Dangerous Men (Flynn Family Saga Book 2) (17 page)

Wakta whickered softly.

*  *  *

Sam and Flynn sat on the porch and
watched Maggie work with her little horse.  Flynn turned to Sam.  “Do you know
what she’s up to?”

Sam grinned.  “Yup.”

“Well, are you going to tell me?”

Sam’s grin broadened.  “Nope.”

Flynn laughed.

Sam sobered.  “Flynn, you’re going
to have to learn how to shoot with your left hand.”

“My left hand?  Why?”

Sam tapped his crutch, which leaned
against porch railing.

“Oh.”  Discouragement settled on
Flynn’s shoulders like a blanket made of lead.  “I have to hold the damned
thing in my right hand, don’t I?”

“Yup.”  Sam nodded.  “Come on.”

They walked together to the back of
the house, away from the horses.  Sam handed Flynn a left-handed holster.

Flynn stared at it.  “You had this
made?”

Sam shook his head.  “It belonged
to Hank, the man you saved from Brooks, remember?”

Flynn nodded.  “I remember.  Brooks
and his gang were going to stomp him to death for a hunk of maggoty beef.”

Sam nodded back.  “I think he’d
want you to have it.”

Flynn’s throat tightened as he
remembered the days he spent on Belle Isle, before they were transferred to Camp
Sumter.  He remembered not caring whether he lived or died.  Then, he saw a
fire, and he was drawn to it, to the sound of men laughing.  He had stepped
into the firelight—and met Sam Anders for the first time.

And Hank.

Hank had taken a bullet in the
skull.  He had become like a child again, and he needed a lot of protecting.

Sam pushed the holster into Flynn’s
hand.

Flynn focused on the present.  He
sat down on a rail and fastened the gun belt around his waist.  It felt all
wrong to have the weight of his pistol on his left hip instead of his right. 
He drew a deep breath and levered himself onto his left foot.  Sam had set up
tin cans on the fence.  Flynn drew and fired.

And missed.

He drew another deep breath and
tried again.  Finally, on his fifth shot, he hit a can, but it wasn’t the one
he was aiming at.  Flynn closed his eyes and clamped his jaws together to keep
from swearing in frustration.

Sam’s hand squeezed his shoulder.  “Again.”

Flynn nodded.  He opened his eyes. 
He took the bullets from Sam’s large hand.  He tucked the crutch under his
arm.  It was awkward loading a gun that way, and he dropped two of the
bullets.  His hand shook with frustration.

Sam laid a hand on his shoulder.  “Take
your time, Flynn.  You’ve got until March to learn how to do this.  I’m sure
you didn’t shoot all the cans off the rail the first day you learned to shoot.” 
Sam set the box of ammunition on a stump where Flynn couldn’t reach it and
turned back to the house.

Panic tightened around his throat
like the rawhide thongs that Vaughn and his thugs hand used to stake him out in
the sun.

Flynn shut his eyes.  He pictured
the wind in the prairie grass.  He felt the earth beneath his left foot.  He
felt the warmth of the sun on his face.  Flynn opened his eyes again.  He
limped over to the stump and picked up the box.  Slowly, carefully, he loaded
his pistol.

He didn’t drop a single bullet this
time.

Encouraged, Flynn didn’t even try
to draw this time.  He concentrated on shooting with his left hand instead of
his right.

By the time he had used up the box
of ammunition, he could hit the can every time.

That night, he dreamed of Jennie. 
She sat on her white mare with her hands tied behind her back and a rope around
her neck.  Her face was bruised and bloody, and her bodice was torn.  She
stared straight at him, and there was hatred in her sky-blue eyes.  “This is
your fault, Flynn.”

He woke with a gasp.  His missing
foot ached.  He rubbed his face with both hands before he got up.  He felt
empty and useless.

He heard Maggie’s voice outside,
and he picked up the hated crutch and hobbled over to the window.  The sky was
solid gray, and the fitful breeze was damp with the threat of rain.  He sighed
and pulled on his clothes.  He limped toward the barn just as Maggie led the
little horse out into the corral.  She threw a strange-looking saddle over his
back.  The horse flicked his ears backward and forward.  She cinched the
saddle.  Flynn noticed that critter was holding his breath.  Apparently, Maggie
did, too.  Laughing, she rammed her knee into his side.  The gelding woofed,
and she tightened the cinch strap.

