She snuggled against him. “You’re comfortable.”
He chuckled, amused by the things that came out of her mouth. “I don’t believe anyone has ever said that to me.”
“Good. I do not want to think you have had dozens of girls in your lap.” She made a kittenish sound, then a small sigh tickled across his neck, sending a shiver through him. He’d never had much of a chance to have any kind of sweetheart before. His life had been mired in shit and there was no opportunity for soft things.
Now he had a lapful of soft. She didn’t smell sweet, but she smelled alive. Hers was a unique scent all her own. After three weeks of being confined with her twenty-four hours a day, it was as familiar as his own. If any of the men he’d known in the Five Pointers gang could see him now, they would laugh until they pissed their britches.
“No, not many girls.” He wasn’t going to admit to none at all. Declan wasn’t a virgin, but his female companions had all been paid for their time and services. It was evident he had no idea how to be with a proper lady such as Josephine Chastain.
“I have never had a beau. Isabelle has.” Jo sniffed. “You smell.”
This time Declan laughed. “I haven’t had time to take a bath, your majesty. You’ve been taking up all my time. This whole place smells like sweat, piss and shit. Er, it smells bad.”
“You know, Charlie keeps cursing. She is trying to learn as many as she can. I cannot quite figure out why.” She was silent for a few moments. “It does smell bad in here. Is that because of me?”
He didn’t know what to say other than be honest. Declan wasn’t a smooth talker nor did he know how to put things delicately for female-type people.
“Yep, mostly. I empty the chamber pot regular, but there isn’t much air in here.” One tiny window that didn’t open meant the smells were trapped in the building. He didn’t leave the door open for fear people would gawk. They weren’t in the main thoroughfare of the fort, but there were enough people passing by to keep the door shut.
Besides all that, Frank Drummond had nailed a quarantine sign to the door. Declan didn’t know what it said, but it had turned the little shack into an attraction for people.
“Open the door and let some fresh air in. You’re making my eyes water.”
Declan hid his smile when he stood, then balanced her weight in his arms and walked to the door. He wasn’t done holding her yet, but she was right—they needed some fresh air. Summer was in full swing and it was hot as hell outside, but the blast of outside air on their faces felt like a caress. He reached from beneath her legs to turn the doorknob, swinging the door wide.
She breathed in deep, pressing her breasts against his chest and making his dick wake up. It was bad enough he had dreams of her when he finally slept. He sure as hell didn’t need to have his staff poking her hip in broad daylight. Declan forced himself to focus on the clean breeze and not on the bundle in his arms. He breathed in and out steadily until his wayward body relaxed.
Foolish man.
He returned to the chair and sat down. Jo dozed on and off for the next hour. Then Declan closed his eyes, relaxed and content for the first time since he was a child. He didn’t mean to fall asleep, but he didn’t plan on many things that happened, whether he was ready or not.
“Excuse me, Mrs. Callahan?”
The voice was vaguely familiar, but Jo didn’t know who it was. She managed to crack one eye open to find a man standing over her. She frowned, trying to remember who he was.
“I’m sorry to bother you, Mrs. Callahan, but I’m to collect the week’s rent for the cabin.” The stranger had walked into the cabin, uninvited and unannounced apparently, and woke her up. The sun was behind him, turning him into a silhouette.
“Who are you?” She tried to wipe the sleep from her mind. Her hand landed on something warm and hard. Her eyes flew open, and she realized she still sat on Declan’s lap and he snored beneath her. What in the world was going on?
“Frank Drummond. I’m the medic who has been taking care of you.” The memory of the man was faint, but it was there.
“I believe Declan has been taking care of me, Mr. Drummond. What is it you want?” She stopped and stared at the man, realizing he had called her Mrs. Callahan. Twice. Something she’d have to clarify with the sleeping Mr. Callahan immediately. A memory tickled at the back of her mind, but she couldn’t latch onto it.
“The rent. It’s Monday, which means it’s due for this week.” Mr. Drummond rocked back on his heels and waited.
