The Prospect: The Malloy Family, Book 10 (28 page)

“Jo, I didn’t mean to—”

“No, please let me finish.” She returned to him and wrapped her arms around him again. His heart leapt into a mad rhythm. Jo pressed her forehead against his chest. “I wanted to hate you, to send you away with my nose in the air and move on with my life.”

Her words stung, but he deserved it. “I’m sorry, lass.”

“You should be. I spent the last seven months prepared to spend the rest of my life without you. Then you walked through the door at the exact moment I needed you. As though a higher power steered you back into my life.” She made that funny sound again and he swore he felt hot tears soaking his shirt. “If I say yes to your proposal, I must have some reassurances.”

The word
yes
resonated through him. He would promise her the moon and the stars and everything in between if she married him.

“Anything you want, little one.”

“First, you must never leave me again. Ever. No matter what.”

“That’s an easy promise to make. You would have to pry me away with a herd of horses, and even then I would find you again.”

She paused. “Second, I want you to take your money back. I did not spend it nor did I feel comfortable having it in my possession.”

“I wanted you to have it.” Declan could not spend the money that had come from Oliver Peck, the man who had nearly destroyed him.

“Then we will deposit it in a bank for our children. It will be theirs to do with as they wish.”

“I can live with that.”

“Third and last, I want to be married as soon as possible.”

He picked her up and whirled her around, ignoring the sleet and the frigid air. She’d said yes!

“Aye, lass, I can’t wait to marry you.” He could hardly believe she had said yes or that she wanted to be his wife so quickly.

“Now.”

“Now?”

“Yes, now.” She pushed at his shoulder. “Put me down, please.”

He set her on his feet. As the cold surrounded them, all he felt was heat, her brown eyes shining in the weak light thrown by the cabin.

Jo took his hands. “I promise to love, honor and cherish you for the rest of my life. I promise to stay with you in good times and bad. I also promise to teach you to read and write, to care for you and keep you in my heart always.”

He had to blink hard to clear his vision. Love for this woman overwhelmed him. “I, Declan Ca—Malloy, promise to be your strength when you need me, to hold your hand when you cry and to always be there to wipe your tears. I promise to tell you every day that I love you and to never take you for granted.”

It was the best he could do. Declan was not a poet, but he felt every word all the way to the marrow of his bones. He would become a Malloy, be the husband she needed, the father to their children.

“There, now we are married in my eyes. Next time we locate a minister, we can do it again.” She smiled at him, her face radiant with the love he had craved for seven long months. “I cannot wait to send a letter to Maman telling her what happened.” Her tinkling laugh made his heart sing.

He leaned down and kissed her. Her mouth was hot against his, sweet and delicious as only Josephine could be. He deepened the kiss, his tongue diving into her, dancing, rasping and lapping. She moaned in her throat and tightened her grip. And he loved it. He loved her.

“I love you, lass.”

“I love you, too.”

He bent to kiss her again when they heard John calling them.

“Declan? Jo? Are you two all right?”

She smiled at Declan, her teeth a flash of white in the early dawn light. “We are better than ever.” She took his hand and tugged him toward the house. “John, wait until you hear the news!”

Declan lost himself in her, enchanted by what he had convinced himself was impossible. She was perfect, more so than any woman in the world. And she was his, body, heart and soul. He hadn’t expected to find paradise in the arms of a bespectacled governess, but he had. His future was written in the pages of her life. Together. Forever.

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

The Fortune

Devils on Horseback

Nate

Jake

Zeke

Lee

Gideon

Private Lives

On His Knees

Running from the past…and running out of time.

The Fortune

© 2013 Beth Williamson

The Malloy Family, Book 9

French-born Francesca Chastain came to New York with her family to find a better life. Now she is fleeing a nightmare. Her past chases her from New York and she must run, and run hard.

Her journey to the land of milk and honey is interrupted by the accidental squeeze of a trigger. And the man on the other end of her blunder is a man like none other she’s ever met.

After three years working Oregon-bound wagon trains, John Malloy has almost saved enough money to start his own horse ranch. And almost met the end of his life at the hands of fiery, green-eyed Frankie, a confusing, frustrating woman who responds to his flirting—then disappears.

No one is more relieved than Frankie when John races to her rescue, but now they’re trapped in the wild. And the shadows of both their pasts are closing in…

Warning: Inside you’ll find sexy heat, danger, Old West violence, gun-toting bad guys and an emotional roller coaster. Prepare to fall in love with the Malloys all over again with witty, strong women, stubborn, heroic men and a love that launched a legacy.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
The Fortune:

John could hardly believe his ears. Frankie, the spunky little thing, wanted him to help her wash her hair. He didn’t know whether to laugh or kiss her, because sure as hell he’d wanted to kiss her since she landed in the mud under him. Those flashing green eyes, that heart-shaped face, the soft, pillowy breasts that made his hands itch. She was sin incarnate, even covered in mud.

