Luke's Gold Page 6

  She slumped against the cool tiles at her back and cried, her tears as hot as the shower spray.

  She wouldn’t be foolish enough to find herself alone with the man. That was certain. Her grandmother had warned her about their cunning. That was true. And their charm, though until today she hadn’t given that trait more than a passing thought. She wouldn’t think about his incredible kiss one moment longer. Tomorrow she would worry about the MacDonald. After she saw he sister through another treatment and safely

  settled in her little bed once more. Focusing on Violet’s needs was all she needed to quiet her desire for the Braunach and his bloody beautiful mouth.

  She finished her shower and was soon curled in her own bed, the key’s satin ribbon wound around one wrist. Sleep found her with blessed ease and she welcomed it.

  She couldn’t control her dreams, however, and as she slept, images of the Braunach filled her mind and the crystal key hummed softly in the darkened room.

  Chapter 8

  Luke stepped into the coffee shop Monday morning and quickly looked around the place.

  “She isn’t here.”

  He turned to find the tall, buxom waitress eyeing him with familiarity from behind the counter. Feigning ignorance, he smiled at her. “I am not lookin’ for anyone.”

  The girl, Lori he remembered, laughed. “Bree’s with her sister today.”

  Sister? His stomach clenched. There was more than one Pixie here in

  Indianapolis? He hid his apprehension at that particular disclosure. “I don’t… Ah.”

  Lori placed a hand on her hip, a gesture he had often seen her make, and clicked her tongue. “You tore after her Saturday, handsome.”

  Luke’s cheeks flushed hot at the girl’s perception. Well, he wouldn’t speak of it with this mortal. His weakness for the Pixie wasn’t her concern. Nay, he would employ his clan’s charm, and to great effect unless he missed his guess. Surely she wouldn’t prove any more resistant than the doxie had been yesterday morning.

  He glanced around the coffee shop again, nearly empty at this odd time between the nooning meal and dinner. Good. He folded his big frame and settled on the stool closest to the girl.

  “You know much of the lass,” he said. He fixed a crooked grin on her. “Tell me.”

  Lori blinked, her mouth falling open. She began to shake her head but Luke gave a soft laugh, one he knew to be full of promises a lass couldn’t resist. The girl flushed, her trembling fingers running over her brow.

  “Bree’s with her sister…”

  “Luke,” he said.

  She smiled, a heated expression, and her fingers slid down her cheek to her throat

  as she leaned her head back a bit. “Luke.”

  He folded his arms and placed them on the counter. “Tell me, Lori,” he

  whispered.

  Lori had to lean close to hear him, precisely what Luke had anticipated. He placed his hand over hers on the counter and the girl gave a gasp.

  “I have need to speak with… Bree, Lori. That is all. I just want to speak with her.”

  A slow steady stroke to her fingers, innocent and not, had her breathing fast and shallow.

  “Luke…”

  His eyes bore into hers and he watched her pupils dilate. Her tongue flicked out to moisten her lips and Luke hid his satisfaction. Now the words would flow from her like warm honey.

  “Where does she live, Lori?” he asked.

  He gave her a slow perusal. Her breasts rose and fell rapidly. Smiling, he settled his gaze on her face once more.

  “Pray, tell me where I can find her,” he softly urged.

  Lori looked around the coffee shop, no doubt torn between the lure he used and the loyalty to her friend. Admirable, that last. She opened her mouth and leaned closer still.

  “Bree is—”

  “Luke!”

  Luke glanced up to see Jim enter. In that instant the charm was broken. Lori straightened and recovered herself. Running her fingers over her hair, she stepped away from the counter as Luke cursed inwardly.

  He nodded in Jim’s direction. “Jim.”

  Jim clapped him on the shoulder and settled himself beside him. “Escaped from the office early and thought I’d come and grab a cup.” He smiled at Lori, who still looked flushed, before turning to Luke again. “I’m buyin’. I owe you for Saturday night.”

  Luke arched a brow in question.

