The Fortune (17 page)

Frankie hung onto John, fatigued beyond measure. She couldn’t feel her behind, legs or hips any longer. Her back screamed in agony with each thump of the horse’s hooves. Yet she kept quiet, her fear over who might be chasing them stronger than her pain.
 

Their daring escape from jail was like a dream, something she would have read in a novel. Not a crime she committed. Yet here she was running from the law like a common criminal. It was embarrassing, exciting, exhilarating and exhausting. She never would have considered breaking the law, much less be a wanted criminal.

Of course, a year ago, she was living an entirely different life in New York. Their apartment was small and their means as well, but the Chastains had been happy. Now they were a thousand miles from what had been their home, separated and the future uncertain.

Her parents and sisters were probably sick with worry, wondering if she were dead or worse. She hadn’t wanted to put them through her disappearance again. They had endured so much while she had been held prisoner by Oliver Peck. Their departure from New York was supposed to free them from worry and open up the possibility of a happy life again.

However, Oliver’s reach had extended across the country. She shouldn’t have been surprised but she was. Declan’s change of heart shocked her. Peck hired men who were loyal to the point of killing themselves for him. The man was diabolical, but he was also brilliant. Declan’s reversal would be his death. She knew it and so did he.

Her mind kept spinning around and around, replaying the conversation over and trying to figure out why. Declan didn’t appear to be stupid. If he worked for Oliver, and was trusted to retrieve her, his lotus blossom, then Declan was high up in the ranks.

Yet he had thrown away everything to let her go.

She had a hard time believing it was her story. He had to have heard more than one tale of dark torture and born witness to others. Something else must have triggered his actions. She could not figure out what.

When the pink light of dawn colored the sky in the east, she turned her face and closed her eyes. They were gritty and sore from a night spent on horseback. John reached back and patted her thigh. She grunted, unable to form a word.

The horse slowed and she lifted her head to look around. He’d found a small copse of trees with some tall grass moving gently in the early morning breeze. It was simple but it looked like paradise to her.

He pulled the horse to a stop. “Easy, boy, easy.” John dismounted as though he was fresh as a daisy in spring. He held up his arms to her to help her down.

Frankie wanted to smack him for not looking miserable, but she accepted his offer with gratitude. She doubted she could stand up or walk given how numb her lower half was. His arms were warm and full of strength, welcoming her. She breathed in his scent, of man and of John. He held her tight while she trembled from weakness.

“I’ve got you, Frankie.”

Tears stung her eyes at the sweetness in his gruff voice. He scooped her into his arms. She lolled against him, unable to lift her head more than a few inches. Soon cool grass surrounded her as he laid her on the ground. She rolled to her side and pillowed her head on her arm.
 

“Keep an eye out for the dog. I don’t want him to get lost,” she murmured. The dog had become a symbol of freedom for her. She wanted to rescue him as he had helped to rescue them. Perhaps tomorrow she would carry him, no matter what John said.

“Fine, but I ain’t gonna like the damn dog.”

He kissed her forehead and moved away. Frankie smiled to herself and surrendered to the darkness of sleep.

She didn’t remember John coming back, covering her with a blanket or snuggling up behind her. Yet when she cracked her eyes open later, she was safely tucked against him, a scratchy but serviceable blanket over them. The sun was bright beyond the shade of the trees, telling her it was midday. She didn’t want to move, not even a smidge, but her bladder has other ideas.

The first movement sent sharp pain up her legs and into her back. She groaned at the intensity of the pain. Sweet heavens, but she had never felt so sore in her life. A furry head nudged her hand and she managed to pet the dog. He licked her hand and she smiled. He whined and she looked into his eyes. Exhaustion was evident in the canine, and guilt took a bite out of her. She should have carried the dog. The poor thing had worn itself out following her.

“Are you awake?” John’s sleep-tinged voice sent a shiver down her spine.

