The Fortune

by Beth Williamson

  “Miss Harvey. What are you doing here?” The last person he needed to see was his one-time fiancée, who’d nearly tricked him into marrying her.

  She stared at the ground, shuffling her feet. The posture and behavior surprised him. She had shown nothing but aggression in every encounter. Until now.

  “I wanted to talk to you. To explain.” She kept her gaze down.

  “There is nothing to talk about or explain. I am marrying Miss Chastain.” He picked up the tent and his saddlebags, intent on getting away from the blonde.

  “Please, I only wanted a few minutes of your time.” She fell into step beside him. “I wanted to apologize.”

  John stumbled in surprise. He frowned at her. “You want to apologize?”

  She frowned back at him. “Yes, I do. I am a human being with feelings.”

  “Could have fooled me.” It fell out of his mouth before he could stop it. John wasn’t one to hold a grudge, but this woman had pushed the boundaries of his patience.

  “I suppose I deserve that.” Veronica blinked her big blue eyes and waited.

  John sighed. “Fine, you have two minutes. I’ve got to get everything packed up to leave and you’re wasting my time.”

  Her cheeked colored, but she didn’t look away. “I had reasons for what I did. I chose you because I knew I could trust you to do the right thing.”

  “While you did the wrong thing?” John might not ever forgive her for what she did, but he could try to forget it.

  “I needed a fresh start, away from my father.” She took his hand into hers, cold and clammy. “He isn’t a kind man and he has fists of steel. Arthur and I tried to leave once, but the repercussions were, um, quite severe.”

  John knew of men who beat their families, quite well in fact, and he sympathized with her plight. Not enough to marry her.

  “You can find a new life when you get to Oregon.”

  She shook her head. “He has already promised me I will never marry now, since I’ve humiliated both of us.” She swallowed hard enough he heard it.

  John looked into her face and knew the idea behind the wedding was not her idea. “Your father wanted you to marry me? Why?”

  “He has little to no money left. An unwed daughter costs a great deal.” She looked into the distance, her expression wistful. “I had hopes you would accept our marriage and I could escape from Harvey hell.”

  “I’m sorry, Miss Harvey, but I can’t marry you. I love Frankie.” He felt sorry for her but he knew she didn’t want pity. “Perhaps Tom Avery?”

  She shrugged. “Perhaps. He is a boy.”

  John swallowed a chuckle. “I reckon he is the same age as you.”

  “In years, but he is a boy. I believe you know what I mean.” She hid behind the rich, caustic young woman she showed the world. John had no idea what lay beneath the shiny exterior.

  “He is a good man and he will be a good husband.” He glanced at the Chastain wagon and saw the gathering crowd. “I have to go.”

  She nodded. “I understand. I wanted to speak to you, to explain. My actions were for self-preservation only.”

  It was the first time he’d seen what he would call a genuine expression on her beautiful face. He could hardly believe this was the same girl.

  “Good luck, Miss Harvey. You’re strong. You’ll survive.” He wasn’t sure what else to say. There was nothing he could do for her, beyond words. Tom Avery was an honorable person and maybe she would take a chance to get to know him before she acted. Good things could happen.

  She wrapped her arms around her belly and her expression tightened. “I have no doubt I will survive, Mr. Malloy. In what condition, I don’t know. Thank you for listening.”

  Before he could walk away, she turned on her heel and almost ran the opposite direction, away from him and his happiness. He didn’t blame her. When he was miserable and angry at the world, the last thing he wanted to see was folks smiling and being happy.

  John wanted to talk to Buck and Tom before he left. Although he didn’t owe her a thing, he would do what he could to protect her after he was gone from the wagon train. For now, he had a wedding to get to.

  He could hardly wait.

  Frankie was going to vomit. Her stomach churned and flipped this way and that. It would be highly embarrassing to vomit on her groom’s feet, but it might be unavoidable. She stood still while her sisters fluttered around her, readying her for the wedding.