Jo had no idea what the man was talking about and had only snatches of memories since she’d gotten sick. The cool breeze felt good on her face as she struggled into a sitting position. She tapped Declan’s cheek.
“Wake up.” He didn’t stir. She tapped him harder. “Wake up, Declan.”
Nothing.
“Heavy sleeper, hm?” Mr. Drummond seemed amused, but Jo was anything but.
“Declan!” she shouted into the big man’s ear.
He was on his feet in a second, her waist secured under his arm and with a knife miraculously gripped in his hand. Where had that weapon been? And how did a man that big move so fast?
“Let me down.” She pushed against his grip and he dropped her in a flash. She landed hard on her hip. “Ouch!”
Declan glanced around with a wild look on his face. His eyes widened when he spotted her on the floor. “Lass, I’m sorry. Did I hurt you?” He helped her to her feet. “I must’ve fallen asleep and I don’t—” He saw Mr. Drummond standing there.
“Callahan.” The other man inclined his head. “I came by for this week’s payment for the cabin. Your wife was gracious enough to wake you.”
Declan’s gaze snapped to her and he masked his expression, but she saw it nonetheless. He had some explaining to do. She had been in his care for three weeks and now people were calling her Mrs. Callahan. The idea of being married to him made her cheeks flush hotter than the fever.
She sat down in the chair, winded and embarrassed. Declan reached into the pocket of his trousers and pulled out coins, depositing them in Mr. Drummond’s outstretched palm.
“I’ll pass this on to the management of the fort. I hope you’re feeling better, Mrs. Callahan. Your face has color.” He waited, as though he expected an answer.
“I feel clearheaded, but I can’t quite determine the state of my health.” She did, in fact, feel awake for the first time in a long time.
“If you’d like me to examine you, you only need ask.” Although his offer would appear kind to most, she did not know this man nor did she feel the need to make his acquaintance.
“Thank you, but no.” She refused as politely as she could. Her mother, after all, had impressed upon all her daughters how important manners were.
“Your choice. I will stop by in a few days to check on you.” He smiled, a chilling baring of teeth. “Until I decide there ain’t no more typhoid in you or the big man here.”
“I’m not sick. I haven’t gotten sick and I won’t get sick.” Declan scowled. “I stopped wearing mask and gloves two weeks ago.”
Jo couldn’t suppress her shock. He hadn’t worn protection for two weeks? She’d noted he wasn’t wearing protection earlier. Also, he’d been the first one to touch her when she’d gotten sick and he’d carried her through the fort. That much she remembered. It was a hazy memory, but she knew it was real.
“As long as you’re in my good graces, I will lift the quarantine. Keep paying what’s owed and it will happen.” Drummond inclined his head toward her, then turned and left the cabin.
The air hung heavy around them. She shook with exhaustion and resisted the urge to climb into the bed. Answers were more important than sleep.
“I would appreciate it, Mr. Callahan, if you could explain what happened over the last three weeks.” She kept control of her anger, but it simmered beneath the surface. Declan always incited her, in more ways than one, like nobody else had done.
He blew out a breath and sat down he
avily in the chair. “You have been in another land, lass. I did what I had to do to protect you.”
She hugged herself, realizing her stomach no longer hurt, although she was definitely weakened. “I’m feeling better and I am here in this land now, wherever this is.”
He looked at her. “You do look more awake.” When he leaned over, she didn’t pull away, surprising herself. He touched her forehead and neck, then smiled. Her heart did a funny little skip at the sight of that smile without the beard to disguise it.
Lord in heaven, the man was devastating.
“Your fever’s broken.”
It took a few seconds for his words to sink in. “My fever?”
“Your forehead is cool to the touch, lass. You’ve beaten it.” He took her face and kissed her hard.
Jo was stunned, rendered silent by the fact she’d finally kissed the man she had been wanting to kiss. It was everything she’d expected it to be and more. His lips were warm and soft and they made her entire mouth tingle.
He leaned back, and his face flushed. “I didn’t mean to do that.”