“Yes, but I wish I was still asleep.” She inched forward, her bladder insistent and throbbing now. The dog got to his feet with a whine and watched her with his big brown eyes, tail barely wagging. “I need to, um, find some privacy.”

He lifted his arm, freeing her. “Of course. Do you need help?”

“Not since I was two.” She scooted forward and pushed herself up into a sitting position. Her muscles protested the movement with a vengeance. Never one to admit defeat, she rolled to her knees and tried to stand. Unsuccessfully. She tried again and met with the same result. A whine sounded again and she glanced over at the dog that appeared to be sympathizing with her.
 

“How the hell did the damn dog keep up with us?” John grumbled.

“He might be dirty, but he is smart.” She smiled at the dog and his tail sped up. “I should think you would be glad we all got out of that town alive. From now on, we’re going to carry him.”

“I’m glad we got out alive, I’m but not keen on carrying that flea-bitten hound who seems to worship you.” He sounded almost jealous.

If she wasn’t miserable and sore, she might have enjoyed sparring with him. However, her bladder reminded her she had more pressing needs. Gritting her teeth, she began to crawl toward a deeper clump of trees. The soft grass made her progress easier, but it was ridiculously hard to move forward even a foot.

“Woman, you are going to hurt yourself.” John picked her up by her waist and carried her to the trees. “You can’t stand, what makes you think you can squat on your own? Just ask for help.”

She hadn’t thought that far ahead, but she had to admit he was right. Squatting would be beyond anything she could hope to manage at this point. Letting go of her modesty, and her pride, was harder than the slow crawl she’d attempted. Frankie sucked in a deep breath and let it out.

“I would appreciate your assistance.” The words were pulled from deep in her gut, forced out.

“Gladly given.” He made no comment but helped her walk to a clump of bushes. She should have been mortified when he helped her squat, but she couldn’t. Like a gentleman, he waited while she performed her personal business, then pulled her to her feet and walked her with care back to their nest.

Her muscles were sore, but the more she used them, the less painful it was to move. By the time she sat down on the blanket, she was breathless but felt better. The dog plopped down beside her. John stood over her, hands on his hips. Instead of the smug, amused look on his face, he looked concerned, his brows furrowed.

“Why didn’t you tell me how bad it was last night?”

She shrugged. “I endured because I had to. We had to keep moving, no matter what.”

His lips twisted into a grimace. “Not if you end up hurt.”

“I am not hurt. I am sore and already feel somewhat better.” She got to her knees. “If I keep moving, I will be fine in no time.”

He glanced over at Blue, who grazed happily on the succulent tall grass. “He won’t be able to carry us all the way to the wagon train. It’s too much weight to ride over a hundred miles. I don’t know if your mutt will make it either.”

Her stomach dropped to her knees. They were so far behind her family already. A hundred miles on horseback seemed impossible and painful. Certainly too far to walk. She swallowed the lump in her throat at the possibility she might not ever see those she loved again.

She looked up at John, the man she thought she disliked, the man who had proven to her more than once he was the kind of person she wanted to be. Frankie had made some bad choices in her life, which had sent her careening off course. John had shown her what it meant to make the right choices, although sometimes he’d obviously made the wrong ones.

“I told you I will carry the dog.” She sighed, overcome with regret. “I apologize. All of this is my fault.” She stretched her legs out in front of her, easing the sore muscles. The discomfort felt good in a way, a just punishment for a woman who had caused harm to so many people.
 

“No, it’s not. That’s foolish talk.” John sounded angry. “You were a pawn in a game you weren’t prepared for. Oliver Peck is obviously a bastard through and through. If I was anywhere near New York I’d kill him so he couldn’t hurt anyone again.”

His vehement proclamation made her heart skip a beat. No one had ever taken a stand for her, and only Jo had ever taken the time to help Frankie. She had always been self-reliant and far too independent to accept or ask for assistance. Until she met John. Was she ready to have a champion defend her or was her pride going to get in the way?

