The Fortune by Beth Williamson Page B

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 dust 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