The Heart of a Cowboy Read online

  Flynn backed into her, holding his arms out and shielding her body with his. Already Dylan, Jericho, and Nash had mounted their horses and were chasing after the cattle and forcing them to circle back around, hopefully keeping them from scattering too far.

  As soon as the last of the steers bolted past, Flynn spun and grasped both her upper arms. His expression radiated concern. “You alright?”

  She nodded, too shaken to make her voice work.

  He took her in, his grip biting. “You sure?”

  She swallowed hard, pushing down the swell of her emotion. “You go. You need to help stop the cattle from getting away.”

  He hesitated, as though afraid to leave her alone.

  “I’ll be fine. Save the cattle.”

  With a curt nod, he hurried off toward his horse, his limping gait hardly slowing him. She could only watch him with a growing sense of frustration at herself. This was the third time Flynn had rescued her from possible death. What if she’d been wrong to finagle her way into joining the expedition? Were Grandfather’s concerns justified?

  The doubts stayed with her all through dinner and afterward. As the fire crackled and sent sparks into the darkness, the chatter around camp was more subdued. Even though the stampede had been squelched and the cattle turned and rounded up, Grandfather and the other scientists were chastened by their part in what could have been a disaster, especially when they’d learned how close Linnea had come to being trampled.

  They lost a number of recently collected specimens, and the presses were damaged. Grandfather and Dr. Greely insisted that they would replace the lost research, and Dr. Johnson claimed he’d fix the presses, while Dr. Parker offered to build new ones if necessary. Everyone reassured her. Except Flynn, who didn’t speak to her once.

  As the evening wore on, her chest tightened until she couldn’t think about anything except loosening it. She knew only one thing would. As she stood, Dr. Greely, her grandfather, and the others rose from their camp chairs, watching her expectantly.

  She would have preferred sneaking off quietly, but they were only being gentlemen, and she couldn’t fault them for maintaining good manners even in the untamed prairie.

  “I think I shall turn in early tonight.”

  Grandfather’s brows had maintained a perpetual crease all evening. “You’re certain you are unharmed, young lady?”

  “Yes, Grandfather.” She gave him what had to have been at least the hundredth reassuring smile of the evening. “I’m perfectly unharmed.” Except perhaps her pride.

  With a chorus of good-nights, the men sat back down. She made her way to the wagon, passing Ivy and Dylan playing their usual game of cards. Instead of climbing into the wagon bed, she circled around behind it until she reached Flynn. He was bent over the tongue tightening a bolt.

  With his back facing her, she wasn’t exactly sure how to get his attention without frightening him.

  He paused, cast a slight glance in her direction, and then resumed his efforts.

  She should have known he’d hear or see her approach—or perhaps both. “Flynn?”

  His hands grew motionless.

  “I’m appalled I put you in another situation where you had to save me.”

  He shifted, and his eyes were blazing mad. “What you did out there was real reckless and plain stupid.”

  “I was trying to save all our research—”

  “Don’t matter. You never, ever get in front of a stampeding herd of cattle like that again. D’ya hear me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Not for any reason.”

  “I won’t.”

  He turned back around, muttering angrily.

  “I apologize—”

  “I don’t want your blasted apology, Linnea.” He pivoted so he was now facing her fully. He opened his mouth as if he wanted to yell at her for a little while longer. But as he took in her face—and hopefully her contrition—he clamped his lips closed.

  “I haven’t known you long, Flynn, but already I can see what a brave man you are for taking on so much responsibility, not just with your family, but now with us too.”

  His beautiful, expressive green-blue eyes met hers. The spark of anger was gone, but the turmoil remained.

  “No matter how good you are at taking care of everyone, you’re not God. And you can’t blame yourself when bad things happen to people.”

  “Sometimes you can’t keep from blaming yourself”—his voice was low—“especially when you know you could have been there to do more.”

  Linnea had the feeling they weren’t discussing what happened earlier in the day anymore. She stood quietly waiting for him to elaborate, but he shifted, focused on the bolt, and twisted it again, the muscles in his arms rippling with the movement.

