Dangerous Men (Flynn Family Saga Book 2) (18 page)

Flynn drew a deep breath.  "There's
a man in San Francisco.  He trains prizefighters.  I—I want to learn how to
fight again."

Maggie turned away.

Gently, Flynn turned her back to
face him.  "Maggie, I promise you that I will marry you in the spring. 
I—I need to do this.  For me.  For us."

She turned back to him. 
"Why?  Why is it so important to you?"

Flynn's gut tightened. 
"Because I will never forget the look on your face the night you killed
Nick Vaughn."

Maggie swallowed hard.  She nodded
slowly.  "All right, Flynn.”  Then, she put her hands on her hips and
tilted her chin up.  "But if you don't come for me by March 15th, I'll
come looking for you."

Flynn smiled.  "It's a
deal."  He held out his hand.  Maggie took it, and joy filled him,
bubbling up like a spring in the badlands.  Hand in hand, they walked back to
the house.

Sam cleared his throat.  He lifted
a glass of cider.  “I propose a toast: to the future.”

Flynn raised his own glass.  “To
the future.”

*  *  *

The morning after Christmas, Maggie woke to
sunlight.  She realized with a start that she had overslept.  She dressed
quickly and went downstairs.  Sam sat at the kitchen table, drinking coffee. 
"Where's Flynn?"

"On his way to San Francisco."  Sam took a
sip of his coffee.

"Alone?"  Panic jabbed Maggie like a
jagged knife.

Sam nodded.  "He needs to know he can take care
of himself, Magpie."

Tears filled her eyes.  She got up and ran from the
table.  She slammed the door to her room.  She was sick of crying, sick of
getting hurt, but she just couldn’t seem to stop wanting things she couldn’t
have.  She threw herself onto her bed and started to cry.

Someone knocked on her door.

“Go away!”

“No, Maggie.  I won’t.”  Sam opened the door and
came into the room.  He sat on the edge of Maggie’s bed and touched her back.

Maggie sat up and turned to him.  "I'm scared,
Papa!  What if he falls again?  What if he gets hurt?"

Sam regarded her solemnly.  "If you can't let
him take this kind of risk, you have no business marrying him."

Maggie gasped.  "Papa—"

"No.  Let me finish."  Sam took Maggie's
hands in his huge ones.  "Losing his leg didn't cripple him, Maggie.  He
learned how to walk and ride and shoot again.  But if you can't let him ride
down a well-marked trail to San Francisco, you won't be able to concentrate on
the running a wagon train while he's out scouting the trail."

Maggie looked away.  "I don't want to lose
him."

"The quickest way to lose a man like Flynn is
to hold on to him too tightly," Sam said gently.

Maggie nodded slowly.  "All right, Papa.  I'll
try."

Sam hugged her.  "That's my girl."

Maggie dried her eyes on Sam's handkerchief and went
outside to the corral.  Inside the fence, a chestnut colt ran in circles with
his head high.  He came over to investigate her.  Maggie held out her hand.  He
sniffed it and tossed his head.  She laughed and took out a sugar lump.  She
held it on her palm.  The colt he nipped it neatly off her palm.  Maggie
laughed and rubbed his head.

"Well, you've already gotten further with him
than I could."  Ben folded his arms on the top rail of the corral fence.

"What's his name?"  Maggie swung her legs
over the fence.

"Adonis."  Ben grinned.  "Emma named
him.  She read your book on mythology last winter."

Maggie laughed.  "It suits him."

Ben tipped his hat back.  "Well, I guess I'll
leave you two alone."  He turned and went back to the house.

Maggie jumped down into the corral.  The colt
pranced backward.  "Easy, Adonis.  Easy, boy."  Maggie waited while
he got used to her presence on his side of the fence.  Then, she shook out her
rope.

The colt galloped away.

Maggie sighed and waited for him to calm down again.

She worked with him every day.  Slowly and
patiently, she waited for him to get used to her.  Maggie kept working with
him, but the first snow fell and still he wouldn't accept a saddle.  He was
tall and proud, and Maggie wondered if she would ever be able to gentle him.

***

Flynn rode into San Francisco a little after noon.  A trolley car rumbled past.  Wakta tossed his head, but he didn't bolt.  Flynn
patted the horse's neck approvingly.  He turned the horse toward the
Embarcadero section of town.  He smelled the sea and the mixture of tar and
spices, coffee and teas.  He found the gym easily enough.  The sign on the wall
said, “Loman’s Gymnasium.”  Flynn went inside.  Two men stood in a ring,
battering each other with their fists.  He winced as a right cross struck one
of the men in the chin.  The stricken man fell heavily and did not get up.  A
tall, heavily muscled man climbed into the ring.  He splashed water onto the
fallen man’s face.  “What have I told you, Jonas?”

