Dangerous Men (Flynn Family Saga Book 2) (16 page)

Maggie’s breath caught.  Then, she
looked stern again.  “Oh, no.  You’re not getting around me that easily.  Keep
lifting that bucket until I get back with the cake.”

Flynn continued to work with the
bucket.  Panting, he rested his leg on the mattress just as Maggie returned
with a tray.  She handed him a plate with a slice of cake on it.  She set a
glass of milk on the bedside table.  Then, she took the remaining plate and
took a bite of her own slice of cake.

Maggie shut her eyes and groaned
with pleasure.  For a moment, Flynn lost himself in the sight.  For a moment,
he let himself wonder what it would be like to make love to her.  Would she
groan like that or would she lie still and scared?

Then, his missing right foot
twinged with that damned phantom pain.  Flynn set down his own cake untouched.

Maggie picked it up and shoved it
back into his hands.  “I brought that cake all the way up here.  It is not
going to waste.  Now eat it.”

“Yes ma’am.”  He took a bite, and
shut his own eyes in delight.  “Maggie, that’s delicious.”  He opened them and
looked at her suspiciously.  “And it doesn’t taste like Emma’s, either.”

Maggie looked away.  “Well, I might
have helped a little.”

“Maggie Anders, did you make this
cake?”

She nodded without looking at him.

In spite of everything, Flynn
smiled.  He took Maggie’s hand.  “Maggie.”  His voice was soft.

Maggie looked at him.  “Yes, Flynn?” 
She looked terrified.

He grinned.  “If you can learn to
cook, anything is possible.”

Maggie smiled shyly.

*  *  *

A week later, Maggie brought up a
pair of crutches.  “All right, now it’s time for you to stand.”

Flynn glared at them.

Maggie threw back the covers back. 
“Come on.  Get up.”

Flynn tried, but he swayed
slightly.  Maggie steadied him.  Flynn pushed away from her and hobbled toward
the door.

One crutch slipped on the braided rug,
and Flynn fell heavily.

“All right, get up.”  Maggie’s
voice was infuriatingly calm.

Flynn shook his head.

“I said get up!”  She sounded
remarkably like Sam did when he was chewing out a greenhorn who was afraid to
mount a horse for the first time.

“And I said no!”  He buried his
face in his arm.

Maggie was silent for a long time. 
“I never figured you for a quitter, Flynn.”  She set down the crutches where he
could reach them and left the room.

Swearing, Flynn picked up the
crutches.  Slowly, painfully, he pushed himself up onto his left foot.  His
arms shook, but he stood.  He took one step forward on his left leg, moved the
crutches and stepped again.  He hobbled all the way to the door.

Maggie was waiting for him.  She
grinned.

Scowling, Flynn turned around and
hobbled back to bed.

Maggie followed him.  “You did good
today, Flynn.”

“Good?  I couldn’t walk a hundred
yards if my life depended on it!”  He sank onto the edge of the bed.

Maggie took the crutches from him
and set them where he could reach them.  “Then I guess I’ll have to put heavier
stones in the bucket.”

Flynn threw his pillow at her.

Grinning, she threw it back.  “Now
you get
two
helpings of chocolate cake.”

Flynn grinned back at her.  “As
long as you didn’t make it...”

Maggie regarded him speculatively. 
Slowly, her grin broadened.  “That’s right.  I forgot.  You’re ticklish.”  She
started to tickle his left foot.

“Hey, no fair!”  Flynn got onto his
knees and grabbed her wrist.

Laughing, Maggie tried to pull
free, but Flynn was too strong.  She fell onto the bed.  He snatched the ribbon
that held her braid tightly bound at the nape of her neck.  Maggie's hair fell
around her face.  Flynn’s breath blew tendrils of her hair from her face. 
Desire filled him, powerful, almost irresistible.  He leaned forward to kiss
her.  At the last moment, he pulled back.

“Flynn?”

“I forgot!  For a moment, I forgot
I was a cripple!”  He turned with his back to her.

She touched his back gently.

He turned and looked at her.  “Please. 
I’d like to be alone for a little while.”

Maggie swallowed hard.  “All right.” 
She got up and left the room.

Flynn almost called her back.  He
sighed and rolled over, facing the wall.

CHAPTER
SIXTEEN

That night, Flynn dreamed that he
was in the Hole.  He felt the icy rain drip down his neck.  He heard the voices
of the guards, coming closer and closer.  He knew they were coming to beat him
again.

