Her Sky Cowboy Part 20

"Thank you for treating me to an exhilarating visit to Paris," Amelia said as they exited the Fantasy Factory in their own clothes. "I have to believe our time at the Bibliotheque Nationale was well spent. I just know once we reach"-she peered over her shoulder as they moved down the hall-"our...destination, something we read or something we gleaned from previous studies will, as you said, click with something we see in da...the genius's workshop. Between the two of us, we'll solve the mystery," she said as she climbed the ladder ahead of him. "Who better than avid devotees of da...the genius. Fate set our paths on the same course."

"To my recollection," Tuck said as they hit the deck, "it was your reckless flying that set us on the same path."

She whirled and zapped him with those dazzling blue eyes. A sensual thrill shot through him like a charged bullet. Pathetic. "Just wanted to get your attention."

She furrowed her brow.

He nabbed her wrist and pulled her out of the stream of foot traffic. Six in the morning and the skytown was crowded with the night owls who were just now preparing to leave. "You woke before dawn," he said in a low voice, "and launched into the day full-speed. You've been jawing nonstop about da-"

"Shh!"

He removed her hand from his mouth, although, d.a.m.n, he would've enjoyed kissing her palm, her wrist...."The genius," he subst.i.tuted for the sake of secrecy. "Not that I'm opposed to the subject. Nor am I averse to listening to your rants regarding the Clockwork Canary, nor your grievances regarding your ma. I am, however, offended, Amelia, by your obvious determination to ignore our delicate circ.u.mstance." Christ in heaven. Had he actually said that?

Her cheeks flushed. "Whatever are you referring to, Mr. Gentry?"

"Don't play coy, Miss Darcy. It doesn't suit you."

She said nothing.

He pressed. "You care for me."

"No, I don't."

"You're falling in love. You admitted as much last night."

"I was weary with exhaustion, tipsy on champagne."

He grasped her hand, stopping her unconscious retreat. "I care for you, too, Amelia. More than I should. Something about you." He could name a dozen things. "But I'm not in the position-"

"I know. You can't offer forever. Trust me, I'm grateful. I have plans, Mr. Gentry. Big plans. I've always dreamed of owning and piloting my own airship. To sail the skies, to experience breathtaking sights and adventures. I've wanted these things far longer than I've wanted you." She glanced away. Not that she'd been looking him in the eyes to begin with. "That is to say...I knew from the outset that this-we-were temporary. I may have led a sheltered life, but I am well-read and my views are-"

"Liberal."

"Exactly. Forward-thinkers-"

"Mods."

"-believe in free love. Marriage is for...squares. Why would I want to give up my independence, my dreams and goals in the name of an official declaration of love? A ceremony and a piece of paper. How shallow and old-fashioned."

Did she really believe that? "The right man wouldn't ask you to give up your dreams."

Her head whipped around, and for the first time this day, she met his gaze full-on. "I'll keep that in mind, Mr. Gentry. Now. Shall we discuss your terms regarding transporting me to...our destination and then delivering myself and the...significant find to London?"

Oh, she was slick. And scared. What burned between them frightened the h.e.l.l out of her. Balm for his ego. He narrowed his eyes, smiled. "I'll get back to you on that."

"Fine." She pivoted on her clunky boot heels and stalked toward where they'd left the air dinghy. Flygirl was back-her leather flight pants and skirted vest, her long hair braided and coiled. All that remained of Cherry Peckinposh was the pink-tinted hair. Guaranteed to wash away in three days, so she'd been told.

Tuck followed closely as Amelia brushed by several men, turning heads in her wake. She seemed oblivious. Tuck wasn't. He couldn't attribute the lingering looks to her pink hair, because the truth of it was, Amelia Darcy, whether in boyish britches or frilly cinched gowns, was d.a.m.ned stunning-a fresh-faced beauty with a curvaceous figure. A woman who exuded a stimulating combination of confidence and naivete. To think she'd been a recent captive of Dunkirk's, a dangerous man who could be anywhere just now. Even here.

A protective and possessive streak bolted through Tuck, quickening his step. Just as he caught up to Amelia, she veered off. What the h.e.l.l? Then he realized she was hurrying toward the sound of music.

"What is it? Who is it?" she asked without looking at him.

"Acid rock. Joplin. Wait." But she'd rushed ahead of him and into the dimly lit tavern. Three musicians backed a gritty-voiced female. "Take another little piece of my heart, yeah, sweetie," she wailed. He'd heard "now, baby," "yeah, honey," and several other variations of the lyrics over the years.

