The Fortune Page 8

  Images of Callahan having his way with Frankie flashed through John’s mind. The bastard. He pushed back the panic and told himself to focus. He would be ten times a fool to let his fascination with the woman cloud his tracking skills when her life was at stake. John fought against the fury, the intense anger that drove him to do things he later regretted. He punched the closest tree, the pain slamming him back to here and now.

  Tom came running toward him, his skinny arms pinwheeling, out of breath and sweating. “I…told Buck…and he…said…”

  “Get your breath back before you talk.” John slapped him on the back. “You’ll send yourself into apoplexy that way.”

  Tom smiled weakly and gusted his breath in and out until he could straighten up. “The wagon train is getting ready to leave. Buck said the girl and horse are yours to figure out. They ain’t gonna wait.”

  John grimaced. “I figured as much. The safety of the wagon train is your responsibility until I get back.”

  Tom’s eyes widened. “Me?”

  John knew he was giving the boy a huge task, one he wasn’t ready for, but John couldn’t move on without finding Frankie. His gut twisted into knots whenever he thought of what she was going through or had possibly already gone through. “You’ve been learning since we left Independence. You can do it, Tom. Don’t let anybody push you around and keep your eye on Miss Enid. She’s ornery, but if you just take care of her each morning and night, she’ll be fine.”

  Tom’s head bobbed in agreement. “Yes, sir. I can do that.”

  “You’re a good man, Tom. Now get going and make sure everyone’s ready to go. I’m sure Miss Enid’s waiting and you need to step in for me.” John shook Tom’s hand and waited until the younger man had run back toward the wagon train. He picked up the soap and washrag, tacky from lying in the morning dew. Wherever she was, he would find her.

  John mounted his horse and watched the wagon train readied to move. He ignored the pull of the trail, the trip that was to fund the last piece he needed for his land. A woman’s life, Frankie’s safety, was worth more than a piece of land. An idea he’d never thought would cross his mind before now. Before he was shot by the tiny French woman whose lips were still imprinted on his mouth.

  “Where are you going?” Veronica’s voice ripped through his thoughts. She ran toward him, her skirts hitched up to give her the freedom to lope across the ground. Her expression was determined. And angry.

  “I have to locate a missing horse and a missing member of the wagon train. That’s my job, Miss Harvey.” He turned his horse east, pointedly ignoring his “fiancée” when she huffed at him. “Go back to your wagons and leave. I don’t have time for this.” He saddled his horse, wishing Veronica had disappeared instead of Frankie.

  “You can’t leave, John. I need you. I need to get away from my father.” Veronica sounded almost desperate. “I heard what happened to Miss Chastain. You can’t leave me, not for that woman. She doesn’t deserve you.”

  John finally looked at her, anger coursing through him at the way she spoke of Frankie. A woman who was worth a hundred times more than the woman who disparaged her. She must have seen something in his face because she backed up a step.

  “Go away, Veronica,” he growled. “I don’t have time to waste on you.”

  “Waste time with me?” Veronica’s face fell, then she pulled her features into a cold mask. “You’re ten times a fool putting your life on the line for her.”

  John growled at her and Veronica squealed like a baby pig and ran. Why were the females on this wagon train hell-bent on making his life miserable? He hadn’t ever met a grown woman who sparked his interest or who had been interested in him. Now he had one female he couldn’t get away from and one who haunted his dreams.

  He nursed his anger. It kept him from thinking about Frankie and what she was going through. If he thought too much about Callahan, the flattened grass and the tiny, curvy body beneath the big Irishman, John would do something really stupid, like kill the man.

  No, he needed to keep his head and focus on tracking them. They had an hour’s head start. He would ride until he found them. There wasn’t any other choice.

  Frankie was furious. With Callahan, with the situation and with herself. She had lied to her parents, to Oliver Peck and to her sisters. Now she had to pay for the lies. Her parents must have discovered her absence since it had been at least two hours since they left the camp. What they thought of her leaving, she could only guess.