  “The minute you left the place, that girl was all over me.” Jim jabbed his elbow in Luke’s ribs. “I barely made it through the night. Had to get rid of her friend, though.

  Heard you left her hangin’.”

  Luke wouldn’t admit to what he’d let the lass do to him before he recovered his control and his sanity at last.

  “Sorry, friend,” Luke said. “Don’t give my key to any other lasses.”

  “Okay.” Jim laughed. “Thought I was doing you a favor, is all.”

  Luke mustered a smile for Jim as he chatted about the coming week’s work, his assignments. Yesterday had been Sunday, and Luke had left his flat after getting rid of the pub girl to attend mass at a downtown church. Saint Patrick’s, he’d been pleased to note soon upon arriving in the city of now. After mass he’d stayed to pray for strength, for the duty given to him along with the amber pendant. Despite the amber growing warm in response, he knew prayer alone wouldn’t save Uncle Seamus. The Pixie held the answer to his uncle’s health and sanity in her strong, delicate hands. Where was she hiding?

  He glanced up at Lori, now fully recovered and apparently ignorant of his attempt to charm the information out of her as she flirted with Jim. He would have his answers.

  He would find the Pixie and her sister. He cursed again. Two Pixies? How the bloody hell would he fight two of them?

  He drank his coffee and pondered his next step. There was nothing else for it. He

  would have to follow the Pixie and track her to her den. Then he would use every ounce of charm the good Lord had blessed him with to wrest the treasure from her.

  * * *

  “Brianna.”

  Brianna stirred in the hard plastic chair set close to the bed and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. She blinked as she glanced around the sterile room, the smell of it stinging her nostrils. The room was both odd and familiar; a place like this should never be familiar, especially to a child.

  Violet lay in the bed, a tube filled with healing blood snaking down to flow into one slender arm. Her hospital gown looked huge on her, the faded sprigged cotton a drab color that went well with the rest of the treatment room. Brianna touched Violet’s free arm. It looked so fragile, the veins outlined beneath the pearly skin. She stroked the pale skin, wishing she could warm it with her fingers.

  “I’m here, love,” Brianna said.

  The child winced as she shifted in the bed. Her face was still ghostly white, even against the pristine hospital sheets. “I miss Mama.”

  Brianna bit her tongue to keep from echoing Violet’s sentiment. Their mother had been as kind as she was beautiful, a talented Pixie who lavished both magic and love on her two daughters. So many years separated Brianna and Violet’s birth, their mother always said that she had the best of both worlds with one sprite to raise and another to befriend. She was gone these past three years, closely following their father’s death. She took Violet’s chilled hand in her own. “I know, love.”

  “And I miss Grandmother,” Violet said. “I want to go home.”

  “You’re not well enough to go home, Violet,” Brianna said. “You know that.”

  “I know.” Violet’s lower lip trembled but she raised her little chin in an

  expression Brianna recognized as Pixie pride. “But I shall get better, Brianna.”

  A genuine smile curved Brianna’s lips. “Yes, you shall. And then I’ll take you home to Grandmother.”

  Muffled sounds could be heard in the hallway outside the thick wooden door: wheels on gurneys, shuffling feet, hushed voices. The door suddenly
opened with a soft whooshing sound. Brianna turned to find Violet’s doctor entering the room.

  “Mrs. Wellbrook?” he asked.

  Relief struck Brianna. His mode of address told her the glimmering charm was still working; he believed her to be Violet’s mother.

  “Hello, Dr. Noble,” she said.

  He nodded to her and picked up the folder sitting on the small metal table beside the bed. The papers rustled as he perused the mountain of information it undoubtedly possessed on her little sister’s condition by now.

  “Hmm,” he said, at last setting the folder down once again. He touched the bag of blood and its tube, checking for something Brianna couldn’t fathom. Then he smiled winningly in the child’s direction. “Hello, Violet. Feeling any better today?”

  Violet nodded, a cheeky grin for the handsome doctor on her little face. What a flirt. Brianna smiled inwardly.

  “I feel much better, Dr. Noble,” Violet said.

