The Fortune

by Beth Williamson

  John stepped up behind her, his presence helping to calm the anxiety racing through her. “Let’s go get Blue and be on our way.” He tucked an envelope into his trouser pocket and took her hand.

  His large paw swallowed hers, chasing away more of the coldness she’d been battling since she climbed out of the warm bed. She wanted to know what the men had been discussing before she came into the kitchen, and what was in the envelope.

  John would tell her, that was certain. She wouldn’t allow him to keep any more secrets. They had shared too much of each other. There was also the matter of his confession of love. Her heart did a funny flip each time she thought of it. He hadn’t repeated it since, but she didn’t believe it was because he had lied in the heat of the moment. The words had been full of emotion, and in French. They had gone straight through her heart, lodging there in a deep corner, never to be dislodged.

  She wanted to hear them again. Truly she did, but she knew to do so she would have to confess the same sentiment to him. Frankie loved him, with ever fiber of her being, but voicing that aloud terrified her. She had suffered through much over the last year, and loving him had been the very best part of her journey.

  What scared her more was what would happen when they made it back to the wagon train. John was still engaged to Veronica Harvey. Frankie had her family to return to, a life in Oregon that waited. Her father’s business needed a bookkeeper to run it. Everything she hoped to find in the new home that awaited her was in jeopardy because of her love for a man.

  She didn’t expect it, but she couldn’t stop it either. His hand felt right holding hers, nothing had ever felt so right in her life. Frankie was the oldest sister, responsible for making sure the others were safe, always working as a bookkeeper and focusing on what was the right thing to do. She herded her sisters, took care of them and her father’s wood crafting business. There was never a time in her life when she didn’t put duty and her family above everything.

  Now she had a chance to choose herself instead of what she knew to be the right path. It went against everything she was and pushed her toward a frightening unknown future where she could be hurt. Frankie was not by nature a coward, but she trembled with fear to lay her heart bare to John Malloy.

  They stepped into the barn and the smell of a lot of horses hit her. She covered her nose with her sleeve. No matter how long she’d been on the trail from New York, she was a city girl and did not spend much time amongst the beasts. Until she’d met John, of course.

  “I’ve got your mustang ready.” Elias walked out of the shadows leading Blue and a smaller horse, both of them saddled. “I picked a good-natured mare for your wife.” The foreman was a big, gruff man and she would be glad to be away from him too. He might be a good man, but she didn’t feel comfortable around him or the ranch.

  “Thanks. I can pay you for the horse and the tack.” John reached toward his pocket when Elias held up his hand.

  “I always thought you done it, you know. When we found Timmy dead and you gone, I blamed you.” Elias’s hands tightened on the reins, making the mare shy a bit. “Phoebe was screaming and carrying on, but we thought it was ’cause Timmy was killed.”

  “I shouldn’t have left.” John shook his head. “It was stupid.”

  “I guess we ignored the girl for the most part, but we all knew she was teched in the head, just not how much.” Elias turned his gaze to Frankie and she managed not to shrink away from his intense stare. “You got yourself a good woman, Malloy. When you’re ready for the dam and sire, just send word and we’ll bring ’em.”

  “Thanks.” John shook the other man’s hand and accepted the reins.

  “It can’t make up for the last two years, but I hope you get that ranch.” Elias didn’t exactly apologize but it was as close as she expected he ever got. “I put some supplies in your saddle bags. Good luck to you.”

  With that, the foreman disappeared back into the recesses of the barn leaving them alone. John looked at the mare and then at Frankie. He raised one brow.

  “Are you ready to drive one of these on your own?”

  She eyed the horse, a placid-looking, chestnut-colored mare. “I suppose she is sturdy enough. He didn’t tell us her name.”

  John put the reins in her hands. “Then name her yourself. She’s yours now.” He led Blue out of the barn, leaving Frankie to do the same with her horse. The mare blinked one big brown eye with ridiculously long lashes and waited for Frankie to do something.