  Charlotte wove flowers into Frankie’s hair with all the concentration she had, as always the tongue poking out the side of her mouth while she worked.

  Isabelle and Josephine made sure Frankie’s dress was as perfect as possible. They’d been sewing like mad the last two days, accepting donations from nearly half the women in the wagon train to make the beautiful blue concoction. It was some sort of damask material—she suspected that Veronica Harvey had a hand in its appearance—and the same color as John’s eyes.

  Frankie had never felt more beautiful, which is why vomiting would ruin the day completely.

  Maman stood by and watched, a smile on her face. She helped only when Frankie asked, which was sincerely appreciated. It had been hard enough to make the leap and admit she loved John. Getting married was taxing and having too many people helping would have been disastrous.

  She let her sisters help because she couldn’t stop them. They had all been so close, it wouldn’t have been the same if they hadn’t been there at her side.

  “I love you, girls,” Frankie blurted.

  Isabelle and Josephine smiled while Charlotte made a face. “We aren’t going to start that shit again, are we? I thought you loved Mr. Malloy. He sure as hell is cute.”

  Her youngest sister’s brash words broke the tension and everyone laughed. Frankie’s stomach even eased up its mad roiling.

  “He is quite handsome.” Frankie ran her hands down the side of the dress. “I hope he likes my dress.”

  A fancier gown would have been appropriate for a New York wedding, but it would have been wrong for Frankie. This was a love match, but it wasn’t a wedding of pomp and circumstance. It was the union of two people who found the other half of who they were. A dress the color of the groom’s eyes was the right path.

  Papa stepped up and tugged Maman’s hand. “Everyone is waiting.”

  There went Frankie’s stomach again, somersaulting around her body.

  “Bon. Girls, go.” Maman shooed away her other daughters and approached her eldest. She cupped Frankie’s cheeks and kissed her forehead. “I am so proud of you, Francesca. You are the bravest person I have ever met. I wish you the best of everything, the love of a lifetime and never ending joy. Je t’aime, mon fille.”

  “I love you too, Maman.” Frankie’s throat was tight. She could barely swallow the lump of emotion that had formed. How could she ever thank her parents for their love, their guidance, their acceptance? It was impossible to put into words.

  Papa took her hand and kissed the back. “You are as beautiful as your mother, lapin. Go and be happy with your young man. I shall miss you.”

  This time Frankie could not speak. She simply hugged her parents, breathing in their scent and their love, letting it wash over her. It gave her the strength to let them go and move on with her life with John. She kept her eyes closed until the tears no longer threatened, only then did she step back away from their embrace.

  “I am ready now.” She smiled and took their hands and they walked together, for the last time, toward the man she would spend her life with.

  There was a small crowd gathered, waiting for them. John stood beside the young minister. She barely saw the man of the cloth—she could not look away from her soon-to-be husband. He stood tall, his blue eyes locked on her, handsomer than any man she’d ever seen. She could hardly believe this man had captured her heart and she his.

  When she finally arrived at his side, he held out his hand. Her parents kissed her cheek and stepped away. Frankie’s hand shook as she took John’s. W
hen his callused one enfolded hers, a feeling of rightness raced through her.

  Yes.

  This was where she belonged, by his side, partner, lover, friend. He squeezed her fingers and she stepped closer until their bodies nearly touched. They turned to face the minister and Frankie took a deep breath.

  Within minutes, they were married, the expeditious methods requested by Buck Avery. The wagon train had to leave and their wedding delayed the departure. John turned to kiss her. With a grin that made her cheeks hurt, she pressed her lips to her husband’s.

  A cheer rose around them. He picked her up and twirled her in a circle, the sun shining around them, making her eyes prick with tears. Frankie laughed, her heart lighter than the air around her.

  He set her back on her feet. The crowd surrounded them, offering congratulations. The men clapped John on the back, her sisters swarmed her.

  “I can’t believe you’re married.” Charlotte was wide-eyed. “Married!”

  Isabelle chuckled. “It’s not the first marriage in the world, Charlie.”

