The Fortune Read online

  She laced her fingers with his and rode them both into pleasure. He stared into her eyes, telling her with his eyes and his body how she felt. She hoped he heard her response, bringing them both into a sexual journey.

  Her body tightened around his, another release imminent. She pulled his hands to her breasts.

  “Touch me.”

  “Mmmm, yes.” He pinched her nipples lightly until she grunted, then he flicked them harder.

  “Harder,” she ordered.

  To her delight, he obeyed again. She slammed down onto him one more time and her body came apart. She screamed his name into the sky as a powerful orgasm tore through her. He unbuttoned her blouse, then captured a nipple in his mouth and bit down, pulling another wave of pleasure from her release.

  He jerked within her, filling her with life. She hung onto the moment, the absolute perfect moment of joining with him. There was little doubt he was the love of her life, her mate. She had to find a way to hold onto him forever.

  “I love you, Frankie,” he spoke into her hair. “I love you.”

  Tears stung her eyes as she took his confession of love into her as she had done his seed. The words were more precious than anything. Her throat would not work and her confession remained trapped within her heart.

  John woke in the morning with a soft, warm body snuggled up against him and a feeling of peace in his heart. She had initiated their lovemaking, had shown him with her body how she felt. Although she hadn’t yet said the words, he sure as hell hoped she loved him. If she didn’t, he would never be the same person again. Hell, he was different now. Because of her.

  He held her close, selfishly loving the feel of her pressed against him from head to toe. Her head fit right under his chin and his arm fit right under those beautiful breasts. Their weight lay temptingly on him, daring him to do something with his morning hard dick.

  His body pulsed with need, the memory of being inside her insistent. He could spend the rest of his life making love to this woman. One woman. And he would do it without hesitation. How the world had changed. The memory of the angry young buck who had landed on Fuller Gates’ ranch and who he was today were two completely different people.

  Time had matured him, but Frankie made him realize what he wanted in life. Not only a ranch, but that had paled in comparison to having a wife and a family. That was what was important to her. Now he knew how important it was to him. Family. Wife. Children.

  He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, breathing in all that was Frankie. His arm tightened a smidge, pulling her against the throbbing erection in his trousers. He wanted to lift her skirt and plunge into her hot core, to pleasure them both until she cried out in ecstasy. It would be so easy too, especially with the drawers that had the slit in them. He’d never been so glad to discover those on his woman.

  His woman. A primal feeling of pride swelled within him. Yes, she was his. Now and always.

  “Oooh, John.” Her sleep-tinged voice caressed him.

  He pressed against her, loving the feel of her softness against his hardness. As his hand cupped one breast and reached for a nipple, she made another noise. This one was not an exclamation of pleasure.

  “What’s the matter?”

  She groaned. “I must have ridden beneath Liberté’s hooves yesterday, not on her back. My behind is, ah, uncomfortable. So are my thighs.” She hissed in a breath through her teeth. “I think I may have overestimated my riding abilities.”

  The memory of just what, and who, she rode made him flush.

  “Try to stretch your muscles a bit before you stand.” He scooted back away from her, his dick screaming in protest as he moved. There would not be a repeat of last night, but he couldn’t convince his wayward staff of that. Blood pulsed through him, aching for a release from the woman now lying in pain. Dicks were selfish bastards.

  She rolled on her back and winced. “Can you make some coffee?”

  He leaned over and kissed her, the soft warmth of her lips damn tempting. He let out a groan as he straightened up. “Yep, I’ll make coffee. You stretch and get yourself presentable.”

  “Hmph. I will not be presentable, but I will have clothes on.” She lifted her left leg and John about ran from the bedroll and snatched the coffee pot from its perch on a nearby rock. The flash of white thigh, and the memory of how it felt, how it smelled, how it tasted, sent his dick back into howls of need.

