The Fortune

by Beth Williamson

  Frankie tried to stay out of the way but each time Declan swung his left arm, she jerked forward. She flipped and landed on her back, then slid upwards onto Declan’s when he jumped on top of John.

  Bam. Jerk. Bam. Jerk. Bam. Jerk.

  She felt like a ragdoll, unable to stop the madness and helpless to untie her hands or help John. Declan’s elbow slammed into her breast and she screamed in agony as pain ripped through her, knocking the breath from her. He turned to look at her, shock on his face at the fact she was inches behind him.

  John took advantage of the moment and threw Declan off him. Frankie landed in the dirt, rocks digging into her back. The big oaf landed on her legs, unmoving. She sucked in a tiny amount of air, enough to keep the gray wave at bay that threatened. Then she was able to breathe in a little more, then a third breath. The fourth breath was a full, deep one and she was giddy with air.

  “Jesus, that man has a head like an anvil.” John spoke from the other side of Declan’s inert form. “My hands hurt like hell.”

  Frankie’s anger surged again. Her wrists were now throbbing from the beating she hadn’t taken but endured. She managed to sit up using her elbows and looked over at John.

  “You are a complete idiot.” She spat a mouthful of dirt tinged with blood. Even her teeth ached from being thrown around.

  “You’re welcome.” He staggered to his feet and tried to brush off the dirt on his clothes.

  “Before you finish grooming yourself, please untie, Monsieur Malloy.” She gestured to her hands.

  His eyes widened and his expression went from shocked to embarrassed. “You were tied to him? The whole time?”

  “Of course I was. You did not feel me flopping around behind him?” She blew a strand of hair from her cheek. “You beat me right along with him.”

  John dropped to his knees and pulled a knife from his boot. “I’m sorry, Frankie. Really I am. I didn’t even think. God, I am an idiot.”

  He sliced through the ropes and the blood rushed into her hands. She gasped at the combination of pleasure and pain, then grimaced at the condition of her skin. The rough rope had rubbed her skin raw. What she wouldn’t give for a canteen of cool water and some bandages to wrap her wrists with.

  “We need to get out of here before he wakes up.” John helped her to her feet, avoiding her wrists, which she grudgingly appreciated.

  “Wait, do you plan to simply leave him here?” She glanced down at Declan, looking less intimidating while bloodied and unconscious. “He was going to release me. You ruined it.”

  “Honey, I seriously doubt he was about to let you go unless you were making his ears bleed with chatter.” He took her elbow. “Let’s go. We need to find shelter and get those wrists bandaged.”

  “Shelter? Why are we not returning to the wagon train? My family must be worried.” She looked behind them, at the vast open plain and the horizon. She ached to be with her parents and sisters, to feel their love around her. Her throat grew tight, surprising her. Frankie wasn’t prone to softer emotions and the appearance of them was unwanted. She had no time for it.

  “Yes, they’re worried, but we won’t reach them before dark, not on one horse.” He mounted his horse, then held his hand down to her. “So let’s find shelter and a horse for you, then ride west in the morning.”

  It was a logical plan, one that made sense, but it didn’t mean she had to like it. Frankie glanced at Declan.

  “What about Monsieur Callahan?”

  “I think there’s a few small towns just east of here. Maybe we’ll find the law and send them back to pick him up. He’s too damn big for us to move.”

  “Should we tie him?” She knew firsthand how strong Declan was. When he woke, he’d be after her, and John. He might even return to the wagon train and hurt her sisters.

  John shook his head. “No, he deserves a fair chance against any critters who want to have him for supper.”

  Frankie shook her head at John’s attitude toward the man he just tried to beat to death. Men were the most perverse creatures on the planet. She should wash her hands of the lot of them. For now, she would survive. Later she could rant and rave about the unfairness of life.

  “I do not want him to bother us again.”