  “Hello there, mon ami, my name is Francesca. You can call me Frankie. I, um, need to think of a good name for you. I think Liberté is fitting. You are bringing me to my future, no? Then Liberté it is.” She walked out of the barn and Liberté followed, much to Frankie’s surprise. Perhaps owning a horse wasn’t going to be as difficult as she thought.

  “There’s a mounting block right there by the door.” John pointed to a block of wood to her right. “Use that to get on top of her. Put your left foot in the stirrup and swing your right leg over.”

  He had been pulling Frankie onto his mustang each time they rode. She’d never actually mounted a horse on her own. He watched her but didn’t offer to help. She didn’t know whether to be annoyed or pleased—he trusted her to figure it out but he wasn’t assisting her at all.

  She pulled Liberté over to the block of wood and stepped up on it. She stuck her boot into the stirrup, then she held onto the pommel and pushed off with her right foot. After a moment of being suspended in air and thinking she would fall flat on her behind, miraculously Liberté inched a bit closer and Frankie was in the saddle with a thump.

  “I did it!” She grinned at John and patted the horse’s neck. “Liberté and I are going to be a good pair.”

  “What does it mean?” John swung up into Blue’s saddle with a grace and ease she could only hope to one day achieve after a hundred years of practice.

  “Liberté? It means freedom.” She held up the reins. “How do I steer?”

  John laughed and trotted over on Blue. “You got on her all by yourself, honey, I’m sure you’ll do fine.”

  He showed her how to use her knees and to hold the reins lightly. They spent a few minutes on the basics, then Frankie was able to lead Liberté around in a circle. It was exhilarating to control the horse and the path she followed.

  “You think you’re ready to leave?” He looked at her from beneath his hat, his expression unreadable and the few days’ growth of whiskers lending him a dangerous look.

  Her traitorous body warmed to the sight and she mentally chastised herself for being distracted by his handsome visage again. She shaded her eyes against the rising sun. “I believe so. Can we travel in short bursts until I am sure I will not suffer the ridiculous fate of falling off the horse?”

  A small grin played around the corner of his mouth. “Sure we can. Oh, one more thing.” He pulled a light brown hat from his saddlebags. “Someone put this in my bag, but I’m sure it’s meant for you.”

  She took the hat, reassessing once again her opinion of the gruff foreman. It didn’t matter where the hat came from, or who owned it before, someone had taken the time to think of her comfort. It was a gesture of goodwill after such a dark yesterday. She could only accept the gift and thank the giver silently.

  The hat slid on her head as though it had been made for her. It was comfortable and she had immediate relief from the sun’s intense rays.

  John stared at her and she felt a moment of pure feminine pleasure at the appreciation she saw in his eyes. “Mighty fine, Miss Chastain.”

  “Merci, Monsieur Malloy.” She touched the soft brim and realized the horse and the hat were the first gifts she’d received in a very long time. Both of them were from strangers, each would be a means to bring her back to her family, and her life. “Where is the dog?”

  As if on cue, the canine appeared from the side of the barn, tail wagging. He barked and ran in a circle.

  “Of course he showed his mangy face.” John frowned a
t the animal, but it was as though the dog knew the man didn’t really mean it. She’d sensed him softening toward the dog and loved him all the more for it.

  With the dog leading the way, they left the ranch. John waved to the men who gestured in return. But no one stepped up to see them off or wish them well. Frankie didn’t blame them. Without their appearance, Fuller Gates and his daughter would still be alive. In their place, she would not have even helped them on their journey.

  “It’s going to take us at least a week to catch up to the wagon train. I know this territory well and I know the route, so we won’t miss them.” John looked out on the prairie ahead of them. “It’s going to be hard riding.”

  She snorted. “I have done nothing but hard riding since Declan decided to take me from the wagon train. There is nothing I cannot push through.” With you at my side. She wanted to tell him what he meant to her, that she loved him, that she wanted to be with him always, but the words got stuck in her throat.