  Brianna blinked at that. With competent hands, Dr. Noble pushed up the folds of Violet’s sprigged hospital gown and rubbed her swollen belly. Violet didn’t hold her grin during the examination, a fact that told Brianna much more than she would like.

  “Hmm,” he said again. He gently lowered the child’s gown and turned to Brianna.

  “Mrs. Wellbrook, may I speak with you?”

  Brianna’s stomach clenched sickeningly at his request. “Y-yes.” She handed

  Violet a well-worn book from the stack set in a basket beneath the metal table. “I’ll just be a moment, love.”

  Violet nodded and took the book she’d read too many times already. Dr. Noble held the door for Brianna and she preceded him into the hallway. He let the door rock closed as she turned to face him.

  “Tell me,” she said.

  “I’m not as pleased with Violet’s progress as I could be, Mrs. Wellbrook,” the doctor said. “Is she taking her Prednisone?”

  “Yes,” Brianna said. “She balks, but I make certain she gets each measured dose.”

  Dr. Noble nodded, brushing his fingers through his fair hair. “She has no fever,”

  he allowed. “But her spleen has not returned to its normal size as yet.”

  Brianna’s heart began to pound. “Please, doctor.” She took a breath and

  straightened her spine. “Please tell me all of it.”

  After a brief hesitation he nodded. “If the swelling doesn’t go down soon…”

  Regret filled his blue eyes. “We’ll have to remove her spleen.”

  Though she’d known of this possibility all along, she couldn’t bear the thought of anyone taking a knife to Violet’s creamy skin. “What… what else can be done?”

  “We’ve discussed this, Mrs. Wellbrook. Violet’s body is producing healthy red blood cells. The infection she contracted some time ago left her spleen inflamed. It’s destroying the blood cells faster than she can make them.”

  “What of the blood transfusions?” Brianna asked. “They’re helping, aren’t they?”

  Dr. Noble nodded. “But if the steroid she’s taking doesn’t begin to work, Violet will need surgery.”

  It all crashed in on her at once. Too late, her mind whispered. All for nothing.

  Taking the gold, facing the MacDonald. All for nothing.

  Brianna hugged her middle and trembled, lost in her misery for a selfish moment.

  Not far down the hall, a stack of files fell to the floor, scattering papers everywhere. She reined in her fear, her power, and looked at the mess she’d caused. Several nurses bent to pick up the papers, puzzlement on their faces. She straightened and faced Dr. Noble. “I pray it won’t come to that, Doctor.”

  “This surgery’s done quite often,” Dr. Noble said. “My main concern would be Violet’s frailty.”

  Violet was a frail little thing now. Oh, if only the doctor could have seen her sister before the illness that left her in such dire straits. Bright and bubbly, troublesome and wonderful. And now Violet was a mere ghost of her former self.

  “What do we do for the time-being?” she asked.

  “I’ll see her again next week,” he said. “Perhaps her body will rally and respond more readily to the steroid. Just make certain she rests and takes her iron as well.”

  Yes, iron. The vitamins Mrs. Henning and she dutifully administered each

  morning.

  “I will,” she said.

  Dr. Noble smiled at her. “Then I’ll go say good-bye to Violet.”

  Brianna gave him a moment alone with her sister, using the time to gather her own strength. Oh, please let her get well, she prayed. If anything were to happen to Violet now… She wouldn’t think about it. Or about the Braunach, damn him. He couldn’t know the power he held in his skillful hands. He had the power to take Violet’s slight chance of the survival along with his family’s gold.

  Chapter 9

  Luke walked up Meridian Street, the busy thoroughfare that bisected the city. Tall buildings bracketed both sides of the street, and he was pleased to keep to the sidewalk beside the ones to his right. Along the wide street, horseless coaches—cars, he mentally corrected himself—roared and bleated as they made their way. Initially surprised to find horse-drawn cabs sharing the space with the loud vehicles, Luke now thought the poor harnessed animals appeared more dispirited than not as their clumsy drivers plodded them along the crowded streets. Pity there was no room for the animals to trot.

