Buck held up his hands. “I don’t want to do anything that’ll harm the poor girl. But you know how people like to gossip.”
Yes, he did know, but if he had anything to do with it, Frankie would not suffer from the old biddies who stuck their noses into everyone else’s business. He was so focused on what Buck was saying, he almost missed the slender man stepping from the shadows.
Frankie didn’t.
Her entire body stiffened and her face blanched. She stared at the man, a good-looking, well-dressed man with blond hair and a fancy round hat on his head. He smiled at her, his neatly trimmed mustache lending an air of manliness to his otherwise small frame.
John couldn’t hear what the man said, but he could see Frankie’s reaction. He was moving before he realized his feet had started toward her. Within seconds he ran, seeing the terror on her face had scared the hell out of him.
“It is lovely to see you, Francesca.” The stranger’s voice was melodic and cultured, a man who had lived in high society, no doubt. He also used her given name. “I look forward to renewing our acquaintance.”
John reached her side in time to hear her whimper. He moved her sisters aside and pulled Frankie under his arm. She was freezing cold, shaking and stiffer than a piece of steel.
“Who the hell are you?”
The stranger’s gaze moved to John’s and the smile remained. However, it was what John saw in the blond man’s eyes that made his heart kick into a gallop. Pure rage.
“I have come to retrieve my fiancée, Francesca.” He held out one smooth-skinned hand. “If my property is returned to me, there shall be no trouble.”
Oliver Peck.
“Mr. Bushel, hm? Don’t you mean Mr. Peck? Or is that Prick?” John was pleased to see the smaller man’s eyes flicker at the taunt. “Frankie is going nowhere with you. Get your ass out of here before I hand it to you.”
John’s own anger grew, knowing what this man had done to her, to the woman who had more courage, integrity and goodness inside her than anyone he ever met. She’d described him as a monster and she hadn’t exaggerated. Despite his size, Oliver Peck was a dangerous man.
“Francesca is indeed mine and unless she wants to see your blood on the ground, I suggest you unhand her and return her to me. She is my lotus blossom and will be mine for always.” Peck gestured behind him and three very large men appeared from between two wagons. They had to be the apostles following this bastard around. “My men will be sure you give me no further trouble.”
“My name is John Malloy and I’ve got nothing but trouble for you.” He put his hand on the pistol hanging low on his hip. “Cut the head off the snake and the body dies.”
“Touché, Mr. Malloy.” Mr. Peck turned his attention to Mr. Chastain, whose jaw was clenched tight enough to crack teeth. “Francesca’s father owes me, and his daughter rendered payment for his debt. Unfortunately, she seems to have lost her way. I am here to fetch her home. I sent a lackey to retrieve her, but I suspected he failed before he even left New York. I will retrieve my own property my own way.”
The air crackled with fear, anger and tension. John’s hands curled into fists as he watched the woman he loved treated like a lost dog. He leaned down and whispered in her ear.
“You are the strongest person I’ve ever met. Don’t let him win. You can fight him. I love you, Frankie.” He hadn’t thought what he was going to say, and he only hoped it was enough.
John threw the first punch at Peck and all hell broke loose.
Frankie shook with fear while her stomach crawled up her throat. John’s whispered confession of love snapped her out of the spiraling dark she’d been falling into.
I love you, Frankie.
She loved him too and she hadn’t told him, coward that she was. Now he was in a fight with the man who had nearly destroyed her. Oliver Peck wasn’t even a man—he was a hideous fiend in the guise of a human being. Now his selfish brutality could kill John.
He’d gotten one punch in before Peck’s men jumped in the fray. Tom and Buck Avery tried to get the three men off John but without much success. The muscled behemoths from New York were trained to fight to the death, like fighting cocks, drawing blood until their opponent was dead.
Grunts and curses split the air as Peck’s men pounded on John, Tom and Buck. Maman held Papa back, refusing to allow her husband to be beaten. Frankie didn’t blame her—Papa was not a young man and he would be the first to die if he joined the fight. The settlers all watched from a distance, no one brave enough to step in to help.
