The Heart of a Cowboy Read online

  Linnea, on the other hand, was content to stroll through the grass, reveling in the Andropogon gerardii, also called big bluestem or turkey-foot. For so early in the season, the culm was thin and yet erect and solid and round. The blades were a half-inch wide, bluish, and rough above while smooth below.

  She’d already pressed and dried a specimen earlier in the week. Though the bluestem wasn’t yet flowering and wouldn’t until late June or July, she could already see the growth in just a week and wanted to measure the difference. She’d love to see it later in the summer at the pinnacle of growth, sometimes reaching as high as seven feet.

  “The Shorthorns like the tallgrass.” Ivy chewed on the stem, twisting it around with her tongue. “Tom Gordon told us to make sure to let the cattle graze on it aplenty if we want to keep them from losing too much weight during the journey.”

  “That’s because Andropogon gerardii is full of protein, especially in the spring and summer before the chemical composition changes and the nutritious quality decreases.”

  Ivy halted so abruptly that Linnea tripped in her effort to stop. At the sight of Ivy’s wide eyes, Linnea peered around, looking for whatever had startled the girl. “What is it, sweetheart?”

  At times, Linnea couldn’t help but feel as if she were walking through heaven to be in the midst of so many unique species of grasses, some that had never before been identified and catalogued. But she was equally fascinated by the flowers, insects, arachnids, and small mammals she happened upon too. Although their expedition was focused solely on developing a book on the flora, she was keeping a journal of everything that fascinated her. “What did you see? I’m sure I’d love to examine it too.”

  Ivy spit out the long piece of grass. “Just ain’t never heard a woman talk with so many big and fancy words.”

  Linnea frowned, trying to remember the last thing she’d spoken to Ivy. Before she could work it out, Flynn reined his horse beside them. “Something wrong?” He tipped up the brim of his hat, revealing his brows furrowed above serious eyes.

  The sky above was a pristine blue, dotted with a few fluffy clouds. The wind blew mildly, just enough to rustle the grass. And the early afternoon temperature was perfect without being too cold or too hot. They couldn’t have asked for better travel weather even if they’d tried.

  Nevertheless, Linnea felt strangely chilled under Flynn’s scrutiny. She wasn’t sure what she’d done wrong, but ever since leaving the Neosho River valley, she’d had the distinct feeling he didn’t like her. Maybe she was only imagining his aloofness.

  Whatever the case, she wasn’t in his good graces. “Nothing is wrong, Mr. McQuaid. At least nothing of which I’m aware. Ivy? How about you? Is anything amiss?”

  One of the girl’s brows quirked. “Amiss?”

  “Yes, you stopped so suddenly, I thought perhaps you spotted something.”

  “Nope, I ain’t spotted nothing but the same old grass.”

  “Old grass? Oh no, sweetheart. This grass isn’t old. It’s actually in the early stages of growth without inflorescences or spikelets.”

  Ivy met Flynn’s gaze, both of her brows raised. “See what I mean?”

  Flynn’s lips shifted into a slight smile. “Yep. Sure do.” The smile, however small, softened the hard lines of his face. Atop his horse, he had a powerful aura that exuded strength. She could see why Grandfather had wanted to ride with him.

  Now he and Ivy regarded her as though she was some strange new specimen of woman they’d never seen before.

  “What?” She patted her coif, her discarded bonnet hanging down her back. She’d refashioned her tangled, damp hair before they’d set out. Of course, she hadn’t minded wearing her hair down. In fact, she rather wished women like her weren’t so socially bound toward particular hairstyles and had more freedom to let their hair hang loose if they so desired. But only young girls had that option.

  Ivy studied Linnea’s hair and then her face with open admiration. “You said you weren’t like most women, and I guess you weren’t jesting.”

  Linnea smiled. “I warned you, didn’t I? Are you tired of me already?”

  “Don’t rightly see how anyone could ever get tired of you. Not with how pretty and smart and sweet you are. Ain’t that right, Flynn?”

  Flynn’s full gaze landed upon Linnea and swept over her, making a slow trail from the flyaway strands of her hair, over her face, to her neck, down her body, all the way to her feet. Something about this handsome man’s scrutiny made strange tingles race over her skin.

