The Prospect: The Malloy Family, Book 10 Page 3

  “Charlie, can you be sure to bring my books and clothes?” She could last through anything if she had some books to read.

  “Hell yes, I’ll get your things.” Charlie was already running away as she spoke.

  Jo managed a shaky smile. Her youngest sister was a character and would be missed. If she had touched Jo when she was contagious, her sister might have been quarantined too. Jo was grateful to Declan. He had saved her family and her life. It surprised her.

  “Why did you do it?” She met his gaze, her voice low enough only he could hear her.

  He shrugged one massive shoulder. “I like you, Jo. You’re smart and you talked to me.”

  She stared at him, flummoxed by his strange response. “You might have given up your life for me.”

  “Would’ve been worth it. It’s not much of a life to lose.” His tone was flat, but she had no doubt he believed what he said.

  She couldn’t imagine feeling that way and told herself after she was well, she would find out what led Declan Callahan to a life of darkness. A darkness so deep a cloud hung over him, dousing any light that might be shed through it.

  They entered the fort, but Jo kept her face turned to Declan’s shoulder. Although things were a blur of color and sound, she was her mother’s daughter and knew how diseases were spread. She didn’t want to be responsible for anyone else contracting typhoid, even Declan, the warm, strong presence she clung to.

  She managed to make her mouth work. “You need to wear gloves. I don’t want you to get sick.”

  “I never get sick, lass. I’ve a hearty constitution.” He kept walking, following Mr. Drummond through the crowd. She could see people’s feet and noted they all moved out of the way.

  Jo was mortified even as a fresh wave of pain burned her belly. She was afraid she wouldn’t make it to a chamber pot or bucket in time. Shame coursed through her, but she had to say something to him.

  “Declan, I need, ah.” She clutched her belly and blew out a pained breath. “I need a chamber pot.”

  “Shit, hold on.” He broke into a run, sprinting across the fort. She focused on keeping every muscle in her body tense. “Is this it, Drummond?”

  “Ayup.” The medic’s voice was far away, but it was enough.

  Declan jostled her as he slammed into a building and kicked the door shut. She opened her eyes and saw the fuzzy outline of a small cabin.

  He set her down gently on the edge of a bed and picked up a chamber pot. His gaze met hers and panic raced through her, making everything clear for a few moments. He would see her at her most vulnerable, sick and unable to control her body. Tears threatened again and she pushed them away. Now was the time to be strong.

  “I can manage by myself.” She waited until he nodded and stepped away toward the door.

  Jo didn’t know how she would survive in this tiny shack with Declan for four weeks. It was a great deal to bear. She would find a way. Somehow.

  Declan stood outside and gave Jo privacy. He knew what it felt like to have the runs—everyone did. Most times ladies didn’t discuss it with men when they had it, but it wasn’t as though Jo had a choice. She had typhoid and he was her nurse, like it or not.

  He helped her because she needed it, but he never expected the outcome. Stuck at the fort with her, alone, in a tiny room while she fought against the disease trying to take her life. It was a huge responsibility and he didn’t take it lightly. Declan was a man of his word and he would do everything he could for her, no matter what her delicate sensibilities were. The cabin was a shack, no more than twelve by twelve feet across. One lone window graced a corner, letting in enough weak light to see. A sorry-looking rope bed, minus a mattress, sat in one corner. A potbellied stove was in the opposite corner. It wasn’t much, but it would have to do.

  He hadn’t grown up with ladies or society’s dictates. There was no time or interest in keeping with rules. He did what he had to to survive, as did everyone around him. People threw their piss and shit out the window, onto the streets. The smell of diarrhea was as familiar as common dirt to him. There was nothing Jo could do or show him that he hadn’t seen before.

  His mother had been a midwife, and although she’d died when he was very young, he had learned from her. It was like reaching down deep into his gut and yanking out his childhood. He had buried those memories deep down and now he could almost smell the blood on his mother’s hands. Declan closed his eyes and breathed through his mouth to clear the disturbing ghost scent.