The wind gusted, sighing noisily
through the pines.  The little horse shifted his feet uneasily.

“We won’t try too long today, boy.” 
Maggie led him out of the barn and tapped his knees.

The horse bent his right knee.

Maggie’s hand fished a lump of
sugar out of her pocket.  The horse took the sugar from her palm.  She rubbed
his forehead between his eyes.  “Good boy, Wakta.  Now, again.”  She tapped
both knees, and the horse knelt.

Maggie held her breath.  She gave the
horse another lump of sugar.  “Up, Wakta!”  The little horse stood.  She tapped
his knees, and he knelt again.

“What are you trying to do?  Get
that horse to pray?”  Flynn leaned against the corral fence.

Maggie turned to him.  “Robert Sean
Flynn, you’ve got to stop—”

“Sneaking up on people.”  He
grinned.  “I know.”

Maggie walked over to him and took
his arm.  “Come on.  It’s time for your riding lesson.”

Flynn glowered at her.  “Maggie,
you know I can’t even get onto a horse.”

“Come on.  I don’t have all day.”

Grumbling, Flynn limped through the
gate.  Maggie tapped the horse’s knees with her stick.

The little horse knelt as neatly as
you please.

“Okay.  Get on his back.”

Fear knotted in his gut.  He felt
Scout slip on the ice, felt him slide over the edge, felt the fall through
emptiness.  Bile rose in the back of his throat.

Maggie touched his hand gently. 
“Flynn?  Are you all right?”

Ashamed, he nodded.  Cautiously, he
swung his stump over the horse’s back.  It fit perfectly into the leather
cradle on the right side of the saddle.

“Up, Wakta!”  Maggie tugged gently
on the reins.  Obediently, the little horse stood up.  Maggie held out the
reins to him.

Flynn looked at her for a long,
long time.  Hope and fear and elation squeezed his throat tightly shut.  He
drew a deep breath and took the reins.  He squeezed his legs, silently blessing
Maggie for leaving him two thirds of his leg.

The little horse started to walk.

Flynn’s breath caught in his
throat.  “Maggie?”

“Yes, Flynn?”

“What did you call this horse?”

“Wakta.”  She looked at him shyly. 
“Am I saying it right?”

“Exactly right.”  He swallowed
hard.  “Do you know what it means?”

She nodded.  “Hope.”

Flynn nodded back.  “Hope,” he
whispered.  A little of his old confidence flooded back.  He flicked Wakta’s
rump with the reins, and the horse moved smoothly into a trot.  Grinning, he
slapped the horse’s side with the reins again, and the little horse started to
gallop.  Flynn shut his eyes briefly, overwhelmed with the joy of riding
again.  The horse’s gait was as smooth as silk.  Flynn rode to the edge of
Ben’s property.  Then, he turned the horse back to the corral.

The rain started to fall, large,
heavy drops.  The little horse tossed his head, and Flynn felt Wakta’s muscles
tighten.  Flynn patted his neck reassuringly.  “Easy, boy.  Easy.  We’re almost
home.”  He rode the little horse back to Maggie.  Elation coursed through his
blood like a drug.  He reined in beside her and slid off the horse easily.  He
stood, without his crutch, holding on to the saddle horn.  The sky opened,
drenching all three of them.  Flynn didn’t care.  He let go of the horse and
put his hands on Maggie’s shoulders.  He leaned forward and kissed her.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Maggie sighed and rested her head against Flynn's
broad chest.  Joy filled her, sweet and hot, like maple sugar boiling in a
shack.

Then, Flynn pulled away abruptly.  “I shouldn’t have
done that.”

Maggie blinked.  “Why not?”

“Because I’m a cripple and have no right to touch you!”

Maggie felt as if he had punched her in the
stomach.  She opened her mouth and shut it.  Pain beat against her in wave
after wave.

Flynn turned and limped toward the house.  Maggie
stood, paralyzed by pain and watched him go.  Then, anger filled her, as fierce
as the lightning that seared across the sky.  She ran after him, heedless of
the mud that splashed up onto her trousers.  She was so mad that she forgot to
take off her boots at the kitchen door.

