The Heart of a Cowboy Read online

  Holding the ball of wet garments she’d shed, she tried to steady herself but wobbled, her legs buckling beneath her.

  Without wasting another moment, he swept her up into his arms, which was easy because she weighed less than a baby bird just out of its nest. She released a startled exclamation but then easily settled against him.

  “I’m sorry for wandering off and causing you so much trouble.” With lips quivering and strands of hair plastered to her cheeks, she searched his face as though seeking forgiveness there. “When I saw the horse running off, I thought I could chase it down and bring it back.”

  “Figured that’s what you’d done.”

  “I just wanted to help since I knew how important leaving early was to you.” Her long lashes framed innocent eyes, eyes that begged him to understand. “Please don’t be mad.”

  “I ain’t mad.”

  “Are you sure? Not even a little?”

  “Nope. Not even a little.” The relief at finding her left little room for any other emotion.

  “Thank you, Flynn—”

  “But you gotta promise from here on out, you won’t go off by yourself, not for any reason.”

  “I promise. In fact, I solemnly promise I won’t step an inch outside of camp unless I’m with someone else.”

  Flynn had a notion to make her promise she wouldn’t go anywhere without him, but he reckoned that was taking his job a mite too far.

  She smiled up at him sweetly. “I’ll promise you, if you’ll promise me one thing.”

  A warning went off inside him.

  “All I want you to do is promise you won’t tell Grandfather how cold and wet and lost I was. I don’t want to unnecessarily worry him.”

  He bit back his of exasperation. What was it with the two of them needing to hide things from each other?

  “The truth is—” she bit her bottom lip—“if he knows how far I wandered off, this time he really will send me back East.”

  Was this the kind of foolish wandering Linnea had already done on the trip, leaving Dr. Howell desperate enough to hire a stranger to look after her?

  “I realize I’m putting you in an awkward situation. But please, please let me talk to him and explain what happened.” Her lashes fell and fanned out against her pale cheeks before she lifted them again.

  How could he say no to her when she batted her eyes like that? How could any man in his right mind deny her whatever she wanted? Apparently her grandfather couldn’t any more than the rest of them.

  He blew out a breath. “Alright.”

  Her smile widened. “Thank you.”

  He shook his head and approached the horse. “Hang on, now. We’ll ride together so we don’t waste any more time.”

  Once she was up in the saddle, he hesitated to climb up behind her. When he’d agreed to guard her, he never bargained on having to guard his heart.

  Weary and cold, Linnea let herself lean in to Flynn as they rode. More than anything, she was weak with relief. She’d been wet and miserable, trying not to worry too much, knowing she’d have to wait for the mist to lift before she’d be able to take stock of her surroundings and attempt to find her way back to camp.

  She’d never expected to hear Flynn’s voice calling to her. But from the moment she had, she’d all but fallen in love with him. Well, not truly. But she admired him more now than ever, which only made his dislike of her all the harder to withstand.

  For a man who didn’t like her, Flynn had been more than kind and considerate. Not only had he braved the cold and fog to come after her, but he shed his dry garments to warm her, treated her with respect though she’d been unclothed, and placed her upon his steed as if she were a porcelain teacup.

  His chest and arms surrounded her and radiated into her body, lending her even more warmth. “Flynn?”

  “Hmmm?”

  “I hope you won’t be mad at me for yesterday either—when I wasn’t grieving for my husband properly.”

  He stiffened in the saddle behind her.

  “I really do want to honor my husband’s memory as best I can.”

  He was silent, and the thudding of the horse’s hooves against the wet earth echoed eerily in the fog, as if they were the only two on the entire prairie. With only a lantern to guide them, she wasn’t sure how he could find his way, but somehow he seemed to know where he was going.

  “Listen.” The low timber of his voice rumbled in her ear, and his breath tickled her cheek. “I’m the one needing to apologize. What I said wasn’t necessary, wasn’t even nice.”