  His life had turned in so many different directions since he was a small boy in New York. Twists he couldn’t have expected or planned for. Hell, he never wanted to work for Oliver Peck or be the man who used his bulk to scare people or worse. Meeting John Malloy and Francesca Chastain had been a hard right turn.

  Now he was in the middle of nowhere, had to leave the job he had taken two weeks earlier, and was responsible for Jo Chastain’s life. Plus he might catch typhoid himself. How the hell had that happened?

  Declan usually let life push him down a path. When he’d killed Oliver Peck, he had taken the reins in his own hands for the first time in a long time. It had been like a cleansing of his soul, wiping away his past temporarily. Now his past was back, bringing with it the chains and stains on his soul.

  Drummond walked up to the shack and nodded. “She okay?”

  “Yep. Just needed privacy.” Declan didn’t need to explain more.

  “I will make sure you can stay here until the typhoid passes, but you’ll need to stay here, not venture into contact with folks or outside the fort.” Drummond’s gaze probed like a knife. “I need your promise.”

  “I don’t plan on doing anything but taking care of Miss Chastain. I’m sure her family will leave us supplies, but we’ll need fresh food and water.” He realized staying there was more than simply being isolated. They would have to pay for their accommodations. “I have money for the building and everything else.”

  He had money left from what Peck gave him to chase Francesca. Then he had taken the money Peck had before he buried his sorry carcass. Declan didn’t need to work the wagon train, but it had been a place to be and a job. Truth was he didn’t know where to be or what to do. Now he had something and someone who needed him. That was a first for him. Oh, Peck would tell him he “needed” Declan for an assignment, but the man could have used any of his gang for the same purpose.

  Until this moment, no one had actually needed him, Declan Callahan. It was uncomfortable and intimidating. Deep down, however, some small part of him was secretly glad.

  “That’s good. You’re not married to the girl, is that right?” Drummond peered at Declan with a frown.

  “No, we’re, ah, friends.” How was he to explain their strange connection? Friends wasn’t right, but he didn’t know what to call it.

  “That might be a problem for folks here at the fort.”

  Declan stared, stunned by the implication. “Are you saying you won’t let us stay here if we’re not married?”

  Drummond held up his hands. “I didn’t say nothing of the sort. I’m saying I can’t protect you from folks if they find out you’re living in sin.”

  Declan snorted. “Sin? Hell, man, the girl is in there shitting her guts out.”

  “I’m calling it like I see it. You do with it what you want. I’ll go ahead and find out how much everything will cost and get things settled for you.” Drummond ambled away.

  Declan couldn’t explain it, but there was something about the older man that rang off-key. He didn’t trust people easily and for good reason. The medic might have promised to help Jo, but that didn’t mean he had good intentions. Now there was a new wrinkle—an unmarried couple would be ostracized and potentially booted from the fort. He would think about that later. For now, Declan would watch Drummond and wouldn’t hesitate to protect Jo Chastain, no matter what he had to do. She needed him and he would not let her down.

  Mrs. Chastain walked toward him, her arms laden with bundles of
what appeared to be blankets and quilts. Guilt coated her features and her steps faltered as she drew close to the shack. She sucked in what he assumed was a steadying breath before she continued.

  “Monsieur Callahan, where is she?”

  “Inside. Ah, she wasn’t feeling good.” He knew what she was doing but still couldn’t bring himself to actually discuss it, even with her mother.

  “I do not make this decision with an easy conscience and I do not wish to leave her.” She held his gaze, her stare sharper than the knife in his boot. “I particularly don’t want to leave her with you. Your presence in my family’s life has not been good, oui?”

  His face felt hot at her bald speaking. “I know that, ma’am, and I can’t erase what I did. All I can tell ye is I will take care of her and protect her with everything I’ve got, including my life.”

  Her chin trembled. “I do not know if I can trust you, but I also cannot endanger my other children or my husband. Mr. Avery leaves in the morning and we have to choose to leave my daughter in your care or give up our land in Oregon and our future.” Her eyes filled with tears but not a single one fell. “It is an impossible choice to make. One child for two others.”