Someone touched his shoulder, and
he opened his eyes.  Sam sat beside his bed.  Flynn’s eyes focused on his
friend.  Sam looked tired, and his skin had a grayish cast to it.  Flynn
reached over and touched his friend’s hand.  “Are you all right?”

Sam shrugged.  “I’ve got a bum
heart, Flynn.”

Flynn nodded.  He stared at the
ceiling.  “I’m scared, Sam.”

“I’ll tell you a secret, son.  So
am I.”

Startled, Flynn looked back at
him.  “Of what?”

Sam looked at him and looked away. 
“Dying.”  He sighed and ran his hand through his hair.  “I’ve killed so many
men, Flynn.  I don’t exactly know which gate I’ll end up at.”

Flynn shook his head.  “If they don’t
let you through the pearly gates, I don’t want to go there, either.”

Sam laughed.  “What do the Lakota
teach?  About the afterlife?”

Flynn stared at him.  “Maggie told
you?”

“That you were Pathfinder’s adopted
son?”  Sam shook his head.  “But one night, when you had cholera, you called
out to him.”

“You know the language?”

Sam shrugged.  “A little.  Enough
to know the word for father.  And I never saw a red-haired Indian, so I put two
and two together.”

Flynn looked away.

Sam sighed.  “Pathfinder was one of
the greatest men I ever had the privilege to meet.  He’s right up there with
General Grant.”  He hesitated.  “Are
you
ashamed of him?”

“No!”  Flynn drew a deep breath.  “No. 
It’s just that...I was always afraid to tell you.  So many people hate Indians.”

Sam patted Flynn’s shoulder.  “Well,
you should know by now that I’m not one of them.”  He grinned.  “But I’m just
as glad you didn’t.”

Flynn blinked.  “Why not?”

Sam’s grin broadened.  “Pathfinder
was twice the tracker Ridgeton was.  If I’d known that Pathfinder was your
father, I would have had to pay you twice as much.”

Flynn laughed.

Sam patted Flynn’s shoulder.  “Now
get some sleep.  Dawn comes awfully early, and Maggie won’t let you sleep in.”

Flynn nodded.  “Good night, Sam.”

“Good night, son.”

Flynn lay awake a while, smiling. 
For years, the secret of his relationship to Pathfinder had lain between him
and Sam.  Now, it was gone, vanished like the nightmare about Camp Sumter.

*  *  *

The next day, Flynn made it to the
landing.  He stood, swaying, with the crutch tucked under his right arm.  He
drew a deep breath.  He placed the crutch on the next step and leaned on it.

The crutch slipped, and he tumbled
down the stairs.

When Flynn reached the bottom of
the stairs, he lay utterly still, afraid to move.

“Are you all right?”  Maggie
touched his arm.

Flynn shook his head.  “I don’t
know.  My leg—”

Her strong, capable hands moved
deftly along his left leg.  She sighed.  “Bruised but not broken, Flynn.  Can
you stand?”

Flynn held out his hand.

Maggie’s face was pale, but she
shook her head.  She handed him the crutches and stepped back.

Scowling, Flynn pushed, and the
crutches slipped again.  He fell again.

“Flynn?”

“Leave me alone!”  He shut his
eyes.

“How many times did you fall when
you were carrying Tommy Lonnegan?”  Maggie’s soft voice cut through his
discouragement like a ray of sunshine through fog.

Flynn opened his eyes and glared at
her.  “What does that have to do with anything?”

Maggie met his anger levelly.  “You
carried that boy across fifteen miles of badlands with no food, no water.  You
fell at least six times.  I know.  I counted.”

“How do you figure that?”

Maggie shrugged.  “I saw the
impression of your knees in the dirt in six different places.”

Flynn looked away.

Maggie touched his shoulder gently,
kindling a physical longing in him that ached worse than his missing foot.  “If
you can’t do it for yourself, Flynn, please do it for me.  I—I’ve never asked
you for anything before, and I’m not sure I have the right to now, but—”

“Magpie?”

“Yes, Flynn?”

He forced himself to grin.  “You’re
talking too much.”

“Oh.  Sorry.”  Tentatively, she
held out his crutches again.

With a sigh, Flynn took them and
levered himself upright.

“All right.  Now that you’re here,
we can go outside.  The fresh air will do you good.”

Flynn bit back an angry reply and limped
outside.  The air was soft and warm.  Buttermilk and Biscuits, Ben’s team of
dray horses, stood in the paddock, cropping grass.  He sank gratefully into the
porch swing.  “What I wouldn’t give to ride one of those horses.  Even
Buttermilk.”