  The dog watched him, his brown eyes sympathetic. The damn mutt was in love with her too. Although a small part of John had wanted to leave the dog behind, he was grateful for its presence and its loyalty to them. He wouldn’t admit it to Frankie, but he was growing to like the dog. He was a scrapper, a fighter, and had stayed true to his mistress since she first showed him kindness.

  How had he turned into such a fool over a woman? He never expected it and he sure didn’t know how rid himself of it. After stirring the embers of the fire, he banged around the tin pot, smashed up the beans with a small rock and put the coffee on to boil. He made as much noise as possible to drown out the sounds Frankie made.

  She damn well sounded like she was having sex. Although he knew she was getting the kinks out of her muscles, he’d heard her breathy moans and her cries of ecstasy. There was a fine line between them and his body couldn’t tell the difference. Then of course she cooed at the damn dog and he wagged his tail, experiencing pure pleasure from his adopted mistress.

  Stupid dog.

  The coffee bubbled away, unaware of how tortured he was. Frankie shuffled toward him and his body tensed, her scent washing over him. She pressed her head into the center of his back and wrapped her arms around him. He put his hands over hers and closed his eyes, reveling in the experience.

  “The coffee smells good.” Her voice was muffled against his back. “Dare I hope there is breakfast in those saddlebags of yours?”

  John heard the pain in her tone and willed away the arousal that burned within him. She was more important than his foolish dick.

  “I think there are some biscuits and definitely ham.” He patted her hands. “Let me pour you some coffee and I’ll scrounge up breakfast.”

  She released him and he forced himself to move to the fire and pour a cup of coffee. As he handed her the cup, he glanced at her face. Dark circles sat below her beautiful green eyes. Lines of pain bracketed her mouth and she was pale, making the freckles on her nose stand out. Guilt over her condition chased away any lingering arousal.

  This time when he kissed her, he did so gently and on her forehead. “Drink.” He handed her the cup.

  She managed a small smile and took the cup. “Thank you, John. You are a gentleman, no matter what I first thought.”

  He barked a laugh. “If I remember correctly, you shot me in the hand when we met.”

  Frankie raised one brow. “I was defending myself against a man who yanked me into the mud.”

  “You, Frankie Chastain, are a pain in the ass.” He smiled, waiting for the fire to spark in her eyes.

  Her gaze narrowed. “I think we can safely say one of us is a pain in the ass and it is not me.”

  John kissed her. “Damn good thing I love you, woman.” Before he could snatch the words back, they were out of his mouth. She opened her mouth and closed it again without making a sound.

  He whirled around and headed straight for his saddlebags. No matter what, he was sure—or he damn well hoped—she loved him. He couldn’t stand around expecting her to admit it, though. The rest of their lives were waiting. By the time they reached the wagon train, she either had to tell him she loved him or he would start his ranch alone. There was the ridiculous situation with Veronica he had to face as well. No matter what her father insisted, or Buck, John was done being manipulated. He couldn’t possibly marry her now. For sure there would never be another woman in his heart except Frankie.

  Frankie was there for good and nothing on earth was going to dislodge her.

  After an awkward breakfast she hardly tasted, Fra
nkie had a lesson in saddling Liberté from an equally uncomfortable John. He’d told her he loved her, again, and she stood there like an idiot. Frankie loved him, deeply and wholly, but the words simply would not come out of her mouth. She froze up like a pond in winter, unable to move.

  Misery settled over her like a cloak and they spent most of the day in silence. Her lower half grew numb and she spent time trying to think of clever ways to tell him she loved him. No matter what she plotted, however, every time she thought of actually speaking the words, her throat closed up.

  What was wrong with her?

  Didn’t all girls dream of hearing a handsome man tell her he loved her? And falling madly in love with him to live happily ever after? Frankie had had those dreams, many years ago, before life taught her about the dark side of humanity. Her love for John had healed the scars that remained within, but Frankie had to be the one to unlock the last secret door in her heart. It was still closed, and the scared girl inside her refused to come out.

