Her Sky Cowboy Part 14

She'd dreamed about her brothers and her mother struggling to resurrect the family's reputation and finances. She dreamed about Papa dying. Heart-wrenching, and yet there'd been an intangible sense of comfort. For the first time since Papa's death, she'd greeted the dawn with a sense of hope as opposed to depression.

Amelia slowly opened her eyes, mourned the absence of Tucker for a brief second-he had an airs.h.i.+p to captain, after all-then disengaged herself from the tangle of blankets. Hurrying toward the blessed water heater, she decided to embrace the new day with a nonchalant air. She would face Tucker and his men as she had the previous days, with confidence and a dash of bravado, as if nothing had changed. Even though her heart and mind were full of their wondrous lovemaking, she would focus on the future. On her goal. Although Tucker had agreed to transport her to Italy, she intended to rebuild Bess-partly because she preferred an alternative mode of transportation, should the need arise. Partly because she burned to keep one of Papa's inventions alive.

Thirty minutes later, Amelia approached the cabin door, her hair braided and coiled in her own unique fas.h.i.+on, dressed in her mended leather flight pants-st.i.tched back together courtesy of Doc-a cotton blouse, and her leather tail vest. Bracing for the brisk winter winds, she'd donned her duster and scarves, goggles and top hat-everything as normal. "I am the same, yet better. Worldly."

Breathing deeply, she stepped into the hall. It occurred to her suddenly that Doc had not yet appeared with breakfast. Not that she expected to be served, but thus far all of her meals had been taken in Tucker's cabin. As she navigated the hall, she was also aware of the unusual silence and warmer temperature. Smelling licorice and hay, she hesitated, contemplating whether or not to seek out Peg. He must be stabled on this deck or just below. Admittedly she was bursting with curiosity regarding that winged horse, but at the same time the undeniable sense that they were no longer in flight propelled Amelia topside. She scaled the ladder and climbed on deck, noting the bright suns.h.i.+ne and lack of wind.

Peeling off her hat and goggles, she looked up and saw that the sails and masts were lowered. The clouds were spa.r.s.e and floating high above. The blasterbeefs were abnormally quiet. Looking ahead over the bow, instead of sky she saw trees. As she'd suspected, somewhere between last night and this morning, they'd taken refuge in a densely wooded area. Landing in the secluded clearing had taken great skill, and she bemoaned the fact that she'd missed the event.

At that moment, Leo flew out of a copse of trees, swooped in, and perched on the rail. Smiling, Amelia rushed to his side. "Greetings, my friend."

Smoothing a hand over his back, she inspected the wondrous creature for bandages or st.i.tches but saw no sign of injury, even though she was certain he'd been shot. Again, she marveled at Doc's methods. She wanted to thank him for his efforts and wondered at his absence. Come to think of it, she'd yet to spy even one of the crew this morning. Pulse tripping, she searched the vicinity, then, spying a man-made trail that cut through a swath of trees, peered beyond. In the distance, set amidst a breathtaking mix of woods and meadows, she saw a ma.s.sive estate that more closely resembled a palace. Even Lord Bingham's luxurious mansion paled in comparison to the grandeur of this country residence.

"Something, ain't it?"

Amelia turned, bracing as the s.h.i.+p's engineer joined her at the starboard gunwale. She noted the unlit cigar dangling from his mouth, the Blaster holstered in his shoulder rig, his grease-stained hands, and the bandage covering the wound he'd sustained during the tussle with Dunkirk. She wondered whether he blamed her for the injury. He certainly blamed her for everything else.

"The Chateau de Malmaison," Axel said with something that resembled a rusty smile.

She wasn't sure what surprised her more: that they'd landed near the home that had once belonged to Napoleon Bonaparte and Josephine de Beauharnais, and then later Napoleon III, or that Axel O'Donnell had addressed her with a modic.u.m of civility. Grateful, she peered back at the estate. "Even at this distance," she noted in awe, "the opulence is astounding."

"Why anyone would want to live in that ostentatious monstrosity beats the stuffing out of me. Although I wouldn't mind a gander at the gardens. Heard tell zebras and kangaroos roam about the rosebushes. Never seen a kangaroo."