“Hey, Buttermilk is a good horse!”

“For pulling a plow, maybe.  Not
for riding.”  Flynn rubbed his left leg.

Maggie looked away.  “Well, do you
want to try it?”

“Try what?”

She looked back at him.  “Riding.”

Flynn looked down at his stump.  “With
this?”

“Come on.  Let’s try it.”

“Woman, are you
trying
to
kill me?”

Maggie put her hands on her hips.  “Did
you just call me a woman?”

Slowly, Flynn grinned.  “I must
have hit my head when I fell.”

“Must have.”  Maggie grinned back. 
“Come on.  Up you go.”

Flynn sighed and heaved himself out
of the swing.

Maggie led him to the paddock.  She
saddled Buttermilk while Biscuits looked on.  Flynn leaned on the fence,
watching her every move.  Finally, she led Buttermilk around to the fence. 
Flynn leaned on the crutch and tried to put his foot in the stirrup.  He
started to lose his balance, and Maggie steadied him.  “All right, we’ll have
to figure out something else.”

Flynn’s courage drained away like
water poured onto the parched desert sand.  He hobbled back to the porch and
sat down.  He shut his eyes tightly and clenched his teeth.

Maggie touched his arm.  “Flynn?”

“Leave me alone!”

Maggie hesitated.  Then, he heard
her leave.

Flynn opened his eyes and stared at
the horses with a hopeless, desperate longing.

Maggie came back onto the porch. 
He smelled chocolate cake and smiled at her.  “A bribe, Magpie?”

Maggie smiled shyly.  “A peace
offering.”

“Oh, Maggie.  I’m not mad at you. 
I’m just...”  His voice trailed off into silence.

“Discouraged?”

He nodded.  “That’s the word.”

Maggie sat beside him on the swing.

Flynn picked up his fork and put it
down again without touching the cake.  He sighed.  “Maggie, you might as well
face it.  I’ll never ride again.”

“Oh yes you will.”  Maggie tilted
her chin up.  “I just have to figure out how.”

Flynn smiled at her.  “You’re a lot
like Sam.”

Maggie’s face reddened.  “Flattery
will get you nowhere.  Except into the kitchen.  I’m tired of fetching your
meals up to you.”

He reached for the crutches.

Maggie shook her head.  She took
one of them away.  “I’ve been pampering you long enough.  If you’re going to be
able to shoot, you need to learn how to walk with only one crutch.”

“Pampering me?”  Flynn’s hands
curled into fists.

Maggie met his anger with equanimity.

Flynn sighed and accepted the
single crutch.  Slowly, painfully, he pushed himself upright.

*  *  *

The days grew colder, and rain
pounded on the roof, night after night.  Maggie lay awake, listening to the
rain and trying to think of a way to get Flynn on a horse.  One morning, the
sky cleared, and it was unseasonably warm for December.  Maggie sat on the
porch swing and stared at the horses.  Sam came up from the paddock.  “Is
something wrong with the horses?”

Maggie shook her head.  “They’re just
too tall.  Flynn could ride one once he got on, but even with the crutch, he
hasn’t got the leverage to get into the saddle.”

Sam sat beside her.  They rocked
back and forth in silence for a time.  Finally, Sam spoke.  “You know, there
was a man in my outfit once who trained a horse to kneel down.  Think you could
do that, Magpie?”

Maggie grinned.  “Just watch me!”

In the morning, Maggie rode into to
town.  She stopped in front of the livery stable.  “Hello, Ike.  Know anybody
who has a mustang for sale?”

“Does it have to be a mustang, Miss
Maggie?”  Ike wiped the sweat from his forehead.

“Nope.”  Maggie shook her head.  “As
long as it’s a small horse.”

“Well, I got what a feller called a
quarter horse.  I asked him if it was because it was only a quarter the size of
a real horse, and he just laughed.  He said it’s because it could run a quarter
of a mile faster’n any other breed.  ‘Cept maybe an Indian pony.”

“And he wants to sell this wonder
horse?”  Maggie planted her hands on her hips.

Ike shook his head.  “I don’t
reckon he has much choice.  Got hisself shot over cheatin’ at cards.  He owed
me for boarding this here horse, so I took it.”

“Let me see this quarter of a
horse.”

Ike nodded and led the way into the
barn.  The smallest horse she had ever seen stood in a stall.  His head hung
down.  His coat was dull, and Maggie could count his ribs.  She checked his
legs, and they were sound.  She checked his teeth, and he was three years old
at the most.  She nodded.  “How much do you want for him?”