  Near the end of the day, when the sun hung low in the sky in front of them, Frankie’s eyes watered from the brightness of the sunset. She told herself they weren’t tears of self-pity, but that was a lie. She had no one to blame but herself for the situation she was in with John. He had offered himself to her and she needed to accept him.

  Right now she couldn’t.

  Each day they rode hard and each night they slept. Apart. The dog somehow managed to keep up with them, arriving during the night and departing with the dawn behind them. They were a trio of ragtag travelers, weary, exhausted and on edge.

  Frankie was at fault for all of it. The confusion, the uncertainty and most of all, the misery. She was conflicted, torn between what her heart wanted and her head refused to allow. Her world had been in such turmoil for the last year, the future scared her and she hid from it. The cowardice would cost her the man she loved, mile by mile, inch by inch.

  The dog slept beside her, between them, at night. She woke each morning to find the furry warm body and the sympathetic brown eyes. Each day they grew closer to the wagon train and John was further away.

  The only positive outcome was her horsemanship. She had become adept at riding Liberté and her soreness had diminished. Frankie also learned to take care of the horse, how to saddle and unsaddle her, rub her down and feed her. It gave her a sense of accomplishment to become responsible for another living being. Different than helping with her sisters because the horse needed her as much as she needed the mare.

  They crested a hill in the evening after many days of riding and saw the wagons forming a circle. Her throat tightened with emotion. Frankie didn’t cry often, but they filled her eyes and rolled slowly down her cheeks unchecked.

  “Frankie?” John’s gruff voice sounded from beside her. “You okay?”

  He didn’t push her to ride hard or to stop weeping like a foolish girl. No, the man she loved cared for her, loved her, and offered nothing but support. She was the one who pushed him away and kept him at arm’s length.

  Frankie wiped away the tears and shook her head. “No, but I will be.” She managed a weak smile. “I can hardly believe we made it.”

  “I told you it would be a hard ride, but I knew the trail and I knew you’d make it.” He sounded so confident in their abilities, but she’d had doubts. She was a city girl, not made for the rugged west, or so she thought. Perhaps she’d been wrong.

  He waited, not speaking or pushing her to move. She had to gather her courage and her words before they rode the last half a mile to the wagon train. By now someone had spotted them and they had little time before they had to move.

  Do something, Frankie. If you don’t, the moment you ride forward, you’ve lost him.

  She shook with emotion unsaid and swallowed the tears of regret that had been building for a week. Frankie opened her mouth, ready to confess her love for him, to ask him to build his life with her.

  “John, I have something to say—“

  “Mr. Malloy, is that you?” Tom Avery’s voice echoed across the open landscape. A lone rider galloped toward them, his gangly gait confirmed who it was.

  Damn. She turned her gaze to John, finally looking at the man who owned her heart. Sorrow mixed with love swirled in the depths of his beautiful blue eyes. She had seconds before Tom reached them, seconds to finally steer the course of her life without thought to anyone but herself.

  “I am sorry all this happened.” She could have bitten her tongue off for being so stupid. He reared back as though she’d slapped him, and she truly had. “Merde. That is not what I meant. John, please, I—“

  “I cain’t believe it.” Tom reached them and kicked up a cloud of dust that had them all coughing and waving their hands to clear the air. “Buck said you was a good tracker, but golly, you found her.” He barely glanced at Frankie, the hero worship for the older man evident.

  “I found her and we made it back.” John’s voice was rough and she wanted to believe the dust caused it.

  She’d be lying to herself.

  “Well, let’s head on over. Folks are gonna be so surprised!” Tom practically danced in the saddle, his youthful face alight.

  Frankie wanted to turn around and ride anywhere but the wagon train. She wanted to escape to the sweet spot John had selected for his ranch and live there with him forever. Most of all, she wanted to be with him, to wake up with him every day and go to sleep with him every night. She wanted to stop being a coward and make a choice for herself.