She had to swallow twice to dislodge the lump in her throat. “Thank you for that. I do not think you will get the chance, but I do appreciate the sentiment.”

He raised one brow. “You’re thanking me for saying I’d kill someone?”

“I guess I am.”

He knelt down beside her and cupped her cheek in one big hand. “You are one of a kind, Frankie Chastain.”

Her cheeks warmed. “And you are one of a kind, John Malloy.”

His lips brushed hers, once, twice, three times. She leaned into him, eager for more, her body warm from the simple touch of his mouth. To her disappointment, he pulled away.

“Much as I’d like to take all those clothes off you and feel you beneath me, we’ve got to get moving.” He kissed her once more, hard and fast. “Later on, I plan on doing more than kissing you.”

Her body clenched at the heat in his gaze. Waiting until later would not be ideal. “I want more now.” Before she realized it, the words had tumbled out of her mouth.

This time a smile spread across his face, one of pure male lust. “You surely do know how to shock and tempt a man. What am I gonna do without you when I bring you back to your family?”

The reminder she was only with him temporarily was a bucket of cold water on her body’s needs. She didn’t want to think about later. She only wanted now and John Malloy. The future could wait when the here and now was what mattered.

“I’m sorry, darlin’, much as it tempts me, we gotta get going.” He got to his feet and she noted the rather prominent erection in his trousers. She almost reached for it before she checked her urge. Her hands clenched into fists, itching to touch him, to feel his warm skin against hers.

“What we need is another horse.” He peered into the horizon. “If I’m right, we’re about ten miles from the Gates ranch.”

“What is the Gates ranch?”

John frowned. “That’s where I worked three years ago.” He held out his hand. “Where I got accused of murder.”

She gaped at him. The man couldn’t mean what he said. “You want to go there? To procure a horse or to die?”

“You didn’t ask me about the murder charge, but I need to tell you about it.” He hauled her to her feet. “Let’s move.” The dog raced in a circle, sniffing the ground, then completed another circle. He seemed just as eager to get moving as John did.

Although she wanted to protest, to lie in the grass and make love to him for the afternoon, she knew that wasn’t possible or advisable. They needed to be on their way. The Gates ranch sounded dangerous, but John appeared to be ready to confront his past and she had to get back to the wagon train. Life was waiting for them. She couldn’t be late.

Chapter Eight

John’s gut tightened the closer they got to the Gates ranch. He’d worked there for over a year, a full season with their horses. It was a beautiful property, the inspiration for his own dream of owning a ranch. Yet it had ended badly and he had left like a thief in the night.

Or a murderer, if the posters were to be believed.

“I met Fuller Gates four years ago when I showed up at his ranch looking for work. I had a big damn chip on my shoulder, ready to take on the world and prove myself.” John laughed without humor. “I couldn’t keep a job, lost each one within a few months but it was never my fault. I couldn’t see what a jackass I was.”

“Young men are often full of themselves,” she said judiciously.

“Truer words were never spoken. Fuller is a good man, fair, but a hard man. He brooked no argument and he expected as much from others as he did from himself. I never worked so hard in my life.” The memory of the first month at the Gates ranch made his muscles ache. He was sore nearly every day, working until he collapsed each night, oftentimes too tired to eat.
 

“Why did you stay?”

How could he explain? Gates had given him the trust no one else had—to prove he had more worth than a dirt farmer’s son ever achieved. The rancher wasn’t affectionate, but his actions spoke louder than anything he could have said.

“Because he treated me fairly. He treated all of his ranch hands fairly no matter how long they’d been there. I grew up always missing the mark, never able to please my father. He expected perfection and if I didn’t deliver, I bore the brunt of his anger.” His relationship with his parents had never been what Frankie had with hers. The differences were like night and day. “Gates showed me I could work every day, make something of myself. I had worked hard all my life, from the time I toddled around my hands were in the dirt doing for my family. I never felt half as good and worked twice as hard to get it.”