  Declan’s mother had been a good person, someone who helped others every day, until someone took her life. A great sleeping beast inside him awoke at the mother’s love he witnessed in Mrs. Chastain’s voice. He remembered hugs and kisses, being tucked in at night and feeling as though he was a lucky boy to have such a loving mother. It had been so long, and the feelings were buried deep in caverns of his black heart.

  He swallowed and cleared his throat before he spoke. “I give you my word on my mother’s grave I will keep her safe and return her to you.”

  She looked into his eyes, making him want to squirm, and after a minute she seemed satisfied by what she saw. “I think you have taken a few wrong turns on your path in life, monsieur. Your mother would be proud of what you do for my family.”

  Declan averted his gaze, unwilling to be drawn into the emotional maelstrom Mrs. Chastain brought with her. He was doing what had to be done, not necessarily because it was the right thing, but because no one else could do it. He’d never promised on his mother’s grave before and he meant to keep true to his word.

  “There’s something else. Something Mr. Drummond said.” He had to change the subject.

  “What is it? Is it money? We have a little, but—”

  “No, it’s not that.” Declan would take care of the required funds. “He mentioned because we aren’t married, people would have a problem with us being here together.”

  Mrs. Chastain absorbed that information before responding. “Are you saying she will be shunned or removed from the fort?”

  “I don’t rightly know what will happen. I thought you should know and have an idea what to do.” He sure as hell didn’t know the right choice.

  “She cannot marry you.”

  Declan was stung by her quick response. “I don’t think that’s what’s necessary.”

  “Perhaps if Mr. Drummond tells people you are married, it will assist.” Mrs. Chastain frowned.

  “There’s no guarantee he’ll do such a thing. I suspect he’s the type of man whose pockets need to be heavy or he won’t be doing a thing.” Declan didn’t want her to think the man was a saint.

  “Mon dieu, that is unfortunate.” She blinked hard and, he suspected, fought back tears. “There is no other choice, then. You must marry her to keep her safe.”

  Declan’s gut entered his throat with a mighty crash. “I don’t know about that.”

  “I have no other suggestions. I do not wish to beg.” Mrs. Chastain clenched her hands.

  “We can bring someone in and pretend to marry us. Perhaps one of the men on the wagon train.” Declan was scrambling backwards as fast as he could. The last thing either of them needed was to be married. They barely knew each other.

  “Oui, that might work. I will arrange for it. My husband is bringing the rest of her things. I will check on her and get her settled.” Mrs. Chastain breezed past him to the cabin. After donning a scarf around her mouth and nose and tugging her gloves tightly, she knocked softly on the door before entering.

  Jo was miserable. She had only just taken sick and already she was a complete wreck. When the door to the cabin opened, she was relieved to see her mother step in, even if she wore protective clothing.

  “Maman.”

  “Oui, cherie. It is I.” Her mother glanced around and couldn’t hide the frown that followed. Jo didn’t blame her. From her vantage point, it was a dismal little shack. “This is not much, is it?”

  “No, but it is enough.” Jo hoped Declan would help her clean up to at a minimum rid the small room of the dust and dirt. At least there didn’t appear to be any animal droppings, and it was dry for now. She reminded herself to ask Declan to also check the roof, but given the way her mind was wandering, she might not remember.

  Maman sat beside her. “I am so sorry, Josephine. I do not want to leave you here.”

  “You are not leaving me. I am staying and you are going.” Jo closed her eyes, unable to look at the misery in her mother’s eyes any longer. “Frankie is no longer with you either.”

  “That is different. She married John and is off to start her life anew. You are staying with a man who kidnapped her for money.” Maman sounded fierce, like a lioness.

  “I believe Declan redeemed himself when he killed the dark man who wanted her kidnapped. Monsieur Malloy also trusts him, and John is now my brother-in-law.” Jo didn’t mention she had been thinking of kicking and kissing Declan every ten minutes for the last two weeks.

