She craned her neck to see upriver. Amidst the long caravan crossing at the river’s shallowest place, she spotted their team of oxen straining to pull their wagon up the gradual incline, following the other scientists in the expedition who were riding their horses. Her grandfather sat on the wagon bench next to Clay, his manservant, and waved both arms at her.
Starting from New York City, their six-member team had traveled for weeks, first by train and then by steamboat, before they reached Fort Leavenworth in March. They’d initially planned to traverse the Santa Fe Trail starting from Independence, Missouri, but with border ruffians stirring up strife, they’d had to change their plans to avoid some of the danger.
What would Grandfather say now that she’d almost drowned? Would he force her to return home?
“Ma’am?” Her rescuer was still staring up at her. “You alright?”
She forced her lips into a smile but still couldn’t control the chattering of her teeth. “Yes. Thank you.”
“Let’s get you warmed up.” His gloved hands closed about her waist, and he lifted her down.
As her feet touched the ground, her legs buckled.
“Whoa now.” Flynn didn’t release her.
“I think I’m just a little cold and worn out.” She tried to make her muscles obey a silent command to work, but she collapsed again, this time grabbing fistfuls of Flynn’s vest to keep herself from falling.
In an instant, he swooped her up into his arms and started toward the fire Dylan was feeding with handfuls of brush and twigs. She ought to protest a strange man carrying her so boldly, especially because he walked with a limp, clearly suffering himself. But his determined stride—along with the fact that he’d just rescued her from the brink of death—told her this man had the makings of a hero and she had nothing to fear from him.
Ivy was hanging halfway out the back of a covered wagon, her too-short skirt revealing bare feet that were black on the bottom. She hopped down, a quilt in her arms, and sped toward Linnea and Flynn.
“Found this real nice quilt Ma made.” The girl held it out, but Flynn didn’t stop until he reached the fire.
He gently lowered Linnea to a log that had been smoothed and shaped, likely by all the previous travelers who’d rested there after crossing the river. Then he took the quilt from Ivy and draped it about Linnea’s shoulders.
“There you are.” He straightened, his brows furrowed. “That oughta do it. You’ll be warm in no time now.”
She held her hands out toward the flames, letting the warmth bathe her. “Oh, yes. I’m already feeling better.”
Ivy plopped down on the log next to Linnea. “You’re real lucky Flynn got you when he did.”
“I agree.” Linnea smiled up at Flynn again. He towered above her as though he wanted to help her further but wasn’t sure what to do. “I owe you my life. I don’t know how I can ever thank you.”
“No thanks needed, ma’am—”
“Linnea. Please call me Linnea.”
He hesitated, probably unaccustomed to such informality and boldness from a woman. Most men were. Most were also unaccustomed to her bloomers, her college education, and her scientific work as a botanist. Usually once she explained that her mother was a leader of the fledgling suffragist movement, they began to make sense of her unconventional ways. In actuality, her mother and older sister were much more liberal than Linnea was, at times proposing wild ideologies that made her blush.
“Li-nay-uh?” Ivy tucked the blanket more securely over Linnea’s legs. “That’s sure a strange name.”
Flynn shot the girl a glare. “Ivy, mind your manners.”
Linnea chuckled. “Please, don’t worry. My name is unusual, and I’m quite familiar with having to explain it.”
Dylan paused in adding brush to the fire. “Mighty pretty if I do say so myself. Just like you.”
“Dy-lan.” Flynn ground out the word.
The youth shared a family resemblance to Flynn and was on track to turn into a man just as handsome—if not more so—than his brother. He ignored Flynn’s rebuke and winked at Linnea with a carefree grin.
“My grandfather is named Linnus, and so was my father.” She glanced in the direction of her traveling companions. Her grandfather was in the process of descending from the wagon now parked a short distance out of the way of other travelers. She needed to be as warm and normal as possible when he reached her, so she could prove to him that her tumble into the river was nothing to worry about.
She bent in closer to the flames and rubbed her hands together. “My grandfather and father both were hoping for a boy to carry on the family name. But upon my birth as a girl, they decided the only thing to be done was call me Linnea.”
Ivy cocked her head. “They didn’t want to wait for a boy to come along next?”
“My mother would have been content with only one child—my older sister. But since my father wanted a son, she conceded to having two children.”
“Well, that’s sure strange. Didn’t know a woman could control babies coming along.”
Dylan snorted.
“Hush up, Ivy.” Flynn tipped the brim of his hat lower and poked at the fire, sending sparks into the air.
“What?” Ivy’s eyes rounded with innocence. “I always figured babies had a way of coming whether a woman wanted another or not. Leastways that’s the way it was with Ma.”
Flynn pressed his lips together and shook his head. The subject of having babies was clearly one he didn’t feel comfortable discussing so publicly. However, Linnea was used to her mother’s frank conversations regarding reproduction, babies, and birthing. In fact, there weren’t many topics her mother considered vulgar. And although Linnea was perfectly at ease discussing methods of preventing conception, she wasn’t in the practice of doing so with people she’d just met, particularly with a young girl Ivy’s age.
“My ma just kept popping out the babies.” Apparently, Ivy had no qualms about continuing the discussion. “She had four boys, then me. After my pa died and she married Rusty, she kept having stillbirths until the last one killed her.”
“Ivy! That’s enough.” Flynn’s tone turned harsh. “Hush your mouth before I give you a whupping.”
Ivy jumped to her feet and flounced her hair over her shoulders. “Twelve-year-olds don’t get whuppin’s no more.”
Flynn faced off with the girl, their gazes locked, their hands fisted, their expressions taut. This obviously wasn’t their first conflict. In fact, they were like lit powder kegs about to explode.
Linnea pushed up from the log and stepped between the two. “I don’t know about you, but I could sure use a cup of hot coffee to warm up. That is, if you have extra to spare.” A coffeepot sat beside the pan of fish in the grass next to the fire.
Flynn held Ivy’s gaze a moment longer, then shifted it to Linnea. The crinkles at the corners of his eyes spoke of worry more than anger. She guessed he was one of the older brothers Ivy had spoken about, trying to take care of his younger siblings now that his parents were gone.
Linnea could imagine how difficult it was to parent a sibling, much less a girl like Ivy on the cusp of womanhood.