Luke's Gold Read online

  After he returned to the apartment building and carried the bags of groceries up to his room, he walked slowly toward the wide window behind the ugly settee. He pulled aside the wheat-colored curtains. The city stretched out below him, drab and cluttered with only touches of green here and there. Why did anyone live here? The White River

  snaked in the distance.

  Where was the Pixie? She hid well in this place, ‘twas true. She had magic. He had nothing but his charm, his sharp mind and his uncle’s money. And if he didn’t find her soon, he’d have nothing but the guilt of failure bitter in his gut.

  “Where are you?” He touched the amber but felt nothing other than smooth stone beneath his fingers. “Where the devil are you?”

  * * *

  Luke sat at the counter of the crowded coffee shop, happy to find it wasn’t like the fancy shops that lined the streets of the city, filled with the sounds of conversations between mortals and unseen folk on small devices held near their ears.

  Around each square table of the coffee shop sat four metal chairs with plump seats, and nearly all of them were occupied. The stool beneath Luke was also padded and comfortable and the place smelled like eggs and bacon and strong coffee.

  What had drawn him into this place he couldn’t recall, just an itch in the middle of his chest he could attribute to the thick air in the city. His amber shifted against his skin as a serving girl passed in front of him and he leaned his elbows on the long white counter.

  He admired her trim figure as she bustled behind the counter. The tinkling of silverware and murmurs of conversation fell from his notice as he studied her. Oh, he didn’t have to imagine the lush figure hidden beneath the snug and simple T-shirt, the round bottom caressed by her blue jeans. He almost preferred the close-fitting pants of this time to the dresses worn by the women of his. What would she look like in a sprigged day gown, her bosom teasingly displayed but the rest of her hidden beneath skirts and petticoats? Her small feet dressed in fine kid shoes made by a MacDonald instead of her simple canvas sneakers? Aye, she’d be a vision.

  He shifted on the stool as his body reacted to her closeness. Again, the amber moved against his skin. In the five days he’d spent in this strange city he’d had offers from mortal women that would make his uncle blush. First the woman at the clothing store and then women on the street or in the pub, all reacting strongly to his Braunach charm. He didn’t seek their attentions; it seemed he had no control over his charm here.

  Neither his body nor his mind had been affected by any one of those women, though.

  This girl caused his senses to sharpen and his body to tighten in his jeans. Why?

  * * *

  Brianna trembled as she set the coffee pot down. He’d found her. All the way

  from Ireland, he’d tracked her down in her snug little pocket of security. She’d expected it; Grandmother had told her as much. That the Braunach would be so tall and strong, though? Grandmother, why didn’t you warn me?

  She held her hands in fists tucked in the folds of her apron and turned away from him.

  Another waitress came to stand next to her. “Something wrong, Bree?”

  Brianna faced Lori, a woman she’d worked with nearly every day since coming to this place. Dark-haired and intense in both her scowls and smiles, Lori was different from anyone Brianna had known in Cornwall. The woman obviously considered her a friend, and that warmed Brianna’s heart.

  “Nothing’s wrong, Lori.” Brianna wiped her damp palms on the front of her jeans.

  “It’s just been a busy morning.”

  Lori stared at her with that frankness so common to Americans and clicked her tongue. “Tell me if you need a break.”

  She left Brianna’s side and walked further down the counter. Brianna wasn’t as lucky. She kept herself as far from the Braunach as she could, watching him out of the

  corner of her eye as she waited on the customers around him. He seemed out of place as he talked with his mortal companion. The blond man had been in the shop a couple of times before, a friendly man who teased and flirted with her in that ease all Americans seemed to share. She’d felt no threat from him then and she didn’t now. His companion, however? He was danger itself. She stifled another shiver.

  The Braunach was striking. His brown hair, full of auburn streaks, was thick and wavy. He had a ruddy complexion that glowed with virility. Hale and bloody hearty, no doubt. He was large, and exuded strength. Yes, he was strong. And cunning, unless she missed her guess. Weren’t all the blasted Braunach known for their bloody sharp minds?