  “People get married all the time.” Josephine folded her arms. “I do not plan on marrying anyone myself.”

  Isabelle raised one brow. “I do, but not before we get to Oregon. One day I will find my own man who will love me like John loves our sister.”

  Frankie smiled at them. “I have no doubt you will each find a mate who loves you.”

  “Not me.” Charlotte shook her head. “Because then I’ll lose my family.”

  The sentiment made all the sisters pause, then Frankie pulled them into an embrace. “I will miss you all so much, but we will never lose each other. Ever. I will carry you in her heart and someday we will see each other again.”

  “Sorry to break this up, but it’s time to go, folks.” Buck Avery’s booming voice broke through the excited crowd.

  “Oh no.” Charlie hugged her tighter.

  Frankie kissed her youngest sister’s forehead. “Do not worry, petite, you have adventure ahead and a new life in Oregon.”

  Charlie looked up at her with tear-filled eyes. “I didn’t mean it when I said I didn’t love you.”

  Frankie smiled. “I know.”

  By the time she gave one last hug for each of her sisters, then her parents, the wagons had already started moving. This was it, the moment Frankie truly became a Malloy, no longer a Chastain. Josephine lingered behind, her gaze pensive.

  “I cannot believe you will not be with us.” Josephine blinked behind her spectacles.

  “I will always be with you.” Frankie squeezed her hands. “I need you to keep the other girls in order and help Maman and Papa.”

  “I will. Be careful, Frankie.”

  Frankie worried about Josephine more than any of her sisters. She held herself so tightly, there was no room for anyone else to get near her. She hoped one day someone could break through her shell and find the wonderful woman beneath.

  “Goodbye, Jo.” Frankie couldn’t stop herself from hugging her sister one more time and then she was gone.

  John stood by holding the horses’ reins, a small smile tugging the corners of his mouth. “Are you ready, Mrs. Malloy?”

  The name echoed through her heart, chasing away any lingering sadness about leaving her family. Mrs. Malloy. She was now part of her own family, one she would build with the man she loved. The future lay ahead of them, full of promise and joy.

  She smiled at him. “Oui. I am ready, Monsieur Malloy.” Frankie took her husband’s hand. The breeze ruffled his hair and she could not imagine a more beautiful sight. “I love you.”

  He tugged her into his arms and kissed her soundly. “I love you too, Frankie. Now let’s ride.”

  With a whoop, he plucked her off the ground and set her on Liberté. She took the reins and looked across the prairie. He handed up her hat, then swung into his own saddle.

  “Wait, where is Leon?” She glanced around, concerned the dog had gotten lost. “Leon!”

  “Is that dog coming with us?” He scowled. “He might give us fleas.”

  She laughed. “He is part of our family, John.”

  A bark sounded from up the hill. The furry Leon stood by, waiting for them, pointing the way toward John’s land. Frankie laughed and kneed her horse into motion, followed by her husband. Their life had just begun, their love would only grow stronger.

  Frankie raised her face to the sky and let loose a shout of joy. The Malloys were on their way.

  About the Author

  Beth Williamson, who also writes as Emma Lang, is an award-winning, bestselling author of both historical and contemporary romances. Her books range from sensual to scorching hot. She is a Career Achievement Award Nominee in Erotic Romance by Romantic Times Magazine, in both 2009 and 2010.

  Beth has always been a dreamer, never able to escape her imagination. It led her to the craft of writing romance novels. She’s passionate about purple, books and her family. She has a weakness for shoes and purses, as well as bookstores. Her path in life has taken several right turns, but she’s been with the man of her dreams for more than 20 years.

  Beth works full-time and writes romance novels evenings, weekends, early mornings and whenever there is a break in the madness. She is compassionate, funny, a bit reserved at times, tenacious and a little quirky. Her cowboys and western romances speak of a bygone era, bringing her readers to an age where men were honest, hard and packing heat. For a change of pace, she also dives into some smokin’ hot contemporaries, bringing you heat, romance and snappy dialogue.

