The Prospect: The Malloy Family, Book 10

Dedication

To the brave men and women who packed up their lives and headed west to Oregon without a safety net. Without them, our country would not be what it is today.

Chapter One

Outside Fort John

July 1848

Josephine Chastain wanted to kick the big Irishman until he begged for mercy, crying like a little girl. She clenched her fists hard enough that her nails dug into her palms, but she kept her face impassive, never letting Declan Callahan see how much he affected her. How much she wanted to punch him. It damn sure didn’t help that her stomach had been off for the last two days on top of this stress. She didn’t need or want any of it.

He was infuriating and condescending. A man who had no business speaking to her as though she were a three-year-old child or someone who had been dropped on her head as a baby.

“Do ya see what I’m saying, darlin’? This part goes through the hole here.” He pulled the cinch tight on the oxen’s belly. She’d learned to do it months ago in Missouri before they even left for Oregon. Now this great lummox was showing her for the sixth time in two weeks. She had nodded her head and stayed mute, letting him feel useful.

Yet he’d pushed her too far this time. He called her darling. Her. Plain old Jo Chastain, book lover, a quiet, thoughtful nineteen-year-old with brown hair and brown eyes. Nobody in his right mind would call her darling and mean it, to which she concluded he was making fun of her. The big, handsome, black-haired man with the easy smile was a cruel bully with his words. She hadn’t remotely forgotten he had kidnapped her sister, regardless of the penance he’d served by helping the wagon train and her family.

“I know perfectly well how to secure the oxen, Mr. Callahan. This lesson is completely irrelevant and highly annoying. I thank you to stop trying to instruct me in tasks I can already perform.” She pointed at him, surprised to see her finger wasn’t trembling. “You can return to your other duties as soon as possible.”

“Well, I’ll be damned. You can talk.” He shook his head. “The entire time I’ve worked this wagon train I ain’t heard you breathe a word.”

“Of course I can speak. I’m not mute or deaf.” She scowled at him. “I am also not an idiot.”

“You talk fancy too.” He grinned, white teeth shining from behind the thick black beard.

She hadn’t seen him smile before, not even once. The experience knocked her a little sideways and she had to blink to clear the image that burned into her vision. “I speak like a learned person.” She fluttered her hand in the general direction of the rest of the wagon train. “I’m sure someone does need your assistance. You do not need to spend any additional time with me.”

His brows went up. “Are you asking me to leave you alone, lass?”

Lass?
She didn’t know whether to take umbrage with the moniker or be pleased he called her lass when she was nearly on the shelf. Perhaps it was an insult and she didn’t know it. The man confused her, muddled her thoughts until she couldn’t tell up from down.

“My name is Miss Chastain. I’ll also answer to Mademoiselle Chastain.” She kept her shoulders straight and chin up, even if she was twisting every which way inside.

“Medemezel? I can’t make my tongue form such a word. I’m an Irishman, lass, not a Frenchie.” His expression was entirely unapologetic.

“Regardless, I am sure you have something better to do than stand here and explain a procedure to me. I clearly know what I’m doing.” She wanted him to leave. The man set her on edge, with his intimidating size, his hairy face and the fact he had been responsible for kidnapping her sister. She didn’t care that he’d been under order or that Francesca had forgiven him. Josephine didn’t know why, since
she
wouldn’t have pardoned him so easily.

Declan made her anxious and off-kilter. Deep inside, she held a secret as to why, but that particular fact would never see the light of day. Oh no, she would have to be on her deathbed to confess, and even then, she might take her private thoughts with her.

“Lass, are you still there?” He waved his hand back and forth, its callused, blunt-tipped fingers so different from hers.

“You do see me standing here, do you not?” Her cheeks felt hot. Lord, her entire body felt warm. Damn the man.

“I’ve been talking to you and you were far away. Don’t know where, but you for certain weren’t here.” He stared at her too intently, peering at her as though he could see the secret she kept hidden.

“That is ridiculous. I have been right here, listening.”

“Beggin’ your pardon, medemezel, but you were woolgathering right then.” He secured the last ox before he wiped his hands on his trousers and patted the beasts on their rumps. Perhaps he was finally leaving.

She couldn’t stand another moment with him or she might explode into a million pieces. Possibly more. While they lived in New York, she taught children at their homes, privileged children who could afford a private tutor. Out here on the trail, she was nobody, the daughter of a wood craftsman and a nurse, with two younger sisters and one older. A wisp on the wind of life.

Declan made her feel as though she were more than a wisp. By talking to her when she obviously didn’t want to speak to him, he forced her out of the shadow she lived in. Jo needed to get back into that comfortable place before she did or said something she would regret. If only he would cease to acknowledge her or offer to help. She didn’t need a thing from him.

Except perhaps a kiss.

Her secret bubbled up and bit her on the backside so fast, she actually gasped. His head snapped up from where he was crouched and that deep blue gaze kept her in place. For one wild moment, she wondered if she’d voiced her secret aloud.

“Did something bite you?”