Desperation coated Frankie’s tongue and she knew she had to do something. She couldn’t stand by and watch three men die for her. It would be an impossible reality that would haunt her for the rest of her life.
Blue whinnied behind her and she glanced at the mustang, the loyal dog at his side. John’s rifle sat in a scabbard on the side of the saddle. Bless the horse and his loyalty to his master. She grabbed the rifle, cocked it and fired it in the air. The force of it knocked her on her behind. She landed with a bone-jarring thump and her teeth clacked together hard. She had no time to think of her own discomfort and scrambled to her feet.
The fighting had stopped and all seven of them were staring at her. John was on the ground, his face a mass of blood and dirt. Fury pushed aside any lingering fear and she turned the rifle at Oliver’s head. Hate flooded her heart and she wanted to kill him for all he’d done to her, to her family and now to John. Murder had never brushed her soul until now.
“I will kill you right here and right now, Monsieur Peck. Leave and go back to New York or I swear to God your blood will mix with the prairie dust.” Frankie shook so hard her finger trembled on the trigger. She didn’t know if it was from anger or fear.
Oliver laughed, as she expected he would. “I own you, Francesca. There is no escape and no place you can run I will not find you. Why do you think I followed you so soon after your family left? You’re mine. Mine.”
The man was mad. Completely, utterly mad. She thought him dangerous and evil, but he was worse, much worse than that. He stalked toward her and his men held John down while he shouted her name and the dog barked.
The bastard had called her bluff and Frankie had to either kill him or surrender to him. There was no other option. She took aim and her finger squeezed the trigger.
An empty click.
“You didn’t load the rifle, bitch.” Oliver reached for her when a shot split the air. Blood blossomed across his chest and he dropped to the ground.
Frankie turned around to find Declan behind her, a pistol in his hand, wisps of smoke escaping the barrel. She had no time to wonder why he was there. Later she could speak to him. Now she had to get to John. She grabbed the pistol from Declan and stepped over the body of the man who had tried destroyed her.
The three hired men stopped moving, watching her with identical expressions of wariness. Although they weren’t triplets, they were big hunks of man meat with not a shred of humanity between them. She felt sorry for them at the same time she wanted to shoot them.
“Get out of here, bâtards. Now.” She moved closer until she couldn’t miss no matter if her hands shook so hard the gun was slippery. “I will kill you where you stand.”
Frankie could barely swallow the lump in her throat, but she kept the gun aimed and her finger on the trigger. John struggled to his feet and wiped the blood from his lip.
“You heard the lady. Get your asses out of here before she kills you. Nobody is going to miss that piece of shit pretending to be a man.” John stumbled and she resisted the urge to reach out to help him.
“Get out of here.” Buck took John’s arm and held him upright. “That snake is dead. We can bury one body or four.” The big wagon master never looked vicious to her, but he was cold as ice right about then. He put his hand on the pistol riding on his hip.
“You killed him, Declan.” One of the men finally spoke. “The gang won’t forgive. Or forget.”
“I don’t g
ive a toss about the gang. I ain’t going back.” Declan waved a hand in the air. “You can choose to disappear along with him. Like me.”
Frankie couldn’t have been more surprised. The man had kidnapped her and attempted to drag her back to the very man he’d just killed. Now he offered to help the other three violent men to disappear too, allowing them the opportunity to escape.
“I can’t do that, Callahan.” The man’s face was red with anger. “You know we’ll come after you.”
“The Five Pointers can go hang. Nobody will find me.” Declan stood beside John. “There’s nothing for me in New York.”
The stranger growled and moved toward Declan. Frankie fired the pistol into the air, startling everyone, including herself. Her arm now hurt along with her shoulder. She was not the most adept gunman, but she held onto her fury, nursed it. These men had hurt John, had threatened all of them. They were animals loyal to a cruel creature that lay dead at her feet. If it wasn’t happening to her, she might have thought it part of a book.
