Linda Castle (21 page)

Flynn stood up. Worry over Marydyth and Rachel folded over him and constricted his breath. He didn’t want to act like Marydyth’s jailer but he couldn’t shake the idea that they all might be targets of the faceless, nameless killer.

“Marydyth, where did you go?” He saw her flinch and immediately regretted his tone.

She narrowed her eyes. “Since you ask me in that tone, Flynn, I don’t think it is any of your business.” She turned as if to walk away.

He grasped her arm and held her in place. His voice was low and controlled. He didn’t want Rachel to see them fighting. “It damned well is my business. Now where were you?”

“Enjoying myself,” she snapped.

Flynn searched her face. He could explain himself to her—make her understand that he was worried about her—but he had never explained his actions and decisions to anyone in his life, and he damned sure wasn’t going to start now.

“Don’t ever go off like that again. Do you hear, Marydyth?
From now on I want to know where you are going and who you are with—every minute of the day.”

Her mouth fell open in shock. Then her lovely, lush lips curled up at the corners. She leaned close and whispered in his ear, “When hell freezes over.” Then she jerked her arm free. “Come on, Rachel, let’s go change our clothes and start dinner.”

Flynn could only stare after her, wanting to call her back, to explain, to apologize. But he had too much pride to do either.

Over the course of the next week Marydyth ignored Flynn, and he, in turn, tried to act as if he didn’t care.

She felt he said what he did because he didn’t fully trust her, and he wanted her to trust him enough to let him know where she had been and what she had been doing.

It was like a dog biting its own tail. Neither one would give in and so the silent feud continued. Because of their discord, Marydyth had stopped sleeping with Flynn.

He told himself it didn’t matter. But it did. He thought of her every waking minute. When he was climbing the stairs he fancied he could smell her skin, fragrant from being scrubbed with hard-milled French soap. And when he was lying in his bed, hard as a post, he could almost feel her body near him.

He had it bad, and that made him angry at himself. He had never needed a woman before—not like this. This went beyond physical need, it was deeper, more intense.

And that shook Flynn.

He had always been a lone wolf. He told himself that he could do without her—he had certainly survived before without a woman. And so, as if to prove it to himself,
he went to the bordello in search of Annabelle, the whore who had captured Moze’s regard.

The sound of plinky piano music, the scent of cheap toilet water and cheaper cigars followed Flynn inside the cathouse. And when Flynn found the woman, he searched her face, looking, for what he did not know. But the one thing he did know was that the painted lips and rouged cheeks were not Marydyth’s.

Her hair didn’t catch the lamplight and shimmer like a skein of gold; the eyes held no shadow of pain and regret. And when he looked deep into those eyes he didn’t feel as if he were falling down a dry well. He touched her skin, but his fingers didn’t burn as if he had touched hot embers.

In the end he sighed in disgust and went back to Hollenbeck House, determined to be man enough to find a way to heal the rift that had come between him and Marydyth—the woman he swore he didn’t want or need.

F
lynn rented a buggy and horse from the livery. He drove it to the Blue Belle Restaurant and left it outside while he ordered three full meals at two bits apiece. Then he went to the Mercantile on Fir Street and bought a basket to pack it all in.

“Looks like somebody is goin’ a-sparkin’,” the robust cook quipped as she carefully wrapped up half an apple pie.

Flynn smiled sheepishly. He had wrestled with his pride and his feelings for Marydyth for two days after his harebrained trip to the bordello. Now it was time to face facts and do something about it.

Marydyth had a right to be angry. He had followed her around like some sort of hunting dog, sniffing the air for danger, growing more grumpy and surly by the minute. And never once had it occurred to him to simply tell her what was wrong.

All he succeeded in doing was making the gulf between him and Marydyth grow wider.

