Dangerous Men (Flynn Family Saga Book 2) (13 page)

Flynn took the heavy saddle from
her.  He helped her make camp.  They didn’t light a fire.  They ate hardtack
and strips of dried beef.  Then, he made Maggie lie down.  He took the first
watch.  He sat on his blanket, watching Maggie as she slept.  She looked older,
as if she had grown up suddenly, when she shot those men.  He remembered the
first time he killed a man.  It was the battle of Manassas.  The young Union
soldier came at him over the embankment.  Longing for revenge, Flynn had
squeezed the trigger of his rifle without thinking.  Red blood had bloomed on
the young boy’s chest, and he fell backward.  Flynn remembered kneeling beside
him, but the boy was already dead.  All Flynn could do for him was close his
bright, blue eyes.

Tears filled Flynn’s eyes, and his
chest ached in a way that had nothing to do with his broken ribs.

The half moon rose, and Maggie
cried out in her sleep.  Flynn shook her shoulder gently.

“No!”  She sat bolt upright.  She
blinked a few times.  She turned and looked at him.  “Flynn?”

He nodded.

“Was it just a nightmare?  Or did I—did
I really kill someone?”  Her whole body trembled.

He wanted to lie to her.  He wanted
to tell her that she had just dreamed her first killing.

He couldn’t.  He shook his head.

Maggie started to sob.

Flynn put his arms around her and
held her close.  “It’s all right, Maggie.  It’s all right.”

“It’s not all right!”  Her body
tensed.

Flynn took her chin between his
thumb and forefinger and tilted her head up so he could see her face.  “You did
what had to be done, like you always do.  And if you hadn’t, they would have
killed me.”

She looked away.  “You don’t
understand.”

He kept silent, waiting.

She drew a deep, shuddering breath
and looked back at him.  Her face was pale, and tears glinted in her eyes.  “I
wanted
to kill them.  When I saw them hurt you, I—”  Her voice broke.

Flynn’s breath hissed.  “You saw
that?”

Maggie nodded.

He sighed.  “I wish you hadn’t.”

“Me too.”  Her voice sounded very
small.  She drew another deep breath and met his gaze levelly.  “I’m just like
my father.”

“No, Magpie!  No!”  He touched her
hair.

Maggie shut her eyes, and her
breath caught.  She opened her eyes, and looked at him with hope.  “Am I?  Am I
still Magpie?”

Flynn nodded solemnly.  “You could
have killed them all in their sleep.  You only shot them when they shot at us.” 
He grinned wryly.  “And besides, who says it was your bullets that killed them?”

Maggie smiled a little.  “Thank
you.”  Her smile faltered.  “I feel like I lost a part of myself.”

“You did.”  Pain twisted in his
chest, pain that had nothing to do with his broken ribs.

“You killed men in the war, didn’t
you?”

He nodded.

Maggie pulled free of his arm.  She
turned to look at him.  “How did you make peace with that?”

Flynn looked away from her innocent
face.  “I didn’t.”

She rolled over and started to sob.

And this time, Flynn had no comfort
to give her.

CHAPTER
THIRTEEN

In the morning, they did not
speak.  They rode back to the wagon train in silence.

At the top of a low rise, Maggie
reined in Patches.  She stared at the white canvas of the wagons.  She heard
Sam’s voice, bellowing orders.

And she could not face him.  She
wheeled her horse and galloped away.

“Maggie!”

She heard Flynn’s voice, and for
the first time since she’d known him, she ignored it.

Scout caught up to Patches easily.

Maggie sobbed.  She urged the
little horse to go faster, but he was at his limit.  Her training and her love
of animals overcame her grief.  She reined in the little horse and walked him
until his breath came easily.

Flynn rode beside her.  He said
nothing until she looked at him.  “I couldn’t face them either, that first
winter after the war.”

Maggie swallowed hard.  “Who?”

“Civilians.”  His mouth crooked
into a wry smile.  “I know you’re not a soldier, but you might as well be.”

Maggie felt flattered and
frightened at the same time.  “I can’t go back.  What will Kate think?  Sam
might understand, but Kate...”