  Maman would be worried and Papa would be the picture of controlled anger. Her sisters would want to go after her and bring her back. Maman and Papa knew the folly in that course of action. She hoped they would realize leaving was not her choice.

  They knew of her deal with Oliver Peck, but they didn’t know all of it. Jo knew more than anyone, but Frankie had been too embarrassed and ashamed to reveal the entire truth. She should have told them; they might have understood. Now it was too late and they would never know what she did or why.

  Callahan’s pace was relentless and brutal. Frankie wasn’t a skilled horsewoman and had spent little time astride one of the beasts, until now. Her behind and thighs screeched for relief, but she knew the man was trained to continue no matter what. He likely thought someone would chase them, to bring her back, but he was wrong. The wagon train had a strict schedule to keep them from being stuck in the mountains during the snow. They could not afford to chase after one missing woman.

  She’d heard the stories of trailside burials, of people left behind because they were sick, of whole wagons shunned from a group because they had become sick. One missing and healthy young woman did not warrant deviating from the wagon train’s schedule.

  A lump formed in her throat, one of self-pity and hopelessness. She struggled against it, hard, but tears filled her eyes, spilling over into the wind battering her face. Frankie had tried to fight against the dark feelings, had looked toward Oregon as a way to escape her fate. Yet that struggle had been for nothing. Not one damn thing.

  Oliver had sent his hound after her and now she would return to face the man she had deceived. He was not forgiving or merciful. She had no illusions that her life would be a living hell, if not forfeit, to appease the demons that drove Mr. Peck.

  Self-pity would get her nowhere. Frankie had to beat back those demons and fight. She had to do her best to find a way to stop Mr. Callahan from returning her to New York. How, she didn’t know, but she would look for the opportunity. She did, however, need to rest at least for a few minutes.

  She yelled at him through the gag, but he didn’t hear or he chose not to. She worked at the cloth with her tongue and teeth, pushing and wiggling until the gag finally loosened enough for her to talk.

  “We need to stop.”

  He ignored her, the rope between them taut as he drove his horse harder and faster. She yanked on the rope as hard as she could, surprising him. His body jerked and the horse nearly unseated him. Callahan turned to glare at her.

  “That’s a talented tongue you have, lass. Doesn’t matter what you do. Yanking on the rope will gain you naught. You can’t kill me that easy, girlie.”

  “I am not trying to kill you.” Frankie’s thoughts had not considered that possibility and her heart rebelled against the idea, while her head wondered if it were possible. “I need to stop for a minute or two.”

  “We’re not stopping. They’ll be after us, to be sure, and I don’t want to be caught.” Callahan yanked on the rope hard and pain shot through her wrists.

  Frankie’s temper snapped and pushed aside her self-pitying foolishness. She wrapped the rope around her hand twice and tugged for all she was worth. Callahan grunted as he flew off the horse. She hadn’t thought her actions all the way through. Since she was tied to him, she followed the big man right off her own horse.

  She landed hard, half on Callahan’s leg and the other half on uneven ground. Dirt and rocks exploded around them, filling her ears, nose and mouth. The horses’
hooves came within inches of her face, and one clipped her hip. The fall knocked the breath out of her. She lay there, hoping the horses killed her quickly before Callahan got his own breath back and realized what she’d done.

  “What did you do?” he bellowed.

  Frankie rolled off him and onto her side, sucking in a breath. She got to her knees, even if she couldn’t feel the right side of her body, and started crawling like a three-legged dog using her right shoulder and her knees. The rope grew taut when she was six feet away.

  Damn, she’d forgotten about the rope again.

  He dragged her back, knees and shoulder scraping on the very ground that had already bruised her. Frankie tried to resist, but the man was as strong as the oxen that pulled her family’s wagon. She gritted her teeth against the pain, her determination to beat Callahan even stronger.

  “Did you think you would get far, Frankie?” He snorted. “I tie knots the devil himself couldn’t untie.”