And that was not good for Rachel, he justified to himself. It was true that he missed seeing Marydyth smile at him upon waking in the morning. And it was a fact that
each time she walked by and he caught a whiff of her spring-flower-fresh hair he ached to pull her into his arms. But he was doing this—planning a surprise drive in the country and picnic—mostly for Rachel.

A half hour later, Flynn returned to Hollenbeck House. He passed Amos Clark and his milk delivery wagon as he turned the last curve in the hill.

“Morning, Amos.”

“Mr. O’Bannion.” Amos touched his forehead and clicked to the steady roan mare that pulled the wagon.

Flynn watched him until he was out of sight, then he walked to the kitchen door. Marydyth and Rachel were sitting at the small kitchen table. They each had a bowl of oatmeal and a glass of milk in front of them.

“Did Amos leave some buttermilk for me?” he asked with a grin.

“In the pitcher,” Marydyth said without looking at him. He was hungry for her eyes, her body—for every part of her.

“I have a surprise for you two,” he said as he poured himself a glass of buttermilk. He put a pinch of salt and a pinch of pepper in it and then tipped it up. The cool, tangy liquid slid down his throat.

“What surprise, Unca Flynn?” Rachel was out of her chair and climbing on the top of his boot.

“A nice surprise.” He scooped her up in his arms and crossed the room, enjoying this simple act now that his ribs had healed.

“I hired a buggy and got us some lunch. I’d like to take you two on a picnic. Sort of my way of apologizing for being so cussed hard to live with.”

Marydyth turned and looked up at him. “Do you mean it?”

“I mean it. I hope you can forgive me,” he said softly,
while his eyes soaked up the look of her, all freshscrubbed and beautiful. Her hair had grown out enough that she could pull it all up and capture it in a ribbon. One or two wayward strands hung around her face and at the delicate nape of her neck.

He wanted to kiss the sweet, inviting hollow but instead he said, “I’m no bargain, Marydyth, I know that, but I’d like to start over—I’d like for us to start fresh.”

She smiled and rose on tiptoe to kiss the side of his face and he took that as an acceptance of his awkward apology.

When Rachel and Marydyth were dressed and bonneted, Flynn helped them into the buggy. Marydyth sat next to Flynn with Rachel on her other side. “So I can see bestest,” Rachel had explained.

He wrapped his hands around the leathers and directed the buggy in a northeasterly direction to Watervale. The breeze was cool and sweet, the conversation easy.

Marydyth had never been to Watervale and only knew of the place as the water source for Tombstone. The drive was mostly uphill through rugged country. At one stretch the path grew narrow and treacherous as it switched back upon itself and continued to climb. She gripped the supports of the buggy and put her faith in Flynn, confident that he would let no harm befall them.

Suddenly the terrain flattened out and turned into a panorama of colors. The yellow of brittle brush, the purple verbena and the golden poppies ran together in a wild slash, as if a rainbow had fallen to earth and painted the prairie.

Rachel was giddy. Her happiness was contagious, and Marydyth soon found she was delighted to get out, to enjoy this day of quiet with Rachel—and Flynn.

The summer sunshine beat down on them but there was a strong breeze so it was not oppressively hot. Flynn had insisted on bringing three full canteens of water, and whatever goodies he had in the basket tucked beneath the seat that she wasn’t supposed to know about.

It was a wonderful day.

A dust devil swirled and made a revolution across the road in front of them, carrying twigs and dirt and a dried jumping cholla in its gritty funnel.

“Looky, Unca Flynn,” Rachel said. She marveled at everything, and through her young eyes, Marydyth received the gift of wonder.

A jackrabbit hopped by and Rachel laughed. She wanted to touch every critter, sniff every bloom, see every cactus up close. Flynn patiently halted the horse and let her do so almost every time she asked, although the rabbits were faster than Rachel. While Marydyth watched her scamper from hedgehog cactus to ocotillo, being careful not to touch the thorns, Flynn watered the horse.