“It’s okay.” She wasn’t hurt by his regret. Jo was unattractive, stank and was no prize. It wouldn’t surprise her if he didn’t repeat the kiss. But she had the memory to hold onto. “I, uh, did not find the experience unpleasant.”
The surprise on his face was almost comical. He opened his mouth, then shut it again. She hadn’t noticed he had a scar bisecting his bottom lip before. It was faded but noticeable this close. She wondered what it would feel like to run her tongue down that mark.
Jo felt feverish again.
“I know I owe you an explanation, lass. It’s probably better if we eat some dinner first. You’ve barely eaten enough for a wee bird to survive.” He got to his feet and went to the tiny black stove in the corner with a single pot on top. “We’ve naught but beans and soup, but it’s hearty and filling.”
As he readied ingredients to cook, Jo wrestled with the notion she was dreaming. Everything about the last thirty minutes was surreal, unfamiliar and unknown. She vaguely remembered the small cabin and Mr. Drummond. However, she had no recollections beyond that. Had the fever stolen her mind for good? Or would it eventually return and with it the memories she didn’t appear to want to keep?
What had happened in this cabin?
Chapter Four
Declan could barely focus on the carrots he dumped into the pot. All he could think of was Jo. He’d kissed her and she called it “not unpleasant.” What in the name of all that’s holy had he been thinking? She had no idea what he’d done in the last three weeks, nor what he’d wanted to do to her. He had set his urges aside to survive. That was all he knew how to do—survive.
Now he had to explain what he’d done to take care of her, and it made his stomach flip-flop to think of her reaction. She was from New York, but she had lived a sheltered life with her family in Brooklyn. Jo knew nothing of the dregs of Manhattan or the gangs that roamed the streets like medieval warlords’ hounds. She was innocent. Or had been until now. After she found out the truth, she could never be the same young woman she’d been a month earlier.
Typhoid and Declan were responsible. He reached up to tug on his beard and belatedly remembered it was gone. Another victim of their time in Fort John. He’d been growing that beard since the first whisker popped out of his chin. Now he had to shave every day and be the respectable Josephine’s husband.
The reminder of their marriage made his knees weak. How was he going to explain it to Jo if she didn’t remember? It was survival. Her mother had been the one to propose it. He agreed to it. Now he would deal with the consequences. Jo might not ever forgive him, but she was alive and her fever had broken. Nothing else mattered.
“I would like to talk about what happened, Declan.” She always talked fancy and proper, like she was a living book of words. “While I am sure your cooking is perfectly adequate and will be filling, I do not think I could eat presently.”
He put the last of the vegetables in the pot and couldn’t put off facing her a moment longer. Her tone, although still polite, told him she was done being patient. He wiped his hands on his trousers and turned around. She looked a little worse for wear, her dark hair in a tangled mess, cheekbones prominent in her face and her mouth in a tight bow.
“After your parents dropped off all your things outside the shack, they returned to the wagon. Then I moved everything in here.” He gestured to the trunk, books and chair crammed into the corner. “Then I spent time putting all the quilts and blankets together into a comfortable bed for you. The fever hit you hard that night. I didn’t want to let your mother inside again the next morning. She insisted, though. You were, ah, seeing things that weren’t there and thrashing. I had to keep you from hurting yourself.”
How could he tell her how much it hurt to tie her arms to the cot? She had scratched furrows in her own body, and his, before he was able to stop her. He could still hear her screams and the violent curses she’d flung at him. Josephine Chastain knew quite a few curse words, some he’d only heard the lowest dregs of society spit out.
“I appreciate your care when I was insensate.”
He shook his head. “I promised your parents I would keep you safe and nurse you through the sickness. My mam, she was a midwife, so I knew some nursing from her.”
Declan hadn’t planned on telling her that, but it tumbled out of his mouth anyway. He shouldn’t be embarrassed to have had a mother or to have loved her enough to be her helper.
“It is very fortunate for me you had that knowledge. I am alive and the fever has broken.” She squinted at him, then touched her face. “Where are my spectacles?”