With her family beside her, John at her back and friends surrounding her, Frankie felt safe. Loved. Protected. Most of all, strong.
“Leave. Now,” she snapped. “The next shot won’t poke holes in the sky.”
The three strangers made a move to pick up Peck’s body, but John’s growl stopped them. “We’re burying that piece of shit right where he fell. You’ll have to go back without him and explain how you got your boss killed. You may change your mind and want to vanish along with him.”
Two of them shook their heads while the biggest spat, “Never.” The men were loyal to Peck even after his death. She wouldn’t admire them for it—they were likely signing their own death warrants to return to New York without him. It was their choice and she hadn’t a smidge of sympathy for them.
“Get yourselves out of here then and don’t bother coming back. We’ll make sure you get on your way.” Buck was a tough man but he had never been so threatening. Frankie was infinitely glad he was on their side.
With a great deal of dark looks and bared teeth, the three strangers walked toward a group of horses. Buck and Tom dogged their footsteps, guns in hand. Frankie held the pistol, watching until they rode out of sight.
A ragged breath escaped and then another. John wiped blood from his mouth again and held out his hand. She gave him the gun, relieved to lose the weight of the weapon. Her hands still shook and her stomach was tied in a Gordian knot.
He grinned crookedly. “Nice shooting.”
Her eyes stung with tears, ones she swore she would not shed. He opened his arms and she flew into them, burying her face into his chest. His arms surrounded her and she breathed deep, clinging to his familiar scent as a lifeline in the madness of the last ten minutes. She needed him, loved him.
“Francesca, etes-vous d'accord?” Her father’s voice broke through her cocoon and she lifted her head.
Both her parents stood there with identical expressions of relief and confusion. She left the circle of John’s arms and fell into her parents’ embrace. Soon her sisters joined in and they were a mass of Chastain hugging.
Finally, finally, she was free.
Chapter Eleven
John and Declan dug a hole and threw Peck’s body into it. There was enormous satisfaction in burying this man’s body. He was glad Frankie hadn’t been the one to kill him and he was damn glad the bastard was dead before he could hurt her or anyone else again.
He glanced at the big man. “Why did you come back, Callahan?”
“I had no place else to go.” Declan shrugged. “I didn’t mean to kill him, but when I saw what he was going to do, that he was gonna force her again, I shot.”
“He deserved to be killed,” John threw another shovel full of dirt on the body.
“Aye, I agree with you.” Declan looked down at the body, his expression thoughtful. “Never expected I would be the one to do it.”
John frowned. “Do you think they’ll come after you? The three of them or others like them?” He didn’t want to know if there were worse men in this gang of Peck’s, but that was likely true.
“Maybe, but I meant what I said, they won’t find me. I’ll change my name and such. There are plenty of men in the west who have a different name than they were born with.” Declan started shoveling again. “One thing is for certain—I can never go back to New York.”
John thought about what Declan had done and what his actions meant. The big man had thrown away everything, all he knew, as well as his future prospects in the gang. All because he overhead Frankie’s whispered confession over what Peck had done to her.
There was no decision to be made. Declan Callahan was a good man.
“You can use Malloy if you like. It’s a good Irish name.” John glanced at him.
“I’ll think on that.” Declan’s words didn’t match his expression, which told John he would be talking to Declan Malloy tomorrow.
“You should stay with the wagon train and go to Oregon. With your size, you’ll do well working the trees out there.” John watched a wariness jump into Declan’s gaze.
“A lumberjack?”
John slapped him on the shoulder, glad to know the muscled giant was no longer a threat. How the hell John managed to knock him unconscious, he would never know. Love and anger made him stronger than he normally was. Either that or Callahan wanted John to rescue Frankie.
“Yep. It’s solid work and steady. Dangerous too, but I think you have experience on how to handle danger.” John waited, his own plans depended on the other man’s decision.