  Her retort fell away, replaced by wonder that this man had humbled himself enough to make amends. Not that he’d needed to. Nevertheless, she’d take it and hold on to it as an offering of friendship.

  “I behaved like a donkey. And I’m sorry.”

  With the solid pressure of his chest against her back and his arms boxing her in, she pictured his long fingers on her buttons, skimming down her bodice. Her breathing quickened, just as it had before.

  She sat forward slightly, needing some distance from the powerful tug that somehow existed with Flynn. “You didn’t behave like a donkey. I need to be more careful in how I conduct myself, and I shall surely try as hard as I can to remain discreet and chaste in all my interactions.”

  They had a long journey ahead with possibly weeks, if not months, together. She had to start today and take great care that she didn’t lead this man on in any way. “Besides, I’ve been told by friends I’m too bold, though I don’t mean to be. I suppose I have naturally absorbed some of my mother’s views that women shouldn’t have to be so reticent.”

  “Don’t matter how pretty a woman is—” His voice cracked, and he cleared his throat. “And it don’t matter how much a fella might have a hankering for her. Fact is, a man’s got a responsibility to control himself. Plain and simple.”

  Hankering? “So does that mean you have a hankering for me, Flynn McQuaid?” She shouldn’t tease him. Hadn’t she just chastised herself to be careful? Even so, she couldn’t let his comment pass by.

  He shifted in the saddle. “Nope. I’m not planning on hankering for a woman now or ever.”

  Something in his tone told her he was serious. Even so, she kept the mood light. “Very well. Since you have no plans on hankering for me, then perhaps we can settle on friendship. Surely you cannot find fault in developing a friendship, can you?”

  He was silent and stiff for a dozen paces before he gave a curt nod. “Suppose friendship won’t hurt.”

  “Not with me, it won’t.”

  When he didn’t respond, she had the feeling he didn’t quite believe her. She’d just have to show him he had nothing to worry about and that she could be a good friend—maybe even the best he’d ever had.

  CHAPTER 6

  “Flynn told me he has no interest in developing a relationship with a woman.” Linnea sat back on her heels along the bank of Cottonwood Creek where she and Ivy were attempting to do laundry. Her attention swung to Flynn on the edge of their campsite, where he stood beside one of the horses, replacing a worn shoe. His shirt stretched tight as he worked on the horseshoe, outlining his broad back and shoulders.

  “Does that mean he’s still pining away for the woman he left behind?” Linnea asked. “Maybe still in love with her?”

  Ivy swirled a blouse in the swift-moving water. “Naw. He’s got his sights set on you now.”

  “We’re just friends, Ivy.” Linnea attempted to douse the pleasure Ivy’s declaration brought. Over the past week of traveling with the McQuaids, Linnea had done her best to treat Flynn like a friend just as she said she would.

  She made a point of walking alongside him for a few miles of traveling each day when he gave his horse a break from riding. While she’d gotten to know him a little bit, he wasn’t overly talkative, and she gleaned most of her information about Flynn and the McQuaid family from Ivy.

  Like now, as they laundered their clothing while waiting for Clay’s call for supper, Ivy had
started talking about Flynn’s former love interest again, telling Linnea about the time Helen had come over to do Flynn’s laundry.

  “Helen sure did have her heart set on having Flynn.” Ivy swatted at a pesky biting fly. At times the insects were incessant in their biting, causing all sorts of misery for everyone. “I reckon from the moment Helen was born, she decided she’d marry Flynn.”

  Linnea finished wringing the water from her chemise and draped it over the horsetail, where it would hopefully dry by morning when they broke camp. Several other women from another caravan were in the process of doing the same chore a short distance away.

  The river crossing a couple hours ago had been dangerous and difficult, especially getting all the cattle across. With the day nearly spent, Flynn made the decision to make camp for the evening. Dylan and Ivy and Jericho had caught fish for their supper, and now the scent of the frying fish wafted toward them, making Linnea’s stomach grumble.

