“No, of course not.” Linnea was quick to intervene, her gaze darting back and forth between them. He reckoned their tension was as easy to spot as a painted wagon. “My husband wasn’t fighting in the war, as he was—well, he was a bit older—”
“Forty-nine wasn’t that old,” Dr. Howell interjected as he tucked the single eyepiece dangling from a chain back into his vest pocket.
She ducked her head, as though embarrassed to admit the age of her husband. “He died of pneumonia in Fort Leavenworth at the end of March.”
“I’m sorry.” The words weren’t nearly adequate but still needed saying. For so recent a widow, she wasn’t wearing the customary black clothing. But he guessed maybe she hadn’t brought any along for the journey, probably hadn’t expected to grieve the loss of her husband.
Shadows fell over her face again. Her fingers tightened against the colorful patterns of Ma’s quilt as she brought the covering closer. “We were married less than two months.”
Dr. Howell shook his head, his brow pinching together at the bridge of his nose. “Indeed, it was such a tragedy to lose so brilliant a scholar and friend. We’d only been in Fort Leavenworth a week, purchasing supplies and making final arrangements, when Asa contracted the ailment. None of us expected him to go so quickly.”
Ivy sidled next to Linnea and reached for her hand.
Flynn opened his mouth to order Ivy to stop pestering the woman, but before he could speak, Linnea fitted her hand within Ivy’s and squeezed it. His irritation fled and a strange sense of sorrow fell into its place—sorrow for all they’d lost: Brody, their parents, their home, the farm.
They were stuck without any other option but to accept his older brother’s offer to move to Colorado. Wyatt had started a ranch in the spring of ’62 shortly after President Lincoln’s Homestead Act was signed. Now that Wyatt had land and a place of his own, he’d invited them to live there.
With Rusty kicking them off the farm that had been in the McQuaid family for generations, Flynn hadn’t known what else to do but accept Wyatt’s offer. Flynn had hoped the prospect of a new life out West would entice Brody enough to forgo joining the war efforts. At the very least, Flynn had intended to be out of Pennsylvania and on their way to the ranch before Brody carried through with enlisting in the Union army.
But none of Flynn’s hoping had panned out. Of course, even if it had, there was still the possibility that eventually Colorado Territory would require eligible men to enlist. But for now it would be a safer place than anywhere else for Dylan, who blustered about joining the war too.
“I’m real sorry about your loss, Linnea.” Ivy’s dirty face took on uncharacteristic empathy. “But you’re real pretty, and you’ll get married again quicker than a wink and a whistle.”
“I don’t know about that—”
“Sure you will. You just wait and see. In fact, why don’t you marry Flynn? He could use a wife, and I could sure use a womanly touch. Leastways that’s what Flynn’s always telling me.”
“Thunderation, Ivy.” He crossed his arms to keep from strangling the girl. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Sure do.” She cast a glance toward their cowhands, who’d gone back to resting in the shade and keeping an eye on the cattle. “Heard Nash tell Jericho and Dylan you’re wound up as tight as a tick on a calf’s rear. Said you need a woman in a bad way.”
“It’s true.” Dylan grinned as he poked at the fire with a stick.
“Nash has no idea what he’s talking about.”
“Reckon he’s calling it like it is.” Dylan’s reply contained teasing charm that never failed to defuse a tense moment. He turned his winsome smile onto Linnea again. “Ma’am, if Flynn ain’t gotta mind to marry you, then I’ll step right in. You just say the word—”
“Never you mind.” Flynn felt a growl forming. “You and Ivy go catch more fish, and we’ll have ’em for supper tonight.”
Ivy opened her mouth, likely to protest, but Linnea cut her off. “Maybe you can show me how to fish. I’ve always thought it would be fun to learn.”
Ivy’s eyes took on a glimmer. “I’m real good at fishing.”
“Very well. Then you can teach me everything you know.”
“First thing is catching grasshoppers for bait. You ain’t afraid of bugs like most womenfolk, are you?”
“No, sweetheart. I think you’ll find I’m not like most women.” Linnea cut Flynn a glance, one assuring him he didn’t need to worry, that she wasn’t bothered by the comments, and that she’d see to Ivy.
Breathing out a tense breath, he nodded his thanks. She handed him her untouched mug of coffee and then allowed Ivy to tug her away. As they wandered off in search of grasshoppers, Dr. Howell watched his granddaughter, the pinch between his brows deepening. “I need to send her home. She’s a good scientist, but I’m just too worried about her surviving the trip.”
Ivy and Linnea had moved into a patch of bright sunlight. Linnea repositioned the quilt around her still-dripping garments. She needed to go get changed into dry clothing. That’s what she needed. But at least in the sunshine, she’d warm up real fast.
“I allowed her to come because of Asa.” Dr. Howell’s tone was low and confiding. “He was quite smitten with her.”
Flynn could see why. Even in her bedraggled state, she was the prettiest woman he’d ever laid eyes on. In fact, a man would have to be blind not to notice her flawless features. Her long, curly hair was a stunning red. Her brown eyes were soft and doe-like. And her smile had the power to make a man forget his name.
“And now,” Dr. Howell continued, “after this incident, I’m reminded all over again why I shouldn’t have brought her on the expedition.”
Expedition? Rather than prying into business that wasn’t his, Flynn took a swig of the coffee Linnea had handed him. The brew flowed over his tongue as cold and bitter as river water. He supposed that’s what he got for leaving the coffee making up to Ivy. She couldn’t cook for the life of her, not even a decent pot of coffee.
The almighty truth was that Ivy did need a womanly touch in a bad way. But that didn’t mean he planned on getting married. No matter what his cowhands thought, he didn’t need a woman. He was getting along just fine without one and had been since he’d put an end to his relationship with Helen last summer.
Sure, there were still times he couldn’t get away from his longings to have and to hold a woman. He wasn’t a saint. But whenever his hankerings pestered him too badly, he only needed to think of the day his ma died after giving birth to another stillborn baby.
He’d been at her bedside, holding her hand, when she’d taken her last breath. And he vowed then and there he’d never do to a woman what Rusty had done to Ma—get a woman pregnant and put her through the horrors of childbirth. Didn’t matter that women had been giving birth to babies since the creation of the world and living to tell about it. He wasn’t gonna do it, and the only surefire way to keep his vow was to stay as far away from women as possible.
Dr. Howell resituated his tall black hat. “If only Asa were here. He was a good man, and he promised to watch over Linnea. Now without him, I fear I’m a poor substitute.”