  The day was bright, though the chill of winter still clung to the breeze that ruffled his hair. Men dressed for a busy workday, in short jackets and long thin neck cloths, hurried to their jobs on the walk, all ignoring him in his casual flannel shirt, thick white undershirt and jeans. Yes, the men ignored him; not so with the women.

  Young and old, women wearing skirts and men’s pants and harried young

  mothers pushing babies in prams, the females of this time openly perused his fine form.

  Breathy greetings and chirpy hellos met his ears, and he idly nodded in return. His charm was out of his control this day, so focused was he on his prey. He did nothing to rein it in; he would do nothing to take advantage of its effect either. He was dimly aware of a few of the more brazen women following in his wake, their perfume and giggles reaching him.

  Putting the city women out of his mind, he fingered the amber pendant at the base of his throat. It was cold beneath the undershirt. He cursed under his breath. Three days had passed since he’d laid eyes on the Pixie. Three days during which he’d made no progress in reclaiming the gold. There had been no sign of her at the coffee shop since Saturday, and he was loathe to try his charm on the waitress Lori again. With his thoughts in such a jumble, he didn’t trust his power. And the last thing he needed was another

  forward female offering him something he didn’t want or need. His shame with the woman from the pub still tore at him.

  Two Pixies. Amazing. He knew the Cornish Pixies to value family, as much as his own clan did. He hoped only one sister accompanied the Pixie Lori called Bree. Bree. It was an odd name, one that didn’t seem to fit the lass. Nay, it was too hard a sound for so delicate a beauty. He laughed out loud. She was delicate, aye. And possessed a will so strong he was still no closer to recovering the gold and restoring his uncle’s mind than when he time jumped nearly a fortnight ago.

  As it had too often over the past three days, his mind went back to their kiss in the alleyway. Magic and passion had swirled around them, a heady mix that warmed him now. Aye, his body heated to think about her sweet lips, her yielding form. Both her vulnerability and her anger had been clear. He didn’t need her face before him to recall the blue fire in those beautiful eyes. He wouldn’t give in to the temptation. He would keep his wits about him. And his heart secured. The thought of emotion stilled him.

  “Troublesome lass,” he muttered.

  He heard a laugh then, low and sly and just to his right. He shot a glance down the nearest alleyway, his heart pounding. He saw a shuffling shape there in the shadows
, or so he thought. Then nothing but a few large trash cans. Again he fingered the amber, but it was cold as ice against his throat.

  Luke raked his fingers through his hair and looked up and down the street.

  Ignoring the feminine smiles thrown in his direction, he entered the nearest coffee house and ordered a tall something or other with cream. He handed his money to the skinny bespectacled man behind the counter and took the warm paper cup.

  After settling down at a too-small table, he removed the cup’s plastic lid and blew at the fragrant steam snaking up from the drink. He took a sip, swiping at the foam left on

  his upper lip, and frowned into the cup. Ah, who did he think was he fooling? He didn’t want the fancy coffee any more than he wanted the mortal women here in Indianapolis.

  He wanted the Pixie. And he would find her today.

  He tossed the still-full cup into the nearest can and left, turning toward the little coffee shop. Two blocks off the busy Meridian Street, the shop was a welcome sight to him. He wouldn’t ponder the reason now, wouldn’t think of the pretty package of magic who might right at this moment stand behind the counter. Nay. The gold was vital. His heart and body did not matter in this. And if tangling with the Pixie was necessary, he’d do his best. Finally he smiled, anticipating the challenge “Bree” represented.

  One step into the coffee shop brought her into his sights. The tension left his body in a rush, and he rolled his shoulders in response. In that moment she turned, her eyes large and questioning and soft. Then she blinked, inky black lashes that shielded her gaze just long enough for her guard to return. He felt it, like a wall between them. Now her stance was falsely dismissive as she gazed at him with indifference. He grinned. He hadn’t missed it; that awareness was real. And he would use it today to bring her under his lure. To wrap his mind around hers as he longed to with their bodies.