“And would I work the wagon train to get there? Avery gonna trust me?” Callahan had good reason to ask. He’d kidnapped Frankie and stolen a horse. He had already given Peck’s horse to the settler whose mare he had taken, but the fact he had broken trust likely still rankled the wagon master.
John couldn’t lie to him. “I don’t know but he’s a smart man. He’ll come around.”
Callahan lifted one brow. “And if he doesn’t?”
“He will. Don’t worry. I’ll make sure of it.” John didn’t know what his own future held, but he would make sure the man who killed Oliver Peck would have his chance at life.
They finished filling in the grave in silence, each man lost in their own thoughts. John walked Declan to Buck’s campfire, ready to make good on his promise. The Chastain wagon was on the way. John had to restrain himself from taking a right turn and finding her. The woman who owned his heart and soul.
He hadn’t spoken to Frankie since their return an hour ago. Her family hurried off with her tucked under their protective wings. He didn’t blame them. She needed them, needed peace. But hell, he needed her. Badly. And not just in his bed, but by his side. He needed to talk to her, to make sure she understood he wanted to marry her.
He was surprised to find his future plans depended on Frankie, not the ranch he had dreamed of for years. No, his heart had changed his mind for good. He loved her, ached to have her by his side forever. Home would be where she was, not the dirt beneath his boots.
John never expected to find a woman to love or that she would change his life completely. Frankie Chastain had knocked him on his ass until he knew nothing but his love for her. If she rejected him, he would go on, empty but alive. Of course, he had to ask her before she could say no.
He hadn’t told her about the money and truthfully, he had almost forgotten what Gates left him. The ranch was within John’s reach, but he didn’t want it without Frankie. He had changed his life so completely a dream was nothing without her by his side. Of course, he had a fiancée to rid himself of first. He did not look forward to speaking to Veronica or her overbearing father.
He must’ve slowed down because Callahan grunted. “You planning on stopping here?”
John shook his head. “Nope.”
She’d never told him she loved him, never repeated the words that stripped his soul bare. He had to believe she felt the same or he would lose whatever hope he had left
. He wouldn’t be whole until he had her. However he would give her time to heal. The last thing he wanted was to push too hard until she turned her back. He would bide his time and hope like hell she would emerge sooner rather than later.
Two weeks passed by in a blur. Frankie existed in a fog of emotions including fear, confusion and longing. She wanted to find John, to be wrapped in his arms, back where she belonged. Yet fear kept her immobile. Her family understood and protected her, allowed her to remain in the wagon when everyone else worked, laughed, lived while she remained in a self-induced prison. The scruffy dog had become her constant companion, sitting beside her day after day with his sympathetic gaze. Her sisters must have washed him, as his fur was clean and smelled like soap.
The appearance of Oliver Peck, and the subsequent wave of paralyzing terror, had drained her. Every ounce of courage she had went into the confrontation. Her parents and sisters gave her the opportunity to hide from everyone while she recovered. What she truly needed was to emerge from the wagon, face the stares and whispers, and tell John Malloy she loved him.
She needed to live, not merely exist. Riding in the back of the wagon was the action of a coward. Frankie didn’t want to think she was that person—she wanted to be brave and strong. But it was so hard. Damn hard.
The wagon train had stopped again for the night. She stayed in the wagon while her family took care of the oxen, built a fire, cooked and settled in. Frankie pressed her face against her knees and rocked herself. Her stomach was still twisted in knots and the happiness she’d found with John was a wisp of a dream she couldn’t grab.
“Francesca.” Her father climbed into the wagon and settled beside her. “Ah, lapin, you are hurting.”
“Papa, I am a coward.” The words burst out of her mouth, poisonous and painful. “A ridiculous shadow of a woman.”
He sighed and put his arm around her shoulders and tucked her under his arm. “There are things you haven’t told me.” The dog whined and moved closer.
The Fortune Page 19