Flynn stared ahead.  He frowned. 
Then, he turned to Maggie.  “Wait here.”

He turned and rode back toward the
wagons.  He was gone a long time.  When he finally came back, he sported a
black eye.

Maggie reached toward him.  “What
happened?”

Flynn looked at her and looked
away.  “I ran into a door.”

Maggie found herself grinning in
spite of herself.  “That door wouldn’t happen to have the last name of Anders,
would it?”

Flynn turned and grinned back.  “It
might.”  His grin faded.  “Come on, Maggie.”

“Where are we going?”

“Back.”

She reined in Patches.  Her heart
pounded and her hands trembled.  “I can’t!”

Flynn reined in Scout.  He turned
and faced her.  “You need to finish this.  Otherwise, it will haunt you the
rest of your life.”

Maggie bowed her head.

Flynn touched her wrist gently.  “Maggie,
you’re Sam’s daughter, just as if he was your flesh-and-blood father.  When I
explained to him what I wanted you to do, he agreed with me.”

Maggie smiled a wobbly little
smile.  “Was that before or after he gave you a black eye?”

Flynn laughed.  “After.  Well?”

Maggie drew a deep breath and
nodded.

*  *  *

As they rode toward the place where
the outlaws had tortured him, Flynn’s gut tightened.  He didn’t really want to
face this himself.  He watched Maggie closely.  Her face was pale and her hands
shook.  When they reached the stand of trees where she had tethered Patches,
she slid from the saddle and ran to the river.  She lost what little breakfast
she had been able to eat.

Flynn held her head and wiped her
face.  Guilt stabbed him, sharper than Nick Vaughn’s knife.  He forced his own
feelings aside.  He helped Maggie stand.

Maggie looked up at him.  Her hand
moved toward his face.  She let it fall to her side before she touched him.  “You’re
scared, too.”

He nodded.  He looked away, across
the river.  “But this is something I should have done years ago.  I should have
gone back to Manassas and Fort Wagner and Elmira.”

“And done what?”  Maggie’s voice
shook

Flynn turned to her.  “You know
that Pathfinder adopted me.”

She nodded.

Flynn looked away.  “On my first
buffalo hunt, I brought down a bull.  When the Lakota kill, we ask the
forgiveness of the animal whose life we take.  We explain to them why we had to
do it.  And then, there is a kind of peace.”

“Oh.”  Maggie swallowed hard.  “All
right.”  She went to Patches and got her shovel.

Flynn stared at her.  “Mary
Margaret O’Brien Anders, where did you come from?”

“Well, I was born in Manhattan...” 
She tried to smile and failed.

Flynn drew a deep breath and let it
out.  “Let’s go.”

Animals had been at the outlaws. 
Flynn’s gorge rose, but he swallowed bile and dug four graves.  Maggie helped,
and the earth was soft enough beside the river that she was able to dig easily.

Finally, the graves were deep
enough.  Together, they laid the bodies into the earth.  Flynn stood beside
Nick Vaughn’s grave in silence for a long time.  He spoke the words in Lakota,
as he had been taught.

“What does that mean?”  Tears shone
in Maggie’s eyes.

“I asked his forgiveness.”

Maggie nodded.  She drew a deep
breath.  “This is a prayer, so I can’t lie.  I’m not sorry I killed you.  If I
hadn’t, you would have hurt other people the way you hurt Tommy and Ellie
Lonnegan.  And Flynn.”  She stopped and shut her eyes.  “But I
am
sorry
that life twisted you somehow.  I know you didn’t want to grow up to be mean
and hurtful.  And I am sorry for that.”

Flynn’s breath caught.

Maggie turned to him.  “Did I do it
wrong?”  Her voice shook.

Flynn shook his head.  “No,
Magpie.  You did it right.  You did it exactly right.  Come on.”

They rode in silence for a long
time.  Night fell, and they made camp.  He dreamed of Jennie, as he had so many
times, but this was different.

This time, it was Maggie’s face
that was bruised and bloody.

“No!”  He sat up.

Maggie knelt beside him with her
hand on his shoulder.  It was strong and brown from the sun.

