Clark tapped his silver fork against the edge of his plate, the potato salad and watercress sandwich untouched. “He was an inventor.”
Having a rich father must not have meant much, considering he always thought himself her father’s offspring. She nibbled a hunk of potato. At least the cook had gotten her favorite summer meal correct, although the city had more spices to add to the flavors.
She swallowed. “I remember Father mentioning him a few times, just in passing. Eric Grisham was a friend. Is he here now?” She glanced around the nook, sectioned off from the main eating hall by a white lace curtain. Through the holes, she could view the empty room: no one to overhear them. Her mother ate in her room at noon, her father in his office while looking over paperwork, and her brothers had gone horseback riding to check the fields.
“No, and I don’t know how to call him.” Clark took a sip of his ice water. At least the ranch had an ice box like in the city. Westerners weren’t altogether primitive.
His Adam’s apple jumped as he swallowed. For living on the run, he didn’t seem scrawny, like the homeless beggars in the city. His biceps pressed against the sleeves of his crimson button-up shirt. What would he look like with that shirt off, his skin tanned and glistening with the sweat of the hot day?
Amethyst wiggled her eyebrows at him. He wasn’t her brother. She’d wondered why she found him so irresistible when her parents claimed he was her half-sibling. Staying at the ranch wouldn’t be dull at all. He spoke to ghosts, for steam’s sake.
“Perhaps he has wealth somewhere you can use. You should ask him.”
Clark took another sip. “He’s been dead my whole life. I’m sure he doesn’t.”
“He might.”
“I’m safer if I stay Treasure’s son.” He met her gaze, his eyes wide, pleading.
She nodded. “I won’t betray you.” The secret might be juicy, but she knew when to back away. Gossiping about this left more at stake than whether society knew which girl had lost her virginity over the weekend. “You could be two people, though. Clark Grisham and Clark Treasure. We could dye your hair.”
“I’ve tried changing my appearance, but short of breaking my nose and gouging out an eye, different colored hair doesn’t help much. The army wants me. If I’m a dead man’s son, they’d be more powerful. Your family’s name can protect me.”
“Like what my parents must want.” They had seen Clark’s photograph of his real father. They knew his parentage – they’d offered him this regardless.
“And my father wants me to get back his inventions.” Clark bit into his sandwich. She wondered if he’d eaten watercress before. She could introduce him to a new palate of tastes and textures. How exciting!
“So do it. Honor his wishes.”
“Find his inventions.” Clark finished off the sandwich. His throat worked with each swallow…how would he taste if she licked those muscles? She dragged her gaze up to his face.
“He’ll tell me where they are,” Clark continued. “I already got the helmets. There can’t be that many more.”
“Horan has them all?”
“He worked with Senator Horan, so him or his brother. I’ve never met the Senator.”
She clapped. “This will be so much fun. Next time you see him, ask your father where we go first.” It should be soon, if Eric wanted him to do this.
Clark wiped his mouth on his linen napkin. What manners for being a street urchin! “Are you going to blackmail me into taking you along?”
“You don’t want me?” She blinked. People loved to do things with her. No one excluded Amethyst Treasure from a gala.
“If it’s dangerous….” His voice trailed off. Something dark glimmered in his eyes. Could it be lust? “I’ll let you know what he says.”
He did want her, too. Amethyst licked the prongs of her fork. If he were a prospective suitor in the city, she would call him by name and stroke his arm whenever they conversed. She would ignore him in crowds, but then catch his attention and smile. He would go to her and she would wait until he brought her gifts, until he ignored the other girls. It might take a few weeks, but he would be hers and she would use him until she tired of his attentions.
This wasn’t the city. He wasn’t a prospective suitor. Clark was…a secret. She slid back her chair and sashayed around the table. Just because they were stuck together as supposed siblings didn’t mean she had to give up all the games.
Amethyst bent at the waist so her corset would push her breasts high and pressed her lips against his cheek. His skin smelled of earth, heat, and the cologne she’d sent him. A giggle bubbled in her throat as she trailed her fingernail over his chin.
