Courage to Love (Flynn Family Saga) (16 page)

The last Vaughn pushed himself to his feet, his face twisted with rage.  He fired.  Flynn shot him in the chest, and Maggie rolled away as he toppled forward.

Flynn knelt over her.  He took off his shirt and wrapped it around her.  He took the gun from her hand and turned her away from the carnage.

Then, he noticed the blood that stained his shirt, the shirt he had wrapped around Maggie.  For a moment, he stood frozen.  For a moment, he heard the growling of the black bear.  His hand trembled as he touched the bear claw necklace.  He breathed slowly until the fear subsided.  Then, he slid the shirt from her shoulder.  He used water from his canteen to wash away the blood.  He found the bullet hole and bit his lip.  The wound was deep.  He walked to Thunder’s side.  He stepped over Vaughn’s body and rummaged in the saddlebags until he found a bottle of whiskey.  He poured it over his knife and knelt beside Maggie again.  He washed away the blood again and began to dig out the bullet.

Maggie cried out.

He longed for a bottle of laudanum to give her, but there was nothing.  “Hold on, Maggie.”

Maggie sighed and relaxed a little.

Flynn gritted his teeth and continued to probe for the bullet.  Sweat poured down his face, and his hands felt slick.  Finally, near noon, he found it.  He used Maggie’s knife and his own to manipulate the bullet out of the wound.  Then, he poured whisky into the bullet hole.

Maggie screamed.

Flynn winced.  He smoothed her damp hair back from her face.  “It’s all right, Maggie.  It’s over.  It’s all over.  You’re safe now.”

The pain and tension eased out of Maggie’s face, and she began to breathe deeply and evenly.

Flynn bowed his head and thanked whatever God had watched over them.  He bandaged Maggie’s shoulder with strips from Leroy Vaughn’s shirt.  Then, he got up and started to bury the rest of the Vaughns.

*  *  *

When Maggie woke, it was dark.  She shivered with cold.  Someone put a blanket over her.  The blanket smelled of soap and leather and fresh air.  Maggie frowned.  “Flynn?”

He knelt beside her.  “I’m here, Maggie?”

Maggie fumbled for her pistol, but her gun belt was missing.  Tears of frustration blurred her vision.  “Go away!”

Pain touched his face for a moment, pain and shame.  “I’m sorry, Maggie.  I can’t do that.  The Vaughns shot you, and I can’t leave you alone.  Not for a while, anyway.”  He stroked her damp hair back from her face.

Maggie turned away from him.  His gentleness made her wish that they still loved each other.  She rolled over with her back to him.  “I hate you,” she said softly.

Flynn was silent a long time.  “You have every right to hate me.”

She heard him stand up and limp away.  Then, she let herself cry, silently, the way she had learned to when her parents were alive, when her father came home so drunk that she was afraid to make a sound.

Every night, Maggie expected Flynn to leave, but every morning, she woke to the aroma of coffee and breakfast.  He fed her.  He found water for her.  He tried to make her comfortable.  Then, three days after Leroy shot her, she knew that the wound was infected.  “Flynn, my back.  It’s on fire.”  Her voice was hoarse.

Flynn rolled her gently onto her side.  He lifted the shirt he had dressed her in and nodded.  He took some herbs from the pouch on his belt and made a paste.  It smelled like rotten eggs, and when he rubbed it into the wound, it stung like a thousand nettles.

Maggie shut her eyes and fell into cool, healing darkness.

*  *  *

The next morning, her fever was worse.  Flynn made willow bark tea and managed to get her to drink it.  Her face was pale, with two spots of color burned on her cheeks.  Her breathing was shallow, and her pulse was rapid.

Flynn shut his eyes.  The old pain was there.  So was the old fear.  But he
owed
her this.  Even if she died, she wouldn’t die alone.  “Maggie?”

Her eyelids fluttered, but she didn’t open them.

“Are you too old for stories?”

“Mmm?”

He closed his own eyes.  “Once upon a time, there was a beautiful red-haired princess—”  His voice broke.  He opened his eyes and looked at her face.

Maggie’s mouth curved into a small smile.

Flynn smiled and smoothed her hair.  He cleared his throat and began again.  “Once upon a time, there was a beautiful red-haired princess...”

As he spoke, Maggie seemed to relax.  Her breathing deepened, and he began to hope.

*  *  *

Maggie woke from a dream.  She had dreamed that Sam was still wagon master and that she and Flynn were still friends.  She had dreamed that Flynn sat beside her and told her a story as she fell asleep.

Maggie opened her eyes.

