The Fortune

by Beth Williamson

  They were in a mess for sure. He was hogtied to Veronica and she was running from someone or something in New York. There was every chance in the world this was the only moment they would have alone together. He squeezed her tighter.

  “Much as I enjoy your embrace, I am having difficulty breathing, John.”

  He let her go and managed to wipe the expression of longing from his face. “We should get moving. I want to find shelter before it’s full dark.”

  The sweetness in her eyes faded, to be replaced by tight anxiety. “You are correct, of course. Can we walk the rest of the way? I am unable to, um, ride.”

  He frowned, realizing he had sticky drawers himself. Embarrassing for a grown man. “Yep, let’s walk. I, ah, need a few moments to clean up.”

  Frankie nodded and turned away, moving toward Blue, murmuring to the mustang until he snuffled her belly. Stupid horse acted as foolish as his master. John grabbed the canteen and washed up with the meager supply as best he could. He had a damp pair of drawers, but that he could live with.

  They walked in companionable silence, the town only ten minutes away. When they reached the outskirts, Frankie moved closer, nearly touching him. He didn’t know if she was nervous, frightened or simply acting the part of his wife. Whatever the reason, he liked her there, close by.

  As they entered the town, he knew straight off there was something wrong. Dirt caked on the wood sidewalks, water in the troughs had a skim of green, doors were closed and windows shuttered. A few folks skittered away quickly, never meeting anyone’s eyes or deviating from their chosen path.

  Something was definitely not right in this little town. There were no more than twenty buildings, ranging from a saloon to a restaurant, a general store, a livery and a jail. A few houses filled in the rest of the street. No hotel in sight, but perhaps there was a room to rent somewhere.

  A raggedy dog crept out from beneath the sidewalk by the restaurant. One ear was missing and the filthy mutt hadn’t seen much in the line of food in a long while. He whined at them and Frankie melted like butter on a hot skillet.

  “Pauvre chien.” She reached out and scratched its head.

  “It’s going to give you fleas.”

  “Do not listen to him, mon ami.” The dog peered up at Frankie as if he’d found heaven on earth. “Are you hungry?”

  “Yes, I am. My belly is scratching my backbone about now.” John was not jealous of a dog, for God’s sake. That would be ridiculous. “Let’s get to the restaurant.”

  “What about him?” She looked up at him as though he was about to pull a steak out of his pocket for the mutt.

  “What about him? I ain’t giving him my jerky. I didn’t bring enough for a stray dog and both of us.”

  She put one hand on her hip. “Where is your mercy? The poor thing is starving.”

  “For all I know, the dog tries to get everyone to feed it. He might have a stockpile of vittles under that sidewalk like a huge squirrel.” John tugged at her arm. “We don’t have time to spend pandering to a dirty little mutt.”

  Frankie walked along with him, but she kept looking back at the dog, which of course followed her. Stupid critter was in love, not that John would blame him. Frankie definitely inspired male creatures to act as dumb as stumps.

  When they arrived at the restaurant, he tied Blue to the hitching post. The horse shied away from the nasty trough. John used the water left in his canteen to quench Blue’s thirst again while Frankie cooed all over the dog. Weren’t they a pair of fools for animals?

  “Ready to eat?” He was about to take the last swig of water when Frankie turned to face him. Instead of drinking it, he handed her the canteen. “You might want to wash your hands and face before you eat.”

  She glanced at the dog, who looked up at her adoringly. “Am I dirty?”

  John nodded. “Yes, you sure are, and I’m not sure what that mutt got on your hands either.”

  “Very well.” She took the canteen from John and rinsed her hands and face. When she used her wet hands to tame some of the curls springing up around her head, an image of her with that beautiful mane down around her shoulders hit him. He stood there like an idiot, lost in a fantasy, as she tried to give him the canteen. “Merci.”

  He shook himself mentally and tucked the canteen into his saddlebag, trying not to let her see how distracted he was. Distractions were dangerous, especially in unknown territory. What he did know was they’d need to find fresh water before leaving tomorrow or they wouldn’t make it back to the wagon train. Beyond that, he needed to focus on their situation, not on Frankie Chastain.