Declan retrieved them from the tiny shelf above the stove. “I kept them up here safe. You didn’t seem to need them when you were so sick.” He handed her the wire-framed things, so fragile and tiny in his hand. Foolish man. His damn hand shook, and he hoped she didn’t notice.
Jo put her glasses on and managed a small smile. “That feels a bit more normal.”
He almost laughed at the idea of normal. There was nothing in his entire life he could ever call normal.
“Please proceed with your tale, Declan.”
“Your mother had an idea and insisted on seeing it through even if you weren’t, ah, really here.” He sat in the rocking chair, his stomach in a knot so big it would take a sword to slice through it.
She frowned at him. “What idea?”
“She brought one of the men from the wagon train, and he married us.”
Her mouth dropped open. She blinked several times before she spoke. “She did what? And you agreed to this?”
“Drummond warned me the fort wouldn’t let us stay if we weren’t married. Your ma, she insisted we keep you safe. The man brought a Bible in with him, spoke the words, then left.” The words were ripped from his throat. He didn’t want to tell her this, especially so soon. “He wasn’t a preacher, so it wasn’t legal, but nobody but us knew that.”
“I remember Maman saying something, but I cannot fathom why she would do this.” She looked so hurt, he wanted to make it all go away for her.
“The day after the wagon train left, Drummond knocked on the door. I’d been up most of the night, uh, taking care of you. I was in a foul mood to start and the man started spouting about an unmarried couple and hellfire and brimstone. He was looking to toss us on our asses.” He clasped his hands together so hard, his knuckles whitened. “I had the satisfaction of telling him we were married the day before. Other folks had seen the preacher come and go from the cabin, which was your ma’s plan. Drummond went and talked to all of them. Bastard didn’t believe me.”
She frowned and leaned forward. “He did this when I was raging with fever and my family had been gone for a day or more?”
His jaw hurt from clenching his teeth so hard. “Yeah, the rotten jackass. I wanted to beat the snot out of him, but I didn’t want to leave you alone when he threw me in jail.”
&
nbsp; Jo made a noise, something between a gasp and a cough. Her gaze was glued to him, full of a hundred emotions. None of which was condemnation or fear. He blew out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.
“So you married me.” Her voice was barely above a whisper.
“Almost. Probably not what you dreamed your wedding to be. It wasn’t much of a ceremony, but like I said, the man had a Bible. You cussed at Drummond when he came after the ceremony. Bastard wanted to make sure it had happened. You tried to spit at him, but you didn’t know how.” He almost smiled at the memory. Jo might appear to be a mild-mannered girl, but she had the passion of the sun inside her.
She nodded as though he’d told her the sky was blue. The woman had grit. “I never dreamt much about a wedding, real or not. Isabelle is the romantic one. She has these notions of a gentleman sweeping her off her feet.”
“And even if it was a fake wedding officiated by a farmer pretending to be a preacher, you got stuck with an ignorant Irishman who isn’t worth a damn.”
“Regardless of what you’ve done in the past, your current actions indicate you have a good soul. Everyone makes mistakes. Our paths in life are never set in stone. We have the choice to do the right thing, as you did.” She cocked her head and looked at him, the sunlight glinting on the lenses of her spectacles. “You were put in an untenable position, Declan. I am not angry with you, but I would love to return to the conversation with Maman. This whole situation is so hard to accept.”
“There’s more.” He had to tell her everything or he might lose his nerve. Her calm acceptance of what he and his mother had done rattled him. How could she not be furious?
“Proceed, please.”
“Your mother left you a letter.” He pulled the crinkled envelope out of his trouser pocket. It wasn’t the same as talking to her mother, but it was all he could do.
She took it with wide eyes. “Have you read this?”
“No, it was from your ma to you. Besides, I can’t read except a few letters.” He wasn’t embarrassed by his lack of education, but he didn’t tout about it either.
The Prospect: The Malloy Family, Book 10 Page 5