Flynn had taken his shirt off, and he was drying himself
with a flour sack towel.

Maggie stopped in front of him.  “Why not?”

“Because I can’t protect you!”

“You don’t have to protect me!”  Her hands curled
into fists.  “I can protect myself!  How many times have
I
had to rescue
you
?”

“Too many times,” Flynn said gently.

Maggie’s anger puffed out of her, like the air from
a punctured balloon.  “I don’t understand.”

Flynn was silent a long time.  “I buried too many
people I cared about:  my father, my mother, my best friend, my—"  His
voice broke.

"Your first love?"

Flynn turned away from her without answering.

Maggie bowed her head and looked down at her work-roughened
hands.  “You don’t want me because I’m not like her, like Jennie.”  It wasn't a
question, and she didn't expect an answer.

Flynn took her hands and kissed them, first one and
then the other.  “No, Maggie.  I do want you.  I want you more than anything,
more than I want my leg back.  But I want you to be safe and happy.  And I
don’t think I can give you that.”

Maggie shut her eyes.  “Oh, Flynn.  I feel the same
way about you.  When I saw you lying on that ledge—“  Her voice broke.  She
opened her eyes and forced herself to meet his gaze.  “I—I want you, Flynn.  I
want to be your wife and bear your children and spend the rest of my life with
you.”

The pain in Flynn’s eyes tore at her heart.  He
smiled sadly.  He leaned over and kissed her forehead.  “Thank you, Maggie. 
That means more to me than I can say.”  He drew a deep breath.  “But I learned
in Elmira that I’m not as strong as Sam.  I can’t care about people and stand
by helplessly while they get hurt or die.  That’s why he’s the wagon master and
I’m the scout.”  He winced.  “Used to be the scout.”  He turned and limped up
the stairs.

Maggie followed him.  She stopped, just outside the
door.

And there, her courage deserted her.  She turned and
ran to her room, shutting the door behind her.

***

Flynn sat on the edge of his bed.  He remembered the
night he decided to live, decided to try to walk and ride again.

He regretted that choice.

The door slammed open, and Sam filled it with his
presence.  “Robert Sean Flynn, I never thought I’d live to be ashamed of you. 
But I am today.”

“Sam—“

“Shut up!”  Sam’s face was red, and Flynn worried
about his heart.

Flynn swallowed hard.  “All right, Sam.  Sit down
and say whatever you need to say.”

Sam nodded.  He sat on the chair and drew a deep
breath.  “What in the Sam Hill did you say to Maggie?”

Flynn shrugged.  “I just told her the truth, that I
can’t marry her.”

Sam frowned.  “Why not?”

Flynn looked away.  “She deserves a whole man.”

Sam uttered an expletive.

Flynn stared at him in disbelief.

Sam took off his hat and ran his hand through his
thinning hair.  “Flynn, that girl has loved you ever since you took her to
Lawrenceville.  I don’t know what happened between the two of you on the way,
and it’s none of my business.  But the night before you left, she thought you
were the most pig-headed, stuck-up, insufferable man who had ever
drawn a breath.”  Sam grinned.  “And I’m quoting her verbatim.”

Flynn laughed.  “I remember.”

Sam’s smile broadened.  “That’s better.”  He
sobered.  “But you did something when you were out there that impressed the
hell out of her.”

Flynn shrugged.  “I helped her look after her
grandparents, that’s all.”

“That’s all?  Son, you risked your life for
strangers.”

Embarrassed, Flynn looked away.  “She would have
done the same for me.”

“I know.”  Sam squeezed his arm.  “That’s one of the
many reasons the two of you belong together.”

Flynn drew a deep breath.  “Sam, I can walk—with a
crutch.  I can even ride again, but I’ll never be able to fight.  I’ll never be
able to protect her.  How would you feel if Kate had to protect you from men
like the Vaughns?”

“I don’t know.”

Flynn blinked.  That wasn’t the answer he had
expected.

