The Heart of a Cowboy Page 2

  The mixture going into the mug looked thick enough to be mud and thankfully tapered to a trickle before it reached halfway. He handed her the cup. “Here you go, darlin’.”

  She tried not to think about the mouths that had already touched the mug, or the decidedly cold tin against her hands. Before she lost courage, she lifted the cup, took a mouthful, and swallowed—all in one motion.

  It was just as cold and bitter and awful as she’d anticipated, but she suppressed a shudder. “Thank you. You’re so very kind.”

  Dylan’s grin spread. “If you’re hungry, we got some fish all fried up too. Caught it myself.”

  She didn’t dare glance at the pan lest this time her shudder broke loose. “I appreciate the offer, but I’ll start with the coffee for now.”

  The group they were traveling with consisted of a dozen wagons and usually stopped later in the morning for a break. That’s when they ate their first meal of the day since at dawn they were too busy packing up and readying to leave. She’d heard most caravans followed that pattern and often rested for a couple of hours at midday to avoid exerting themselves during the hottest part of the day, allowing the livestock a chance to graze.

  Even now, their caravan was due for a break. As the final wagon rolled up the bank, she guessed their guide would lead the group to a spot of shade in the river valley somewhere close by. Nonetheless, her grandfather was winding past the other camps and drawing near.

  “Grandfather.” She waved as enthusiastically as she could muster. “I’m just fine.”

  Attired in a crisp morning coat, bow tie, and his tall stovepipe hat, he had a distinguished air about him. His monocle hung from a chain attached to his vest and swung like a pendulum with each of his long strides. His hair—once a bright crimson like hers—was now a soft reddish blond, slowly turning gray.

  “Linnea!” A deep frown creased his face. “Are you alright?”

  “Just a little wet.” She straightened her shoulders, thankful she’d stopped shaking from the cold even if her feet were still numb.

  Unfortunately she’d inherited her father’s distractibility, often getting too focused on one thing to pay attention to what was going on around her. Grandfather worried she’d suffer an accident and meet her end the same way her father had.

  It didn’t help that Grandfather also considered her more fragile simply because she was a woman. At five foot five inches, she had her mother’s thin, delicate features, making her appear dainty even though she was strong and robust—something she’d mentioned continually when she pleaded her case for taking part in the expedition. Even so, since Linnea was the first woman to be part of an exploratory trip like this, Grandfather assumed she wouldn’t have the same stamina and strength as the men.

  By now she hoped she was beginning to prove that her contribution to the expedition was valuable enough to outweigh the risks, especially because she was working harder than all the other scientists to catalog the flora on their journey.

  Grandfather drew her into an embrace. He held her tightly, long enough that she could feel the quavering in his limbs. “I was so distressed.”

  She couldn’t tell him she’d been distressed too. She needed to remain strong. Such was the curse of a woman, having to project an image of strength she didn’t always feel. But she’d learned the hard way that showing weakness only made men question her abilities even more.

  When Grandfather pulled back, he fitted his monocle into his eye socket, took hold of both her arms, and scrutinized her as he did his plant specimens.

  She laughed and tugged away. “You needn’t worry, Grandfather. I’m not a flower petal. I won’t wilt.”

  “I know that, dear. But you could have drowned—”

  “I didn’t. And I’m perfectly fine.”

  Her grandfather studied her a moment longer, then sighed before holding out a hand toward Flynn. “Young man, thank you for saving my granddaughter. I cannot begin to express my gratitude.”

  Flynn shook his hand. “No thanks necessary, sir.”

  Linnea hadn’t been properly introduced to these people herself, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t make introductions. “Grandfather, this is Flynn . . .” Except she didn’t know his last name.

  At her pause, he spoke. “McQuaid. The name’s Flynn McQuaid.”

  Grandfather tilted his head and examined Flynn through his monocle. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. McQuaid. I’m Dr. Howell. And you’ve met my granddaughter, Mrs. Asa Newberry.”

  Ivy, who had been staring at Linnea during the entire reunion with her grandfather, released a low whistle. “Holy Saint Peter. You’re awfully young to be married.”

