The Fortune (9 page)

“Frankie?” one of the Chastain sisters called out.

John’s eyes flew open and he saw the glimmers of her eyes, wide in the shadows. They were lying on the ground, kissing and grinding on each other.
 

Holy shit.

She scrambled to her feet and shook out her skirt, her breath choppy in the cool night air. John pressed a hand to his heart and willed it to slow down. He’d almost fucked her on the ground in the open air.

What the hell had he been thinking?

“I will be right there, Jo.” Frankie sounded as shaky as he felt.

He rolled to his knees and winced at the tightness in his drawers. His dick was harder than steel, throbbing and painful. He finally got to his feet and swayed at the rush of blood racing around his body. She’d turned him into an idiot led around by his rod.

“I have to go.” Frankie backed up a few steps. “My sister will come looking for me.”

He took her hand before she got too far. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for it to go that far.”

“Do not be sorry.” She grabbed his face and kissed him hard, just once, before she slipped off into the darkness.

John stood there with a hard dick and his heart thumping madly for the woman he wasn’t engaged to. He was in serious trouble.

Chapter Five

Declan slept on his bedroll beside Malloy’s tent. The area was separated from the wagon, which was fine by him. The fewer people took note of him, the better his element of surprise would be. The problem was with so many damn wagons, he had to check each one. It wasn’t as though he could ask someone if they knew the woman. That would be a quick way to get himself in a world of hurt. Malloy was a big man who carried a pistol strapped to his thigh and he looked as though he knew how to use his fists. Same for Buck Avery. The two of them would give him a challenge, to be sure.

No, he didn’t want to charge in like a bull. He wanted to shimmy in like a snake and snatch her before anyone realized what he was about. That was the smart thing to do. Patience, however, was not his strongest quality.

He woke the first morning with the wagon train in a foul mood, ready to tear the wagons apart to find the woman and get the hell back to New York. Declan didn’t know the first thing about living on the prairie except what he’d learned the hard way the last few days. He hadn’t slept well because of the strange noises. There weren’t crickets heard in his neighborhood in Manhattan— screaming babes, gunshots and breaking glass, but no chirping insects.

Folks got up and readied themselves and their wagons to leave. Declan barely had time to check a dozen wagons before they started moving west. He saddled his horse, another skill he’d had to learn fast, and followed the lumbering group. His ass had grown numb every day he’d sat on the damn horse. He was used to walking, but it was difficult to get a view of everyone without being up high enough to see inside the wagons.

By late afternoon, he’d been able to peer at most of the wagons and didn’t see anyone who resembled the woman. He’d only seen her the one time and from a distance, but he would know her if he saw her. Boredom and frustration loomed.
 

A young girl walked beside the wagons picking flowers, heedless of how close she came to the powerful oxen or the thick wheels. She sang to herself as she picked, but he couldn’t quite hear the words. It was a nice melody though and watching her gave him a chance to relax for a moment or two. He came up beside her and finally heard the words to the song, and it was a racy diddy! One he’d heard a time or two in New York. A laugh bubbled up his throat, surprising him. It had been years since he’d laughed.

As I was sittin’ by the fire

Tellin’ lies and drinkin’ porter

Suddenly a thought came to my mind

I’d never shagged O’Reilly’s daughter

Giddy I ay, giddy I ay

Giddy I ay for the one-balled Reilly

Giddy I ay, no balls at all

Rig-a-jig-jig, shag on!

Her head snapped up and her eyes narrowed. “Are you laughing at me, mister?”

“No, certainly not. I was thinking what a beautiful day it was and it made me happy.” He thought he might have smiled at the girl. What in the world was wrong with him?

“If you were laughing at me, dammit, I’d punch you in the damn nose.” She huffed out a breath and went back to picking.

“Did you just curse, lass?” He didn’t think he’d heard her right.

She stopped and put her hands on her hips and pushed her hat back. Recognition flooded him. This wasn’t the woman, but had to be one of the sisters he’d been told about. Damn, but he’d found at least one of them. How soon he figured out which wagon depended on the girl.

“Sure as shit I cussed. I don’t mind my tongue for nobody. Hell’s bells, mister, mind your business, would you?” She stuck her nose in the air and slipped between two wagons, leaving him alone.

He stood in the stirrups and tried to follow her lithe movements, but he lost her in the tall prairie grass. No matter, he would watch the fires tonight, find the little hooligan and then her sister. Declan was close, so close, to finding her.

Frankie woke in an instant, her eyes gritty from poor sleep. She crawled out from beneath the wagon and swallowed back the groan that threatened. Her back and behind hurt from the rough ground. She had expected the sleeping quarters to be primitive, but this area of the trail was rocky and hard. Sleep had been a long time coming and not only because of the uncomfortable bed. Everyone was already up and about by the time she dragged herself to her feet. There was a buzz of energy around her, but she didn’t feel it. No doubt Maman would give her a lecture about lying abed while the others were busy doing chores.

She hadn’t slept well since the engagement announcement. Since she’d kissed John in the darkness and her body had heated to a fever pitch that still hadn’t passed. That was the truth, whether or not she wanted to admit it. The strangeness of the situation, and the way she’d reacted, bothered her. A lot.
 

John Malloy was just a man, one who had kissed her, yes, but he was only a man. She’d had little use for the opposite sex, with the exception of her father, in her life. None had impressed her as much as a papa who taught her right from wrong, good from bad, and how to put everything he was into his craft.

She always wished she had been blessed with a skill like wood crafting. She’d tried, but failed, to find that one thing she was good at. Frankie had only been good at helping with her sisters and doing what she could for her family.
 