  “For now, you’re going to have to trust me. He’s horseless and bleeding. We will beat him back to the wagon train or the law before he can get far.” John looked quite determined to have his way.

  “I do not trust you but I do not appear to have a choice.” Although she wanted to argue, she reached up and took John’s hand.

  Chapter Six

  “Do you have any water?” Her voice was muffled against his back. In fact, her soft form molded to his, those incredible breasts pushed into his spine like a torture device. “I cannot rid myself of the grit in my mouth.”

  He unhooked the canteen from the saddle and passed it to her. It was a good thing he wasn’t looking at her or his fury might rear its head again. She was covered in scrapes, bruises and blood, her clothing torn. He had a hard time tamping down the urge to go back and beat the snot out of Callahan again. There was no excuse, ever, for hurting a woman. Rage had coursed through John, driving him to overcome a man who had at least forty pounds on him and a longer reach.

  Frankie was surprisingly quiet considering what she’d been through. He wanted to ask her so many questions, find out exactly what Callahan had done and why. But he kept quiet, letting her have her peace for now. Later on, he would find out what happened.

  The sun had started to set an hour after they left Declan. John wasn’t pleased he’d been right about not catching up to the wagon train that day. He didn’t want to spend the night unprotected and in open country with a woman who drove him to distraction. Aside from the danger posed by her, there were four-legged and two-legged dangers to contend with.

  John hadn’t been in this part of the territory for five years, but he was fairly certain there was a town within ten miles. It was barely a gathering of shacks if he remembered correctly. If they were lucky it was bigger, if they weren’t lucky, it was a dusty ghost town. Either way there might be someplace to spend the night that wasn’t in an open field.

  The setting sun painted the horizon in fiery orange and red, as though it were burning in the late day light. John was glad to be heading east for a change, so he wasn’t blinded by the sunset. The canteen clunked against his hip and he took it from her.

  “Better?”

  “Marginally. I may need a lake to rid myself of the taste of the west on my teeth.”

  He chuffed a small laugh. “It don’t taste good, that’s for sure. When my Pa would have me till up the soil in the spring for planting, it took about a week to get all that dust out of the nooks and crannies it settled in.”

  A small pause. “You were a farmer?” She sounded skeptical.

  “No, my Pa was a farmer. I worked on his farm until I left.” He shouldn’t have brought up his past or all the memories it brought with it.

  “Tell me about it.”

  “No.”

  “Please tell me about it.”

  “No.”

  “Would it help if I ordered you to?”

  “No.”

  “Monsieur Malloy, you are aggravating. How hard is it to speak of your father’s farm? I know nothing of farming save what I have seen on the trip to Missouri. All you need to do is open your mouth and tell me about it.”

  “No.”

  She sighed. “You have another social engagement that cannot wait?” He saw her arm waving beside them as they rode. “A pressing appointment?”

  “No, I just don’t want to talk about it.” He had spent so much time trying to forget, deliberately bringing it to mind was not a smart idea.

  “You make my head hurt.” She thumped his back with one small fist.

  “Same here.”

  She thumped him a second time, then pressed her head and breasts against his back. It was comfortable and dangerous as hell. The warmth of her
body combined with his own reaction woke up his dick, which stood up and took notice. Her hands were dangerously close to the growing problem in his britches. If she moved them any lower, she was going to find a whole lot more than saddle.

  Frankie seemed so small and vulnerable, but to survive as she had attested to her inner strength. Frankie mumbled something against his back.

  “I can’t hear you.”

  She lifted her head. “I said thank you. For following me, for finding me and for doing what I failed to do.” Her voice had dipped low, husky with emotion.

  “It’s my job to protect you. I failed. You don’t need to thank me. I should be apologizing to you.” It stuck in his craw that he had let the kidnapping occur, especially to the woman he had been kissing not long before she disappeared.

  She was quiet for a minute before she spoke again. “The blame is mine, not yours. Thank you for what you did.” She tightened her arms around him and pressed her forehead to his back.