  Flynn’s shoulders stiffened at Ivy’s bold statement. Before he could rebuke the precocious girl, Linnea waved off the comment. “I’m twenty-one years old. So I’m not terribly young, am I?”

  “Where’s your husband?” Ivy glanced around. “Why didn’t he rescue you? Reckon as sweet as you are, he woulda jumped in right after you.”

  A strange heaviness settled on her chest. “I imagine he would have jumped in after me if he’d been along. But he’s not here . . . because he’s dead.”

  CHAPTER 2

  Flynn’s ready rebuke for Ivy got lost in an onslaught of questions. He hadn’t expected Linnea to be married. How had she lost her husband? Perhaps during one of the recent bloody battles of the war? Maybe at Fredericksburg in December? Or the fight at Stone’s River?

  He prayed to the Lord Almighty that Brody hadn’t been in either battle. After reading the newspaper accounts, Flynn had nightmares for nigh to a week. Even if Brody’s name hadn’t appeared on any of the casualty lists, Flynn hadn’t been able to dislodge the image of his younger brother lying somewhere on a battlefield alone, suffering torments worse than those found in hell.

  A shadow flashed across Linnea’s pale face, and he had no doubt all this talk was rousing a whole passel of sad feelings for her.

  “Did he die in the war?” Ivy’s question popped out before Flynn could tell her to run off and mind her own business.

  Even if he agreed with Ivy that Linnea looked mighty young to be hitched, he’d learned enough manners from Ma to know better than to pry into someone’s private life.

  Trouble was, Ivy hadn’t had the same kind of womanly training, not since Ma married Rusty. When Ma hadn’t been laid up being pregnant or recovering from a failed birthing, she’d been too tired and worried to pay Ivy much attention. Mostly, Ivy’s training had fallen squarely on his shoulders, and he was about as good at parenting Ivy as a hen was at mothering a porcupine.

  “Come on now, Ivy.” He tried to keep his voice calm, but lately she’d been more belligerent and harder for him to handle. “Stop prying into the lady’s affairs.”

  “I ain’t prying.” She tilted up her chin, and her eyes flashed with defiance. “Just asking a question. Nothin’ wrong with that, is there?”

  “No, of course not.” Linnea was quick to intervene, her gaze darting back and forth between them. He reckoned their tension was as easy to spot as a painted wagon. “My husband wasn’t fighting in the war, as he was—well, he was a bit older—”

  “Forty-nine wasn’t that old,” Dr. Howell interjected as he tucked the single eyepiece dangling from a chain back into his vest pocket.

  She ducked her head, as though embarrassed to admit the age of her husband. “He died of pneumonia in Fort Leavenworth at the end of March.”

  “I’m sorry.” The words weren’t nearly adequate but still needed saying. For so recent a widow, she wasn’t wearing the customary black clothing. But he guessed maybe she hadn’t brought any along for the journey, probably hadn’t expected to grieve the loss of her husband.

  Shadows fell over her face again. Her fingers tightened against the colorful patterns of Ma’s quilt as she brought the covering closer. “We were married less than two months.”

  Dr. Howell shook his head, his brow pinching together at the bridge of his nose. “Inde
ed, it was such a tragedy to lose so brilliant a scholar and friend. We’d only been in Fort Leavenworth a week, purchasing supplies and making final arrangements, when Asa contracted the ailment. None of us expected him to go so quickly.”

  Ivy sidled next to Linnea and reached for her hand.

  Flynn opened his mouth to order Ivy to stop pestering the woman, but before he could speak, Linnea fitted her hand within Ivy’s and squeezed it. His irritation fled and a strange sense of sorrow fell into its place—sorrow for all they’d lost: Brody, their parents, their home, the farm.

  They were stuck without any other option but to accept his older brother’s offer to move to Colorado. Wyatt had started a ranch in the spring of ’62 shortly after President Lincoln’s Homestead Act was signed. Now that Wyatt had land and a place of his own, he’d invited them to live there.