  John held out his arm and, with only a slight hesitation, she took it. He pulled her close, reveling in the way her breast nearly rested on his elbow. He wasn’t distracted though, not at all. They needed to act the part of a couple traveling through town. Yes, that was the only reason.

  As they walked up the few steps into the restaurant, the dog lay down in the dirt next to Blue. An unlikely pair, just as he and Frankie were.

  The interior of the restaurant was lit by several gas lanterns, but shadows filled the corners of the small room. Only one table was occupied, all the way in the corner, by a man with a silver star pinned to his chest.

  John debated speaking to the local law, but decided against it. For now, they would eat and see what they could find out. They sat down at a table near the window, which let in meager light, more than any other spot in the gloomy restaurant.

  A tall woman appeared next to the table, a severe look on her face to match the severe black dress she wore. She was older, with silver at her temples and her hair pulled back into what appeared to be a painful bun.

  “You are here for supper?”

  John put on a winning smile for her. “Yes, ma’am. My wife and I are looking forward to a fine meal.”

  The woman’s expression didn’t even flicker, even at his most charming grin. “Tonight we have ham and green beans.”

  “Sounds wonderful. We’ll take two plates and some coffee, if you have any.”

  Without another word, the woman spun on her heel and disappeared through a doorway he assumed was the kitchen. She moved silently as though her feet never touched the floor.

  “She is not very friendly.” Frankie kept her voice low.

  “I’ll agree with you on that. Let’s just hope she doesn’t poison the ham.”

  “That is not funny.” She scowled at him.

  “I thought it was a little funny. Besides, we need to act like a married couple.”

  “Why?”

  John leaned in close. “Because two people who ain’t married traveling alone have no chance of getting a room for the night. Regardless of how strange this town is, I grew up not far from here, and the attitudes don’t change that fast. No matter what we say, if we ain’t married, we’re guilty sinners.”

  She perked up, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. “You grew up near here?”

  He didn’t want to go into his childhood or why he didn’t stay. Not now. “Yes, now act like a dutiful wife and smile at me.”

  “Why?”

  “Jesus Christ, woman.” John’s grin was forced. “The sheriff or whoever the man is with the badge is watching us. Smile. At. Me.”

  Frankie titled her head and bared her teeth at him. She was remarkably attractive even when she looked as though she wanted to tear him to shreds.

  “Whatever you say, cherie.”

  He knew she said it to look as though she was a doting wife, but he liked the sound of the endearment coming from her lips. A lot more than he should.

  The severe woman came back with two plates heaped with ham and some kind of sauce, green beans and biscuits.

  “Many thanks, ma’am.” John remembered his manners even if the waitress didn’t. The woman turned and walked back through the door to the kitchen without a word. This town was proving to be as odd as he suspected.

  John’s stomach growled at the same time a feminine growl sounded from Fran
kie’s side of the table. She flashed him a lopsided grin, then picked up her fork and dug in.

  He wasn’t the type of man to have patience with silly women, ones who would faint form hunger rather than eat in front of a man. Vapid, useless behavior. Frankie was obviously not one of those girls. She ate like she meant it.

  They each focused on their plates, enjoying the hot, if bland, food. It was better than anything he could’ve made, but obviously their dour cook didn’t believe in using salt or pepper. The biscuits were heavenly, though, light and fluffy, melt-in-his-mouth good. He didn’t want to waste one sopping up the unexciting sauce, but it would be foolish not to eat every scrap of food. They didn’t know how long it would be until they found the wagon train. Better to eat now than starve later.

  John usually kept an eye on his surroundings, made sure things were safe. Part of the reason he was good at working wagon trains. Today, however, he must have been distracted by either the woman or the food, or both.

  When the snick of a gun cocking sounded in his ear, he dropped his fork with a clatter and reached for his weapon.