  Before she could say a word, John had kneed his mustang into motion and left her sitting there with the smiling Tom and the dog. She barely swallowed the lump of regret, nearly choking on her own stupidity. The man she loved, the only man for her, had ridden away because of her inability to do what she knew to be right.

  She’d lost him.

  John’s gut twisted into a knot the closer he got to the wagon train. The time alone with Frankie was over and she’d never once mentioned, or responded, to his declaration of love. He wanted her to love him, needed her to love him, but she hadn’t given him the words he craved. Maybe he misjudged her, his heart foolishly waiting for something that would never happen.

  Tom’s untimely appearance had ruined whatever she was going to say. John had stupidly had hoped she was going to tell him she loved him and wanted to be with him always. She hadn’t, though. In fact, all he heard was regret that any of it happened. If he were a lesser man, he would have found a dark corner and puked, then wept for what he could never have. However, John had steel in his spine and he wrapped it around his heart. One day he wouldn’t feel the pain but it sure as hell wasn’t today.

  He rode on and reached the small crowd of people waiting for them. The Chastains were all there, faces alight with joy as they watched the woman behind him ride closer. Mrs. Chastain wept openly while Mr. Chastain kept swallowing, keeping his tears on the inside, no doubt. Frankie’s sisters alternated between happy and anxious.

  A few others stood around watching as the lost sheep was brought back into the herd. Buck stepped forward and met John.

  “Malloy. Nice work. I sure am glad to see you back.” The big man leaned closer. “Between you and me, Tom ain’t ready to be in charge.”

  John shook his head. “I figured that might happen.”

  Buck laughed. “He’s learning, though. Miss Enid has been asking after you every damn day. Tom couldn’t pick her up, so I’ve been doing it night and day. That old woman is relentless.”

  This time it was John’s turn to chuckle. The old woman definitely had ideas about how things should be done and she wasn’t afraid to let everyone else know.

  “Anything I need to know about Miss Chastain?” Buck spoke low enough for only John to hear.

  “She and Mr. Callahan had a misunderstanding, but we found peace between them. We left on good terms, though.” John didn’t want his agreement with Declan to be known. However, he didn’t want to spread rumors about Frankie’s adventure either. The details wer
e no one’s business.

  “So did he kidnap her or not?” Buck didn’t need to know—he was being a gossip.

  “No. Like I said, it was a misunderstanding. It’s all taken care of now.” John looked at Frankie, at her in the bosom of her family, hugging and smiling. She was exquisite, a perfect picture he would tuck away to hold in his heart for the lonely days and nights to come. He ruthlessly reminded himself that Frankie hadn’t accepted his love or what he could offer her.

  He hadn’t given up entirely, but there was little chance he would convince her now. He would have to find a way to change her mind in the months ahead, before they reached Oregon. After she arrived there, the lumberjacks would snatch her up as a wife quicker than they chopped down one of the damn big redwoods.

  There was no chance he’d give her up to a tree chopper. She was his whether or not she admitted or accepted it. John would make it his mission to help her see their lives were meant to be lived together.

  “We had a group of men ride in a few days ago. Said they were headed to the forests to make their fortune in trees.” Buck shrugged. “One of them has money for sure and the others seem okay. I’ve had Tom watching them.”

  The hairs on the back of John’s neck rose at the mention of more strangers. “Who are they?”

  “The rich man’s name is Derek Bushel. The others are three brothers who tagged along with him, ah, John, Peter and Paul, I think. They keep to themselves and more or less ride drag.” Buck pointed to a tent in the distance, set up at least twenty feet from the wagons. “They ride ahead and set up in a likely spot for the night. It’s been helpful, truth be told, to have them scouting, especially with you gone.”

  John’s instincts were on full alert and he didn’t trust any strangers, not anymore. “Let’s keep Frankie’s, I mean, Miss Chastain’s ordeal quiet. Mr. Bushel and his men don’t need to know anything and neither do any of the other settlers. That okay by you?”