  She wasn’t sure why. She’d had plenty of men pay her attention over the past few years since she officially entered society. She even had plenty of men look her over from her head to her toes.

  But none like this rugged cowboy. Not even Asa.

  Asa had adored her. Perhaps too much. Especially since she hadn’t felt anything for him beyond friendship. Asa had claimed her feelings for him would eventually grow.

  But during their last few weeks together before his death, her affection hadn’t increased. Instead, she’d felt stifled from his attention and compliments. She didn’t like to admit to herself she’d even begun to dread his touch. His kisses and even the intimacy they’d shared during the rare nights of privacy had always felt perfunctory, like something she must endure.

  One of her mother’s blush-worthy discussions had involved the marriage bed and how loving should be mutual, that God intended for both man and woman to enjoy the intimacy. After hearing her mother’s views, Linnea had entered her own marriage with an open mind. But no matter how hard she tried, she hadn’t been able to fabricate the same pleasure Asa seemed to find.

  After never experiencing a physical response with Asa, how was it possible this man she barely knew could elicit one? Even as he drew his gaze back up her body, the warmth in her stomach spread, much like an inkblot seeping deeper and wider into paper.

  When his gaze connected again with hers, he didn’t hide his frank appreciation. Something within the depths of his green-blue eyes said he saw her as a beautiful and desirable woman. And for a reason she couldn’t explain, the warm ink inside spilled and spread its tendrils further through her middle.

  “I can see you think Linnea’s real pretty.” Ivy’s voice broke into the lengthening silence. “You can’t deny it so don’t even try.”

  “I won’t.” Flynn’s voice was low.

  Linnea focused on the strands of various grasses she held. But she didn’t see them, only saw his green-blue eyes.

  “But it don’t matter how pretty Mrs. Newberry is.” Flynn’s tone turned matter-of-fact. “She’s a widow, and she’s grieving the loss of her husband.”

  Widow. Grieving. The words seemed to reach out and slap Linnea hard across her cheeks. Mortification welled up so swiftly, she felt the sudden need to bury her face in her hands to hide her shame.

  Asa had been in the grave for less than two months. How could she allow herself to dwell on even the slightest attraction to Flynn? Doing so was not only wanton, it was disloyal to Asa. He’d been a good man and a good husband. Most of all, he’d been the first to recognize the contributions she could make to the expedition.

  He deserved to have her grieve for him properly and not cast him aside the first time a man turned her head.

  “You’re correct.” She couldn’t meet his gaze. “I am grieving. Asa was a wonderful man, and I won’t ever forget him.”

  Even though she just had, she vowed she wouldn’t again. And as Flynn directed his horse away and rode back to the herd, she refused to let her gaze follow him.

  CHAPTER 4

  He’d been a donkey to Linnea. Watching her from the corner of his eye, Flynn leaned against the wagon bed and sopped the last bite of hard cracker in the grease from the roasted rabbit Dylan had shot and dressed. The boy was a natural sharpshooter and, after they’d stopped for the evening had easily rounded up several hares.

  Linnea sat with her grandfather and the three other scientists in their grou
p, listening raptly to their description of the herd of bison they’d come across that afternoon. Ivy and Dylan had joined them around the campfire, now blazing from the dried buffalo chips Ivy had collected. The two joined in the conversation, especially Dylan, flirting with Linnea every chance he had. At sixteen, the boy couldn’t pass up the opportunity to chase after any female that gave him half a second’s worth of attention.

  Nearby, another large caravan had made camp for the night, circling their wagons together to provide a corral for the livestock. His herd rested a short distance away outside the fold—too big to contain—with Nash and Jericho taking the first watch. At least, this early in the spring, they didn’t have to worry about the grass being overgrazed. Tom Gordon had warned that later in the summer, they’d have a harder time finding grass for the cattle, especially on land adjacent to the trail.

  A couple of the cows were nearing birthing time. And one had a lame foot. But for now, their main worry at night was theft and stampedes.