  She tried to ignore the hunger pangs that had been gaining in intensity with each passing day—from all the physical activity and fresh air, no doubt. “If Helen was so intent on marrying him, then why didn’t they go through with it?”

  “He was aiming to propose, leastways I heard him talking to Ma about it once. But then after Ma died, I reckon he was too torn up.”

  “That would make sense, although I’m not sure why that would cause him to cancel his nuptials altogether.”

  “Helen was still trying mighty hard to get him to marry her right up until the day we left.”

  “Maybe he’ll invite her west once he’s settled.”

  Ivy grinned. “Not if he marries you first.”

  “You’re silly.” Linnea ducked her head to avoid the inevitable pull to stare at Flynn and admire the fine specimen of manhood he made.

  “No matter what he says, he ain’t gonna be able to hold off gettin’ married for too long, not after the way I saw him smooching Helen in the haymow last summer.”

  A strange curiosity piqued Linnea. What would it be like to kiss Flynn?

  As quickly as the question came, shame followed just as rapidly. How could she even think about such a thing? It was entirely disloyal to Asa.

  She plunged a pair of socks into the water and scrubbed them with a bar of Castile soap, the acrid scent of lye rising into the air and making her nostrils itch.

  “He was kissing Helen like there was no tomorrow.” Ivy giggled.

  With Flynn’s adamant statement about not being interested in having a woman, Linnea was surprised he’d been so involved with Helen. Had she broken his heart?

  “He was mortified I saw him.” Ivy twisted the wet garment in the water, playing with it more than cleaning it. “Later, when he came to talk to me, I never saw a face as red as his. Told me he’d behaved badly and didn’t want me carrying on with any boys the way he’d been carrying on with Helen.”

  “I agree with Flynn. Carrying on, as you say, truly is meant for the bounds of marriage.” As soon as the words were out, somehow they sounded glib, even insignificant, for explaining the importance of honoring the marriage bed.

  Ivy shrugged, shifting her attention to the herd resting in the shade of the cottonwoods, where Dylan and Jericho were picking burs off the cattle that had wandered into the spiny cocklebur, Xanthium spinosum, after the crossing.

  At sixteen, Dylan was turning into a fine-looking young man with Flynn’s light brown hair and greenish blue eyes. His long, spindly legs and ankles poked out from frayed hems on his trousers. Like Ivy, he often went barefoot—likely to avoid his boots that were worn away at his big toes.

  Linnea had learned Jericho was also sixteen and was traveling with Nash, his older brother, to the gold mines of Colorado. The brothers had signed on to help drive the cattle in exchange for transport west.

  As far as Linnea could tell, Nash worked hard and got along well enough with Flynn. With the way Nash kept his eye on Jericho, Linnea sensed he was as much a father to Jericho as Flynn was to his siblings.

  Whatever the case, Jericho seemed to have an easy friendship with Dylan and Ivy. He was mature and responsible and every bit as handsome as Dylan. Once in a while, Linnea noticed Ivy blushing around the hired cowhand, and sensed the girl was starting to grow up.

  She reached up and gently stroked Ivy’s tangled hair. “If you’d like, I can teach you how to style your hair.”

  Ivy tore her attention away from Jericho.

  “You have such thick, dark hair. It could use some taming.” Not that she wanted Ivy to start attracting the attention of Jericho or any other man. No doubt, she would be able to do that all on her own in a few years. She had beautiful features and would turn into a very pretty woman.

  Even so, Ivy could use a little guidance. Especially since it hadn’t taken Linnea long to realize the girl was a tomboy through and through. She supposed living in a household of four brothers was bound to influence a girl into acting more like a man.

  Ivy raised dripping fingers to her hair and tugged on a strand. “Sometimes I wish I could just cut it all off and wear it short. But then other times . . .” She glanced again at Jericho, then sighed.

  “I don’t mind showing you a trick or two I’ve learned over the years at keeping my hair from being too bothersome.”

  Ivy hesitated. “I’ve seen the way the men look at you, like you’re some kind of goddess.”