“Pardon me?” She resisted the urge to unbutton the top of her shirt. Heat crept down her neck.

“You yelped as though something bit you on your a—person.” He got to his feet and rubbed his hands together then put them on his hips, cocking his head to the side. “You’re a strange one, Josephine.”

She started at the sound of her name from his mouth. His Irish lilt made the “o” long and musical. Josephine needed to ignore her silly reaction and remember his shady past. The man was a thug from New York, ones she had seen on occasion in Brooklyn. He meant less than nothing to her, a hired hand on the wagon train. Someone who barely had the right to be there.

“I did not grant you permission to use my given name. Now if you will be on your way, we can all leave with the wagon train.” To her surprise, he tipped his hat and walked away. She expected him to continue speaking to her, at which point she might have shown how nervous she was. A disaster she hadn’t wanted to happen, of course. As she watched, his long-legged gait took him to Miss Edith’s wagon in moments. The old lady insisted on being carried in and out of the wagon each day. Declan had taken over that duty when John Malloy left to marry Jo’s sister and start a ranch in the Wyoming territory.

Jo told herself not to watch, but she found her gaze straying back to Declan. He gently picked up the older woman and set her in the wagon. She noted he didn’t smile or flirt with her as John had done. No, Declan was quiet with other people, not unfriendly, but reserved. He didn’t act the same way with her.

And she didn’t know why.

She tried to push him out of her mind and finished readying to leave. Her younger sister Charlotte hummed to herself as she waited. Her frizzy hair was already escaping the fat braid that sat on her shoulder.

“I hate waiting. It’s damn annoying.” Charlie swung her legs back and forth on the edge of the wagon.

“It is better than walking all day.” The girls walked beside the wagon most days, their big investment in shoes before leaving New York worth every cent. Not that Josephine would complain to her parents. She did what she had to; duty was very important to her.

“True enough. I wish we were there already.” Charlie pooched out her lip and sighed.

“We are only halfway to Oregon. The trip will be longer if you start wishing we were there.” Jo was more practical than any of her sisters.

“Shit. I’m gonna wish if I damn well want to.” Her sister jumped off the wagon and walked around the side, leaving Jo to her thoughts.

The tall grass tickled her legs and she found herself swaying with the breeze, allowing the brief brushes, almost like fingers. The idea was scandalous and she wouldn’t admit it to a single soul. Yet there it was, simmering within her, the need to be touched, to be more than a plain mouse in a plain brown wrapper.

Like her dark secret desire to kiss the whiskered Declan.

It wasn’t as though she’d never seen a man with a beard before. There were thousands of them in New York. However, the first time she saw Declan, her body tensed, full of a yearning she’d not experienced before. He was bigger than most men, with large, muscular arms. She itched to touch him, to find out if he was as firm as he looked.

These dark thoughts invaded her mind every time she saw him. They grew worse with each passing day. If she didn’t avoid him, she would embarrass herself. Soon.

Jo was out of her depth, unable to determine the best method to rid herself of this fascination with Declan. She dare not speak to Maman. It would be far too embarrassing. Her sister Isabelle sauntered past, a yellow parasol on her shoulder. It was an indulgence, but despite her like for girlish things, she was a hard worker who had saved her pennies to buy the piece of frippery.

Many people didn’t see beyond the chestnut hair and shining green eyes. Jo thought Isabelle liked to hide behind her beauty and put on a show for the rest of the world in the same way Jo hid behind her spectacles and plain brown hair. Her sisters were all different as they could be.

One thing they all had in common was strength and love for each other. They had learned how strong a woman could be from their mother. She was a tower of steel in their lives. However, that also meant they rarely won if they went up against her. Jo wanted to talk to her mother about her feelings for Declan, but that wasn’t going to happen. Maman would overreact or worse yet, give her an anatomy lesson on copulation.

Jo wasn’t about to suffer through another one of those.

She would endure her strange affliction alone and attempt to control it as best she could. Her stomach burbled and tumbled at the thought. Being around men wasn’t her strong suit. To make things more awkward, she wanted to be around Declan, but she also wanted to kick him.

They were due to arrive in Fort John tomorrow. A brief respite of one day before pushing on toward Oregon. The schedule must be kept, according to their wagon master Buck Avery; however, one day of not walking beside the wagon sounded like heaven.

The wagons began to move and Jo waited patiently for their turn. Charlotte and Isabelle joined her and soon they were walking west together. The day was pleasantly warm, but as the hours passed, it began to get hot. Hot enough to make Jo sweat in an unladylike fashion. She used her handkerchief to wipe her brow, but it soon grew soaked.

Charlotte frowned at her. “You look like shit, Jo.”

Jo barked a laugh, sounding hoarse and rusty. “I am hot and tired, dear sister. You always seem to have the most apt description, though.”

“She’s right. You don’t look good, Jo.” Isabelle frowned in concern. “Your face is the color of putty and your eyes have dark circles under them. Are you sick?”

“Maybe she’s damn well dying!” Charlie danced around them. “You’d better tell Maman.”