Sam rubbed his face with his huge hands.  “Son, when
Maggie said I couldn’t boss a wagon train anymore, I was furious.  And scared. 
I didn’t know what in the world I was going to do with my life.  But St. Jo is
a growing city, and there’s always something that needs to be done, someone who
needs help.”  He fell silent for a moment.  “But I don’t know how I would feel
if I couldn’t shoot.  Or knock a man out who was bothering her.”  Sam tilted
his chin up, just like Maggie.  “Anyway, as I recall, the last two times you
got into trouble, it was Maggie who rescued
you
.”

Flynn felt the blood rise to his face.  He looked
away and nodded.

Sam chuckled and patted his shoulder.  “Flynn, you
did much more for Maggie than protect her.  You taught her how to protect
herself.  When Scout broke his leg, he was screaming in pain.  I had my rifle
ready, but I’m not sure I could have made that shot in that light.  Maggie
could, in part because of the things you taught her.  And I’ve seen the two of
you spar.  She’s good, with a knife and with her bare hands.”  He fell silent a
moment.  “I know a man in San Francisco.  His name is Jem Loman.  He used to be
a prizefighter.  He started to train other fighters after he lost his leg in a
trolley car accident.”

“He
trains
fighters?  With one leg?”  Hope
stung Flynn like a nettle.

Sam nodded.

Flynn shut his eyes.  That was more than he dared
hope for, especially with the shreds of nightmare still clinging to him.  “I
don’t know.”

Sam touched his shoulder lightly.  Flynn opened his
eyes.  Sam’s face was solemn.  “Think it over, Flynn.  Some things are worth
fighting for.  And in my book, Maggie is one of them.”  He got up and left the
room.

Flynn sat staring at his hands a long time.  The
rain stopped, and a sunbeam lanced from the window to the floor.  Dust motes
danced in the light, something that had delighted Flynn ever since he was a
child.  He stood up and limped down the stairs.  He walked out to the barn.  It
was difficult, saddling Wakta, but the little horse knelt obediently, and Flynn
swung his leg over Wakta’s back.  He rode up the mountain until he came to a
barbed wire fence.  There was grassland—and no stock.  He remembered that Ben
had said the owner refused to sell.  The senseless waste made him angry.  He
wanted to fight someone.

He wanted to be
able
to fight someone again.

He turned the little horse back toward Ben’s ranch. 
He came to a river, and he thought of Maggie.  He thought of the day he first
met her.  She was wearing a yellow slicker that was two sizes too big for her. 
She was dressed like a boy, and for a moment, she had him fooled.  But as soon
as he touched her hand, there was a spark, a connection between them.  He
thought of the day he caught a fish for her, the delight on her face when she
saw the prairie for the first time.

Some things are worth fighting for
.

Sam’s words came back to him.  Flynn nodded once. 
He kicked Wakta into a gallop and rode back to Ben’s ranch.  He found Sam,
shoeing a horse.  He took off his hat.  “Sam?”

Sam turned.  “Yes, son?”

“Where exactly is that man who trains fighters?”

Slowly, Sam smiled.  “He owns a gymnasium near the
docks.  Tell Jem I sent you.”

Flynn nodded.  He hesitated.  "Thank you,
Sam."

"For what?"

Flynn met his gaze levelly.  "For giving me
hope."

Sam shrugged.  “It seems to me that Maggie did that
when she gave you that little horse.”  He held out his hand.  Flynn took it. 
Then, Sam grinned.  "And don't thank me until you've been married a year. 
I swear my hair was jet black until I adopted that little hellcat."

Flynn laughed.

Sam laughed with him.  Slowly, he grew solemn.  He
took Flynn's hand.  "I wouldn't trust her to anyone else, Flynn."  He
rubbed his chin thoughtfully.  "Why don't you wait until after Christmas,
though?  It's only a few days away."

Flynn's eyes narrowed.  "Why?"

Sam shrugged with exaggerated innocence.  "No
reason."

Flynn shook his head.  "You're up to
something."

Sam laughed.  "Come on.  Breakfast's
waiting."

Flynn nodded slowly.

*  *  *

The days passed slowly.  Maggie
avoided him.  Flynn tried to speak to her several times, but she shut him out
every time.

On Christmas day, Flynn woke before
dawn.  Despair still lurked in the corner.  But now he had hope.