  When he’d stepped into the coffee shop she’d known; the floor had shifted

  beneath her feet. Oh, the Braunach charm. She could feel it in her blood, in the tingle over the surface of her skin. He was full of it. Would he try to charm her here? She trembled. Now?

  Anger caused her cheeks to flush hot and her breath to hitch in her chest. The Braunach’s charm was forgotten now. He could smile his beautiful smile and use those green eyes but she wouldn’t surrender her mind or her will. And she wouldn’t surrender her treasure either, damn him. It was hers, and dear to her heart. And she was damned if she’d turn it over to this Braunach!

  Chapter 4

  Luke eyed the pretty little lass, noting the smooth cheeks now flushed pink as she served her customers. She worked the humming machine at the end of the counter and deftly handled the customers’ money. Her English accent was faint but he caught it and felt that itch in his chest again. She might be from now but she wasn’t from here. He was certain of it.

  The girl’s hair, done in a fetching style gathered at the crown and swinging free to brush her shoulders, revealed her slender ivory neck. Her skin looked dewy fresh and smooth and his fingers itched to touch her. Her features were delicate, her face heart-shaped. She turned again, showing him her perfect profile. Did her ear show the slightest hint of a point? He focused fully on the girl. Her thick hair was straight and shiny in the overhead lamps, of as pure a gold as his uncle’s treasure. His belly clenched and the amber disk suddenly grew warm against his throat. Nay, it couldn’t be!

  “You!” he said.

  She whirled toward him and widened her eyes, eyes as blue as the sky above his beloved Ireland. Certainty struck him hard in the gut, his simple lust for her gone in an instant. It was the Pixie, damn her to Hell.

  The Pixie feigned confusion as she quickly ran her gaze over him before taking a step backward. Her little chin rose as she straightened her spine, affecting a casual air. He shook his head at her. Her affected innocence wouldn’t keep him from the task that brought him through the years. Nay. He’d traveled leagues from his home to drop here in the middle of these strange Colonies. He wouldn’t let her get away now.

  He placed his fingers at the base of his throat. He fingered the smooth amber disk through his shirt and said a silent prayer of thanks to his uncle and to the Lord. The amber throbbed against his touch. The MacDonald clan knew much of the Cornish

  Pixies. Aside from their magic they held a dose of charm as well. Oh, perhaps not as strong as the Braunach. He didn’t doubt this slip of a girl would be a formidable opponent. As the girl watched him, Luke slowly lowered his hand to the counter.

  “May I help you, sir?” she asked.

  “More coffee, pray,” he said.

  The lass arched one fair brow but served him. His nostrils flared as she leaned closer. She smelled like fresh air and flowers. Again his body reacted and he clenched his hands in fists to keep from touching her. This place might lack the morals he’d been taught to respect, but even here and now a man didn’t just touch any woman he fancied.

  His gaze fell to her T-shirt as she sucked in a breath. She was nicely formed. He didn’t miss the tremble of her delicate hand as she held the glass pot above his thick china cup.

  He swallowed a smile. She wasn’t immune to him, then.

  She took a quick step back as if to escape him and his lips quirked. He raised the cup to h
is lips and blew gently to cool the coffee. She watched him and he couldn’t keep one corner of his mouth from lifting. When she blinked and raised her gaze to his, he drank slowly of the dark brew. In the next moment she looked away and hurried to the other end of the counter. He continued to watch her, rewarded when every few seconds she’d glance over her shoulder at him with wary eyes.

  He set his cup down. The drink paled by comparison to the pricey coffee served in the fancy shops, but Jim Palmer from the apartment building had assured Luke that this little coffee shop had its advantages. A hot little waitress, Jim had said. Luke wished he could thank Jim for his offhand comment.

  “Told you she was a looker,” Jim said.