“We’ll have fun,” she whispered.
He turned his head and clamped his hand at the nape of her neck, shoving her closer. His lips closed over hers, hard, forcing them apart so his tongue could poke the tip of hers. No man in the city had ever been that bold. Her eyes widened and she jerked back, but he held her harder, his other hand slipping around her waist.
She slid into his lap, guided by his arm, and clenched his shoulders as his head tipped, the kiss deepening. His lips shut over her tongue, he drew back to inhale through his nose, and he kissed her again, slower. She moaned. He tasted of lunch, and she must have too. The flesh of his shoulders felt hard with muscle. Did she dare unbutton the top of his shirt? She’d seen men shirtless—the most she’d done had been lying in undergarments on her last beau’s settee in his bedroom.
Her stomach clenched. If Clark tried to unlace her petticoats, she’d let him. He kept one hand behind her head and the other at her waist, though.
Clark leaned his head back. When she leaned forward for another kiss, he closed his fist around her single braid, pinning her in place.
“I’ll let you know,” he repeated.
She nodded, slipping off his lap. Her hands trembled and her legs shivered. She hadn’t felt that weak since she’d been thirteen and had her first suitor.
“Thank you.” She yanked the curtain aside and stumbled through before she begged him to kiss her again.
Blast it all, he controlled the game—and this made her tremble with delight.
Clark shut his bedroom door and leaned against it, breathing through his clenched teeth. The steam take it all, she had to have wanted the affection. She’d started it, with her cheek kiss. Sure, he could have left it at that, but the vanilla smell on her clothes had been too much. Stopping it wouldn’t have been any fun. He’d fooled around with girls before, even if they weren’t the same social level as her.
“You should marry her.” Eric shimmered into existence beside the bed.
Clark pushed off the door. “I can’t marry her.” He’d never felt strongly enough about a girl to offer her his name. His false name, apparently.
“I would be pleased to know my son married Treasure’s daughter. You would treat her like a princess.”
“She’s already treated like that.” Clark fought down a smile. They couldn’t marry, but it would be fun to kiss her again and feel her body through the corset. “Where’s the next invention?”
“I invented a hypnotizing organ.”
Clark pictured a beating heart that could make people do anything just by hearing the beats. He wiped his hand over his mouth; Eric had to kid. “That’s ridiculous.”
“It’s not.” Eric swung his hands, the translucent outlines blurring. “The different tones and changing lights work with your mind. I designed it to make people happy when they heard the music.”
Not a heart then, a music organ. What a strange invention, but a nice gesture. “So Horan uses it to make himself look like a great musician?”
Eric flapped his hands harder. “Senator Horan uses it to hypnotize people into voting for him. He reworked the configurations.”
Clark scowled. “That’s how he always wins the elections?” He’d never voted—outlaws didn’t matter to the government—but he’d assumed from the victories that Senator Horan was well-liked, not casting ma
gic over people.
“That’s exactly how he wins. We’ll stop him yet.” Eric pumped his fist in the air.
“Do I have to go to him to get it?” He could travel that far by cycle, but he would need to explain it to the Treasures.
“He travels the countryside with it. I’ll find it and report back.” A tinge of amusement toyed with his voice. “Bring Amethyst.”
methyst rubbed the rag over the side of Clark’s new helmet. Paint remover scented the air until her eyes watered, but she rubbed the Horan buffalo harder.
“Would you believe I’ve never scrubbed paint off before?” Her fingers tingled from the liquid, but she hadn’t wanted to ruin a pair of gloves. Who knew where she could get another fine pair?
Across from her, Clark reclined on the mudroom bench. “I can do it.”
She leaned against the wall. Heavy coats dangled from hooks and headwear decorated upper shelves. “I don’t mind.” Back in the city, she didn’t do manual labor because she never got the chance. Things were done for her, so she could chat with her friends or shop. Here, there was no one to gossip with or a place to shop at. “Want me to paint a new design on it?”