  Life might be chaotic, as life usually is, but Beth always keeps a smile on her face, a song in her heart, and a cowboy on her mind. ;)

  www.bethwilliamson.com

  Look for these titles by Beth Williamson

  Now Available:

  Marielle’s Marshal

  Branded

  Endless Heart (as Emma Lang)

  The Malloy Family

  The Bounty

  The Prize

  The Reward

  The Treasure

  The Gift

  The Tribute

  The Legacy

  Hell for Leather

  Devils on Horseback

  Nate

  Jake

  Zeke

  Lee

  Gideon

  Private Lives

  On His Knees

  Handing over the reins is hard. Handing over his heart…damn near impossible.

  Gideon

  © 2011 Beth Williamson

  Devils on Horseback, Book 5

  Gideon Blackwood is on the run—from Tanger’s meddling matchmakers. With no intention of following the rest of the Devils down the aisle, he heads for the hills to reassess a life spent leading and caring for others…and runs smack into the business end of a shotgun. At the trigger: a curmudgeonly woman with a broken axle and a load of responsibility.

  In Chloe Ruskin’s experience, men take what they want and leave a mess of trouble behind. The safety of two orphans and her granny is at stake, and the last thing she needs is Gideon’s “help”. This time, though, she has no choice but to allow the big cowboy to fix her wagon.

  As they work into the night, grudging admiration grows into attraction—and desire. Gideon finds he can’t dig his boot heels in hard enough to avoid falling for the opinionated little female.

  When Chloe’s family disappears, her suspicion threatens to destroy any spark of love before it catches fire. Gideon finds himself making promises his pride won’t let him break—even if it costs him the love of the woman who owns the missing half of his soul.

  Warning: Beware of a strong hero with a stubborn streak a mile wide and a heroine with enough gumption to fill the entire state of Texas. Discover love, hot sex and an amazing, dangerous adventure.

  Enjoy the following excerpt for Gideon:

  May 1868

  “Who the hell are you?”

  Gideon Blackwood stopped in his tracks, a puff of dust kicking up from his boots. He kept his arms
at his sides, his breathing even, although his heart thundered like a horse’s hooves. From the gruff, raspy quality of the voice behind him, he didn’t know who he was dealing with.

  “My name is Gideon Blackwood.”

  “What do you think you’re doing sneaking around my wagon, Gideon Blackwood?”

  Ah, it was definitely a woman. Whoever she was, she’d be no match for a man of his size, no matter how angry she sounded. As a veteran of the Civil War and countless battles, midnight raids and numerous wounds, not much scared him.

  He turned around slowly so as not to spook her. To his surprise, he found a short figure wearing a dress that could’ve been used to hold potatoes and a floppy, ugly-as-hell wide hat that completely hid her face. The one thing that kept his attention was the pistol in her hand. That hand wasn’t shaking either. He took stock of his opponent in the blink of an eye. She was barely over five feet tall, her shape hidden by the sack she wore. Gideon took a step toward her, and she cocked the gun.

  “Answer the question.” Her tone was as cold as the metal of the barrel.

  Gideon couldn’t judge her age since her face was covered and her voice deep for a female. She could be twelve or ninety, which meant he couldn’t estimate how fast she’d be if he decided to disarm her.

  Damn.

  “I was riding to Grayton to see a friend of mine. I saw the busted wheel on the wagon and thought I could help.” He never expected his attempt would result in having a woman hold a gun on him.

  “Hero, eh? You a Johnny Reb?”

  Gideon clenched his fists as he told himself to ignore the caustic nickname. He’d fought in the war for what he thought was right, same as every other man. It had been three years since the war ended, and she had no call to insult him. He had to keep his control, no matter what flew out of her mouth.

  “We’re all just folks now, ma’am. I’m no hero, and I sure don’t want to be shot for trying to help out other folks in need. I’ll be on my way.” Gideon took a step away from the wagon. The stupid gelding placidly munched on grass while his master had a gun pointed at him.