They made many stops before they reached Watervale. The area around the natural spring was lush with grass and wildflowers. A sturdy stone building held the mill wheel, turning beneath the gentle persuasion of the water that eventually went to slake the thirst of those in Tombstone.

“This is lovely,” Marydyth said as she allowed Flynn to pick her up by the waist and lift her from the buggy. His hands lingered a moment after he had deposited her on her feet.

“I had no idea the spring would be so large.”

Roadrunners, crows and meadowlarks lined the banks, poking their beaks downward, drinking and searching for grubs.

“It is nice.” Flynn’s deep voice rumbled over her. “But not as pretty as you.” She looked up and found him studying her with a hungry look in his eyes.

“Thank you for today,” she said, suddenly feeling shy beneath his gaze. It was strange. They had shared each other’s bodies, given each other their passion, but in many ways they were little more than strangers. She knew virtually nothing about his life before he came to help with the mining strike. Now she was curious about this hard, solitary man.

“After we eat and Rachel goes down for a little nap, would you—have a talk with me, Marydyth?” Flynn managed to choke the invitation out. He was a man of few words, and speaking to Marydyth was somehow harder than facing down a band of outlaws.

“I’d be pleased to, Flynn.”

They walked and explored and laughed. Rachel was allowed to take off her shoes and stockings and wade in the shallow end of the pool while Flynn lay on his back in the shade, watching her from under hooded eyes.

He seemed relaxed, but Marydyth wondered if that was an act. Was his body tightly wound, ready to spring at the slightest noise, or was he calm in the middle of nowhere, with the clear spring and sounds of wildlife all around them?

Marydyth sat on the grassy bank with her own toes curling into the cool foliage. She tucked the edges of her skirt around her legs and drew up her knees as a rest for her chin.

Sunlight danced on Flynn’s dark auburn hair. His deep baritone voice and laughter made chills march up her spine as he chatted with Rachel.

Rachel giggled and squealed in mock fear as Flynn
scooped her up and made a show of tossing her into the water.

Marydyth felt something hot and liquid expand in her chest. She could learn to like this. She could learn to
want
this. If she let down her defenses for even a minute she could fall head over heels in love with Flynn and long to build a family and a life with him.

Today had been wonderful, but it was a special day. Marydyth was sure that when they returned home Flynn would watch her like a hawk, unwilling or unable to let her and Rachel out of his sight.

Flynn glanced at Marydyth and felt his heart thud against his ribs. She was so beautiful with her golden curls spilling from the ribbon, coming to rest beside her cheeks on her knees.

He wanted her.

But more importantly he wanted to keep her and Rachel safe. It was the only thing he thought of day and night. Somebody was out there, somebody who would not stop at murder. It was high time he let Marydyth in on his fear-but he was loath to see the smile fade from her lips. Tomorrow, he told himself. He would tell her tomorrow.

He clenched his jaw and scanned the horizon. All day long he had kept a watchful eye on his back. But now as the sun was hanging like a ripe apple in the western sky, he allowed himself to ease up his vigil.

Rachel was sleeping soundly and safely beneath the shade of a cottonwood when Flynn stood and reached out to take Marydyth by the hand.

“I want you. I’ve missed you,” he said as he pulled her to her feet and against his body.

The hard length of him against her made her breath catch. Damn it all, she had missed him. She had missed
his kisses and caresses and she had missed the way his body covered her.

She hated herself for missing all that and the way he made her bones feel like melted wax with little more than a glance. She yielded to him now, molding her body to his form, sighing when he cupped her buttocks and lifted her slightly for a better fit against his groin.

“Lord, Marydyth, you make me dizzy with wanting you,” he murmured.

“We can’t—not here.” She looked down at her sleeping daughter.

“Then let’s take a walk up to the top of the mill.” Flynn glanced at the livery horse, who was tied firmly and munching on tender grass. “We’ll be nearby if Rachel wakes.”