  She was half tempted to grab his hand and draw his attention back to her. But what good would that do? Except to stir up something between them that didn’t need stirring.

  “Good night, Flynn.”

  “’Night.”

  As much as she wanted to stay, she forced herself to walk away.

  Flynn stood in the shadows and watched Dylan creep out from underneath a covered wagon across the caravan circle. With everyone fast asleep except for those on night guard, the low light of several campfires hardly touched on the moving figure. But Flynn had seen his brother disappear under the wagon with one of the young women he’d been flirting with all day. Flynn had debated going over and yanking Dylan out, but he felt terrible making a scene with his brother when he was far from perfect himself.

  Good thing Dylan was paying attention to the passing of time and knew when they needed to relieve Jericho and Nash.

  As the kid came slinking back to their campsite, Flynn stepped away from their wagon. Dylan startled. “Holy tarnation, Flynn. You scared me.”

  “You ready to head out?”

  Dylan began stuffing his shirt into his trousers. “Yep. Ready as ever.”

  “You didn’t get any shut-eye.”

  “Got a little.”

  Flynn cocked a brow.

  Dylan grinned. “What?”

  “You need to watch yourself with the young ladies.” Flynn shoved his hands into his pockets. He was past due in having a man-to-man talk with his brother about the consequences that could come of doing things with the ladies he shouldn’t be.

  “Don’t get your feathers in a ruffle.” Dylan combed a hand through his mussed hair before he situated his hat back in place. “I’m careful.”

  “Careful isn’t good enough. There’s a reason the Good Book instructs us to abstain from—” Flynn paused and searched for a tame way to spell out his concern. “You don’t wanna end up having a baby. Not at your age.”

  “Shucks, Flynn. I didn’t sleep with the gal. We just had a little fun kissing is all.”

  “Reckon kissing is something special that oughta be saved for a special woman.”

  Dylan’s grin kicked up higher. “She was mighty special.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  Dylan shrugged.

  “Kissing might seem innocent enough, but once you get started down that rushing river, it ain’t easy to stop against the flow.”

  “I take it you’re speaking from personal experience?”

  Flynn’s mind flashed to the times kissing with Helen and getting carried away—something he wasn’t proud of. “Yep. Reckon so.”

  Dylan fastened a shirt button he’d missed earlier. “Reckon if you had to learn your lessons from personal experience, then maybe I will too.”

  “I didn’t have anyone pointing me to a right, wise path. You’re lucky I’m here to warn you and keep you from making mistakes.”

  “Yep. Real lucky.” Dylan’s voice was laced with sarcasm.

  Flynn felt more like an old man every day as he tried to be both pa and ma to his siblings. Linnea’s words from earlier in the evening clamored around his mind. “No matter how good you are at taking care of everyone, you’re not God. And you can’t b
lame yourself when bad things happen to people.”

  He’d been stewing on her almost getting trampled during the stampede and blaming himself for not watching out for her better. Why had he taken on the job from Dr. Howell? What had he been thinking? He didn’t exactly have the best record for protecting people he cared about. He’d failed with Brody. And he’d failed with his ma. Miserably.

  The day she died, her tortured screams had filtered out of the old farmhouse to the alfalfa field where he’d been haying. All the while she labored, he drove himself to exhaustion in order to keep himself busy. After endless hours, the midwife delivered another dead baby—a boy.

  When the midwife finally allowed him into Ma’s bedroom, he sat by her side, holding her limp hand. The sagging mattress seemed to swallow her up—at least what was left of the shell of the woman she’d become.

  “Flynn?” She opened her eyes and sought him out through the darkness settling over a room that smelled of blood and death.

  He squeezed her hand. “Right here, Ma.”

  “I’m sorry.” Her words were laden with sorrow and regrets, no doubt a heavy burden she’d carried since marrying Rusty.

  “You just get better, d’ya hear?” He tried to keep the sadness out of his own voice. She needed him to be the strong one.