  “Don’t do it, mister. It ain’t worth ruining Miss Eunice’s table with your brains.” The cold snub of the pistol pressed into his neck. “Now put your hands flat on the table where I can see them.”

  Frankie watched, wide-eyed. She didn’t look panicked, which was lucky, but she clenched the fork with whitened knuckles. “What do you think you are doing, monsieur?” She bit off her words like ice chips.

  “I’m arresting this man for murder.”

  Frankie told herself to focus on the problem, not on the fact this slovenly man with food stuck in his beard had a gun to John’s head. He had accused John of murder. Impossible.

  “You have the wrong man, monsieur. My husband has not murdered anyone.” She met the man’s gaze without blinking. “Please remove the gun from his head this instant.”

  “Ain’t you a pert little thing?” His grin was full of yellowed and missing teeth.

  “You have no call to accuse him of murder or hold a gun to his head.” She got to her feet, not that she had a lot of height to throw at him, but she stood straight as an arrow and looked down her nose at the man. “I am only going to say this one more time. Remove the gun from his head. This. Instant.”

  Whatever he saw in Frankie’s eyes must have given him pause because he pulled the pistol away, but still kept it trained on John. “I got a wanted poster that says different. Your name John Malloy?”

  Frankie’s stomach flipped at the mention of John’s name. She now had to make a choice. Either lie for him or let him get arrested for a murder he may or may not have committed. There really was no choice. No matter what, she didn’t believe him capable of murder.

  “His name is Gaston Chastain and I am Francesca Chastain. We are part of a wagon train heading for Oregon and were separated from everyone.” She clenched her hands together to stop them from shaking. “We are part of Buck Avery’s group and we will be rejoining them tomorrow.”

  She was proud of how firm her voice was considering her knees had the consistency of the gravy on her plate.

  The filthy man scratched his equally filthy hair. “I heard of Buck Avery, but this here man looks like the poster I saw for John Malloy. Sheriff said I get five dollars if’n I find someone on a wanted poster.”

  “I can assure you, you have the wrong man.” Frankie tensed, waiting to see if she’d convinced the man.

  Luck, however, was a fickle mistress.

  “Who’ve you got there, Bert?” The man at the corner table, the one wearing the silver star, had walked over while Frankie’s attention was averted.

  “This here fella looks like a poster on the wall in the jail, Sheriff. I saw him walking in, so I checked the posters like you told me to.” The filthy Bert stepped back, which was when Frankie realized the stench she had been ignoring was him. She breathed through her mouth. “He says he ain’t John Malloy, though.”

  The sheriff was clean, but as dark as the shadows dancing around outside. He was dressed all in black, with piercing blue eyes surrounded by silvery hair. His sharp gaze assessed both of them in an instant.

  “Why don’t we head over to the jail and clear things up?” He held out his hand to Frankie, but she merely stared at him. This man was not so easily swayed by her brave words.

  “And you are, monsieur?”

  “Name’s Sheriff George Everett.” He touched his fingers to the brim of his black hat. “Ma’am, if you and your, ah, husband will accompany me, we will sort this out.”

  She met John’s gaze and saw what she didn’t want to see—guilt. Had he murdered someone? Frankie didn’t want to believe it. The man acted the part of a boorish jackass, but someone who helped an old lady in and out of her wagon every day and nearly ran his horse into the ground to save her couldn’t have murdered anyone.

  “We are only passing through your fine town. My Gaston is not the man you seek. If you would simply let us pay for our meal, we will be on our way.” She knew there was a slim chance the sheriff would let them leave.

  If he didn’t, they might never catch the wagon train or see her family again. Frankie straightened her shoulders and pulled herself up by the bootstraps. Whatever he did or didn’t do, John had helped her when she most needed it. She would not fail him or abandon him when he needed her.

  She held out her hand to the man who had already taken a piece of her heart. He shook his head ever so slightly; she nearly missed it.

  “Cherie, we must clear this up so we can be on our way.” Frankie begged him with her eyes. If he tried to resist, Bert’s gun was only six inches from his head. She would never forgive him if he died in front of her.