“I’ll walk with you, Flynn.” Marydyth wanted him as much as he wanted her but…

Flynn swallowed hard. He understood what she had not said. He couldn’t blame her. Hell, he had been acting like a domineering bastard. But he had to keep her and Rachel safe. He was a man and a man was supposed to keep his family safe.

His family.
Was that how he had come to think of them?

He realized with a sobering jolt that it was. But he couldn’t tell Marydyth that he had come to think of her and Rachel as his, couldn’t do anything about it until he had found J.C.’s murderer and put the past to rest.

Many hours later Flynn hitched up the horse and wedged the much lighter basket beneath the seat.

“I’m sleepy, Unca Flynn.” Rachel yawned and leaned her head against his shoulder as he helped Marydyth into
the buggy. When she was settled he handed Rachel to her.

“I know, sugar. You walked about a hundred miles today. Chasing butterflies is hard work for a little girl,” Flynn said with a grin.

“I had a lovely time, Flynn, thank you,” Marydyth said softly when he sat down beside her and gathered the reins.

“I’m glad, and I hope that we have many more like it.” He turned and looked at her with an expression of tenderness that made her belly drop to her shoe tops. Something in his eyes spoke of tomorrow.

She wanted that. She wanted tomorrow with
this
man. If only Flynn would remain Flynn and not become her stern-faced jailer when they returned home.

Dusk turned the desert to a mauve landscape as the livery horse plodded toward home. Long shadows reached for the rising moon and Marydyth saw the flicker and flash of wild eyes out in the coming darkness.

Flynn clucked his tongue to encourage the horse to move a little faster. They were trotting along at a comfortable clip when they reached the winding switchbacks. Marydyth held Rachel with one hand and grasped the buggy support with the other. She was glad it was Flynn’s strong hands on the reins as the trail narrowed and twisted, falling away sharply on her side. She could not see it, but she heard the pelting of falling rocks as the wheels passed over a particularly narrow spot.

“We’ll be on the flat in a bit,” Flynn said reassuringly, as if he could sense her terror in the dusk.

“I’m all right. I know you’ll keep us safe.”

Her words flowed over him like summer rain. That was all he wanted—to keep her and Rachel safe.

As the horse pulled the buggy around the last curve in
the trail, a loud crack broke the silence. Flynn felt the buggy sway, heard the sickening snap of the tongue and knew immediately what had happened.

“Marydyth—when I tell you, jump. Rachel, I want you to hold on to your mother’s hand and jump, too. Roll with me and try to keep on rolling to break your fall.” His voice was flat, calm. Hearing that made Marydyth resolve to be calm too. She gathered Rachel close and held herself ready, waiting for Flynn to tell her what to do.

“Jump!”

Flynn pulled on the leathers as hard as he could, then he jumped. The horse thundered away, leaving the buggy to careen in a different direction, borne by its own momentum. He landed on his back. The hard-packed earth drove the air from his lungs.

Marydyth and Rachel both screamed as they rolled and rolled. Dirt flew up in their faces, cactus needles poked into their shoulders, but they kept rolling at a dizzying speed until finally they slammed up against a rock next to Flynn.

A dull pain radiated from Flynn’s left arm above the wrist. He drew in a breath and fought waves of nausea.

“Are you hurt, Rachel, Marydyth?”

A few seconds elapsed while they did an inventory of limbs. “No, no, we seem to be all right.”

“Good, good.” Flynn exhaled slowly, thankful that they were not harmed.

Marydyth and Rachel managed to untangle themselves from him and the ribbons of their torn skirts. Slowly they stood up and began to dust themselves off. Flynn managed to shift his weight to his right side and used that hand to steady himself as he climbed to his feet.

“Oh my God, your arm,” Marydyth said.

Flynn looked at the source of his throbbing agony for the first time. A piece of bone poked out of a ragged hole on his sleeve about four inches above the wrist. It hurt like the devil but there was only a little blood staining the fabric.

“Could be worse, might’ve been our necks.” He chuckled but his observation was still a grim one.