  He could feel her shaking and wondered if she were crying. It would surprise the hell out of him if she did—Frankie didn’t seem to be a crying kind of woman.

  “You okay?”

  “I will be. I have not eaten all day and I believe I might be going into shock, or something similar.” She spoke so matter-of-factly, as though she were diagnosing herself.

  “Jesus, Frankie, why the hell didn’t you say something?” He reached back into his saddlebag and grabbed the pouch of jerky he had. “Eat.”

  Her hand shook as she took the bag. “Thank you.” Damn but her voice was small, unlike the proud little filly who’d shot him in Independence.

  “Did you lose the petty mort gun? Or did it misfire again?”

  “I did not have it with me. I was attempting to complete my morning wash and did not expect him.” She spoke around the jerky she was currently chewing. What woman would talk with food in her mouth? John loved her all the more for it.

  His heart stuttered at the direction of his thoughts. Loved her all the more for it? What the hell?

  “Um, yeah.” His brain didn’t appear to want to function.

  “This dried meat is delicious. Better than what we have.” She blew out a breath. “I am going to stop now since my stomach is cramping. Please save some of this for later.” She handed him the bag and lay against him once more. Having her snuggled up like that was downright perfect. Something he could get used to.

  Foolish man.

  Within half an hour, the sun sank low in the sky. Orange and red saturated the land ahead, turning the horizon into a fiery scene. John wasn’t a man given to poetry, but there was a reason he picked this part of the country to settle in. It was as beautiful as the woman behind him.

  An ache settled in his gut, one that told him he needed someone to share his dream with. A woman who would be at his side all his days and enjoy each sunset from their front porch. Oh, he was a foolish man for sure.

  As the color began to fade from the sky, shadows danced around them. John squinted at something in the distance, recognizing the peak of a roof. Relief coursed through him. He wasn’t about to admit it to Frankie, but he had been worried about finding shelter.

  They rode closer and he spotted about a dozen or so buildings, a corral with a few horses milling around, even a wagon parked behind one of the larger structures. It looked like a bona fide town and not just a collection of shitty shacks. His expectations notched up a bit at the sight.

  “When we ride into town, let me do the arranging for a room.”

  She sat up. “Town? You found a town?”

  “Yep. I thought you might have seen the buildings rising up in the middle of the prairie.”

  She pinched him under the arm and he jerked in pain and surprise. “I cannot see around your shoulders. They resemble a well-constructed wall.”

  He laughed, he couldn’t help it. She was so full of sass. “You could always ride in front.”

  A short pause before she responded. “I do not think that is a good idea, for several reasons I could not explain and still maintain my status as a lady.”

  John patted her hand, keeping another burst of laughter contained. “Your status is safe. It is a town and we found shelter for the night.”

  “Merci, Dieu.” Her grip tightened on his waist. “What do you mean let you do the arranging for a room? Will there be a single room for both of us?”

  He didn’t want to argue with her. The woman had it in her head that she could do anything he could. It just wasn’t true. There were things men were better at and there was no getting around that fact. “Do you have money to pay for a room?”

  “No, of course I have no funds. Declan forced me to leave me while I was washing. I do not usually bring money to the creek.”

  His hackles rose. “You call him Declan? Do you know him?” Images of a spurned lover chasing her, catching her and taking her spun through his head.

  “No, I do not know him. I know of him though, from New York.” She squirmed behind him, and he pushed aside how good it felt in the wake of his suspicions.

  Annoyance coursed through him and perhaps a touch of jealousy. Another ridiculous thing to happen to him after meeting Frankie Chastain. He held onto that anger, nursed it, helped it grow in his gut, churning and bubbling deep inside. “You’d best tell me what you know about him.”

  “Perhaps later after you have ceased ordering me about.” She removed her hands from around his waist. “I do not take kindly to being told what to do by a man who has no authority over me.”