“You can paint?”
“Every proper young lady takes a few years of painting lessons.” Not to say her paintings looked like anything when she finished. A mountain landscape and a green blob could look similar. “I can look through Father’s desk to see if I can find the Grisham symbol.”
Clark dipped his rag into the jar of paint remover. “That would be too noticeable.”
“Grisham’s been gone for almost twenty years. I doubt anyone would remember.”
“Horan would.”
Amethyst shrugged. She’d find the symbol anyway and paint something nice for him. As best she could paint, anyway.
Clark settled onto the plush seat of the cycle and adjusted the straps of his new helmet, courtesy of Horan Ranch. The cushioned interior felt much softer than his last headgear.
“You’re sure you don’t want a new cycle?” Garth asked. “I don’t mind purchasing one. I know it would be put to regular use.”
“I prefer this one, sir.” Clark pulled on his black leather gloves to protect his hands from the handlebars. “I’m familiar with how she runs and the distribution of weight.”
“And we have these nice new helmets I bought in town,” Amethyst sang. Her blonde braid thumped against her back, long enough for the ribbon at the end to reach her bottom.
“You didn’t need to,” Garth said. “We have plenty of helmets.”
“These matched.” She pitched her voice into a whine.
Clark bit his cheek to keep from snickering.
“What’s the point in having a new brother if I can’t spoil him?” She batted her painted black lashes and giggled. The servant who sewed had tightened the legs on her navy blue traveling pants until they fit almost as snug as stockings, accentuating her round behind and slender legs. The bodice buttoned up the front like her other suit, now ruined with blood stains, but she’d fastened even the top button at the collar. A crimson lace scarf poked out from around her neck.
“It would be best if you rode in the coach.” Jeremiah hooked his thumbs through his belt loops and scowled at Clark.
“Then it wouldn’t be brother-sister bonding time. Duh.” Amethyst twirled with her helmet outstretched. Flashing her brother a smile, she set it over her head. “This will be so much fun.”
“The open buggy wouldn’t require an extra rider,” Garth said.
“Father,” Jeremiah snapped. “They should be chaperoned. Amethyst is an innocent—”
“Pish posh!” Amethyst waved her hands at her older brother. “You wouldn’t insist upon a chaperone if you were taking me. You’ll hurt Clark’s feelings.”
Clark ducked his head to hide his grin. A chaperone would ruin the scheme—he’d have to go without her, then. It would also ruin his chance to steal kisses. They believed he thought he was her sister, and she thought him her brother. Garth and Georgette wouldn’t expect Clark to act in any way except brotherly toward Amethyst. The taste of her lemon lip balm tweaked his memory.
Georgette bustled from the front door carrying a leather saddlebag. “I had them pack you a lunch. The saloon may not be suitable in Reynolds.”
“Goodness, I would hate to go into a shady establishment,” Amethyst squealed before she winked at Jeremiah, who scowled deeper.
“Be very careful at Mitchell Steam.” Garth fastened the saddlebag over the back of the cycle. “It does have a picturesque waterway, but not much else.”
“How did you hear about it?” Jeremiah folded his arms.
“I thought you wanted me to become more interested in this area.” Amethyst ignored her father’s outstretched hand to swing her leg over the cycle. Her warm weight pressed against Clark’s back.
“I’ll take good care of her, sir.” He twisted in the seat to adjust her helmet and position the bar across her mouth. His thumb flicked the switch inside that allowed them to communicate together.
“I know you will. We trust you.” Garth clapped him on the shoulder.
“Where should I place my hands?” Amethyst cooed into her helmet’s speaker, too soft for their audience to overhear.
“If you don’t mind, you can hold onto my jacket pockets.” Clark patted the front of his leather jacket and turned to grab the handlebars.
Amethyst kept her distance as she slid her hands around his waist to clench his pockets.
“Drive safe,” Georgette called. Jeremiah, still scowling, stomped toward the stables.