Presently an eccentric duke of excessive wealth owned Malmaison and, like Josephine, had populated the magnificent gardens with exotic wildlife. Amelia had read an expose in the Informer that focused not only on the menagerie but on his legion of automocoaches and a small collection of aerostats. "I'd prefer a tour of his aero-hangar."

"Ain't you got any interests beyond flying, girl?"

She did now, but she wasn't about to mention her new obsession with lovemaking to the Maverick's engineer-or anyone else, for that matter. Ignoring his question, she asked one of her own. "Why are we here?"

"Business."

She put two and two together and whistled low. "Transporting illegal cargo for a famous n.o.bleman. Whatever you smuggled, he must be paying a fortune."

"Ain't nothing compared to the booty you're tailing. Elsewise Dunkirk never would've left the Maverick without searching her hold."

Amelia turned and regarded the hulking man with a furrowed brow. "What precisely are you transporting?"

"What precisely are you tailing?"

"I'd rather not say."

"Same here."

Sensing a hint of hostility, Leo screeched.

Axel narrowed his eyes on the falcon. "Who fixed that bird up with mechanical parts?"

"My father," she answered with pride.

"Surprised they work."

She bristled. "Contrary to that article in the Informer, Papa was not an inept lunatic. He was, in his own way, quite brilliant."

"If you say so."

"I knew your civil humor was too good to be true."

"Marshal asked me to be nice to you. I tried, but the effort wore thin fast."

For a fleeting moment she wondered whether Tucker had mentioned their intimate liaison, but then she realized it was not the sort of thing a man bragged about, unless he wanted to risk gossip that could result in her brothers forcing him down the church aisle. He'd stated clearly he could not marry; therefore surely her secret was safe. This was simply Axel being Axel. He'd disliked her upon first meeting. "You are a vexing man, Mr. O'Donnell."

"You're a pain in the a.s.s, Miss Darcy. Frankly speaking."

"I do not recall making a nuisance of myself."

"First you slowed us by almost cras.h.i.+ng into the Maverick, then insisting we haul your wreck aboard."

"Yes, well-"

"Then we were delayed by Dunkirk and in turn had to outrun ALE."

"Not my-"

"Last night we flew out of our way, then cooled our rudders while the marshal risked his life and delayed our valuable s.h.i.+pment in order to rescue you."

"I can see how-"

"Since you boarded we've experienced one misfortune after another."

"I am not bad luck."

"Maybe not. But you are trouble. Thanks to you we ticked off ALE and Dunkirk, and one or both is tracking our hides. We should be lying low for a spell. Instead we're vamoosing to Italy. That is, after we fit this boat with repairs. Not that anything was wrong with the Maverick before-"

"-I boarded. Yes, yes. I follow your warped line of thinking." Her own patience snapped. "Where's Mr. Gentry?"

Axel nodded toward the chateau. "Takin' care of business."

Amelia gawked at the burly engineer. "He left the s.h.i.+p?"

"Along with rest of the crew."

"I cannot believe...Why wasn't I invited along?" Surely Tucker knew she'd consider a visit to the Chateau de Malmaison a once-in-a-lifetime thrill. She thought she'd made her decision to explore rare opportunities quite clear.

Axel grunted. "What? So you could muck up the delivery? Tuck may be softhearted when it comes to you, but when it comes to money he's a hardheaded b.a.s.t.a.r.d."

"Yet he risked a substantial payday, putting his s.h.i.+p and cargo at risk by stealing me away from Dunkirk." She wasn't sure why she felt the need to remind him of his own words, except that it made her feel less the fool. She was beginning to wonder who had manipulated whom regarding her intimate liaison with the Sky Cowboy.

Axel quirked a sardonic brow. "According to Dunkirk, you're worth a fortune. Guess the marshal considered you a smart risk. A man can buy anything with enough money. Including freedom."

Amelia didn't care for his insinuation one whit. Then again, she was pretty sure the narrow-minded lunkhead would say or do about anything to alienate her from Tucker and hasten her departure. As it happened, Tucker had freely stated his financial concerns the night before. Exasperated, she whirled and paced toward the stern, hands on hips. Of all the men to be stuck with. She would've preferred the company of any one of the other crewmen. She could've asked Doc Blue about his seemingly magical skills. Birdman Chang owed her a lesson in acupressure. She was most eager to question Eli Boone about the intricacies of the retractable masts and walking stick. She suspected he also had knowledge of Peg's amazing detachable wings. But no. Tucker had left her with this superst.i.tious, cranky, pea-brained oaf.