  “He has promised me to keep you safe and bring you to Oregon in the spring.” Maman took a deep breath. “I have to believe he will keep his word or I will not be able to leave.”

  Jo’s eyes pricked with tears. She took off her spectacles and pressed her fingers into her eyes to hold back the emotions. The pain in her body was nearly matched by the pain in her heart.

  “I will see you again, Maman.” Jo forced a smile although she wanted to weep. “You must think of the land in Oregon, Papa’s woodcraft and most of all, Isabelle and Charlotte. They are too young to lose their future.”

  “You are only nineteen, cherie. Too young to lose your future as well. You had hopes to teach in Oregon, no?” Maman cupped her cheek, the soft fabric of her glove warm on Jo’s fevered skin.

  “I am certain I can teach here throughout the winter. There are children everywhere who need to learn.” Jo had no desire to do anything but sleep, but she would not give in while her mother remained at her side. The typhoid was taking hold like a steel-mouthed trap, snapping its jaws on her with bone-jarring thud.

  “Oui, you are correct.” Maman closed her eyes, and Jo felt her mother’s hand tremble on her skin. “I will still worry every moment until I see you again. Please send word if you can.”

  Jo nodded. “I will. You must go now. Do not risk catching typhoid. You know how communicable it is.”

  Her mother dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief. “I told myself I would be strong, but I find I cannot leave you just yet.”

  Jo dredged up every ounce of energy she could and sat up. She took her mother’s hands and squeezed them tight. “You must be strong for the girls. They will not do well without you. I need to know you will go on and do what you must. Please, Maman.”

  Her mother nodded and Jo let out the breath she’d been holding. She had never seen her mother emotional or wavering. It scared Jo, but at the same time reminded her that Marie Chastain was human.

  “There is something else.” Her mother looked at the floor. “To stay here, you and Monsieur Callahan must be perceived as a married couple.”

  Josephine stared. “Pardon?”

  “This is a small community with little patience for people who live together but are not married. You may be thrust out of the fort if they perceive you are not married. I will not, cannot, let that happen. W
e will pretend to marry you only to keep you safe.” Her mother’s expression begged her to agree.

  “I don’t know. I can hardly think straight.”

  “Then trust that this is the best way to keep you safe. I do not know what else to do.” Her mother trembled, and Josephine bit back her own tears.

  “If you think it is the best way.”

  “It is the only way. We will not tell Papa or the others. It will be our secret. I will miss you terribly.” Her mother’s eyes crinkled, which told Jo she smiled beneath her makeshift mask. “J’taime, cherie.”

  “I love you too, Maman.” Jo pulled back, unwilling to hug her mother and risk spreading the disease to her. It was the hardest thing she’d ever done.

  Declan shook his head to clear the heavy air around him. He didn’t understand why the Chastains were so worried about a grown woman. She was at least eighteen, if not older, and should be able to take care of herself. He took care of himself at the tender age of nine. There was no reason to think she would be in any danger with him keeping watch over her. The family was foreign to him as a bird in the sky—he didn’t understand them at all.

  Within minutes, Mr. Chastain appeared with a few men carrying a rocking chair, a trunk and a box of books. The two younger sisters held each other’s hands as the supplies were set next to the shack. The one called Charlie had red eyes, as though she’d been crying, while the beautiful one remained stoic like her mother.

  Mr. Chastain had hair and eyes like Jo, but his demeanor was softer than his daughter’s. In that, she surely took after her mother.

  “We cannot leave supplies other than a jar of honey that Josephine adores. The fort will have fresher supplies. I will leave you with—” Mr. Chastain reached into his pocket, but Declan held up his hand to stop him.

  “I’ve got plenty of money. No need to give me any.” He didn’t want to think he was eating the food from the family’s mouths.

  “I cannot allow that. She is my responsibility.” Mr. Chastain scowled.

  “She’s a grown woman, not a little girl. I expect she has been for a while.” It wasn’t Declan’s place to point that out to Jo’s father, but he was tired of them referring to her as though she were a small child.