As she broke through the swampy stems and started toward their wagons, shouts and the galloping of horses startled her. She stepped back in time to watch a white-tailed deer leap from out of nowhere and bound past her.
The creature was large with antlers, giving it a magnificent, ageless quality. It moved with such speed and grace simultaneously that she could only stare at it in wonder, even as her grandfather and the other scientists charged past her on their mounts, chasing the deer with unfettered excitement, their revolvers smoking.
Flynn moved away from the horse he was attending and started after Grandfather and the others, scowling and waving his arms at them to stop. One of the men shot again, but thankfully, the deer was too far ahead and out of range of the bullet.
Yes, they would benefit from having the meat, but she was too softhearted when it came to killing animals. She hated to see any of God’s creatures come to harm, and she held her breath, hoping the beautiful deer would be safe this time.
At a heavy rumble in the ground behind her, along with the bleating and snorting of cattle, she glanced over her shoulder. The herd was on the move and picking up speed. Had Grandfather and the other men spooked the cattle with their shouting and shooting?
Her gaze shifted to the swath of land that lay in the path of the herd, a path that led directly toward the wooden plant presses she’d left out, along with the crate containing the plants they’d catalogued so far. She’d placed them in a sunny spot, wanting to make sure everything was dry. They couldn’t risk damp specimens growing mold and ruining their presses as well as contaminating other important research.
Her heart began to thud an urgent beat. After the past few weeks of meticulous work, she couldn’t let the cattle trample everything. The Smithsonian was counting on them to include a chapter in the field guide regarding the flora of the western prairie. This research was vital to the compilation of the book.
Did she have time to try to save at least the crate?
With a glance, she measured the distance of the oncoming herd. She might have a chance.
Darting forward, she picked up her skirt and raced toward the crate, keeping one eye on the steers and one on her destination. She could do it. She had to.
“No, Linnea!” Flynn’s shout rose above her thudding heart. But she ignored him and forced herself to go faster. She nearly fell to her knees as she reached the research. Heaving for breath, she grabbed the open container. Did she have enough time to rescue anything else?
The ground rumbled. The cattle were picking up speed and racing her way. A new sense of urgency rammed through her. She’d heard of stampedes, but she’d never seen one. And now not only was she seeing one, she was about to experience one much too personally.
Sucking in a breath, she charged back the way she’d come, needing to get clear of their pathway, but having only seconds to do so. At the same time she scrambled for her life, Flynn was running toward her and the cattle, his revolver outstretched.
His expression was hard, rigid with determination. He pointed his gun toward the lead steers and shot, the bang echoing above the thundering hooves. One bullet whizzed over the closest steers and another hit the ground near their hooves. The blasts were apparently enough to frighten the lead cattle, turning the direction of the stampede, so that as Linnea reached Flynn, only their scent barreled into her and nothing else.
Flynn backed into her, holding his arms out and shielding her body with his. Already Dylan, Jericho, and Nash had mounted their horses and were chasing after the cattle and forcing them to circle back around, hopefully keeping them from scattering too far.
As soon as the last of the steers bolted past, Flynn spun and grasped both her upper arms. His expression radiated concern. “You alright?”
She nodded, too shaken to make her voice work.
He took her in, his grip biting. “You sure?”
She swallowed hard, pushing down the swell of her emotion. “You go. You need to help stop the cattle from getting away.”
He hesitated, as though afraid to leave her alone.
“I’ll be fine. Save the cattle.”
With a curt nod, he hurried off toward his horse, his limping gait hardly slowing him. She could only watch him with a growing sense of frustration at herself. This was the third time Flynn had rescued her from possible death. What if she’d been wrong to finagle her way into joining the expedition? Were Grandfather’s concerns justified?
The doubts stayed with her all through dinner and afterward. As the fire crackled and sent sparks into the darkness, the chatter around camp was more subdued. Even though the stampede had been squelched and the cattle turned and rounded up, Grandfather and the other scientists were chastened by their part in what could have been a disaster, especially when they’d learned how close Linnea had come to being trampled.
They lost a number of recently collected specimens, and the presses were damaged. Grandfather and Dr. Greely insisted that they would replace the lost research, and Dr. Johnson claimed he’d fix the presses, while Dr. Parker offered to build new ones if necessary. Everyone reassured her. Except Flynn, who didn’t speak to her once.
As the evening wore on, her chest tightened until she couldn’t think about anything except loosening it. She knew only one thing would. As she stood, Dr. Greely, her grandfather, and the others rose from their camp chairs, watching her expectantly.
She would have preferred sneaking off quietly, but they were only being gentlemen, and she couldn’t fault them for maintaining good manners even in the untamed prairie.
“I think I shall turn in early tonight.”
Grandfather’s brows had maintained a perpetual crease all evening. “You’re certain you are unharmed, young lady?”
“Yes, Grandfather.” She gave him what had to have been at least the hundredth reassuring smile of the evening. “I’m perfectly unharmed.” Except perhaps her pride.
With a chorus of good-nights, the men sat back down. She made her way to the wagon, passing Ivy and Dylan playing their usual game of cards. Instead of climbing into the wagon bed, she circled around behind it until she reached Flynn. He was bent over the tongue tightening a bolt.
With his back facing her, she wasn’t exactly sure how to get his attention without frightening him.
He paused, cast a slight glance in her direction, and then resumed his efforts.
She should have known he’d hear or see her approach—or perhaps both. “Flynn?”
His hands grew motionless.
“I’m appalled I put you in another situation where you had to save me.”
He shifted, and his eyes were blazing mad. “What you did out there was real reckless and plain stupid.”
“I was trying to save all our research—”
“Don’t matter. You never, ever get in front of a stampeding herd of cattle like that again. D’ya hear me?”
“Yes.”
“Not for any reason.”
“I won’t.”
He turned back around, muttering angrily.
“I apologize—”
“I don’t want your blasted apology, Linnea.” He pivoted so he was now facing her fully. He opened his mouth as if he wanted to yell at her for a little while longer. But as he took in her face—and hopefully her contrition—he clamped his lips closed.
“I haven’t known you long, Flynn, but already I can see what a brave man you are for taking on so much responsibility, not just with your family, but now with us too.”