Furious, she paced back to said oaf. "Where's Bess?"

"Two decks below. Near the stern. A heap of mangled canvas, wood, and metal. You can't fix her!" he shouted as she stalked away.

"Can't is not in my vocabulary, Mr. O'Donnell."

Once Amelia had retrieved her tool bag and Axel had shown her to the cavernous storage room that housed the remnants of her kitecycle, she'd waited until she was sure he'd returned topside before skipping out in search of Peg. The scent of hay was stronger than ever. She simply followed her nose to the opposite end of the s.h.i.+p. Peg's stable was nearly as big as her temporary works.p.a.ce. s.p.a.cious and well lighted. Cozy and clean. Remarkably ventilated. Peg, however, was not in residence. Amelia a.s.sumed Tucker had ridden or flown the horse to the great estate. Surely the mighty creature enjoyed freedom, fresh air, and exercise. She remembered Tucker's tender manner with the steed, his gentle touch with Leo. She remembered Axel's words: Marshal's got a way with animals.

Her heart swelled. A fine quality indeed.

Intrigued, she inspected the tidy stall and tack area, the generous mound of sleeping straw, the bales of hay and barrels of oats. She sniffed out the licorice stash. She'd never known a horse to eat licorice. Then again, she'd never known a horse to fly. She noted the organized tack, the grooming supplies, and a ma.s.sive cabinet. She tried the doors. Locked. Was that where they kept Peg's detachable wings? Aside from the obvious-Peg was well tended, in fact perhaps spoiled-there was little more to learn here, and Amelia was beginning to feel like a snoop. Were Tucker to find her now, would he accuse her of trying to learn his secrets? Of studying the mechanical wings in hope of reproducing them or selling the designs?

Probably.

In truth she was merely dying of curiosity. How could a horse fly? Could a similar design work for a man? Or, more precisely, a woman? Soaring the skies upon Peg had been wondrous, but soaring the skies on her own? Like the fabled Icarus? Only, unlike the winged man of Greek mythology, she would not fly too close to the sun. Not that she thought Peg's wings were constructed from wax, although they could be. The feathers had looked and felt real enough, but how were they affixed to the framework, and what const.i.tuted the frame? Metal and hinges? How did the wings attach to Peg? How did Peg make them flap or know when to glide?

Blast.

The mystery of it all taxed her being. Needing to focus on something else, Amelia hurried back to her works.p.a.ce. Upon a second and more intense look at the mangled heap, she blew out a breath, acknowledging the great challenge before her. "What a b.l.o.o.d.y mess."

Whilst sorting through the rubble, she wondered how her brothers were faring in their quest, then just as quickly shoved them from her mind. She wished them success. Truly she did. One significant find was all the family needed. But that did not dim her personal determination. Surely the Darcys weren't the only ones vying for the jubilee prize. What if the Jubilee Science Committee was ultimately presented with a dozen inventions of historical significance? Or fifty? Or a hundred? Who determined the scale of significance? The committee? The queen? Unlike Prince Albert, rest his soul, Her Majesty was not a great proponent of science. Would she recognize the importance of a da Vinci ornithopter?

Amelia snuffed that line of thought. Second-guessing her invention of choice was fruitless. Besides, the ornithopter was of vast interest and significance to her. And she knew where to look for it. Peeling off her scarves and coat, she pushed up her sleeves, nabbed her tool bag, and immersed herself in the resurrection of Bess. Her restless mood instantly settled.

Sunlight poured through two concave windows, spreading warmth and light. Time pa.s.sed in an intense blur. She had no grasp of the hour or the physical toll. She simply worked. Although there was nothing simple about the process.

Amelia sat back on her haunches at one point, acknowledging a throbbing at her temples, an ache in her back. Her brain hurt as badly as her body. She'd drawn on memories. Her father's words and musings. Her recollection of the building process. Since she hadn't been present during all of Papa's working hours, she was not aware of his every move. Thus she felt as though there were missing pieces to this puzzle. Not to mention she was working with damaged goods. Although Mr. O'Donnell had provided her with some pristine raw materials.