Flynn sat beside her.  He was asleep, and lines of sadness bracketed his mouth, but he looked...different.  Older and younger at the same time.  As usual, a lock of his hair had fallen across his eyes.  She reached toward him to brush it away—and stopped herself before she touched him.

His eyes opened, and he smiled at her.

Maggie yanked her hand back and scowled at him.  “What are you doing here?”

“Taking care of you.”

She looked away.  Tears blurred her vision.  “You won’t stay.  You’ll go away and leave me alone again.”

Flynn sighed.  “I won’t.  I’m staying.”

There was something in his tone that made her turn to look at him.  She saw the man who had led other men in battle.  She wanted to believe that he had changed.  And she was afraid to believe that he had changed.  Her mother had believed that Michael had changed so many times.

And Lucy was always wrong.

CHAPTER
TWELVE

When Maggie woke, she felt stronger than she had in days.  She tried to stand, but her legs were still too weak.  Flynn was asleep.  He always looked younger when he slept.  She remembered other mornings when they woke together, and her heart ached with a longing to go back to that time, those places.  She started to cry.

Flynn woke instantly.  “Maggie?  Are you all right?”

Maggie turned her back to him.  “I’m fine!”

“Liar,” he said softly.

In spite of herself, Maggie laughed.

Flynn touched her good shoulder gently.  “How do you feel?”

“Better,” she said without looking at him.  “I’m not strong enough to ride yet, but the fever is gone.”

 “Good.”  He sounded relieved.

Well, he probably was.  He probably wanted to go back to his cabin.

Or Jennie.

Maggie swallowed hard.  “How long have I been unconscious?”

“Three weeks.”

“Three weeks!  They must be in Wyoming by now.  We’ve got to get back!”  Maggie tried to stand up.

Gently, Flynn pushed her back down.  “You’re in no condition to ride, Maggie.”

Maggie tilted her chin up.  “Then I’ll walk!”

Flynn’s mouth twitched.  Suddenly, he laughed.  He laughed until tears ran down his face.  Then, he sighed.  “All right, Maggie.  We’ll leave after breakfast.  Here.”  He handed her a knife.  “You slice the bacon.”

Maggie nodded.

Flynn rummaged in his saddlebags and tossed her a chunk of salt pork.  Maggie sliced it while he made the coffee.  Once again, the memory of other mornings when they worked in silent harmony together haunted her.

As soon as they finished breakfast, Flynn built a travois.  He helped her onto it, and they started westward.  Thunder was bigger than Lady, so Flynn used him to pull the travois and rode Lady.  He stopped at a bend in the Platte.  Wakta grazed contentedly beside his saddle.  He whickered when he saw Flynn.

They ate a little hardtack and dried meat, which Flynn took from Wakta’s saddlebags.  They filled their canteens.  Maggie leaned against a rock and winced.  She felt so much better that sometimes she forgot that she had been wounded.  She shifted until she could rest her left shoulder against the rock.  She shut her eyes and sighed, listening to the sound of the water.

“Do you remember the day I brought you here?”

Maggie opened her eyes and looked at him.  She nodded, unable to speak.  She felt breathless, as if something had taken all the air out of the world.

Flynn looked away.  “We’d better get going.”

Maggie nodded.

They broke camp, and Maggie climbed back onto the travois.

It seemed as if each jolt sent pain directly from her shoulder to her heart.

*  *  *

A week later, they crossed into Wyoming.  Flynn watched as Maggie mounted Lady.  For a moment, she swayed in the saddle.  He reached toward her, and she flinched away from him.

He sighed and kicked Wakta into a trot.

They met the search party about six miles from the Wyoming border.  Flynn wondered how they would greet him, as a friend or as the man who broke Maggie’s heart.

Ben took off his hat and waved it.  Flynn waved back.  When they met, Ben grinned.  “So.  You’re alive.”

Flynn nodded cautiously.

Frank looked uncertain, but Billy had the moral certainty of youth.  “You oughta be horsewhipped!”  His hands curled into fists.

Ben laid a hand on his son’s arm.  “Billy, that’s between Flynn and Maggie.”

Billy turned to his father.  “But—”

“That’s enough, William.”  Ben’s face was almost as stern as Sam’s.

Billy looked down at his saddle horn.  “Yes sir.”  He lifted his head.  “But if you want me to fight him, Maggie, I will.”

Maggie smiled at the boy.  “Thank you, Billy.  But Flynn saved my life.  So I guess we’re square.”

“Oh.”  Billy looked disappointed.

Flynn almost laughed, but he remembered how seriously he had taken himself when he was Billy’s age, and he refrained.

