His beautiful, expressive green-blue eyes met hers. The spark of anger was gone, but the turmoil remained.
“No matter how good you are at taking care of everyone, you’re not God. And you can’t blame yourself when bad things happen to people.”
“Sometimes you can’t keep from blaming yourself”—his voice was low—“especially when you know you could have been there to do more.”
Linnea had the feeling they weren’t discussing what happened earlier in the day anymore. She stood quietly waiting for him to elaborate, but he shifted, focused on the bolt, and twisted it again, the muscles in his arms rippling with the movement.
She was half tempted to grab his hand and draw his attention back to her. But what good would that do? Except to stir up something between them that didn’t need stirring.
“Good night, Flynn.”
“’Night.”
As much as she wanted to stay, she forced herself to walk away.
Flynn stood in the shadows and watched Dylan creep out from underneath a covered wagon across the caravan circle. With everyone fast asleep except for those on night guard, the low light of several campfires hardly touched on the moving figure. But Flynn had seen his brother disappear under the wagon with one of the young women he’d been flirting with all day. Flynn had debated going over and yanking Dylan out, but he felt terrible making a scene with his brother when he was far from perfect himself.
Good thing Dylan was paying attention to the passing of time and knew when they needed to relieve Jericho and Nash.
As the kid came slinking back to their campsite, Flynn stepped away from their wagon. Dylan startled. “Holy tarnation, Flynn. You scared me.”
“You ready to head out?”
Dylan began stuffing his shirt into his trousers. “Yep. Ready as ever.”
“You didn’t get any shut-eye.”
“Got a little.”
Flynn cocked a brow.
Dylan grinned. “What?”
“You need to watch yourself with the young ladies.” Flynn shoved his hands into his pockets. He was past due in having a man-to-man talk with his brother about the consequences that could come of doing things with the ladies he shouldn’t be.
“Don’t get your feathers in a ruffle.” Dylan combed a hand through his mussed hair before he situated his hat back in place. “I’m careful.”
“Careful isn’t good enough. There’s a reason the Good Book instructs us to abstain from—” Flynn paused and searched for a tame way to spell out his concern. “You don’t wanna end up having a baby. Not at your age.”
“Shucks, Flynn. I didn’t sleep with the gal. We just had a little fun kissing is all.”
“Reckon kissing is something special that oughta be saved for a special woman.”
Dylan’s grin kicked up higher. “She was mighty special.”
“You know what I mean.”
Dylan shrugged.
“Kissing might seem innocent enough, but once you get started down that rushing river, it ain’t easy to stop against the flow.”
“I take it you’re speaking from personal experience?”
Flynn’s mind flashed to the times kissing with Helen and getting carried away—something he wasn’t proud of. “Yep. Reckon so.”
Dylan fastened a shirt button he’d missed earlier. “Reckon if you had to learn your lessons from personal experience, then maybe I will too.”
“I didn’t have anyone pointing me to a right, wise path. You’re lucky I’m here to warn you and keep you from making mistakes.”
“Yep. Real lucky.” Dylan’s voice was laced with sarcasm.
Flynn felt more like an old man every day as he tried to be both pa and ma to his siblings. Linnea’s words from earlier in the evening clamored around his mind. “No matter how good you are at taking care of everyone, you’re not God. And you can’t blame yourself when bad things happen to people.”
He’d been stewing on her almost getting trampled during the stampede and blaming himself for not watching out for her better. Why had he taken on the job from Dr. Howell? What had he been thinking? He didn’t exactly have the best record for protecting people he cared about. He’d failed with Brody. And he’d failed with his ma. Miserably.
The day she died, her tortured screams had filtered out of the old farmhouse to the alfalfa field where he’d been haying. All the while she labored, he drove himself to exhaustion in order to keep himself busy. After endless hours, the midwife delivered another dead baby—a boy.
When the midwife finally allowed him into Ma’s bedroom, he sat by her side, holding her limp hand. The sagging mattress seemed to swallow her up—at least what was left of the shell of the woman she’d become.
“Flynn?” She opened her eyes and sought him out through the darkness settling over a room that smelled of blood and death.
He squeezed her hand. “Right here, Ma.”
“I’m sorry.” Her words were laden with sorrow and regrets, no doubt a heavy burden she’d carried since marrying Rusty.
“You just get better, d’ya hear?” He tried to keep the sadness out of his own voice. She needed him to be the strong one.
She drew in a shaky breath, then peered up at him intensely. “Take care of the kids.”
“I will. I always do.”
“I know. You’re a good son.” Her lashes fell. Her lips closed. And then she was gone.
All he’d been able to think about was how he should have tried harder to convince her to stay while he still could. And now he didn’t want to fail with anyone else—not with Ivy, Dylan, or even Linnea. He didn’t know how he’d be able to live with himself if he failed again.
Tugging his coat around him more securely, he jerked his head toward the area where the cattle were resting. “Let’s go.”
Dylan didn’t budge. “Maybe Nash is right. Maybe you need a woman to help you loosen up.”
Half a dozen feet from the wagon, Flynn halted, his back stiffening at the insult.
“I see the way you’ve been lookin’ at Linnea. Reckon getting under a wagon with her might do you some good.”
He had half a mind to turn around and wallop Dylan. There was so much wrong with what the kid said, especially the part about using a woman instead of cherishing her. But Flynn took a deep breath and forced himself to remain calm. “Didn’t you listen to a thing I just said?”
“Nope.” Dylan began to softly whistle a melody and strode past him without a glance back.
As Flynn stared after Dylan, his gut churned. Somehow he had to do better, try to get his brother to see reason, to keep the kid from straying further. He wasn’t sure how. But no matter what Linnea had said about him playing God, he wasn’t gonna give up on his family. After all, God had put him in charge, and he aimed to make sure he didn’t fall short in doing the job he’d been given.
CHAPTER 7
“The heifer’s birthin’!”
Dylan’s call jerked at Flynn’s attention, but he couldn’t pull it away from Linnea and Dr. Greely strolling among the trees that grew along the banks of the Pawnee Fork. Both carried long tin containers that hung by straps from their shoulders as well as a pouch they used in their plant collecting.