“Fifty dollars.”

“Fifty dollars?  For that nag?” 
Maggie shook her head.  “Ike, you’ve been out in the sun too long.  I’ll give
you five.”

They haggled for a few minutes
until they settled on fifteen dollars.  Then Ike spit in his hand.  Maggie spit
in hers.  They shook hands, and Maggie slipped a halter over the little horse’s
neck.  He raised his head and looked at her.  She stroked his nose.  “It’s all
right, boy.  I’m going to take you home.”

The horse lowered his head again.

Maggie took the halter and led the little
horse out of the stable.  She went to the saddlery next.  Pete Tanner smiled
when he saw her.  “Morning, Miss Maggie.  What can I do for you?”

“You heard about Flynn?”

Pete nodded.  “Yes’m.  Everyone
has.”

“Well, I need a saddle made up
special.”  She took out a sheet of paper and a pencil and sketched swiftly.

Pete nodded.  “I can do that.  In
fact, I won’t even have to make it from scratch.  See here?  All I have to do
is take off the right stirrup and add that special piece, like half a
stovepipe.  Only he’ll have to come in to be fitted.”

“I’ve got the measurements for you,
Pete.”  Maggie turned the paper over.

Pete looked shocked.  “You measured
his
leg
?”

Maggie scowled at him.

Pete blushed.  “I’m sorry, Miss
Maggie.  I know you’re not that kind of girl.”

Maggie patted his arm.  “It’s all
right, Pete.  Now, how much?”

“No charge, Miss Maggie.  We all
feel real bad about Flynn’s accident.”

Scowling, Maggie leaned over the
counter.  “Flynn would skin me alive if he knew I took charity on his behalf. 
Now how much?”

“One dollar.”  Pete held up his
hands.  “And I won’t take a penny more.”  He grinned.  “This way, you can say I
charged you for it, and you won’t have to lie.”

Maggie’s lower lip trembled.  “I
don’t know whether to kiss you or slug you.”

Pete rubbed his chin again.  “Weeelll...”

Maggie shoved his shoulder.  “Go on
with you, Pete Tanner.”  She kissed him on the cheek.  “Thanks.”

“Anytime, Miss Maggie.  Anytime.”

Maggie went outside.  She mounted
her Patches and tugged on the lead.

The quarter horse plodded along
behind.

Flynn was sitting on the porch when
Maggie got back.

Maggie slid off her horse.  “How’d
you get downstairs?”

“I flew.  Where’d you get the nag?”

“Ike’s.”

“I hope you didn’t pay any more
than five dollars for him.”

Maggie stuck out her tongue.

Flynn laughed.  “Come on, how much?”

“None of your business.”  She led
the horse toward the barn.  First, she let him drink his fill from the trough
while she petted him and talked to him softly.  From time to time, he tossed
his head, but his ears stayed forward, and Maggie smiled.  She offered him a
lump of sugar.  He stared at it a moment.  Then, he looked at her.  He snatched
it swiftly, as if afraid that she would change her mind.  Maggie sighed.  “Ike
didn’t waste any money on feeding you, did he boy?”  She patted his flank.  “Now,
what’ll I call you?”  She continued to brush the horse while he ate.  “I hope
this works.”

“That’s a good name, Magpie.”  Sam
leaned on the doorframe.  “You know,
wakta
is the Lakota word for hope.”

Maggie stopped brushing the horse. 
She turned and faced Sam.  “Lakota?  What made you think of that?”

Sam smiled at her.  “Flynn told
me.  About Pathfinder.”

Wakta turned to Maggie and nudged
her.  Laughing, Maggie continued to brush him.  “You don’t mind?”

“About Pathfinder?  Why should I? 
He was a good man.”

Maggie let out her breath.  “Good.” 
She hesitated.  “Flynn was worried.”

“Flynn was?  Or you?”

Maggie laughed ruefully.  “Both of
us, Papa.”

Sam squeezed her shoulder.  “You
know me better than that, Magpie.”

Maggie resumed brushing Wakta. 
Wakta tossed his head and went back to eating.

In the morning, Maggie found a
stout stick in the kindling box.  She led Wakta into the paddock and tapped his
knees.

Wakta merely tossed his head.

Maggie sighed.  Tears filled her
eyes, and she rested her head against the little gelding’s neck.  “This has to
work, Wakta.  It just has to.”