The Prospect: The Malloy Family, Book 10 (5 page)

“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. We 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.

Mr. Chastain looked startled. “
Mon Dieu
. This is true.”

“Then let her make her decisions and respect them.” Declan figured he was already knee-deep in shit…he might as well say what else was on his mind.

Jo’s father stared at Declan, then turned his gaze away when his two daughters stepped up beside him. Declan didn’t know if what he said made a difference or not.

“Do not go inside, girls. She is contagious.”

“Maman went inside.” Charlie stuck out her lower lip.

“Maman was wearing gloves and a mask. As a nurse, she knows what precautions to take. You do not. Stay here.” Mr. Chastain knocked on the door and spoke without opening it. “Everything is here, Marie.” He placed his hand flat on the door and closed his eyes.

Declan glanced at the girls and immediately turned away from the sight. The Chastain family was full of too many emotions, brimming like an overfull cup. He couldn’t imagine being part of something like that. Nor would he want to be part of it. A family who fell to pieces when they had to separate. He’d survived without his mother. It hadn’t been easy, but he hadn’t fallen into a weeping puddle either.

“
Monsieur
.” The older man stepped up beside him.

Declan didn’t want to keep talking to the man. He just wanted her family gone. Seeing them daily reminded him of the mistakes of his past. “Sometimes things happen and you do what you need to do.”

“I am entrusting my daughter’s life to you. This is not done easily. If anything happens to her, I will find you and no one else ever will.” The soft-spoken father surprised Declan with his fierce threat.

There wasn’t anything he could say to respond, so he waited it out. He wasn’t going to discuss the false marriage. He would wait for Mrs. Chastain to make that decision. Mr. Chastain finally turned and gathered his other daughters, leaving Declan alone. He didn’t know what to make of the Chastains, and if he were honest, he was glad they were leaving. With them went the guilt he struggled with. He wasn’t glad to be left behind, but he would get by. He always did.

He looked at the items they left behind, stacked neatly beside the door. After Mrs. Chastain left, he’d bring it all inside. The chair would be useful considering there was only a cot inside, not big enough for him alone, much less two people. Jo would heal faster if she was comfortable. That seemed a good reason to let her have the cot, even if it didn’t have a mattress. They could cobble one together with the pile of blankets the Chastain sisters left.

“Callahan.”

Declan turned to find Buck Avery walking toward him with a saddle, the one from the horse he’d bought in Missouri. Where the hell was the horse?

“I dropped your gelding off at the livery. He gets a dollar a week to board a horse. You’ll need to pay him or he’ll sell off the horse.” Buck set the saddle on the chair. “Those folks sure are leaving a lot with their girl.”

Declan shouldn’t feel the need to defend the Chastains, but the words jumped to his tongue anyway. “They want to be sure she’ll be all right. Most of us don’t have family like that.”

“That’s the God’s honest truth.” Buck took off his hat and smacked his thigh with it. “It’s a fair shame that one had to catch typhoid. It ain’t something we can have on the trip, though. Malloy would know that.”

Declan bit his tongue. “Good thing I ain’t Malloy.”

Buck’s expression hardened. “You either stay behind on your own or with the girl. You made that choice yourself. I have your pay for the weeks you worked.”

“Keep it. Or better yet, give it to me and I’ll give it to Josephine Chastain.” Declan didn’t want to be beholden to Buck, no matter how much people liked the wagon master. He was a jackass.

Buck pulled out the money from his pocket and slapped it into Declan’s palm. “I trust Malloy with my life, but I think he was off his mark when he recommended you.”

“Monsieur Callahan has made some bad choices, but he has a good soul.” Mrs. Chastain appeared, pulling off the gloves and mask she wore. Her eyes were red-rimmed and swollen. At least she wasn’t crying in front of him.

“You don’t know this man, Miz Chastain.” Buck scowled. “He kidnapped Miz Francesca.”

“Sometimes we take the wrong path, Monsieur Avery. Only the strongest are able to change their course.” Mrs. Chastain sniffed and put her chin in the air. “She is clean and needs to be comfortable. Please bring her things inside and see to it, Monsieur Callahan. I will return in the morning to check on her and bring the other visitor we discussed. Please use a mask and gloves when you tend to her. It will help stop the spread of the disease if you are not yet infected.”

Declan nodded. “I’m sure I’ve got something to use. I’ll need to get my—”

Charlie came running up with a burlap bag in her hand. The crazy curls on her head flew in the wind as she skidded to a halt. “Mr. Callahan, your things.” She huffed out a breath. “Damn well don’t want to leave your things behind.”

Declan’s lips twitched at the young cussing woman. She would drive a man crazy one day. Yet she brought his belongings, not just her sister’s, which demonstrated she was good people.