  She drew in a shaky breath, then peered up at him intensely. “Take care of the kids.”

  “I will. I always do.”

  “I know. You’re a good son.” Her lashes fell. Her lips closed. And then she was gone.

  All he’d been able to think about was how he should have tried harder to convince her to stay while he still could. And now he didn’t want to fail with anyone else—not with Ivy, Dylan, or even Linnea. He didn’t know how he’d be able to live with himself if he failed again.

  Tugging his coat around him more securely, he jerked his head toward the area where the cattle were resting. “Let’s go.”

  Dylan didn’t budge. “Maybe Nash is right. Maybe you need a woman to help you loosen up.”

  Half a dozen feet from the wagon, Flynn halted, his back stiffening at the insult.

  “I see the way you’ve been lookin’ at Linnea. Reckon getting under a wagon with her might do you some good.”

  He had half a mind to turn around and wallop Dylan. There was so much wrong with what the kid said, especially the part about using a woman instead of cherishing her. But Flynn took a deep breath and forced himself to remain calm. “Didn’t you listen to a thing I just said?”

  “Nope.” Dylan began to softly whistle a melody and strode past him without a glance back.

  As Flynn stared after Dylan, his gut churned. Somehow he had to do better, try to get his brother to see reason, to keep the kid from straying further. He wasn’t sure how. But no matter what Linnea had said about him playing God, he wasn’t gonna give up on his family. After all, God had put him in charge, and he aimed to make sure he didn’t fall short in doing the job he’d been given.

  CHAPTER 7

  “The heifer’s birthin’!”

  Dylan’s call jerked at Flynn’s attention, but he couldn’t pull it away from Linnea and Dr. Greely strolling among the trees that grew along the banks of the Pawnee Fork. Both carried long tin containers that hung by straps from their shoulders as well as a pouch they used in their plant collecting.

  Linnea had told him the name of her tin container—a vasculum. And she’d opened it up to demonstrate how it allowed her to carry around plants without crushing them. She’d also given him an inventory of what was inside the pouch, showing him all the items she used in her botany research, including clippers, small shovels, and notebooks, among other items.

  Over the past couple of weeks since the stampede, his gruff rebuke hadn’t scared her away because she was as friendly as if nothing had happened. She made a point of walking with him every day, chattering on about the plants she was collecting, about the importance of the book her grandfather was compiling, and about the process they went through to dry, draw, and diagram each item.

  At first, he hadn’t been especially eager for her company, but lately he’d found himself anticipating the time with her and viewing the world around him through her eyes, noticing more details, seeing the beauty, and appreciating the littlest things in nature in a way he never had before. She was easy to talk to, sharing stories of her family back in New York, especially about her mother’s and sister’s suffragist beliefs. The more he learned about her family, the more he began to understand her.

  One thing he’d come to realize was that she wasn’t singling him out but was instead just plain friendly. She visited with lots of other travelers, including Dr. Greely. And for a reason Flynn didn’t want to analyze, the image of the two of them together was starting to burn like a brand in his hide.

  He straightened from the wagon wheel he was repairing and tried to drag his attention from the couple. But his sights stayed planted right on her as Dr. Greely placed a hand upon the small of her back.

  “Flynn!” Dylan’s call came louder. “The heifer’s ready.”

  The news must have spanned the distance of their camp and reached Linnea because she spun around and sought out Dylan, her body suddenly rigid. She said something to Dr. Greely, then handed him her supplies. As he took the items, his features creased with disappointment, but Linnea had already picked up her skirts and started to run toward them, revealing her unladylike bloomers underneath.

  “Is it time?” She let her bonnet blow off her head, and the afternoon sunshine poured over her hair, turning it a flaming red.

  “Yep! She separated out from the herd.” Dylan grinned at Linnea, watching her approach with undisguised adoration. “And now she’s on the ground.”

