”

“I prefer to stay topside, if you don’t mind. The scenery is spectacular.”

Hand settled at the small of her back, Tuck escorted Amelia toward the stern, where the wind was less fierce. He helped her perch on a barrel, then moved in beside her. Together they sipped cider and looked out at the vast and varied landscape. She was right—the view was spectacular: sparkling white slopes, rugged gorges and icy glaciers, lush green valleys and sky blue lakes. He’d been focused on navigating this boat through the craggy passes and watching for spontaneous storm clouds. Appreciating the scenery hadn’t entered his mind. He’d taken the Alps for granted, just like the English Channel. A man who’d traveled extensively and
experienced numerous adventures, Tuck was usually impressed by very little.

He was most definitely impressed with Amelia.

“About last night,” she said, breaking their companionable silence.

“You already apologized and you already thanked me. Both were unnecessary.”

“I disagree, but will not argue the point.” She sipped cider, then fidgeted, looking uncomfortable as a camel in the Klondike. “I want you to know that…I’m slowly coming to terms. Which is a goodly distance from refusing to believe Papa’s really gone, but also a long way from being all right with it.”

“I understand.”

“Because you’re someone who tragically lost both of his parents, I believe you do.” She held his gaze, though her cheeks burned red. “I just wanted to thank you again for being so…kind.”

Tuck ached to pull her into his arms, to kiss her deeply and soundly, making her flush and tremble head to toe, but he’d vowed to respect her need to sever their intimate relationship. Restraint was damned hard, especially when he saw mutual desire sparking in those pretty blue eyes. Typically a man of his word, he hoped to hell she broke before he did.

“I do not recall ever losing control like that. Both mortifying and…oddly freeing. I wish I could do something to repay your kindness.”

“You did, honey. You slept restfully through the night. Gave me peace of mind.”

“Yes, well…” She cleared her throat. “I’m about to aggravate that well-being.”

“Thanks for the warning.” He drained his cider, set the mug aside, then leaned back against the gunwale, arms crossed. “Shoot.”

“I spoke with Doc this morning. I think…no, I’m quite certain he’s angry with me.”

“Let me guess. You mentioned you saw him at the skytown, mingling with Freaks.” Even though he’d warned her against it. Somehow he wasn’t surprised.

“I went a bit further than that. I acted on a suspicion and verified that Doc is indeed a Freak himself.”

Tuck raised a brow. She’d not only figured out Doc’s secret; she’d called him on it. He couldn’t decide whether he was impressed or concerned.

“I know you know,” she said in a soft voice. “I know you’re the only one aboard who does. Except for me. Although Doc thinks that most everyone suspects.”

“Except Axel.”

“Mr. O’Donnell and his absurd phobias aside, I strongly believe that the rest of the crew would accept Doc for who he is.”

“They would. Do you?”

She pushed her goggles to her forehead and regarded him with a perplexed expression. “But of course.”

“You’re not scared of him?”

“Just because he’s not wholly of this time? No.”

“Have you seen his eyes?”

“I admit they are a bit disconcerting, but hardly something that would send me running in fear or repulsion. As I said to Doc, there is no shame in being different.”

He appreciated her stand, but sensed her opinion was hindered by her youth and sheltered upbringing. “Not quite as simple as that, darlin’.”

“So Doc said. Indeed, he became quite agitated when I pointed out that it is difficult to change the views of the prejudiced by remaining silent, or in his case, hidden.”

He thought about the brewing rebellion amongst Freaks and the overall social unrest. Thought about the original preaching of the Peace Rebels—“Make love, not war”—and how their utopian mind-set had eventually backfired and sparked the Peace War. He thought about sharing his
personal political views, but decided to focus this particular discussion on Doc.

“Don’t get me wrong, Amelia. I wish Doc would come clean with the crew. If for no other reason than to relieve him of keeping up pretenses, at least while in our company. We’ve been together a long time. We all have baggage. Every man on this crew has been persecuted in some way because of his race or beliefs. Even Axel, believe it or not. I won’t go into detail, because each man’s story is his own. But I will give you some insight into Doc’s plight, because he’s a rare breed, and like most people where Freaks are concerned, I think you’re operating under misconceptions or lack of knowledge.”

“Because I’d never seen or met a Freak until this week?”

“Because they are an anomaly.”

“Yet you are an expert on their race?”

“Far from it. But I have been around longer than you and know more than you. I’ve been Doc’s confidant for five years, and I’ve had a fair amount of interaction with random Freaks due to my past and present professions. You probably know the basics, but hear me out.”

She blew out a breath. “I apologize for my sarcasm. Of course you would be more knowledgeable, given your background. Please do enlighten me.”

“Humoring me, Miss Darcy?”

“Not my style, Mr. Gentry.” Her lush mouth twitched. “Well, perhaps sometimes. But not just now.”

He smiled, then turned his face to the mountains. It was that or kiss her senseless. The frigid temperature did nothing to cool his burning passion. “Right. The facts.” He started with what most everyone on the planet knew, whether from reading or gossip. “Freaks are the offspring of twentieth-century Mods and nineteenth-century Vics. They’re products of two dimensions, the oldest of their altered race only thirty years old. The one common physical abnormality is
their multicolored eyes and the kaleidoscope effect when you look into them. Some say this was a direct result of time travel, what one saw while jumping dimensions.”

“Streaks of colors whirling and rushing past as you hurtle through a tunnel or wormhole. Like being propelled into a massive kaleidoscope, the Peace Rebels said.”

Tuck resisted the urge to veer off on the subject of time travel—or, more specifically, the Time Voyager’s connection to the da Vinci ornithopter. Another discussion for another time. “The most compelling shared trait of Freaks is that they’re all born with a supernatural gift. A lesser-known fact: that gift evolves with age. No one, including their own kind, has a firm grip on what they’re fully capable of. At twenty-one Doc can cure wounds at an accelerated rate. At forty, will he be able to cure deadly plagues? Will his gift diminish at some point or become unmanageable? Unpredictable? No Freak healer has gone before him, so no one knows.”