The trail out of the Neosho River valley led them to a level area of treeless prairie that spread out endlessly in all directions, meeting the vast sky on the horizon. Grandfather and the other scientists had mounted their horses and ridden ahead, having heard from a group passing east that buffalo had been spotted. They were eager to get their first glimpse of the enormous creatures they’d heard so much about.
Linnea, on the other hand, was content to stroll through the grass, reveling in the Andropogon gerardii, also called big bluestem or turkey-foot. For so early in the season, the culm was thin and yet erect and solid and round. The blades were a half-inch wide, bluish, and rough above while smooth below.
She’d already pressed and dried a specimen earlier in the week. Though the bluestem wasn’t yet flowering and wouldn’t until late June or July, she could already see the growth in just a week and wanted to measure the difference. She’d love to see it later in the summer at the pinnacle of growth, sometimes reaching as high as seven feet.
“The Shorthorns like the tallgrass.” Ivy chewed on the stem, twisting it around with her tongue. “Tom Gordon told us to make sure to let the cattle graze on it aplenty if we want to keep them from losing too much weight during the journey.”
“That’s because Andropogon gerardii is full of protein, especially in the spring and summer before the chemical composition changes and the nutritious quality decreases.”
Ivy halted so abruptly that Linnea tripped in her effort to stop. At the sight of Ivy’s wide eyes, Linnea peered around, looking for whatever had startled the girl. “What is it, sweetheart?”
At times, Linnea couldn’t help but feel as if she were walking through heaven to be in the midst of so many unique species of grasses, some that had never before been identified and catalogued. But she was equally fascinated by the flowers, insects, arachnids, and small mammals she happened upon too. Although their expedition was focused solely on developing a book on the flora, she was keeping a journal of everything that fascinated her. “What did you see? I’m sure I’d love to examine it too.”
Ivy spit out the long piece of grass. “Just ain’t never heard a woman talk with so many big and fancy words.”
Linnea frowned, trying to remember the last thing she’d spoken to Ivy. Before she could work it out, Flynn reined his horse beside them. “Something wrong?” He tipped up the brim of his hat, revealing his brows furrowed above serious eyes.
The sky above was a pristine blue, dotted with a few fluffy clouds. The wind blew mildly, just enough to rustle the grass. And the early afternoon temperature was perfect without being too cold or too hot. They couldn’t have asked for better travel weather even if they’d tried.
Nevertheless, Linnea felt strangely chilled under Flynn’s scrutiny. She wasn’t sure what she’d done wrong, but ever since leaving the Neosho River valley, she’d had the distinct feeling he didn’t like her. Maybe she was only imagining his aloofness.
Whatever the case, she wasn’t in his good graces. “Nothing is wrong, Mr. McQuaid. At least nothing of which I’m aware. Ivy? How about you? Is anything amiss?”
One of the girl’s brows quirked. “Amiss?”
“Yes, you stopped so suddenly, I thought perhaps you spotted something.”
“Nope, I ain’t spotted nothing but the same old grass.”
“Old grass? Oh no, sweetheart. This grass isn’t old. It’s actually in the early stages of growth without inflorescences or spikelets.”
Ivy met Flynn’s gaze, both of her brows raised. “See what I mean?”
Flynn’s lips shifted into a slight smile. “Yep. Sure do.” The smile, however small, softened the hard lines of his face. Atop his horse, he had a powerful aura that exuded strength. She could see why Grandfather had wanted to ride with him.
Now he and Ivy regarded her as though she was some strange new specimen of woman they’d never seen before.
“What?” She patted her coif, her discarded bonnet hanging down her back. She’d refashioned her tangled, damp hair before they’d set out. Of course, she hadn’t minded wearing her hair down. In fact, she rather wished women like her weren’t so socially bound toward particular hairstyles and had more freedom to let their hair hang loose if they so desired. But only young girls had that option.
Ivy studied Linnea’s hair and then her face with open admiration. “You said you weren’t like most women, and I guess you weren’t jesting.”
Linnea smiled. “I warned you, didn’t I? Are you tired of me already?”
“Don’t rightly see how anyone could ever get tired of you. Not with how pretty and smart and sweet you are. Ain’t that right, Flynn?”
Flynn’s full gaze landed upon Linnea and swept over her, making a slow trail from the flyaway strands of her hair, over her face, to her neck, down her body, all the way to her feet. Something about this handsome man’s scrutiny made strange tingles race over her skin.
She wasn’t sure why. She’d had plenty of men pay her attention over the past few years since she officially entered society. She even had plenty of men look her over from her head to her toes.
But none like this rugged cowboy. Not even Asa.
Asa had adored her. Perhaps too much. Especially since she hadn’t felt anything for him beyond friendship. Asa had claimed her feelings for him would eventually grow.
But during their last few weeks together before his death, her affection hadn’t increased. Instead, she’d felt stifled from his attention and compliments. She didn’t like to admit to herself she’d even begun to dread his touch. His kisses and even the intimacy they’d shared during the rare nights of privacy had always felt perfunctory, like something she must endure.
One of her mother’s blush-worthy discussions had involved the marriage bed and how loving should be mutual, that God intended for both man and woman to enjoy the intimacy. After hearing her mother’s views, Linnea had entered her own marriage with an open mind. But no matter how hard she tried, she hadn’t been able to fabricate the same pleasure Asa seemed to find.
After never experiencing a physical response with Asa, how was it possible this man she barely knew could elicit one? Even as he drew his gaze back up her body, the warmth in her stomach spread, much like an inkblot seeping deeper and wider into paper.
When his gaze connected again with hers, he didn’t hide his frank appreciation. Something within the depths of his green-blue eyes said he saw her as a beautiful and desirable woman. And for a reason she couldn’t explain, the warm ink inside spilled and spread its tendrils further through her middle.
“I can see you think Linnea’s real pretty.” Ivy’s voice broke into the lengthening silence. “You can’t deny it so don’t even try.”
“I won’t.” Flynn’s voice was low.
Linnea focused on the strands of various grasses she held. But she didn’t see them, only saw his green-blue eyes.
“But it don’t matter how pretty Mrs. Newberry is.” Flynn’s tone turned matter-of-fact. “She’s a widow, and she’s grieving the loss of her husband.”
Widow. Grieving. The words seemed to reach out and slap Linnea hard across her cheeks. Mortification welled up so swiftly, she felt the sudden need to bury her face in her hands to hide her shame.