  With Rusty kicking them off the farm that had been in the McQuaid family for generations, Flynn hadn’t known what else to do but accept Wyatt’s offer. Flynn had hoped the prospect of a new life out West would entice Brody enough to forgo joining the war efforts. At the very least, Flynn had intended to be out of Pennsylvania and on their way to the ranch before Brody carried through with enlisting in the Union army.

  But none of Flynn’s hoping had panned out. Of course, even if it had, there was still the possibility that eventually Colorado Territory would require eligible men to enlist. But for now it would be a safer place than anywhere else for Dylan, who blustered about joining the war too.

  “I’m real sorry about your loss, Linnea.” Ivy’s dirty face took on uncharacteristic empathy. “But you’re real pretty, and you’ll get married again quicker than a wink and a whistle.”

  “I don’t know about that—”

  “Sure you will. You just wait and see. In fact, why don’t you marry Flynn? He could use a wife, and I could sure use a womanly touch. Leastways that’s what Flynn’s always telling me.”

  “Thunderation, Ivy.” He crossed his arms to keep from strangling the girl. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Sure do.” She cast a glance toward their cowhands, who’d gone back to resting in the shade and keeping an eye on the cattle. “Heard Nash tell Jericho and Dylan you’re wound up as tight as a tick on a calf’s rear. Said you need a woman in a bad way.”

  “It’s true.” Dylan grinned as he poked at the fire with a stick.

  “Nash has no idea what he’s talking about.”

  “Reckon he’s calling it like it is.” Dylan’s reply contained teasing charm that never failed to defuse a tense moment. He turned his winsome smile onto Linnea again. “Ma’am, if Flynn ain’t gotta mind to marry you, then I’ll step right in. You just say the word—”

  “Never you mind.” Flynn felt a growl forming. “You and Ivy go catch more fish, and we’ll have ’em for supper tonight.”

  Ivy opened her mouth, likely to protest, but Linnea cut her off. “Maybe you can show me how to fish. I’ve always thought it would be fun to learn.”

  Ivy’s eyes took on a glimmer. “I’m real good at fishing.”

  “Very well. Then you can teach me everything you know.”

  “First thing is catching grasshoppers for bait. You ain’t afraid of bugs like most womenfolk, are you?”

  “No, sweetheart. I think you’ll find I’m not like most women.” Linnea cut Flynn a glance, one assuring him he didn’t need to worry, that she wasn’t bothered by the comments, and that she’d see to Ivy.

  Breathing out a tense breath, he nodded his thanks. She handed him her untouched mug of coffee and then allowed Ivy to tug her away. As they wandered off in search of grasshoppers, Dr. Howell watched his granddaughter, the pinch between his brows deepening. “I need to send her home. She’s a good scientist, but I’m just too worried about her surviving the trip.”

  Ivy and Linnea had moved into a patch of bright sunlight. Linnea repositioned the quilt around her still-dripping garments. She needed to go get changed into dry clothing. That’s what she needed. But at least in the sunshine, she’d warm up real fast.

  “I allowed her to come because of Asa.” Dr. Howell’s tone was low and confiding. “He was quite smitten with her.”

  Flynn could see why. Even in her bedraggled state, she was the prettiest woman he’d ever laid eyes on. In fact, a man would have to be blind not to notice her flawless features. Her long, curly hair was a stunning red. Her brown eyes were soft and doe-like. And her smile had the power to make a man forget his name.

  “And now,” Dr. Howell continued, “after this incident, I’m reminded all over again why I shouldn’t have brought her on the expedition.”

  Expedition? Rather than prying into business that wasn’t his, Flynn took a swig of the coffee Linnea had handed him. The brew flowed over his tongue as cold and bitter as river water. He supposed that’s what he got for leaving the coffee making up to Ivy. She couldn’t cook for the life of her, not even a decent pot of coffee.

  The almighty truth was that Ivy did need a womanly touch in a bad way. But that didn’t mean he planned on getting married. No matter what his cowhands thought, he didn’t need a woman. He was getting along just fine without one and had been since he’d put an end to his relationship with Helen last summer.

  Sure, there were still times he couldn’t get away from his longings to have and to hold a woman. He wasn’t a saint. But whenever his hankerings pestered him too badly, he only needed to think of the day his ma died after giving birth to another stillborn baby.