Jonas shook his head and opened his eyes.  “Huh?”

The tall man sighed.  “What have I told you, over
and over again?”

Jonas looked away.  “Never lead with your chin.”

“That’s right, Jonas.  Now, up you go.”  The tall
man helped Jonas back onto his feet.  He noticed Flynn.  “Can I help you?”

“I’m looking for Jeremy Loman.  Sam Anders said to
look him up.”

The tall man grinned.  “I’m Loman.”  He climbed out
of the ring and limped over to Flynn.  He held out his hand.  “And you are?”

“Robert Sean Flynn.”  Flynn took Loman’s grip.

"What can I do for you?"

"I lost my left leg a few months ago." 
Flynn pulled up his pant leg and revealed the wooden prosthesis.  "I want
to learn how to fight again."

 “A few months?  And you’re walking this well
already?”  Loman whistled.  “Did Sam get you into shape?”

“Nope.  My fiancée.”

Loman’s eyes widened.  “She didn’t break the
engagement?”

Flynn shook his head.  “I tried to, but she’s
stubborn.”

Loman regarded him solemnly.  “I hope you realize
what a lucky man you are to have a woman like that in your life.”

Flynn nodded back.  “Maggie is one of a kind.”

"I promised Jonas that I would work with him
for the rest of the day.  Come back tomorrow morning, and we'll get you
started.”  Loman held out his hand.

Flynn took it.  He left the gym and found a boarding
house.  Supper was awful: pot roast so tough that he could use it for shoe
leather and watery potatoes served by a surly woman whose apron looked none too
clean.

That night, Flynn dreamed of the day Scout fell. 
The chestnut stallion slipped on the thin coating of snow.  Panic seared
through Flynn’s body like molten lead as Scout slid toward the edge. 
Instinctively, he tried to turn the horse, but Scout’s hooves had no traction
on the snow, and the two of them plunged over the edge.  Flynn tried to jump
from Scout’s back, but his foot caught in the stirrup.  They struck a ledge,
hard.  Flynn heard Scout’s cannon bone snap at the same instant that pain
clamped its jaws around his right leg.  Scout screamed and thrashed, sending
searing pain from Flynn’s ankle to his groin.  Darkness and pain pressed down
on him, threatening to crush the life out of him.  He heard the cold wind sigh
through the needles of the ponderosa pines.  He heard the rattle of rocks down
the slope of the cliff.  His foot throbbed in time to his heartbeat.  Nick
Vaughn stood over him, wielding a scythe.  He grinned as the blade came down on
Flynn’s leg.

“No!”  Flynn sat bolt upright.  He blinked and
rubbed his eyes.  He heard the wail of a foghorn, like an animal in pain, and
he remembered.  He remembered that he was in San Francisco, and that, God
willing, he was going to learn how to fight again.  He sat up and laced on his
wooden leg.  His missing foot throbbed.  Phantom pain, Maggie had called it. 
He sighed and stood up.  He hobbled over to the washstand.  The water in the
blue enameled basin was tepid.  He longed for a hot bath, but that would have
to wait.

He dressed and hobbled down the stairs.  Breakfast
consisted of burned toast, cold coffee, rubbery eggs and curdled milk.  Flynn
longed for Kate’s cooking.  Hell, he’d settle for
Frank’s
cooking.

That thought cheered him.

He hurried to the gymnasium.  Jeremy Loman met him
with a grin.  “All right, let’s see what you can do.”

Loman worked Flynn hard.  By the end of an hour,
blood seeped through his pants’ leg.

Loman made him sit down.  He unfastened the harness
and shook his head.  “I’ll have my cobbler see if he can fit this a little
better.  They made it without you as a mold?”

Flynn nodded.

Jem nodded back.  “I have my old crutch in my
office.  Don’t try to walk back to the boarding house on this.”  He stood up
and came back with a crutch and some bandages.  He cleaned Flynn’s stump and
bandaged it.  He held out the crutch.

Flynn swatted it away.

“Flynn, do you want to learn how to fight?”

Flynn nodded.

“Then you need to take it slow.  Here.”  Loman
picked up the crutch and held it out to him again.  “Once it heals, soak it in
salt water.  That will help toughen up the stump.”

Flynn nodded tersely.  He took the crutch and limped
back to the boarding house.