  John’s fury took over. One moment he was riding Blue, the next, he was standing beside him pulling Frankie off the horse’s back. She squeaked as he held her in the air, his gaze locked with hers. Her green eyes were wide, her lips tight.

  He growled through clenched teeth, satisfied to see her twitch. “I have authority over you, Frankie Chastain. Right now I am the man responsible for your life and your future for the next twenty-four hours.”

  A frown formed between her brows. “I refuse to accept that.”

  “You are a stubborn wench.”

  “You are a boorish fool.”

  His mouth came down on hers as she wrapped her arms around his neck. Their bodies pressed together, her soft breasts pillowed against his chest. He groaned as heat exploded inside him, lengthening his dick to epic hardness. Elemental, primal, ancient heat.

  This was not the flirtatious kiss they’d shared before. No, this was a bruising, out of control mating of lips, teeth and tongues. He lost himself in the sweet depths of her mouth. As they kissed on and on, she wrapped her legs around his waist, placing her heat directly upon his throbbing staff.

  He groaned and pressed against her, frustrated by the layers of fabric blocking his way. It felt good, more than good, to push hard, to feel her body cradling his. So he did it again and again. Soon he was thrusting as though he was plunging inside her body, rather than against it.

  She moved her hips, meeting his rhythm with her own. Her nipples hardened against his chest and his hands itched to feel them, weigh them, taste them. He wanted to dive into this woman like she was a cool pond on a hot day, to lose himself in her body until neither one of them could move.

  As their tongues slid and danced together, he kept thrusting, his body alive with arousal, pulsing with each movement. Unbelievably, his balls tightened, signaling his release. It wasn’t possible, but he was about to come in his drawers from kissing Frankie and never touching anything beyond her lips.

  She pulled at his shoulders, a soft cry escaping her lips. He felt her shudder as it wracked her body. Then he exploded, stars shot through his vision as his body achieved release. Pleasure ricocheted through him, stealing his breath and his strength.

  He sagged against Blue and let Frankie down slowly. She was shaking as much as he was. John hadn’t come in his trousers since he was a fifteen-year-old with a constant erection. It was embarrassing, but at the same time, it had been a powerful release, one that left him weak-kne
ed and spent.

  Her breath came in bursts while he could hardly get enough air in his body. She looked up at him. Her lips were red and plump, making him want to start kissing her all over again.

  “What did we do?” Her voice was husky, sending a shiver down his spine.

  “We, uh, scratched an itch.”

  She smacked his arm. “Do not cheapen me or what we just shared.”

  He rubbed his arm, stung more by her words than her hand. “I ain’t trying to cheapen it. Lord, woman, I can barely stand. What do you want me to say? We just humped and came in our drawers? That I want to rip your clothes off and do more than feel your dress against me?”

  Her mouth opened and closed twice before she spoke. “I, um. Well, yes, that is exactly what I want to hear.”

  John threw back his head and laughed, then picked her up and twirled her around until she yanked at his ear. “You, Frankie, are one hell of a woman.”

  Her cheeks pinkened, making his smile even broader. “Thank you, Monsieur Malloy.” Her prim tone was offset by the fact she looked like she’d risen from tussling in the sheets with him.

  “I think you can call me John now. It doesn’t make a lick of sense to use proper names after what we did.” He enjoyed the way the blush spread across her face.

  “I suppose you are correct.” She averted her gaze. “I may never be able to look you in the face again.”

  John chuckled and pulled her into his arms. She tucked right under his chin, as though she belonged there. No matter what happened tomorrow, this moment was perfect.

  “There are a lot of things I wish I could change, Frankie. What we did will never be one of them.” He sighed against her hair.

  She wrapped her arms around him. He didn’t want to act like a fool in front of her, but damned if his heart didn’t thump when she hugged him. Frankie was a tough woman, smart and strong. Her actions told him she trusted him and perhaps she was feeling the same kind of confused attraction and longing he was.