  Flynn reached for the rag draped across the wheel and started to wipe his hands of the dust and grease that coated them. Although cow birthing didn’t bother him the same way a human birthing did, he still didn’t like them. Not anymore. Especially not today, not this one, not after what he had to do once the calf was born.

  His gut twisted just thinking about it. But he had to go through with it, or he’d risk the entire herd. Already they’d resorted to a near crawl because the heifer’s swelling abdomen had slowed her down. In the four weeks since they’d left Council Grove, they only managed to make it to Pawnee Fork at Fort Larned.

  He couldn’t completely blame the pregnant heifer for the delay. While they’d had smooth traveling and decent weather since Cottonwood Creek, a thunderstorm at Plum Buttes had caused the herd to stampede again, and they’d wasted the next day rounding up stray cattle. At least Linnea hadn’t been in the way that time. In fact, she’d happily spent the delay clipping samples and drawing illustrations from the plum bushes after which the site was named.

  They’d had another delay when they reached Walnut Creek Crossing and faced the river, which had flooded from the thunderstorm. They had to camp with other wagon trains along the bank, waiting for the water level to subside. By the third day, Flynn had been as anxious as the rest when they’d finally pushed across. Even then, a wagon in another group had capsized, and a woman with her two children had drowned. It’d only served to remind him of how close Linnea had come to meeting the same fate back in the Neosho River.

  When they’d reached Fort Larned a few days after Walnut Creek, the cracked rim in one of the wheels had forced them to hold over. Thankfully, the military outpost had a blacksmith who’d been able to solder the piece. And though Flynn wasn’t a wheelwright, he had enough know-how to make adjustments and salvage the wheel.

  But it had cost them another day of travel. Always at the back of his mind was the pressure to get the cattle to Wyatt on time and in good condition. Wyatt had let him down too many times to count, and Flynn had to prove he was different from his brother—more reliable and responsible.

  Dr. Howell and his party of scientists hadn’t complained once of the slow pace or the delays. In fact, like Linnea, they seemed to relish the extra time to do more
research.

  “Come on and hurry.” Dylan started in the direction of the herd grazing to the north of the Santa Fe Trail. It was already mid-June, and they were having to seek out grassland whenever they stopped because of the overgrazing from other livestock traveling the trail ahead of them. He’d heard that farther along, water could become as scarce as grass, and he only prayed that didn’t happen.

  Flynn took his time rubbing the rag at the grease on his hands, telling himself he wasn’t waiting for Linnea. But when she reached the wagon, he fell into step next to her. “I take it Dr. Greely didn’t want to watch a birthing?”

  “Oh.” Her eager stride faltered. “I didn’t think to ask him. Perhaps I should?”

  “Reckon he can make up his own mind.”

  “You’re right.” She picked up her pace. “And truthfully, I’d like a break from him. But please don’t tell him I said so.”

  Flynn had half a notion to spin around and shout over to Dr. Greely to stop pestering Linnea every spare minute of every livelong day. Although Flynn was in charge of her safety—and had done his best to keep her from any more dangerous incidents—he had no right to interfere with Dr. Greely’s efforts to win Linnea’s affection.

  In fact, he oughta be encouraging the union. Then, when they arrived at the Front Range and split ways, Dr. Greely could marry Linnea and take over her supervision. The almighty truth was that the woman needed someone to watch over her.

  Ever since she’d nearly been trampled by the herd, he never felt completely secure unless she was in his line of vision and close enough for him to run to her rescue. Even at night, whether he was taking his turn doing guard duty or catching a few winks under the wagon, he kept half an eye and ear cocked on the back of her wagon. She was every bit as scattered as Dr. Howell had said, and then some.

  He was earning his two hundred dollars from Dr. Howell, that was for sure.

  “I imagine you’re quite the expert on birthing cows,” she said.

  “Yep. Done my fair share.”

  “From all the cows you raised on your farm?” Linnea started an easy conversation with him as always, keeping her tone friendly, even sisterly, like she did with Dylan. She’d done her best, just as she’d said, to be a friend and nothing more.