Maggie moved her horse up so that she rode with Frank.  Ben rode beside Flynn, with Billy riding behind him.

Flynn’s shoulder blades itched.

 “What happened back there?"  Ben nodded back toward Nebraska.  "Who was that guy?”

“Nick Vaughn’s brother.”  Flynn’s hands tightened on his reins.

Ben nodded slowly

Flynn sighed.  “He took Maggie because he knew I’d have to come for her.”

Ben whistled softly.  He tilted his hat back.  “And you rescued Maggie?”

Flynn looked away from Ben’s gray eyes.  “Sort of.  She saved my life, and then I saved hers.”

Ben laughed.  “Just like always.”

Flynn smiled and looked back at his friend.  “Yes.  And no.”  He sighed.  “She still doesn’t trust me.”

Ben nodded solemnly.  “When we lost our third baby—”

“You lost more than one?”

Ben nodded again.  He drew a deep breath and let it out slowly.  “I ran, Flynn.  I just couldn’t handle the pain.  And Emma needed so much comforting, and...“

“And you had none to give her,” Flynn said softly.

“Yeah.”  Ben took off his hat and ran his hand through his hair.  He put his hat back on.  “Yeah.”

Flynn sighed.  “But she forgave you.”

“Eventually.”  Ben chuckled.  His expression grew solemn again.  “But it took a long time, Flynn.  A long time.”

Flynn nodded.  “All right.  Maggie’s worth waiting for.”

Ben laid his hand on Flynn’s shoulder.  “As long as you feel that way about her, you’ve got a chance.”

*  *  *

Maggie wished she could hear what Ben and Flynn were talking about.  Lady pranced for a few steps, and Maggie winced.

 “Are you okay, Maggie?”  Frank’s dark eyes were filled with concern.

Maggie nodded.  “One of them shot me, but it’s almost healed.”

"
One
of them?"

Maggie nodded again.  "There were four of them, Frank.  Leroy took me to them.  There were going to—going to—"  Maggie's voice broke, and she swallowed hard.

Frank squeezed her shoulder gently.  “And Flynn stayed with you this time?”

Maggie stared at Flynn’s back, tall and straight.  She nodded.  “Frank, I almost died, and he stayed.  I just don’t understand him.”

Frank was silent a long time.  Finally, he cleared his throat.  “I’ve never been married, but I’ve seen a lot of married couples over the years.  It seems like men and women need different things when they’re grieving.  Women need comfort and support.  The other women seem to know this, and they gather around, like the wagons circling up when we’re under attack.”

Maggie nodded.  “I’ve seen that, especially when a couple loses a child.”

Frank nodded back.  He looked away from her, at Flynn and Ben.  “With men, it’s different.  They need to be alone to lick their wounds.  Besides, you had Ben and Emma and Sam and Kate.”

Maggie blinked back tears.  “Frank, I didn’t need them.  I needed Flynn.”

Frank reached over and patted her hand.  “I know, Magpie.  I know.  That’s one of the things I just don’t understand, why the Almighty made it so almighty hard for men and women to get along.”

Maggie laughed.  “Thanks, Frank.”

He stared at her.  “For what?”

“For making me laugh.”  She sobered.  “And for being a lot smarter than you let on.”

Frank blushed and looked away.  “So, what are you going to do now?”

Maggie stared at her husband bleakly.  “I don’t know, Frank.  I just don’t know.”

When they reached the wagon train, Paul and Julie Evans were waiting for them.  Paul held out his hand.  “Mrs. Flynn, I don’t know what to say.  You risked your life for my wife.”

Maggie took his hand and squeezed it.  “Thank you, Paul, but it’s my job to protect my passengers.”

“No ma’am.  It’s not just a job when you risked your life and your honor with that animal.  I wasn’t sure about traveling with a wagon train led by a lady, but you sure proved yourself to me.”

“Thank you, Mr. Evans.”

Julie hung back.  “I don’t know how to repay you, Mrs. Flynn.”

Maggie smiled.  “You don’t have to.  Just live your life the best you can.”

Julie nodded.

“Your father would have been proud of you, Maggie,” Flynn said softly.

Maggie’s back stiffened.  She pretended to ignore him.

Flynn cleared his throat.  “You’re going to need a scout, now that Ross is dead.”

Maggie rubbed the spot between her eyes.  “I know.”

“I’ll work for free,” he said quietly.

“No!”  She turned and faced him.  “You’ll work for two hundred dollars, just like you did for Sam.  This is
business
, Flynn.  Just business.  And don’t you forget it.”