The Fortune Read Free Page B

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.
    The stinging in his hand pulled John out of his thoughts. He was walking across the tall grass, barefoot and shirtless, mumbling to himself. Charlotte Chastain stood at the corner of the wagon, staring at him with a curious expression on her face. He wondered if Frankie had passed, soaking wet and full of fire, by her youngest sister.
    He stopped and pulled on his shirt, buttoning it quickly, then yanked on his boots and plopped his hat on his head. With a nod to the youngest sister who liked to curse, he went around the front of the wagon to find Frankie sitting in front of the fire with a blanket on her shoulders. Beside her sat an older version of her, her green gaze intent and sharp.
    “ Monsieur , are you to blame for my daughter’s condition?” She glanced at Frankie. “ Est-ce qu'il est l'homme ?”
    “ Monsieur Malloy saved me from a wagon, Maman. Le petit protector went off accidently and shot him in the hand. We were both muddy and after I washed up, Mr. Malloy used the creek.” Frankie’s gaze dared him to contradict her.
    “Hmmm, I think