“Charlotte, you must stop cursing,” Mrs. Chastain admonished. “It is unbecoming for a young lady to use such language.”

“Hell, Maman, I’m just getting started.” Charlie grinned. Despite their over-emotional nonsense, the Chastains were a one-of-a-kind family.

He took the burlap bag from her. Its light weight spoke to his life. A change of clothes, an extra shirt and a few basic food staples. Nothing more than a pound or two. Perhaps one day he might have more than that, but for now, it was everything he had.

“Thank you.” He was surprised to see the girl blush. For all her “worldly” language, this youngest Chastain sister was still an innocent.

“Okay, ’bye.” She ran back whence she came, her frizzy hair waving to him as she disappeared from view.

“Monsieur Avery, please escort me back to the wagon,
s’il vous plaît
.” Mrs. Chastain took away the potential argument brewing. She was a smart lady, one who had just left her daughter with a stranger. The woman had a backbone of steel.

Declan glanced around and breathed his own sigh of relief. They were finally gone. He needed to bring everything into the small building and start his new nursing career. In the morning, they would fake marry and he would be a fake husband. One thing was real, though—the next few weeks would be hell.

Chapter Three

“Stop fighting me, woman. You need to drink or you’re going to waste away to nothing,” Declan growled in her ear. “Don’t make me force it down your throat.”

Jo struggled to open her eyes. She was swimming in a dark ocean, trying desperately to get to the surface, but every time she thought she was close, she slipped back down. Declan was nearby, yelling at her, yanking her up. She felt tears rolling down her cheeks and she scratched at his arm, desperate for air.

“Breathe, dammit, breathe!” He slapped her back so hard, she coughed until air finally went down her throat.

She leaned against him, not knowing where she was or what was happening. Jo was only aware of the big man holding her, his hands rubbing big circles on her back.

“Ah, lass, you are in a bad way, aren’t you?” His voice was raspy. “But you’re tougher than most men I know.”

Her head lolled back and she managed to crack open her eyes. Declan wore no mask, his face shaven, clear of the bushy black beard he’d worn since they met. She blinked, shocked by the visage revealed by the lack of facial hair.

Declan Callahan was stunningly handsome.

Perhaps it was her fogged mind playing tricks on her. It was bad enough she had been suffering from secret fantasies of the man. Seeing he was altogether the best-looking man she’d ever seen was ridiculous. She closed her eyes again.

“Don’t go back to sleep, Jo. I need you to take in some water.” He held her neck in his large hand, more gently than she could have imagined. “It’s been more than a day since you drank.”

She opened her eyes to slits, choosing to look at a spot on the wall over his shoulder. He dribbled cool water into her mouth and she swallowed, nearly overcome by how thirsty she was. Declan pulled the cup away and she whimpered.

“You drink too much and you’re going to puke on my trousers again. It took me an hour to get the smell out.” He helped her back down onto the pillow.

“I vomited on you?” The sound of her voice shocked her. It was as though she’d been gargling gravel.

“You did, but there have been many things you’ve done in the last three weeks.” His lips twisted. “You probably don’t want to hear all the details.”

She definitely didn’t want to hear the details. His words sank in and she had a moment where she was completely flummoxed.

Three weeks.
Three weeks
!

The last thing she remembered was her mother saying goodbye, and then nothing until this moment.
Typhoid
. She had typhoid and Declan had been exposed, so he elected to stay and take care of her. Yet he was also supposed to be wearing a mask and gloves. He was doing neither.

She touched his cheek. “Mask.”

“The damn mask was itchy and it made me sweat. Then I got a rash from it, so I had to shave off my beard.” He didn’t look happy about the shaving part.

“Handsome.” The word popped out before she could stop it.

Both his brows went up. “That’s the first time I’ve heard that. I’m a big ugly Irishman with a crooked nose and a questionable past.”

She shook her head. “Friend.”

His expression became one of surprise and a touch of vulnerability. “I’ve not had…do you really…a friend? Are ye daft, lass?”

She loved to hear his accent. It was a soft lilt that grew deeper when he was agitated. It wasn’t as though she hadn’t heard Irish accents before. She had grown up in New York after all. There wasn’t an accent she hadn’t heard.

“Friend,” she repeated. Her eyelids grew heavy, and she took his hand in her own. Jo hadn’t known this man six weeks ago and now he was her lifeline. He was her first friend, whether or not he believed her.

She slept.

Declan’s back was paining him something awful. He hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep in more than three weeks. Most times he slept in the chair, keeping a watch on her. She slept almost all the time, although it was not a comfortable rest. She thrashed and moaned, fighting the fever and pain that gripped her body. She’d lost ten pounds at least, not that she’d had that much to lose. The woman had been tall and thin to start with—now she was downright skinny. He had made soup from turnips and dried beef, but she hadn’t been awake long enough to eat any.