John Malloy reminded her of everything she wasn’t and what she didn’t want. The man had tied her in knots in only a week. Now he was someone else’s problem. She wouldn’t have to worry about kissing him or getting tossed in the mud. No sir, she should be pleased to have nothing to do with him again. Yes, she should.

But she wasn’t.

Frankie took a washrag and a sliver of soap from the pouch hanging on the back of the wagon and headed to the tiny creek nearby. Water was becoming scarcer, but at least she could wash her face and refresh herself. The sun was a pink haze in the eastern sky when she trudged to the creek. Frankie rubbed at her eyes with the heel of one hand.
 

She had to forget John Malloy. He was not part of her life, nor would he be. No matter how many times she told herself that, she still had dreamt of him when she finally found sleep. The man was haunting her. That was the only explanation.

The early morning dew crunched beneath her feet, making her doubly glad she had new boots for the journey. They were warm, thank goodness, and meant for walking on uneven ground, not the streets of New York.

A white mist hung over the tiny creek, the rising sun’s rays shining pink and gold through the white. Somewhere nearby, a squirrel chattered, a few birds tweeted and the world was at peace around her. For the first time in a long time, she didn’t have a knot in her stomach. Even her back felt better. She took a deep breath of the cool air and let it out slowly.
 

It was going to be a better day, she felt it in her bones. Frankie knelt on the grassy bank and scooped a handful of the cold water. She slurped at the liquid refreshment like a little girl, the water dripping down her chin.
 

“Morning, lass.”

Startled, Frankie snorted the water and choked as she struggled for breath. A large hand landed on her back with a jarring thump, nearly pushing her headlong into the water. Another hand snatched her before she hit the creek. She landed on her back, eyes watering, throat burning and stomach churning.

Standing above her was the largest, hairiest man she’d ever seen. He was bigger than John Malloy, with a black beard, piercing blue eyes and hands the size of dinner plates. At the moment, he looked a little horrified by what he’d done.

“I’m sorry about that. I was only meaning to help.” He had an Irish lilt to his voice.

She waved her hand since she couldn’t speak yet. Frankie rolled over and pressed her face to the cool grass. She closed her eyes and tried to relax her throat. Above her, she heard the man shifting his feet and sniffing, obviously watching her struggle.
 

After a minute, she sucked in a small breath, then a larger one. She sat up on her knees and realized what a complete fool she’d made of herself. No doubt she had grass stuck to her face, hair askew and cheeks red. The man looked as though he was going to offer his assistance again.

“I am all right. I needed a moment to clear the water from my lungs.” She managed a shaky smile.
 

She glanced around, pleased to see no one else had seen what happened. However, she was aware how far she was from the wagon train, alone with a man she didn’t recognize, and she was on the ground. Frankie quelled the flutter of panic. He didn’t seem to want to do her harm. There had been ample opportunity to do so.

“I am sorry, miss.”
 

“You have nothing to apologize for. It was an accident.” She struggled to her feet and belatedly remembered her manners. “I do not believe we have met. I am Miss Francesca Chastain. And you are?”

In a second, his expression changed from concerned stranger to hard, cold granite. “Declan Callahan.”

The name rang like a bell through her head, its familiarity making her shake. Oh God, oh God, it wasn’t possible.
 

No,
not
possible.
 

There wasn’t a chance they could have followed her all the way from New York. She made sure of it. Absolutely sure of it.

“
Monsieur
Callahan, I am pleased to make your acquaintance.” She edged around him. “Maman will be worried. I need to go.”

His huge hand clamped around her arm. “Don’t be going so fast, Frankie.”

Frankie.

Panic and raw fear raced around inside her as she stared up at the giant who had her in his grasp. She couldn’t utter a sound, her throat now closed with terror. Frankie wasn’t a woman to run from a debt, but she had run from this one, and it had caught her in the guise of an enforcer.

“You know why I’m here.” His brow furrowed. “I have to bring you back or it’s my head on a pike. It’s taken months to find you.”

She shook her head mutely. He couldn’t bring her back to New York. They had just embarked on the last half of the journey to a new life. It couldn’t unravel in front of her because of her stupid decision to run. Agony tore through her and she wanted to howl in fury.

“I won’t be hurting you, Frankie, but if you run, I will catch you. Make no mistake, I won’t be going back to Mr. Peck without you.” Declan gestured to the wagon train. “We’re gonna walk calm-like and take a couple horses. If you scream, I’ll take one of your sisters along for the ride.”

The implied threat didn’t surprise her, but it infuriated her. Frankie’s anger pushed aside her fear and she found her voice. “If you touch one hair on my sisters’ heads I will rip your balls off and stuff them down your throat.”

He reared back, surprise evident on his face. “No wonder he likes you. You’ve quite a mouth on you. Must run in the family. Your little sister cusses like you.”

The fact he spoke of Charlotte sent a chill through her. She shook so hard with fear and anger her teeth rattled but Frankie held her spine straight and her shoulders back. “Oliver Peck can go to hell where he belongs. I did what I had to for my family. Don’t you
dare
threaten them again.”
 

“Fine then, I won’t threaten them. How about we start moving before the rest of the folks wake up?” His hand was unrelentingly strong on her arm, propelling her forward, toward the makeshift corral of horses. He pulled a rope from his belt and tied her hands in a fantastically complex knot behind her back, then tied the rope to his belt. Then he wound a cloth around her head, gagging her.

For the first time since she met John Malloy, she wished he would appear. She didn’t need a rescue, but a distraction. Declan was too big for her to overtake on her own. Unless something happened, she would leave the wagon train with him, leave her family behind. They would be safe, but she would return to New York to the man who thought he owned her, to become a kept woman, a whore.