  He’d been at her bedside, holding her hand, when she’d taken her last breath. And he vowed then and there he’d never do to a woman what Rusty had done to Ma—get a woman pregnant and put her through the horrors of childbirth. Didn’t matter that women had been giving birth to babies since the creation of the world and living to tell about it. He wasn’t gonna do it, and the only surefire way to keep his vow was to stay as far away from women as possible.

  Dr. Howell resituated his tall black hat. “If only Asa were here. He was a good man, and he promised to watch over Linnea. Now without him, I fear I’m a poor substitute.”

  “You can’t blame yourself, sir. Reckon she would have fallen from the wagon even if her husband had been alive.” Flynn had been watering his horse at the river’s edge when she tumbled out. He happened to see the whole thing from where he’d been standing. And he hadn’t wasted a single second in waiting to see if she could fend for herself, especially after crossing only an hour earlier and knowing the current was swift. He hopped up on Rimrock and plunged in after her.

  “She’ll be devastated if I send her back East.”

  “You need to do what you think is best.”

  Dr. Howell watched as his granddaughter bent next to Ivy in the tallgrass, held herself motionless, and then an instant later cupped a grasshopper in her hand. She smiled her delight, which made her features all the prettier.

  “I don’t know what is best, Mr. McQuaid. She’s an intelligent woman and one of the most capable botanists I know. Since my son’s passing, she is my pride and joy—but so scatterbrained just like him—and I can’t bear the thought of losing her too.”

  Flynn’s attention trailed after Linnea and Ivy as they made their way to the riverbank.

  “She has her heart set on being a member of this groundbreaking expedition and helping discover and catalog the plant life.”

  So they were scientists who studied plants. Obviously highly educated. Probably rich.

  “No sense putting your granddaughter’s life at risk.”

  “That’s my thought exactly.”

  Ivy picked up one of the discarded fishing poles and demonstrated how to slide a grasshopper onto the hook.

  “From what I hear,” Flynn added, “the dangers of the trail are bound to get worse.”

  “After everything I’ve read and heard, that’s what I’m afraid of. Hundreds die from all manner of diseases and accidents every year on the way to the west.”

  Linnea be
nt to retrieve the other pole. With both hands full, the blanket fell away, pooling at her feet. As she straightened, her gown and strange frilly white pantaloons stuck to her skin, outlining her lovely figure and leaving little to the imagination.

  Flynn swallowed hard and tore his gaze away. Holy horses. He didn’t need to be looking on a woman, stirring up all his longings and making things harder on himself. Although he was sorely tempted to take another peek, he shifted his entire body so he found himself facing Nash and Jericho Bliss.

  From where they stood guard over the cattle, they had a clear view of Linnea and had stopped their jawing to stare openly at her. Dylan paused in brushing Rimrock and was watching Linnea with rounded eyes. No doubt so was every other man within a hundred-mile radius.

  Except Dr. Howell, who was rubbing at his clean-shaven chin and studying the fire, oblivious to his granddaughter’s womanly appeal.

  Flynn tamped down a strange sense of irritation.

  “I love my granddaughter dearly. But she’s quite the handful for an old man like me.”

  Dr. Howell wasn’t all that old. If Flynn had to guess, he’d put the man at sixty-five.

  “Truthfully,” Dr. Howell continued, “she’s a handful for anyone of any age. She’s full of so much energy and zest for life that sometimes she doesn’t think of the consequences of what she’s doing until it’s too late.”

  “Then I reckon the best thing is for you to find a group heading back to Fort Leavenworth and to send her packing with them.”

  Dr. Howell stared at the fire. The rushing water of the river and the rustling wind in the leaves overhead filled the silence. Finally, he sighed. “Young man, you’re probably right. I know Linnea won’t like my decision, but what else can I do?”

  “Other than hire someone to stand guard over her day and night, there ain’t much you can do.” Of course, Dr. Howell could consider Ivy’s suggestion that Linnea get married again. No doubt she’d have plenty of willing suitors if she but put the word out that she needed a husband.