  Of course, with Diamond Springs only half a day’s journey to the west, all the other travelers were talking about the attack there a few weeks ago. A captain of the Confederate army and his band of renegades raided the small settlement. They killed one man, wounded a woman, burned the stage station, and plundered the rest of the village. No one knew where these guerilla soldiers—and other ruffians like them—were hiding. And everyone feared more aggression.

  Linnea’s laughter wafted toward him, followed by Ivy’s. All day and now all evening, Ivy had trailed the beautiful woman like a pup eager for a pat on the head. Linnea had happily given Ivy every bit of attention she craved. Although Linnea had been quieter and more reserved after he’d been harsh with her, she continued to shower Ivy with kindness.

  The last bite of cracker stuck in his throat. He hadn’t needed to be such a donkey, and he wished he could take back his comments about her being a grieving widow. He’d been angry—mainly at himself for finding her so attractive and for being stuck in a position where he was forced to keep on looking at her and feeding his attraction.

  He shouldn’t have accepted Dr. Howell’s offer, no matter how good it was. He was swindling the man, especially because watching over Linnea hadn’t been any more difficult than keeping an eye on Ivy. No doubt Dr. Howell had exaggerated his granddaughter’s knack for danger, had probably wanted a nursemaid so he could run off and explore with the other scientists without feeling guilty for leaving the young woman behind.

  No matter. Flynn shouldn’t have lashed out at her. She hadn’t done anything wrong in staring at him so curiously. Even if her eyes had flared with an appreciation that had lit a match inside him, she hadn’t done anything to deserve his tongue-lashing. Dr. Howell had already told him she hadn’t been married long enough to develop a bond with her husband. Besides, grieving widows got remarried all the time, sometimes quickly out of necessity, just like his ma had done.

  Flynn’s attention shifted first to Dr. Johnson and Dr. Parker, then to Dr. Greely, who’d positioned himself next to Linnea. The firelight reflected off his spectacles and the few strands of silver in his hair and beard. His pipe glowed orange as he took a puff. Old enough to be her father, he was a hefty man with a boisterous laugh and a loud voice. Like most other travelers who’d purchased gear in the shops in frontier towns, he wore thick woolen pants reinforced with buckskin where the legs came into contact with the saddle. His shirt was a blue flannel, his socks woolen, and his knee-length boots were wide enough to tuck his pants into them.

  Flynn had only spoken with him briefly when they’d set up camp, and he’d been pleasant enough. Having lost his wife two years ago, the want of a woman dripped from Dr. Greely as readily as the dew that covered the tallgrass every morning and soaked their trousers and shoes. Even now, he leaned closer to Linnea as he relayed a description of a bison calf.

  She hadn’t encouraged him in any way. But she hadn’t needed to. Just being herself was enough. It surefire had been enough to draw him in. Even now, he couldn’t stop thinking about her.

  “Thunderation,” he whispered, pushing away from the wagon and wiping his plate and knife clean in the grass. Enough was enough. He wasn’t interested in having a woman, not now or ever.

  He grabbed the bucket containing a mixture of tallow, tar, and rosin, and set to work greasing the axles and checking each of the wheels by firelight. He made short work of securing a loose tie on the canvas, then moved on to Dr. Howell’s wagon, making the same inspections.

  Before sunset, clouds had been gathering to the west. The dampness of the air hinted at rain to come, and he had the feeling they’d get a shower or two during the night. So far, they’d had very few wet days or nights. But this early in the spring, they were bound to have rain, some even heavy.

  “Thank you, Mr. McQuaid.” Clay, the hired hand for Dr. Howell’s party, stood above Flynn as he slid out from underneath the wagon. Clean-shaven with slicked-back hair, the young man was apparently one of Dr. Howell’s household staff who’d come along to tend to the older gentleman.

  From what Flynn had patched together, Dr. Howell came from a family of old money. One of the other scientists had made a comment about Dr. Howell having a lord in England as a relative. Whatever his history, it was mighty clear he was highborn and wasn’t aiming to be without his servant even on this trip.