The longer the twentieth-century Peace Rebels dwelled outside of their time, the more they shared of their culture. Homesick, perhaps. Needing to cling to their reality to sustain their sanity, maybe. Tuck had always wondered about the mental and emotional state of the original Peace Rebels. Abandoning family and friends and the technological conveniences of their time-forever. Although they'd been convinced that, in their time, the end of the world was fast approaching. Events such as a cold war, a missile crisis, Vietnam, and nuclear reactors advancing the globe toward annihilation.

Hogwash, Tuck's pa had said when, as a very young boy, Tuck had run home, confused and worried due to stories he'd heard at school or in the town square-preachings of the Peace Rebels. Those tales ain't nothin' but scare tactics, son, Rebis Gentry had said. One of the easiest ways to convert people to your way of thinkin' is by scarin' the bejesus out of 'em. How do we know they're who they say they are? So what if they can devise mind-boggling whatchamacallits and thingamabobs? So what if they have superior knowledge when it comes to science and medicine? They could be from Mars for all we know. Then he'd ruffle Tuck's hair and smile. Live for today, son. Not in fear of tomorrow.

Hence Tuck's worldview had been instilled early on.

As if entranced, Amelia sat at a table near the stage, eyes wide as the singer belted out the pa.s.sionate tune.

Draped in leather, sequins, and layers of love beads, Gia Joplin (as the sign on the tripod announced) swayed back and forth, rocked forward and back, her long, wild hair bouncing around her head like a wiry halo. "Oh, come on. Come on. Come on..."

"What do you want?"

Tuck looked over his shoulder. A barmaid dressed in a gauzy flowery gown. More love beads. "Got coffee?"

She smirked. "Considering this is a coffeehouse, what do you think, cowboy?"

Tuck grinned. "Two coffees."

"What fixings?" she asked. "Whiskey? Scotch?"

"Black."

"Side of weed?"

"No, thanks."

"Square," she mumbled, then sashayed away.

The second time today he'd heard that Mod term. Both times directed at him. Made him feel old and conventional, which he was not. Although there was a time he wouldn't have refused a toke. Especially if it meant sharing a joint with someone who possessed insight into one of his cases. Same as sharing a quart bottle of whiskey when moving in this circle. Tuck had been in hundreds of coffeehouses over the years. Typically they appealed to a more eclectic crowd. The artsy, liberal-thinking sort. Sure enough, the scattered few still in attendance looked on the younger side of thirty and dressed in a colorful, multiage fashion known as ModVic, a bold fashion adopted widely by rebellious youth and Freaks.

Just as Gia Joplin and her ear-blistering trio screeched their last note, Tuck's gaze landed on a small group of people emerging from another room. Freaks. Tuck couldn't care less except-s.h.i.t fire-Doc was amongst them, and he'd forgone his blue-tinted specs. If Amelia saw him, saw his surgically altered, eerie white irises, she'd know for sure and certain that he was born of two worlds. Knowledge Doc preferred to withhold from the rest of the Maverick's crew. d.a.m.n.

"I've never heard music performed in such a manner," Amelia said, watching as Gia Joplin swigged liquor from a bottle while her band dismantled their equipment. "There was a primal quality to it. Stirring." She looked over her shoulder at Tuck. "Do you not think?"

He thought plenty. Probably too much. "Groovy." He grasped her elbow. "Let's get out of here."

"But you ordered drinks."

He slapped a couple of bills on the sticky table. "We need to get back to the ship." Doc and his Freak friends moved to the smoky bar. If Tuck stayed between them and Amelia and hustled her out, they could avoid confrontation.

"Why so irritable?"

"That music gave me a headache."

Amelia rolled her eyes as he hastened her out of her chair. "I suppose you prefer something more conventional. Stephen Foster? Beethoven? Shall I put in a request for 'Oh! Susanna'?"

"You're a pain in my a.s.s this morning, Flygirl."

"Then the day is off to a glorious start." She sniffed as he guided her through a haze of smoke. "Odd-smelling tobacco."

"Weed."

"What?"

"Hemp. Cannabis. Marijuana."

"Oh. Oh. I've heard Mods and Freaks are most fond of...what do they call them? Joints?" They were almost to the door when she broke his hold. "Blast. I left my walking stick at the table."