  “You’re a helluva woman, Frankie.” He kneed his horse into a trot and Frankie had no choice but to follow.

  The hard riding had begun.

  Chapter Ten

  John stopped every two hours or so to rest to let Frankie ease the aches in her thighs and behind. It was enough to let her stretch her legs and get the circulation moving. She cringed each time she climbed back into the saddle, but she did it for ten long hours. Until she was on the verge of giving up and telling John she couldn’t go another minute on top of the horse.

  “Why don’t we stop for the night? There’s a group of trees up ahead that will make a good shelter.” He didn’t wait for her to respond. Really, he didn’t need to. She was puffing and moaning so much the last hour, he likely was doing it to stop the noise.

  Whatever the reason, Frankie was infinitely grateful to stop Liberté from moving. The mare seemed ready to stop as well. She might not have been exercised as much as the other horses since she was a smaller, female one. The long hours may have been rough on her too.

  They were a pitiful pair. The horse hung her head and Frankie petted her sweaty neck. “I am sorry, girl. He is an ogre, no?”

  “I heard that.”

  She ignored him and took a moment to commiserate with Liberté before she realized she needed John’s help to dismount. There was no mounting block or even a rock to use.

  “When you get a chance, I need assistance, si vous plais.” Frankie was surprised how husky her voice was. Exhaustion had crept up on her throughout the day and it was only through sheer force of will that she stayed up right on the horse for so long. Tomorrow would be easier. It had to be easier.

  He plucked her off the horse with little effort and, to her surprise, carried her to his bedroll that he had already laid out on a soft bed of grass beneath the towering oaks. She groaned when he set her down and his eyes flared a dark green in the dusky light of sunset.

  “Do that again and you won’t get any sleep tonight.”

  Frankie giggled and then clapped a hand over her mouth. Being overtired had turned her into Isabelle, giggling like a schoolgirl. Better than cursing like Charlotte, she supposed.

  He left her in repose while he took care of the horses without appearing as though it was work. Within a short time, they were both unsaddled and rubbed down, slurping happily at a small stream and munching on the thick grass that grew beside it. He was efficient and quite strong. Her favorite part was watching his muscles ripple beneath his clothes, knowing exactly how they felt beneath her hands, how they tasted beneath her tongue. Hot, hard and utterly touchable.

  They might not get any sleep that night after all.

  When he returned to her, he squatted beside her and pushed his hat back. She smiled at the silly way her heart jumped into a trot at his nearness.

  “You feeling better?”

  “At least I am no longer moving.” She managed a chuckle. “Hot coffee and a good night’s sleep would work better.”

  He reached out and ran a finger down her cheek. “You sit tight and I’ll get a fire going.”

  “As long as you come back and keep me warm.”

  His eyebrows shot up at her suggestion. It was forward of her, but she decided she had to be ready for a permanent relationship or let him go. And Frankie couldn’t imagine letting him go. She wanted to keep him for the rest of her life and then some.

  Quick as could be, a merry little fire crackled in a small circle of stones. John made coffee and pulled out bread, ham and pickles from his saddlebags. Someone had packed quite a bit of food for them from the Gates pantry. She was grateful for the reprieve from jerky and wild game. Of course, after months on the trail with the wagons, that jerky might be all they had.

  She savored the simple fare and the strong, hot coffee while sneaking glances at John. After all they’d been through, she shouldn’t feel like a young girl with her first crush. They had been intimate a number of times the night before, but never once had she instigated the sex.

  That was about to change if she could find her courage. Not an easy task, even for a woman who was used to taking charge. Frankie had overcome her fear of being touched, of touching a man and being intimate with him. However, she still fought against the dark memories of her last few months in New York, the stint with Peck and those spent hiding from him until the Chastains could escape west. Frankie had relied on Jo during that time, and her quiet strength. There were too many days in the basement of a boardinghouse in Manhattan, owned by one of Jo’s clients. Frankie had never felt so alone. Loving John had chased those broken pieces of her heart to a corner, and one day, she would forget.