Clark nodded to the group, adjusted his mouthpiece, and started the cycle. By the time they were out of sight of the ranch, Amethyst had slid forward until her front pressed against his back, her gloved hands looped around his hips.
“Teach me how to drive?” she asked into her speaker.
Clark laughed, careful to keep his voice low so it wouldn’t be too loud in her helmet’s earpiece. “Whatever you say.” Despite her sheltered life, she was way too willing. Maybe it was because of that sheltered life she wanted to try things. He’d seen proper men and women flaunting themselves through the slums whenever they could snare a moment of freedom. Those outings usually involved maiming or death. He wouldn’t allow anything like that to happen to her.
“It takes an hour to get there. Can I drive some of the way?”
Clark steered around a hole in the dirt road. “Not on my cycle. It’s older and not so steady. I can teach you on one of your father’s.”
“He’d never let me ride.” Amethyst squeezed Clark’s waist. “Please? You can hold on to me.”
Clark imagined sitting behind her, his arms around her softness, resting against her back while holding his hands over hers on the handlebars. “Maybe.”
“Yay,” she breathed into her speaker. “You’re the best, Clark.”
He chuckled. “I’ll have to show you what else my best applies to.” Blooming gears, why had he said that? It made him sound like a pig.
She giggled, though. “I can’t wait.”
Clark steered the cycle into the main street of Mitchell Steam. Miles back, they’d ridden past a few farms. Here, clapboard houses and shops rose alongside the dirt road. Farmers in overalls and straw hats spoke outside the Mitchell Steam Public House. Horses tied to sidewalk posts tugged on their reigns.
“Why so many horses?” Amethyst mused.
“Farmers can’t afford mechanical gear.” He scanned the sidewalks for officers, but only saw one speaking to a woman at the bank entrance: a simple cavalry man judging by the plain blue slacks and matching jacket, unadorned. Higher officers preferred wearing their medals and pins. A cavalry man wouldn’t care about a renegade mine worker and he might not be aware of all the wanted posters in the western territories.
Clark parked his cycle outside the public house. The men peered his way, and the tallest spat tobacco juice into the dust. At least Clark’s cycle was battered. A fancy Treasure
vehicle would’ve garnered distrust.
“Howdy.” Clark affected a more southern drawl. “My lady and I heard about the Organ Man. They said he’s passing through this way.”
A man in a plaid shirt tipped his straw hat to Amethyst. “He’s out by Miller’s Gulf now. My wife took the kids to see him yesterday. Real nice music. We don’t get a lot of music ‘round here.”
Clark swung off the seat and lifted Amethyst by the waist. She leaned into him a moment before he set her down.
“Why are we stopping?” she whispered.
“We’ll grab a bite to eat.”
“Mother packed us a lunch—”
“We can hear more about the organ player if we stay here.” He pulled off his helmet and rested it under his arm, grinning for the men’s benefit.
“Real nice cycle,” the plaid man said.
“Thanks.” Clark helped Amethyst pull off her helmet. She shook her hair to make her braid bounce, but the top of her hair remained flattened to her skull.
“Where you folks from?” the only man in the group to wear gloves asked.
“The city.” Clark shrugged. “Would’ve preferred a horse, but it’s easier having a cycle there.” He swung his arm through Amethyst’s and led her up the step onto the sidewalk, then pushed open the swinging half door to the public house.
A bartender polished glasses behind the counter. A group of men talked at one table, the others empty. Clark set his helmet on the table closest to the door and took Amethyst’s helmet.
“We can sit here.”
She pulled back a chair and dropped into it. “This is so exciting! Do you think they have wine?”
Clark lifted his eyebrows. Having Amethyst inebriated would make the journey a lot more difficult. “We’ll take water.”
The bartender stepped over, wiping his hands on a rag. “What do you need, folks?”
“We’re here to see the organ player. Thought we’d have some food first.” Clark sat and rested his hand on his helmet. “What time does he give shows?”
“Every morning, noon, and supper time. Round five o’clock or so.”
Treasure, Darkly (Treasure Chronicles Book 1) Page 12