She turned back, catching Tuck unaware, and though he moved fast, it wasn't fast enough.

"My, aren't they a bold and colorful group? And I thought Cherry and Digger were flamboyant." Amelia squinted through the haze. "I know that style. ModVic. Are they Freaks?" she whispered. "Goodness, is that-"

Tucker caught her by the waist and whisked her out the coffeehouse door quicker than a flea hoppin' out of danger. She'd noticed Doc, but he hadn't noticed them. At least, Tuck didn't think so.

Once outside, Amelia wiggled out of his hold. "What is wrong with you?"

"I'll explain later."

"But I saw Doc Blue. Shouldn't we say h.e.l.lo? Won't he think we're rude?"

"He wouldn't appreciate the intrusion."

"But-"

"Dammit, Amelia."

"But-"

"Do you like Doc?"

"Yes, of course. Very much."

Tuck smothered a spark of jealousy. "Then we're not going back and you're not going to tell him you saw him here. Unless you want to make him uncomfortable."

She blew out a huffy breath. "You are most infuriating this morning, Mr. Gentry."

"Then my day is shaping up." He grasped her elbow but she dug in her heels. "What now?"

"My walking stick. It was a gift from Eli and I refuse to leave it behind."

"Why did you bring it? Your wound is healed."

"It also serves as a weapon. I thought I should be prepared should we run into trouble."

"If we run into trouble you have me."

She crossed her arms and raised a defiant brow.

Tuck wanted to throttle her. "I'll get the d.a.m.ned cane." He maneuvered her into an alcove. "Don't move, and don't talk to strangers."

"You're being ridiculous."

"Do you want that walking stick?"

Smirking, she gave him a two-finger salute.

Tuck wrenched off his Stetson. "Hold this." He'd be less conspicuous without his signature hat. He'd breeze in and out. If Doc did spot him, at least it would be without Amelia.

If only Doc would come clean about his heritage. Granted, the gentle-hearted Freak had good reason to distrust the intolerant portion of Vic society. The man's parents had been ostracized and then later killed in a suspicious house fire. His brother-younger by just one year-had rebelled, severing ties with Doc, dabbling in a life of crime, and ultimately going underground. Unjust fear and prejudice had ripped Doc's family from his life, rendering the young man suspicious and reclusive. Tuck understood caution. What baffled him was Doc's unwillingness to trust the men he'd lived and worked with on the Maverick for more than two years. Although Tuck had promised to keep Doc's secret, that vow was beginning to chafe. He'd promised Amelia an explanation, but d.a.m.n, that put him in the position of betraying Doc's trust as well as slighting his crew. Didn't they deserve to know first?

"Dammit." Tuck kept his head down and steered clear of the bar. He couldn't, however, avoid hearing the heated conversation coming from Doc's friends. Something about a protest. Well, h.e.l.l. Doc had mentioned a brewing rebellion among Freaks, but he hadn't mentioned being a part of that cause. Given Doc's pacifist mind-set, more likely he was exploring this avenue as yet another way to connect with his brother-a man he hadn't heard from in more than three years. Tuck wished he could say it wasn't his business, but if Doc somehow brought trouble to the Maverick...

He snagged the retracted bra.s.s cane from the table and glanced toward the bar. Only Doc was no longer with the plotting Freaks. The supernaturally gifted doctor was immersed in a conversation with a lone person. A woman, he a.s.sumed from a glimpse of stocking and skirt. Hidden in the shadows, Tuck couldn't make out whether she was Vic or Freak. Whoever she was, Doc was agitated. Given the younger man's normally docile character, Tuck's first impulse was to step in, but he resisted, knowing Doc wouldn't appreciate the intrusion amongst his own kind. Still, Tuck wouldn't be forgetting this.

He slipped outside, a bad feeling churning in his gut. Anxious to distance Amelia from brewing trouble, he handed her the walking stick, then finessed her toward the air dinghy. He hoped to h.e.l.l the Maverick was up and running and in good order. The sooner they were on their way to Italy, the better. Skimming the clouds always cleared his head. Right now his brain was jammed tight with a dozen puzzles. Amelia. The ornithopter. Doc. To name three.

As they neared the first swinging gangway, Amelia glanced over, her brow scrunched in concern. "You okay?"

Hearing one of his phrases laced with her British accent, he almost smiled. "Spectacular."

CHAPTER 19.

BRITISH SCIENCE MUSEUM.

LONDON, ENGLAND.

An emergency meeting.