  In addition to waiting on Dr. Howell hand and foot, Clay was apparently responsible for setting up camp, starting the fire, and cooking a decent meal. Although he seemed close to Flynn’s twenty-two years of age, the manservant lacked the basic know-how for trail life.

  Flynn tugged on the canvas, making sure it was pulled taut. “Everything’s ready for the morning. Figured we’d pull out at five. Think you can hitch the oxen and be ready to go by then?”

  Clay glanced toward the campfire and the scientists. “Dr. Howell prefers to have time to shave and have his morning tea before starting.”

  Flynn suppressed an irritated sigh. “You can tell Dr. Howell and everyone else, they’ll have to wait for shaving and tea ’til we take our midday break.”

  Clay started to protest, but Flynn spun on his heels and stalked away, wishing once again he hadn’t agreed to partner with Dr. Howell’s expedition. They were outfitted with the highest quality of provisions and the best horses money could buy. The almighty truth was he couldn’t relate to such men and had little patience for them.

  He spread out a tarpaulin underneath his wagon and began piling the saddles underneath, where they would hopefully stay dry.

  “Mr. McQuaid?”

  At Dr. Howell’s call, Flynn braced himself for opposition to his orders. He straightened and faced the group still lounging around the campfire, most in oak-framed camp chairs covered in canvas, the expensive kind that collapsed and were easily stored in a wagon. All eyes turned to him, except Linnea’s. She focused instead on the open notebook on her lap, sketching another plant.

  Dr. Howell nodded at his manservant, hovering over him. “Clay has explained to me that you expect to leave at five o’clock.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Is so early an hour truly necessary?”

  “We need to drive the cattle in the cooler part of the morning.”

  The scientists began talking at once, proposing various options. Flynn crossed his arms. This wasn’t a leisure trip for him. He was on a mission to get every single one of the cattle to Wyatt. And if these men didn’t like the schedule that was best for the livestock, then they’d just have to part ways.

  “Please, everyone!” Linnea jumped up so abruptly her notebook fell into the grass close to the fire. Ivy lurched for it, grabbing it up before it could burst into flames. Dr. Greely, apparently the ultimate gentleman, was on his feet in the next instant, lending Linnea a steadying hand.

  She offered Dr. Greely a grateful smile, then turned her attention to the others as amiably as always. “Please, let us do our best to accommodate Mr. McQuaid and his companions. As they have s
o graciously allowed us to accompany them, the least we can do is follow their schedule.”

  Her grandfather and the other scientists had risen now too. “You are quite right, young lady. Quite right.”

  “Thank you, Grandfather.”

  “Young man”—Dr. Howell addressed Flynn—“you can count on us. We shall be ready at five o’clock sharp.”

  Though the others grumbled, no one voiced any further objections. Before he turned to go, Flynn caught Linnea watching him. As earlier, the merest touch of her gaze sent a shot of heat into his veins, a shot he didn’t want but that pulsed through him anyway.

  In spite of his reaction, he nodded and hoped she could read his gratefulness for standing behind his decision.

  She nodded in return, then dropped her attention to the fire.

  Inwardly he sighed. She was a sweet woman and wasn’t at fault for stirring up attraction between them, likely didn’t even realize she was doing so. Whatever he was feeling was his issue and his alone. He had to apologize to her. In fact, he reckoned he wouldn’t be able to rest until he did.

  Rivulets of rain ran down the inside of the canvas and dripped into the wagon bed. Linnea had already covered the chest containing their research with her waterproof coverlet. She draped a tarpaulin over the press where several species of grass were drying. And she also placed her most recent discoveries back into her vasculum. The cylindrical botanical box would hopefully keep the plants dry and safe.

  Though she could hardly see in the darkness of the night, she’d done the best she could to salvage their research since she’d awoken a short while ago to find the rain pounding hard against the canvas and leaking inside.

  Now she needed to go out and insist that Grandfather and the others join her inside the wagon. The dear man would resist imposing on her privacy, but she was fully dressed. And inside, though it would be crowded and dripping with rainwater, was much drier than underneath, where the men had taken to spreading out their bedrolls when it rained. That worked with a gentle sprinkle, but with the strength of this storm, she could only imagine how wet they were.