  Linnea chuckled and finished scrubbing her socks. “Our goal in taking care of our hair and bodies isn’t so we can impress men. We do it because we want to fulfill the potential God gave us.”

  “I could never be like you.”

  “And you don’t have to be. You just have to be the truest form of you.”

  Although Linnea had sometimes lamented her mother’s nontraditional parenting style, she was grateful her mother had always encouraged her to be comfortable and confident in who she was. At least she’d had a mother, unlike Ivy, who had no one she could turn to for womanly advice or conversation.

  Ivy sat up on her knees. “Okay.”

  “Okay?”

  “You can help me with my hair.”

  Linnea squeezed Ivy’s arm. “I promise you’ll like it.”

  One of Ivy’s eyebrows quirked up.

  Linnea stood and wiped her hands on her skirt. “I’ll go get my lavender soap, and we’ll start by washing it.”

  “Wash it? Do we have to?”

  “Yes.” Linnea started back toward the camp through the long, rough horsetail, her skirt swishing against the dark green hollow stems. The tiny ridges along the length contained rough silica that gave the plant its name and rasped almost musically.

  As she broke through the swampy stems and started toward their wagons, shouts and the galloping of horses startled her. She stepped back in time to watch a white-tailed deer leap from out of nowhere and bound past her.

  The creature was large with antlers, giving it a magnificent, ageless quality. It moved with such speed and grace simultaneously that she could only stare at it in wonder, even as her grandfather and the other scientists charged past her on their mounts, chasing the deer with unfettered excitement, their revolvers smoking.

  Flynn moved away from the horse he was attending and started after Grandfather and the others, scowling and waving his arms at them to stop. One of the men shot again, but thankfully, the deer was too far ahead and out of range of the bullet.

  Yes, they would benefit from having the meat, but she was too softhearted when it came to killing animals. She hated to see any of God’s creatures come to harm, and she held her breath, hoping the beautiful deer would be safe this time.

  At a heavy rumble in the ground behind her, along with the bleating and snorting of cattle, she glanced over her shoulder. The herd was on the move and picking up speed. Had Grandfather and the other men spooked the cattle with their shouting and shooting?

  Her gaze shifted to the swath of land that lay in the path of the herd, a path that led directly toward the wooden plant presse
s she’d left out, along with the crate containing the plants they’d catalogued so far. She’d placed them in a sunny spot, wanting to make sure everything was dry. They couldn’t risk damp specimens growing mold and ruining their presses as well as contaminating other important research.

  Her heart began to thud an urgent beat. After the past few weeks of meticulous work, she couldn’t let the cattle trample everything. The Smithsonian was counting on them to include a chapter in the field guide regarding the flora of the western prairie. This research was vital to the compilation of the book.

  Did she have time to try to save at least the crate?

  With a glance, she measured the distance of the oncoming herd. She might have a chance.

  Darting forward, she picked up her skirt and raced toward the crate, keeping one eye on the steers and one on her destination. She could do it. She had to.

  “No, Linnea!” Flynn’s shout rose above her thudding heart. But she ignored him and forced herself to go faster. She nearly fell to her knees as she reached the research. Heaving for breath, she grabbed the open container. Did she have enough time to rescue anything else?

  The ground rumbled. The cattle were picking up speed and racing her way. A new sense of urgency rammed through her. She’d heard of stampedes, but she’d never seen one. And now not only was she seeing one, she was about to experience one much too personally.

  Sucking in a breath, she charged back the way she’d come, needing to get clear of their pathway, but having only seconds to do so. At the same time she scrambled for her life, Flynn was running toward her and the cattle, his revolver outstretched.

  His expression was hard, rigid with determination. He pointed his gun toward the lead steers and shot, the bang echoing above the thundering hooves. One bullet whizzed over the closest steers and another hit the ground near their hooves. The blasts were apparently enough to frighten the lead cattle, turning the direction of the stampede, so that as Linnea reached Flynn, only their scent barreled into her and nothing else.