Suddenly, Flynn remembered another
dream, the dream he had of the white house on the hill with lace curtains in
the windows and the sound of children laughing.  He got up and walked away.  He
stood beside the river and watched the moonlight sprinkle it with silver.  Hope
and fear warred in his chest.  He realized that he loved this woman who dressed
like a boy and danced like an angel.  He wanted to protect her and care for her
more than he ever wanted anything in his life.

“Flynn?”  Maggie touched his back.

He turned to her.  “Why did you
come after me?”

She looked away.  “Because you were
gone so long, and Sam was worried and—”

“Maggie.”  He took her shoulders
and turned her to face him.  “Are you in love with me?”

Her tears brimmed over and slid
down her face.  She nodded.  “I’m sorry, Flynn.  We have such a good
friendship, and I didn’t want to spoil it, and—”

He kissed her.  He couldn’t help
it, couldn’t fight it anymore.  He had loved her ever since she squared those
slim shoulders of hers and marched into a house full of cholera.

Maggie wrapped her arms around his
neck and softened against him.

Flynn drew back before his desire
got the better of him.  He went down on one knee.  “Mary Margaret O’Brien
Anders, will you do me the great honor of marrying me?”

A smile spread across her face, and
joy kindled in her dark green eyes.  She nodded.

Flynn picked her up and spun her
around.

Maggie laughed for the first time
since the night she killed Nick Vaughn.

He set her down and held her
again.  He rested his cheek on the top of her head.  “Oh, Maggie.  I have wanted
to do this for so long.”

“Me too,” she said softly.

Flynn drew a deep breath.  “Let’s
get out of here.”

Maggie nodded.  They mounted their
horses and rode back toward the wagon train.

Sam rode out to meet them.  He,
too, sported a black eye.  He took one look at Maggie and grinned.  “Well it’s
about time, Flynn!”

Flynn raised one eyebrow.  “What
is?”

“Asking her to marry you.”

Flynn laughed.

Sam turned to Maggie.  “And I trust
you had the good sense to say yes?”

Smiling, Maggie nodded.  Her smile
faded slowly.  “Papa, is it wrong to be so happy after—after—”

Sam took off his hat.  “Oh,
Magpie.  Sometimes, we have to take the bitter with the sweet.  I’m sorry you
had to put down those rabid dogs, but I’m not sorry they’re dead.”

Maggie nodded.

The three of them rode into camp.

*  *  *

That night, Maggie dreamed of the
day she rescued Flynn.  She watched helplessly as Nick Vaughn tortured him. 
Night fell, and she crept into the clearing.  She cut Flynn’s bonds, and they
almost escaped when one of the men woke up.  Maggie drew her pistol and fired.

Maggie woke, gasping.  Her heart
pounded.  She went to the picket line and curried Patches, but even that didn’t
soothe her.  She sighed and went to Frank’s cook fire.  She stirred the embers
and placed a pan of milk on the fire.  The milk began to hiss.

Someone touched her shoulder. 
Maggie turned with her pistol in her hands.

Frank stood behind her.  Slowly, he
raised his hands.

With a sob, Maggie hurled her
pistol into the brush.

Gently, Frank took her hands.  “You
did what you had to do, Maggie.”

She shook her head.  “I’m just like
my father.”

“The Major?”  Frank frowned.  “That’s
something to be proud of.”

Maggie shook her head.  “No.  My
flesh-and-blood father.  He was a killer, too.”

“Oh.  I forgot all about him. 
Seems like you’ve been with us all your life.”  Frank looked at her solemnly.  “Maggie
Anders, you are not a killer anymore than I am.”

“Oh, Frank.  You never killed
anyone in your life.”

Frank looked away from her.  “I was
in two wars, the one with Mexico and the War between the States.  I wasn’t just
a cook.  I had to fight.  One night, near the Natchez River, I ran out of
bullets.  All I had was my bayonet.”  He swallowed hard.  “And I used it.  It
was him or me.  But I’ll never forget the look on that boy’s face.  Like he was
surprised.”  He shivered.  “I still dream about it sometimes.”