Amelia had no illusions. The engineer had not acted out of kindness so much as desperation. He probably thought that if she did reconstruct Bess, she'd abandon the Maverick and fly off under her own power and command in order to privately secure her "treasure." Good riddance, she could hear him say. As it happened, she did not relish having to share even a percentage of the jubilee prize, and truth be known, part of her harbored the ugly possibility that Tucker might try to steal the invention for himself. What had Axel said? When it comes to money, he's a hardheaded b.a.s.t.a.r.d. Bothersome, that. Still, she'd rather contend with Tucker than Dunkirk. Also, the Maverick would travel much faster to Italy than her kitecycle. It would provide greater protection were Dunkirk to sniff out her trail. All that considered, Bess was merely Amelia's mode of escape should there be an emergency.

Exhausted, she dragged a hand over her face, disgusted with her pitifully slow progress. She'd tinkered and corrected damage to the main engine, and because of Mr. O'Donnell, she had new canvas for the wings. But the wrought-iron frame of the tandem velocipede was bent beyond her personal ability to repair. As were the iron tires. The wooden spokes of the wheels and the skeletal frame of the kite wing had suffered severe fractures. "Crikey."

"Twin-cylinder double-acting engine?" Tucker hunkered down beside her and pointed out various parts. "What about those connecting rods?"

Caught up in her frustration, she hadn't heard his approach. Now his presence filled every particle of the s.p.a.cious room, making her nerves jangle and her heart dance. She could scarcely breathe. "Designed to run directly to the rear axle."

"Fire tube boiler?"

"Originally fitted behind the rear seat. Doubles as a water tank."

"Heat?"

"Provided by crushed coal. Kept a backup supply in augmented saddlebags." She shrugged, sighed. "Those appear to be missing."

"Easily replaced. You mentioned rocket fuel."

"Auxiliary power. Used for extra thrust. Takeoff only."

"Clever."

"Papa's idea. He-" Her breath caught; her chest ached. "I don't know how to re-create that part. I don't...The frame and wheels..."

"Also replaceable."

"Arrogant to think I could salvage Bess working with these original parts alone."

"Not arrogant. Optimistic. Hopeful. I admire that."

She cast him a sideways glance. "You do?"

Tucker nodded, then indicated the engine. "Impressed with what you've done."

"You're patronizing me."

"Not my style." He grasped her hand and pulled her to her feet. "You didn't sleep well last night. You must be exhausted."

Had she tossed and turned with her nightmares? She didn't ask. She had no desire to discuss the troubled dreams regarding her father. "I don't know what you mean-"

"Then never mind." He gestured to Bess. "You've accomplished enough for today. Make a list of supplies and I'll see you have what's needed."

She looked up into his mesmerizing gaze, her body tingling in recollection of their lovemaking. "You're making it difficult for me to be angry with you."

He quirked a grin and stroked her burning cheek. "What have I done to earn your ire this morning, Flygirl?"

"It's what you didn't do. An invitation to accompany you to Chateau de Malmaison would have been appreciated."

"But unwise. The fewer people who know you're with me, the greater our chances of outwitting Dunkirk." He studied her with an enigmatic expression. "And anyone else who may have designs on you."

"No one else knows of my agenda. Mother and Concetta know of my general destination, but they do not know what I'm after."

"Doesn't matter. Anyone who reads the newspapers knows about the global contest honoring Queen Victoria. You're related to the Time Voyager; hence a.s.sumptions will be made. Figure that puts you in a dicey position."

Amelia tensed. "You think I know the whereabouts of something having to do with a time machine?"

"Briscoe Darcy's time machine or some aspect thereof. Given who you are, Amelia, it's a natural conclusion."

She snorted, feigning astonishment whilst scrambling to snuff his suspicions. From the preachings of Papa, not to mention the upheaval instigated by the Peace Rebels, Amelia well knew the detrimental effects of time traveling. She felt bound by a duty to mankind as well as a promise to Papa to make sure that aspect remained hidden.

"So I'm wrong?" Tucker prodded.

"Briscoe was long gone by the time I was born."

"He could have shared relevant information with your father-"

"He didn't." She waited for lightning to strike her down and cursed her burning cheeks.

"Perhaps another member of the family."