  She could believe that. Her hands were nearly numb. “I had to try.”

  He grunted. “No, you didn’t. Foolish woman.” He got to his feet and stared down at her, anger and dirt covering his face. “The horses are half a mile away by now. I hope you can run.”

  Before she could answer, he hauled her to her feet by the rope. It was her turn to growl at him. “I hope you can carry me, because I am not running.”

  “I won’t carry you, but I can drag you.” His expression told her he was serious.

  Her skin stung and her hip throbbed from the fall, but she managed to stand up straight and stick her chin in the air. “I will not return easily, Mr. Callahan. You can threaten me as much as you want, but my family is safe. You have nothing to hold over my head.”

  “Except pain. Or death.” Callahan started running, pulling her along as though she were a pet on a leash.

  Frankie had no choice but to follow, running behind the big enforcer. Blood dripped down her cheek and hands, and her hip and knees would never forgive her. She had to find a smarter way to get away from him. His offer was not acceptable.

  She would never give in.

  John followed the tracks from the camp, eager to find Frankie and be away from the wagon train for a time. The idea he had a fiancée didn’t sit well with him and no matter what Veronica said, he was going to do his damndest not to marry her.

  John had at least a month to find a way to convince Veronica he wasn’t the man for her. He felt ten times the fool for getting into a situation where he was running from a woman. If it hadn’t been happening to him, he might have even laughed. Nothing was funny about it though. Nothing.

  Frankie had been taken against her will by the stranger he had allowed to join the wagon train. Callahan had seemed to be a down-on-his-luck man who needed a chance. John didn’t know he was looking for the chance to snatch a woman from her family. Now John was ultimately responsible for the kidnapping and Frankie’s life.

  Strange how their first meeting had come full circle. He had saved her from being trampled by a wagon, and now he had handed her to a man and her life was in danger again. He hoped like hell she still had the little gun on her hand, not that it did much damage, but it might give her the chance to get away.

  He drove Blue hard, harder than he’d ever done before. The mustang had heart and ran like the wind. Even he couldn’t make up an hour’s time in an instant. The sun rose high in the sky before he realized the prairie had given way to rougher ground. He pulled Blue to a halt and dismounted.

  Conscious of his duty to the equine, he poured water from his canteen into his cupped hand over and over until the horse drank his fill. That left a small amount for John, but it didn’t matter. Without the horse, he wouldn’t catch them.

  He knelt down and stared at the tracks. The numerous wagons and horses traveling through had all but obliterated any hope of finding tracks from two specific horses. He was going to have to guess which way they went and hope like hell he was right.

  His gut twisted at the notion he was taking a chance with Frankie’s life. She was a fighter who would not go down easily, but Callahan was a big man, bigger than most. He could control her with brute strength and although she was strong, she was no match for the Irishman.

  John stared at the horizon, looking for anything that might tell him which direction to go. The sun beat down, warm in the cool spring air. A trickle of sweat meandered down his back, following his spine down to his trousers. His breath moved in and out as his heart beat steadily. A calm moved over him and he looked due east, peering until he saw something miles away wink in the sun.

  It wasn’t much, but it was a sign, one he would follow. The shine could have been from a prairie dog fart for all he knew, but it could also have been the metal of a bridle. That meant it might be a horse and out here, there wasn’t much on the trail but wagon trains.

  He patted Blue’s neck and waited for the mustang to stick his snout against John’s belly, signaling his readiness. He was a smart horse and he spoke even if he didn’t talk.

  “We gotta get moving, boy.”

  Blue pushed John until he stepped backward. “I reckon that’s a yes.” He pushed his hat down hard until it was almost too tight on his head, then swung up into the saddle and kneed the mustang into motion. Leaning low, he made himself one with the horse, a smooth streak of man and equine across the rocky meadow.

  The cool wind whipped his cheeks, as did Blue’s mane, but he stayed on course. The winking object in the distance drove him, as did his guilt for letting the man who kidnapped Frankie into their camp.

  John would not fail her again.