  Luke saw Jim also watched the flustered Pixie. He merely shrugged and traced the rim of his coffee cup with one finger, tamping down his excitement. At last he’d tracked

  down his prey after five days here in Indianapolis. Days of danger and confusion and desperation. Her beauty was a surprise. And the strength he felt in her promised a challenge.

  “She be a pretty lass,” Luke said.

  Jim laughed, a hearty expression that matched the man’s cheery nature and bright smile. “Maybe I should visit your Ireland, Luke, if you think she’s only ‘pretty.’”

  Luke said nothing more as he watched the Pixie. She held magic. And he had only his duty to fight her—and the charm and cunning inherent to his clan. He would have to think on the best approach to gain his family’s gold from the girl. Cornish Pixies had magic he’d only heard about, never seen. He wouldn’t make a mistake now and send her back into hiding.

  She’d responded to his small bit of charm, her skin flushed pink as her pupils dilated. Her breath grew reedy as she’d leaned slightly toward him. He’d known the instant her confusion changed to anger. She’d fight him if he mentioned the treasure now.

  There were too many mortals in the place, and he couldn’t gauge the strength of the Pixie’s magic.

  He glanced around the coffee shop again. Lots of electric lights and windows. Her effect on his body was instant; he didn’t dare tangle with her mind right now. It could be deadly.

  Luke stood and placed some of this time’s paper money on the counter. He

  thanked God again for bringing him to his prey at last. And now that he’d found her, he was confident his stay would end within a fortnight.

  He and Jim left the coffee shop and walked toward the apartment building a few blocks away. She’d been this close to him all this time? It nearly killed him to walk away from her without the treasure. He shook his head and stifled a groan of frustration.

  Jim fell easily into step beside Luke, taking the position nearest the street. A simple push from Luke made the man choose that side each time they ventured out together. The carriages without horses—cars, Luke now knew—still disturbed him. Their noises and smells didn’t endear the vehicles to him and he held himself rigid as one began to bleat loudly to their left.

  Luke shook off his unease and they walked for a while, turning away from the main street and the heaviest traffic. Over the past week Jim proved himself an able if unwitting companion on Luke’s quests through the downtown nightlife in his search for the Pixie. He’d eased Luke’s way among the party-loving people of Indianapolis, his American manners allowing Luke to observe the crowds as he waited for his senses and the amber to react to the Pixie’s presence.

  He was pleased to discover pubs were the same in the here and now as back in Ireland in his time. And once the people here heard his accent, they seemed to excuse his old-fashioned mannerisms and odd ways of wording things. With little effort he passed just beneath their notice. Except for the mortal women. Their eyes burned him through his modern clothes. He didn’t forget the incident with the woman in the clothing store.

  His charm was under tight rein, but still affected the mortals in ways he hadn’t imagined.

  “Where do you want to try our luck tonight?” Jim asked.

  Luke knew his friend hadn’t found him out. No. He still believed Luke’s tale that he worked for himself, as a “consultant.” Luke prowled the city looking for the thieving Pixie, night and day, and his unusual hours were his own concern.

  The hunt had been his only concern, for the days since leaving home he’d focused solely on finding his uncle’s treasure. Now that he’d found the Pixie? He had no need to patronize the saloons where more than one mortal woman had attempted a seduction. His body still ached from merely breathing in the Pixie’s scent. Hot and sweet, like her fine

  little body.

  Luke shook his head. “I be keepin’ to my rooms this eve, Jim.”

  “Yeah?” Jim shrugged in his easygoing manner. “Well, the girls will wonder where you are. They like those big shoulders and the funny way you talk.” He grinned.

  “But I think I can keep them busy.”

  Luke couldn’t help but smile. Jim worked at one of the local corporations, places of which Luke heard much and cared little. No doubt the man needed the release the ale and women could give him from his dull occupation. Jim liked to try his own charm on the ladies of this city, and his success surprised Luke at first. He soon realized the pubs might seem like those in Ireland, but even the primmest looking mortal women were apparently as generous with their favors as the most seasoned serving girl back home.