***

As soon as the stump healed, Loman took Flynn to
Jake Hallie’s store.  Jake grinned when he saw Loman.  “Come for a replacement,
Jem?”

“Nope.  Flynn here has a new leg, and he needs the
harness fitted properly.”

Jake’s eyes widened.  “Robert Sean Flynn?  The
scout?”

Flynn nodded.

“I read about you in Simon Henderson’s books.”

Flynn sighed.  “Don’t believe everything you read,
Mr. Hallie.”

“I don’t.”  Hallie grinned.  “I don’t, but my son
does.  This way, Mr. Flynn.”

“Thanks.”  Flynn followed him into a back room.

“Remove your trousers, please.”  Jack turned and
took a tape measure from the shelf on the wall.

Flynn took off his dungarees.  He sat down and let
Jack measure the stump.  He wrapped the tape around it in several places,
carefully noting down the measurements.  He measured the length and nodded. 
“All right, Mr. Flynn.  It will be ready in few days.”

“How much?”

Jack shook his head.  “There’s no charge.  Jem saved
my life in the war.  I do this for any man who comes to him to learn how to
fight again.”

Flynn shook his head.  “I pay my debts, Mr. Hallie.”

Hallie rubbed his chin.  “Well, my son can’t hit the
broad side of a barn with a tree trunk.  Think you could teach him how to
shoot?”

Slowly, Flynn grinned.  “I can try, Mr. Hallie.”

“My friends call me Jack, Mr. Flynn.”  Jack held out
his hand.

“And my friends call me Flynn.”  Flynn shook Jack’s
hand.  “Now, where do I find your son?”

“He’s in school right now.  I’ll send him over to
the boarding house as soon as school gets out.  And thanks, Flynn.”

Flynn laughed.  “Don’t thank me until your boy knows
how to shoot.”

George Hallie was a tall, skinny kid with freckles
and straw-colored hair.  He scowled at Flynn as they walked out of town. 
“What happened to your leg?”

“My horse fell and crushed it.”

George shuddered.  “Did it hurt?”

“Yup.”  Flynn put a few tin cans on the rail of a
rotting fence.  He took out his pistol and handed it to George, butt first.

George stared.  “You’re going to let me use your
gun?”

Flynn nodded.

George hesitated.  He bit his lip and muttered.

Flynn sobered and laid his hand on the boy’s
shoulder.  “No, George.  It won’t take a miracle for you to learn how to
shoot.  Just a lot of hard work and practice.”

George looked at him with a fragile glimmer of hope
in his pale blue eyes.

Flynn squeezed his shoulder.  “All right.  Now,
first thing is, can you see the targets?”

“Huh?”

Flynn regarded him levelly.  “Don’t you dare tell
Sam Anders I told you, but he needs spectacles now.”

“The
Major
?”

Flynn nodded solemnly.  “So, can you see the
targets?”

“Yes sir.  It’s just...”

Flynn waited.

George sighed.  “It’s the noise.  I flinch.”

Flynn nodded.  “All right.  Just fire the gun, in
the air, until you get used to the noise.”

Slowly, George grinned.  He fired five rounds and
then the hammer clicked.  Flynn handed him more bullets, and the boy loaded the
weapon.  He fired another five rounds.  Then, he reloaded once more.

Flynn nodded.  “Now aim at the target.”

George squeezed one eye shut and aimed.  The bullet
missed by a few inches to the right of the target.

“Keep both eyes open.  And don’t pull the trigger. 
Squeezed it.”

George stared at him.  “What’s the difference?”

“It’s like curling you hand into a fist.  Only just
use your trigger finger.”

George nodded.  He turned back to the cans, aimed
and fired.  He still missed, but not by much.

Flynn slapped his shoulder.  “Good.  Again.”

This time, the can went flying.  George let out a
whoop.  He sobered.  “Thanks, Mr. Flynn.”

“My pleasure, George.”  Flynn smiled warmly at the
boy.  “I had forgotten how much I enjoyed teaching greenhorns.”

In the morning, Flynn picked up his leg from Jack
Hallie.  He laced it on and stood.  He nodded.  “That fits a lot better, Jack. 
Thanks.”

Jack grinned.  “My boy was so excited.  He actually
hit a target for the first time in his life.  He says you treated him like a
man.”

Flynn smiled, remembering the way Pathfinder had
taught him.  “I had a good teacher myself.  Thank you, Jack.”

“Any time, Flynn.  It’ll get loose in six months or
so, and you’ll need to be refitted.  Come back and I’ll fix you up.”

Flynn nodded.  He shook hands with the cobbler and
walked to the gym without pain.