  Frankie had eaten so much dirt and dust, it coated her teeth and tongue. She tried to spit, but her mouth was too dry. Callahan kept plodding along with her trailing behind like a dog on a leash. She protested and fought as much as she dared or could, considering she was scraped, bruised, sore and filthy. If she slowed down for even a moment, he would drag her. She was certain his threat was real.

  The horses, unfortunately, were nowhere to be seen. They might have headed back toward the wagon train or joined a pack of wild horses or rode into some nameless town in the middle of nowhere. It didn’t matter where the animals were—it only mattered where they weren’t.

  She wondered what the wagon train thought of her and if her parents worried about her. Silly thought really, of course they were worried. She had disappeared without a word, without taking so much as a hairbrush with her. Due to Declan’s untimely appearance, she never had a chance to wash her face before he’d taken her captive.

  Now she plodded long, her thirst consuming, and her hands itchy from the rope around her wrists. Her stomach rumbled, deprived of its morning meal. Dirt was not an acceptable substitute no matter how much ended up in her mouth.

  “I am both thirsty and hungry. Did you happen to bring any food?”

  Declan didn’t answer her. It was though he’d decided she was baggage along for his trip and he didn’t need to pay attention to her. Too bad Frankie had decided she was going to make things as difficult as possible for Oliver Peck’s henchman.

  She kicked dirt at him. “I said I am hungry. More than that, if I do not consume water soon, you are going to have to carry my dead carcass.”

  Declan turned, his face as sweaty and dirty as she expected hers looked. “My food was in the saddlebags and the canteen was on the saddle, both of which are on the horse. If you hadn’t decided to drag us to the ground and run the animals off, we would have food and water and something to ride.”

  “You took me from my family, Mr. Callahan. I will not be sorry for anything I did to stop you.” She thrust up her chin, her stomach fluttering with more than a smidge of fear. Frankie found courage deep down inside her and refused to back down from the giant.

  “I can admire a woman who can fight for herself, but I won’t be sorry for what I did. I have a job to do.” He ran his hand, which she noted was covered in dried bloody scrapes, down his face. It knocked a puff of dus
t from his thick beard. “What if I promise to do everything I can to keep you safe?”

  “Safe from you or Oliver? There is nothing you can do to keep me safe unless you let me go back to my family.” Oliver ruled by fear and violence. There would be no safety if she returned to him. None at all.

  To her surprise, Declan sighed and looked at her with what appeared to be regret in his eyes. “You know I can’t do that. He controls me as much as he does everyone. I can’t go against him, Frankie.”

  Her anger bubbled to the surface again. “Why not? Do you not have ballocks in those trousers?”

  She should have been embarrassed to taunt him, much less ask him if he had ballocks, but she wasn’t. Her life was at risk—she would do anything to survive.

  His nostrils flared. “I can show you my ballocks.”

  Frankie stared at him, unwilling to believe or consider the man would force himself on her. No matter how much she thought him different from the other fools who worked for Oliver, he was dragging her back to New York. To the very man from whom she ran. She had no illusions about her fate, but she would damn sure fight against it.

  “You can show them by acting like a true man and not a mindless killer. You know what he wants from me. I made a foolish deal with him, believing he would be honorable.” She laughed without a bit of humor. “He cheated and left me no choice but to run. Now you are going to bring me back to that monster.” Her voice cracked, the fear and revulsion for her fate making it difficult to talk. She had to convince Declan to forget he found her.

  He stared at her, his expression wavering from sympathy to confusion. Hope blossomed inside her. She pushed on.

  “Please, Declan, you can come to Oregon with the wagon train, find your own new start. You do not need to return to Oliver Peck either.”

  The sound of a horse startled both of them, then a body catapulted through the air, landing on her captor with a fierce growl. Frankie was jerked forward as the men grappled with each other. She barely recognized John Malloy, his face a mask of rage. He fought like a wild animal, punching with both fists, using his legs, knees, elbow and anything else to give him an edge.