Literally.  “Wakta,” he said
softly.  Grinning, Flynn shook his head.  He got up and pulled on his clothes. 
He used his crutch to get to the door and down the stairs.  Frank was in the
kitchen, banging pots onto the stove as he made breakfast.  Emma sat at the
table, sipping coffee and watching him.

Flynn blinked.  “What are you doing
here, Frank?”

“Merry Christmas to you, too,
Flynn.”  Frank turned with his hands on his hips.

Slowly, Flynn grinned.  He limped
over to the stove and lifted the coffee pot.  He eyed it suspiciously.  “Who
made the coffee?”

Emma laughed.  “I did.”

Grinning, Flynn poured himself a
cup of coffee.  He raised it.  “Merry Christmas, Frank.”  He turned.  “Merry
Christmas, Mrs. Brewster.”

That night, after they had eaten
too much, they went into the parlor.  Jessica and Billy had decorated a
Ponderosa pine with candles and a paper chain.  A pile of presents lay heaped
under the tree.

Flynn’s throat felt tight as he
realized what he had almost thrown away.  He climbed the stairs and managed to
climb down again with his saddlebags over his shoulder.  He knelt beside the
tree and took out the gifts he had bought in St. Jo.  He watched as his friends
opened their gifts.  Then, Frank brought in something wrapped in burlap.  It
felt heavy as Frank handed it to him.  He unwrapped it carefully.

Inside was a beautifully
articulated leg.  The polished wood gleamed in the morning sunlight.  A series
of wires and springs ran from the top of the leg to the ankle.  Flynn stared at
it and ran his hand over the polished surface.  “Frank, what—how—?”

Frank looked down at his work-worn
hands.  “Maggie taught me how to read.  I read an article about a Duke over in England. 
He lost his leg fighting this here French general.  I forget his name.”

“Napoleon,” Flynn said softly.

“Yup.  That’s it.  There was a
picture of this thing.  So I copied it.  Len Johnson, the blacksmith, made the
springs and such for me.”  Frank lifted his head.  “There’s a harness and
everything.  I made that myself.”

Flynn’s throat tightened.  He
squeezed Frank’s shoulder, unable to find the right words.  He strapped on the
leg.  He stood up cautiously.

He
stood
!  On his own two
feet!

He drew a deep breath. 
"Where's Maggie?"

"In the barn," Sam said.

Flynn nodded.  He turned and walked
out to the barn.

He
walked
!

Maggie was brushing Patches.  She
turned when she heard the thump of his wooden leg on the floor of the barn. 
Her mouth opened, and she dropped the brush.

Flynn walked over to her.  He bent
from the waist and picked up the brush.  He held it out to her.

Maggie took the brush with a
trembling hand.  "Flynn, what—how?"

He pulled up his pant leg to reveal
the polished leg.

Maggie knelt and ran her hand over
it.  "It's beautiful."

"Frank made it."  Flynn's
voice was hoarse.

Maggie shook her head.  She stood
up.  "He always amazes me."  She looked at Flynn.

He reached into his pocket.  He
drew out a ring with a solitary emerald stone.

Maggie stared at the ring.  "Flynn,
that must have cost a fortune."

He shrugged.  "I never spent
much of my pay.  I was saving up to build that white house on the hill—if I
ever found the right hill."  He regarded her solemnly.  "Or the right
woman."  He got down on his right knee.  “Maggie, will you marry me?”

Maggie’s breath caught.  She knelt
in front of him.  She clasped his hands so tightly that it hurt.  “Do you mean
it, Flynn?  Do you really mean it this time?”

He nodded.

“Yes,” she whispered.

Flynn slid the ring onto her
finger.  It was a perfect fit.  Then, he did what he had wanted to do for
weeks.  He put his arms around her and held her tightly.  He kissed the top of
her head.  He was too full of love and joy and hope to speak.  Instead, he
tilted her head back and kissed her.  Maggie softened against him, and she felt
so good, so
right
.  Flynn shut his eyes.  For a moment, he saw Jennie’s
pale and bloody face, but only for a moment.  He opened his eyes and gazed at
the woman he loved.  He stood up and pulled her to her feet.  "Maggie, I
will marry you in the spring, but there is something I need to do first."

The color drained from Maggie's
face.  "What?"