The Prospect: The Malloy Family, Book 10 Read Online Free PDF Page A

take it lightly. Declan was a man of his word and he would do everything he could for her, no matter what her delicate sensibilities were. The cabin was a shack, no more than twelve by twelve feet across. One lone window graced a corner, letting in enough weak light to see. A sorry-looking rope bed, minus a mattress, sat in one corner. A potbellied stove was in the opposite corner. It wasn’t much, but it would have to do.
    He hadn’t grown up with ladies or society’s dictates. There was no time or interest in keeping with rules. He did what he had to to survive, as did everyone around him. People threw their piss and shit out the window, onto the streets. The smell of diarrhea was as familiar as common dirt to him. There was nothing Jo could do or show him that he hadn’t seen before.
    His mother had been a midwife, and although she’d died when he was very young, he had learned from her. It was like reaching down deep into his gut and yanking out his childhood. He had buried those memories deep down and now he could almost smell the blood on his mother’s hands. Declan closed his eyes and breathed through his mouth to clear the disturbing ghost scent.
    His life had turned in so many different directions since he was a small boy in New York. Twists he couldn’t have expected or planned for. Hell, he never wanted to work for Oliver Peck or be the man who used his bulk to scare people or worse. Meeting John Malloy and Francesca Chastain had been a hard right turn.
    Now he was in the middle of nowhere, had to leave the job he had taken two weeks earlier, and was responsible for Jo Chastain’s life. Plus he might catch typhoid himself. How the hell had that happened?
    Declan usually let life push him down a path. When he’d killed Oliver Peck, he had taken the reins in his own hands for the first time in a long time. It had been like a cleansing of his soul, wiping away his past temporarily. Now his past was back, bringing with it the chains and stains on his soul.
    Drummond walked up to the shack and nodded. “She okay?”
    “Yep. Just needed privacy.” Declan didn’t need to explain more.
    “I will make sure you can stay here until the typhoid passes, but you’ll need to stay here, not venture into contact with folks or outside the fort.” Drummond’s gaze probed like a knife. “I need your promise.”
    “I don’t plan on doing anything but taking care of Miss Chastain. I’m sure her family will leave us supplies, but we’ll need fresh food and water.” He realized staying there was more than simply being isolated. They would have to pay for their accommodations. “I have money for the building and everything else.”
    He had money left from what Peck gave him to chase Francesca. Then he had taken the money Peck had before he buried his sorry carcass. Declan didn’t need to work the wagon train, but it had been a place to be and a job. Truth was he didn’t know where to be or what to do. Now he had something and someone who needed him. That was a first for him. Oh, Peck would tell him he “needed” Declan for an assignment, but the man could have used any of his gang for the same purpose.
    Until this moment, no one had actually needed him , Declan Callahan. It was uncomfortable and intimidating. Deep down, however, some small part of him was secretly glad.
    “That’s good. You’re not married to the girl, is that right?” Drummond peered at Declan with a frown.
    “No, we’re, ah, friends.” How was he to explain their strange connection? Friends wasn’t right, but he didn’t know what to call it.
    “That might be a problem for folks here at the fort.”
    Declan stared, stunned by the implication. “Are you saying you won’t let us stay here if we’re not married?”
    Drummond held up his hands. “I didn’t say nothing of the sort. I’m saying I can’t protect you from folks if they find out you’re living in sin.”
    Declan snorted. “Sin? Hell, man, the girl is in there shitting