Now here she sat on the bank of the frigid creek, her hair undone. Although muddy, she had gorgeous hair, thick and wavy with the colors of sunset sparkling in the early morning sun. He’d be a fool to touch her.

John was obviously a complete fool.

“Then come closer and lean forward.”

She did as she was bade, coming close enough he could see the small hairs at the nape of her neck, tiny wisps that moved slightly in the breeze. He wanted to kiss them, breathe in the scent of Frankie, then kiss his way across the pink shell of her ear, her jaw, until he reached the full, ruby lips. Damn. He wasn’t one to get caught up in a woman’s looks, but something about this little French woman set his blood to boil.

John scooped up water with his hands, running it through her hair, working out the clumps of mud. Her hair was at least three feet long, rich and thick. He could well imagine what it would feel like clean and spread across the sheets.

Damn, but he’d been too long without a woman. He did not need to get involved with any of the folks from the wagon train, especially virginal young ladies.

“My neck is beginning to cramp.” She knew how to complain, that was for sure.

“I got the clumps out. Let me give it a good scrub.”
 

Her head felt so tiny in his hands, in contrast to the heavy hair she carried. He scrubbed at her scalp until her hair fairly squeaked. Then he kept at it a few minutes more, feeling perverse at keeping her on her knees in front of him. A lesser man would make a crude remark, but he kept his tongue. For a reason he couldn’t name, he liked her.

“I would like to stand now,
monsieur
.”
 

He chuckled and squeezed as much water from her hair as he could. “There you go, Frankie. Now toss me your dress and I’ll see what I can do.”

She swung her hair to the right, which made a slap as it hit her back. Without the cloud of hair, Frankie looked damn young, vulnerable. Then she opened her mouth and the illusion was broken.

“I do not believe I am the first woman to hear you say that.” She raised both brows. “Do you have experience as a laundress?”

“I’ve had to wash my own duds for years. I’m sure I can manage to get your frock clean.” He held out his hand, enjoying the play of emotions across her face.

“It is sturdy, but not canvas like your trousers. Please do not rip it.” She handed him the yellow dress with obvious reluctance.

The fact she’d entrusted him with what was apparently her only other dress was unexpected. He did his best to get the mud off, using the sand at the bottom of the creek to scour it away. Without soap, it wasn’t going to be shiny clean, but at least it was cleaner.

“Your sisters don’t have an accent like you.” He was curious about her, although he shouldn’t be.

“I was ten when we moved from France. The two youngest lost most of their accent, and Josephine is a governess and tutor. She trained herself to lose any trace of France.” She squeezed out her hair. “Wealthy people prefer a French maid or dresser, not a French tutor.”

John hadn’t had much contact with rich people, but her words had a ring of truth to them. There was a rich man on the wagon train and he was a jackass.
 

“What brings you west?”

She stopped and stared at him, her chin rising into a stubborn tilt. “Why do most settlers?”

He shrugged. If she didn’t want to talk about it, he wasn’t going to push. It wasn’t his business and truthfully, he’d heard too many stories in the last three years. He wouldn’t miss another one.

When he rose to wring out the dress, she gasped. His gaze flew to hers, noting she had been finger combing her hair and watching him. He wanted to puff out his chest and grin, but her expression stopped him.

“Do not wring out my dress,
monsieur
. Bring it here and I will extract the water,
si vous plais
.”

He frowned. “You sure are bossy.”

“My sisters would likely agree with you.” She got to her feet and held out her hands. He noted her wet hair had turned the top of her blue dress almost see-through.

John should have told her, but damn, he enjoyed the view too much. The devil inside him wanted to know the color of the nipples currently poking at her dress. They weren’t too dark, perhaps pink.

“
Monsieur
Malloy, the dress?” She tapped her foot and swung her hair back.

He couldn’t stop himself, his gaze dropped again to her chest. She followed his stare and gasped, her arms slamming over those tits in a flash.

“I cannot believe you did not tell me.”

“I can’t believe you expected me to.” He grinned, completely unrepentant and enjoying his time with Frankie Chastain immensely.

“You,
monsieur
, are no gentleman.”

“I never said I was.” He tossed the dress, enjoying the wet slap as it landed in her arms. Damn but he felt like laughing.

Frankie spun on her heel and walked away. Too late John realized he still hadn’t had his hand doctored, so he needed to return to the Chastain wagon. A tiny bubble of excitement tickled his belly. Frankie had definitely put a twist in his tail in the short time he’d known her.