  “Oui. Let’s go with Sheriff Everett.” John got to his feet and Bert jumped a foot in the air.

  Good, they needed to be wary. Given the day she’d had, they were poking a stick at a hornet’s nest. She would, and intended to, sting them.

  They started to walk away from table when John stopped. The sheriff’s expression turned glacial, allowing a glimpse into the man behind the polite mask. “Problem?”

  “No problem. We haven’t paid for our meal.” John reached into his pocket for money and the sheriff pulled out his pistol. “Easy, Sheriff, I don’t have anything in my pocket but lint and a few bits.”

  He moved deliberately and slowly, putting coins on the table for their meal. Frankie was embarrassed she’d forgotten to pay for the food they’d eaten. Of course, she had no money, nothing but the clothes on her back. She was lucky she had shoes since she’d been kidnapped while washing up for the day.

  “Get moving, Malloy.” The sheriff obviously didn’t believe his name was Gaston Chastain.

  “You have the wrong man, monsieur. If you continue to harass us, I will be forced to take further action.” Her day had gone from bad to worse to ridiculous.

  The sheriff pushed John toward the door, ignoring her. Frankie counted to five before she followed, leaving the fork she had been clutching behind on the table. Although she wanted to keep it to protect herself, the severe woman would probably accuse her for stealing and then they could both end up in jail.

  They tromped through the streets, a strange parade of people. The stray dog whined as they passed, but he stayed put with John’s horse. With a smidge of good luck, they could be riding away on said equine in no time.

  However, she didn’t believe they would be on the receiving end of good luck. The day had not gone well, and the evening was proving to be going awry.

  The jail was a squat building with no windows at the end of the street. It was made of some sort of mud she believed was sod, which she read about in a book before coming west. The interior was dark and dank, with a strange odor. It was surprisingly clean, though, with well-swept wooden floors and two cells at the back of the building secured with doors made of steel bars.

  On the left side of the building was a rickety-looking desk with an equally rickety chair. Behind t
he desk the wall was covered in wanted posters. Gazing at the myriad of faces and names, Frankie realized Sheriff Everett was like a spider. He spun a web at the edge of nowhere, waiting for those who had a price on their head to get stuck in the tendrils of his creation.

  There was nothing for them at the edge of nowhere except perhaps the occasional unsuspecting fly who may be caught in the sheriff’s trap. She shivered at the thought that they had no recourse, no family or assistance. It was up to her and John to find a way out of this spider’s web.

  Sheriff Everett carefully unpinned a poster from the wall and handed it to John. “You sure do bear a likeness to this John Malloy fella.”

  John took the paper with steady hands. She crowded close to look at it.

  WANTED

  JOHN MALLOY

  FOR MURDER

  $1,000 REWARD

  DEAD OR ALIVE

  The image of the man was similar to John, but it was not a portrait by any means. The idea of John murdering someone was something she would have to think about later. Right now, the important thing was convincing the sheriff John was not the man in the poster.

  “This does not look like my husband other than the fact he is a man.” Frankie folded her arms, deliberately pushing up her breasts. Men were drawn to them since they were larger than normal for a woman her height. As expected, all three men looked at them. A jolt of feminine power zinged through her. “Now, if you do not mind, we would like to be on our way.”

  She’d rather sleep on bare ground with only insects for company than stay in the strange town. John handed the paper back to the sheriff.

  “I don’t know who this is, but it isn’t me.” He shook his head. “We came out here from New York, left Independence a week ago.”

  The sheriff stared at both of them for a minute, his icy blue gaze sending shivers up and down Frankie’s spine. Spider indeed.

  Finally he looked back at the paper and nodded. “All right, folks, you can be on your way. Sorry for the trouble.”

  He carefully pinned the poster back on the wall, making sure the shaft went through the same hole in the paper. Frankie was fascinated and horrified by the man’s behavior. She resisted the urge to run from the building.