  “Have at them, friend,” Luke said.

  He had interest in one woman at present. The Pixie.

  Chapter 5

  Brianna reached the snug home she’d rented and took her first easy breath since facing the Braunach that afternoon. The little house was close to downtown, in a neighborhood of older homes, but afforded Brianna and Violet privacy despite this proximity. Small and snug, furnished for warmth and function, it suited her and her sister.

  She’d need its comfort tonight.

  She’d had no doubt they would find her; hadn’t her grandmother warned her that more comes with the gold than she imagined? They sent such an able-bodied Braunach, though. So shrewd and forthright. So hot and handsome. His charm and beauty was nothing compared to the strength she sensed in him. She couldn’t stifle a shiver at the memory.

  She shifted the brown bag of doughnuts in her arms to one side and unlocked the door. “Bloody Hell.”

  “That you, Miss Wellbrook?” a voice called from the kitchen. “Is there a

  problem?”

  Brianna shut the door and walked through the living room. She pushed open the swinging door of the kitchen, forcing a smile for the elderly woman who looked after Violet while Brianna was at the coffee shop.

  “No problem, Mrs. Henning.” Brianna withdrew a bit of American money and

  placed it in Mrs. Henning’s hand. “I’m just tired.”

  “No doubt.” The plump woman clicked her tongue as she picked up her sturdy brown purse from the counter. “Toiling in that restaurant all day long.”

  Brianna’s smile widened at the woman’s staunch support. She’d only known Mrs.

  Henning for a short while and already she seemed to take both Brianna and Violet to her heart. Without a touch of glimmer, too.

  True, Brianna would rather spend her time with Violet than serving folks at the coffee shop. The fortune tucked away would certainly allow her to go and do anything she wished. She wouldn’t use the gold for her own comfort. That was certain.

  “It’s not that bad, really.” Brianna held up the bag in her arm. The paper gave off its sweet greasy smell to fill the kitchen. “And they let me take the leftover treats home.”

  An answering smile curved the woman’s mouth. “Violet’s favorites.” Her

  wrinkled brow furrowed. “Not that the sprite will eat much of anything tonight.”

  Brianna set the bag on the counter, her stomach twisting. “Is she all right?”

  “Yes, yes. But she’s so tired.”

  “Yes, the medicine has that effect.” Brianna nodded, her throat tight. “Did she say her stomach hurts?”

  Mrs. Henn
ing gave a small nod and Brianna’s own stomach clenched again. She patted Brianna’s hand before donning her sweater. “I gave her the vitamins, Miss Wellbrook.” She studied Brianna for a moment. “You remember to take care of yourself, too. The little one needs you.”

  The woman couldn’t know how true her words were.

  “Thank you again, Mrs. Henning,” Brianna said. “Have a good night.”

  The lady clicked her tongue in sympathy and took her leave. Brianna sank down into the chair beside the little table in the center of the room. She knew she should check on Violet. She needed to collect herself before facing the child; she needed to center her strength. She looked down at her shaking hands and placed them flat on the tabletop, closing her eyes to slow her pulse, to calm her spirit. She was tired. That was true.

  Fatigue from her job was only one reason, however. The bloody Braunach had found her.

  Damn him to Hell!

  As to the stolen Braunach gold, Brianna hid it well with a simple spell her mother

  had taught her years ago. She prayed it would withstand the Braunach’s keen senses.

  “Brianna?” Violet called from her bedroom.

  The faint beloved voice dispelled Brianna’s musings. “Yes, love.”

  She rose from the table and brushed her hands over her rumpled shirt and faded blue jeans. Her canvas sneakers making no sound, she made her way toward the little bedroom at the back of the house. Cheery yellow curtains dressed the one small window of the bedroom, a quilt in faded, lovely colors—wrought by the hands of some unknown woman and left here—covered the narrow wooden bed. And there, nestled among the quilt and sheets was the reason Brianna took what wasn’t hers and came to this place.