  She glanced down at her wrinkled, dusty clothes and made a face. It wouldn’t be much of a seduction if she smelled like a horse. “Where is the stream?” She got to her feet and winced at the stiffness in her legs and buttocks. Cold water might be what she needed.

  “Hm? Oh, you need to, ah, take care of business?” He didn’t blush, but he did look away as he asked.

  She smiled at the way he ducked his head. “I need to wash up. Get the dust off me.”

  His eyes flickered. “Ah, you need any help?”

  Frankie contemplated the request and the consequences. She wanted to be with him, but she also wanted it to be perfect.

  “No, it will not take more than a few minutes. I would rather you wait here for me.” She sounded breathless, which made her feel like a foolish girl. Or a woman in love.

  “All right. I’ll wait for you, Frankie, right here.” He stretched out and put his arms above his head. His purely masculine form stretched out long and lean. Like a banquet of delicious man waiting for her to dig in.

  She turned and walked away before she changed her mind about washing up and feasted on him now. The creek was easy to find and she made quick work of removing her boots and stockings and pantalettes. She stepped into the cold water, holding her skirt and petticoat up. She gasped when the shock of the frigid water hit her.

  Although it was colder than snow in January, the water was just what she needed. She was already overheated from looking at John. Her body needed to relax and prepare for what was to follow. She pulled her skirt and petticoat up to her waist and splashed water up her legs, then higher still.

  When she reached her pussy, she wasn’t surprised to find lingering heat. Although they had known each other a short time, her body knew his instinctively. Her fingers brushed the sensitive bud hidden in the folds. Bolts of pleasure echoed through her and she imagined it was his fingers touching her, stroking her. A moan worked its way up her throat, low and deep.

  “I thought seeing you in my bed was beautiful, but this is enough to make me explode without even touching you.” His husky voice broke through her spell of self-pleasure.

  She wasn’t startled to find him watching her. Instead of feeling embarrassed, his presence heightened her arousal. She opened her eyes to find him on the bank of the creek, his hand down his trousers rubbing his cock. The sight sent tingles through her. />
  “Keep touching yourself.” He unbuttoned his pants and groaned when his dick sprang free. It visibly pulsed, hard and tempting.

  She circled her bundle of pleasure and he resumed his own ministrations. They weren’t touching, but they might as well have been. It was by far the most erotic moment of her life. She plunged two fingers inside her core and used the heel of her hand to rub her nubbin.

  “That’s it, sweetheart. That’s my hand touching you. My mouth tasting you.” He licked his lips and she jerked at the answering jolt within her. She felt her release rising and was helpless to stop it.

  “I am, ah, mon Dieu.” Her body convulsed with the force of her orgasm. The water splashed around her, cooling her heated skin. Her legs shook from the pulses of pleasure coursing through her.

  “Jesus.” He continued to watch her, his hand moving up and down his staff.

  She managed to move toward him, her skirt still up, her hand wet with her own juices. When she reached him, she pushed his hand aside and took over. She wrapped her hand around him, the heat from his skin almost searing her hand. He was beautiful, silk on steel. He closed his eyes and gave himself over to her. Power surged through her—he was hers to command.

  “Lie down.” She almost didn’t recognize her own voice, husky and rough.

  He obeyed, shucking his trousers to use as a blanket on the ground. John looked up at her, his expression of trust and love, lust and passion, was a heady aphrodisiac. She straddled him and guided his hardness into her softness. Her body welcomed him, stretching, quivering, tingling. As she sank onto his length, they both groaned aloud, startling a squirrel above them.

  Yes.

  This was what she needed, wanted. To be connected to him at an elemental level, with her mate, with her man.

  He took hold of her hips, moving her up and down until she caught the rhythm and took over. She had no slow, measured strokes like John. On the contrary, she put everything into making love to him. She slid down his length again and again, deep and hard. He touched her womb, he touched her soul, he touched her heart.