Maggie touched his back.  “I didn’t
know.”

Frank shrugged.  “It’s not
something I talk about much.  None of us do, those of us that were in a war. 
Men are supposed to be brave.  Killing ain’t supposed to bother us at all.  But
it does, Magpie.  Now don’t you go telling your Papa I told you.”

Maggie smiled.  “I won’t, Frank.”

He smiled and patted her arm.  “How
about I shave a little chocolate into that milk for you?”

Maggie nodded.  “Thank you, Frank.”

When the chocolate had melted into
the milk, he poured it into a mug and handed it to her.

Maggie blew on it to cool it.  “Frank?”

“Yes, Maggie?”

“Does it ever stop hurting?”

Frank was silent a moment.  Then,
he looked at her and shook his head.  “No, Maggie.  I’m not going to lie to
you.  It still hurts.  But after a while, it stops feeling like you swallowed a
riverful of rocks.”

Maggie nodded again.  She finished
her hot chocolate and went back to her bedroll.  She lay awake a long time
before she slept, and when she did, she dreamed of the faces of the men she had
killed.

*  *  *

In the morning, Flynn came to Sam’s
wagon dressed in his white shirt and black trousers.  He stood in front of Kate
with his hat in his hand.  “Mrs. Anders, I would like permission to marry your
daughter.”

Kate stood up and walked away.

Flynn started after her.

Maggie shook her head.  “I’ll go.” 
She followed Kate out of the circle of wagons.

Kate stood staring eastward.

Maggie cleared her throat.  “Mama?”

“He is so like Richard.”  Kate’s
voice was barely audible.  Slowly, she turned back to Maggie.  “He is handsome
and charming.  And he doesn’t have a penny to his name.  And he’ll never settle
down, Maggie.  Have you thought about children?”

Maggie nodded.  “Yes, I have.  Lucy
grew up in a farmhouse with two loving parents.  They brought her up right. 
And she married Michael and one terrible night, he killed her in a drunken
rage.”

Kate smiled sadly and touched her
face.  “I just want you to be safe.”

Maggie bit her lip.  Tears filled
her eyes.  “Everyone wants me to be safe, Mama.  Even Flynn.  But I love this
life.  And I love Flynn.  And—and I want him.”  She looked down at her hands.  “All
the time I was looking after my parents, I never let myself want anything.  Whenever
I wanted something, I wrapped it up and put it away, like the rag doll I carry
around in my old, beat-up carpetbag.”  She looked up at Kate.  “I want this,
for myself.  I want to love and be loved.  And Flynn loves me, Mama.”

Kate was silent a long time.  Then,
she sighed and hugged Maggie.  She tilted Maggie’s chin up so their eyes met.  “I’ve
seen you in the winter, and I’ve seen you here.  You come alive out here.  All
right, Maggie.  Go to him.”

Maggie hugged Kate hard.  “Thank
you, Mama.

*  *  *

In the morning, Sam got up and
poured himself a cup of coffee.  He started to yell at Frank and stopped in
mid-sentence.  He clutched his chest, his face went white and he toppled
slowly, like a huge old oak.

Maggie ran to him.  She laid her
ear against his chest.

His heart was pounding.

She ran to the wagon and took out
the reticule her grandmother used to carry when she treated the sick.  She
found the vial marked “fox glove.”  She ran back to the cook fire and poured
hot water into a mug.  She put just a drop into the water and held it to Sam’s
lips.  He took a sip and made a face.

“Finish it, Papa.  Please.”

Sam nodded.  He forced himself to
drink the entire mug.  After a while, the color came back into his face.

Maggie’s own heart was pounding.

Kate touched Sam’s hand gently. 
She turned to Maggie.  “What was that?  What happened to him?”

Maggie swallowed hard.  “It’s his
heart, Mama.”  Tears filled her eyes.  She ran to the picket line and buried
her face in Patches flank.  She heard footsteps and turned, hoping it would be
Flynn.

Sam stood behind her.  “Maggie...”

Maggie’s hands clenched into
fists.  “It’s my fault!  God is punishing me for killing those men!”