Flynn stared at the travel-stained paper until a strange feeling crept over him. He felt as if he was violating Marydyth Hollenbeck in some way. Once he even glanced behind him, unable to shake the feeling that he was being watched.
With a snort, he tucked the letter back in his pocket.
What am I going to do with it?
The sensible thing would be to just throw it away.
No, I am not like Victoria Hollenbeck. But there had been times when he wondered if that were true. Maybe he was as cold and cruel as Victoria.
Flynn took another drink and mentally argued with himself about the letter. What if it was important? Charlie had been worried enough to come out in the night to bring it…
No, he wouldn’t open the damned letter.
He finally decided to take it to Moses Pritikin, Victoria’s attorney. He could make the decision about whether to open it or to send it on to Marydyth at the Territorial Prison.
Flynn took another drink. Outside, the familiar scratch and whisper of the wind pushing a tumbleweed across the front porch caught his attention. He allowed himself to relax—as much as he ever relaxed in this house.
Since he had gotten tangled up with the Hollenbeck family there hadn’t been one truly worry-free moment that he could remember. By day he worried if he was doing a proper job managing little Rachel’s estate. And by night…well, at night the demons that most lawmen lived with came to haunt him.
“Only Rachel makes it all worthwhile,” he muttered. Rachel’s welfare was the tie that bound him tightly to the life he now led.
Rachel’s terrified scream jarred Flynn awake. The empty glass shattered on the hearthstones as he jerked to his feet. He bounded toward the stairs. He took them two at a time, his spurs clanging with each impact all the way to Rachel’s room.
The moon had moved on but her frantic thrashing and whimpers guided him through the dark to her bedside.
“I’m here, honey, I’m here.” He untangled the sheets from her little body. He kept up a steady stream of chinwagging, not even sure what he was saying, but saying it in a voice intended to soothe and calm.
“Mama!” Rachel whimpered and fought him while he pushed sweat-soaked strands of hair from her brow.
“It’s all right, honey,” he said, while he wished his hands weren’t so big, clumsy and rough—while he wished that he knew more about raising a little girl.
Damn it all to hell—she needs a woman’s touch.
“Mama! Mama!” Rachel screamed, as if she had read what was etched into Flynn’s heart.
He pulled her close to his chest, knowing that she was still locked in that dark place where she went every night.
“Where are you, Mama?” Her voice had the tone of a lost soul. It bit right into Flynn’s heart.
“It’s all right, sugar. Uncle Flynn is with you—shh.”
So tonight her nightmares were of Marydyth.
Two nights ago she had dreamed she was lost in a great black hole and Flynn could not find her. The nightmares were never exactly the same, except that Rachel was alone and needed somebody to help her.
He kissed her forehead and started to rock her back and forth, humming some tune that had lain in wait since his own childhood.
Too damned long ago to know how to do this.
“I can’t find my mama—. Mama—” Her voice trailed off. Within a moment she dragged in a sobbing, ragged breath, and then she finally became still. Her breath came deep and slow as she fell into the blessed peace of slumber. The only sound was the creak of wood and bed ropes as Flynn rocked her.
Morning dawned gray and thready. The clouds overhead were salmon on top and a dirty tarnished silver beneath, streaked as if a child had dipped her fingers in paint and dragged them across the eastern horizon, thought Flynn.
There was no wind yet, but Flynn knew the respite was only temporary. Yep, it was going to come a blow by noon.
He tugged the brim of his Stetson hat down tighter on his head, as if he felt the wind pulling at it already. Jack snorted and broke wind and the chin on the curb rattled as he shook his head. Flynn swung into the saddle and gathered the reins, wanting to get the last of the herd moved today.
“I know, you’d rather stay in the stall and eat cracked corn. You’re getting downright lazy since we retired,” Flynn told his mount. They had been together so many years that conversation seemed natural, maybe even required. Jack had been his partner on many manhunts and had shared a cold camp with him beyond counting. The big horse flicked his ears back and forth as if he were listening to Flynn.
Flynn pointed Jack southeast and kicked him into a ground-eating lope. When they reached the rest of the herd, Jack worked hard, as if he sensed Flynn’s need to get done early. The first-year heifers were separated and put in an upper pasture, but Flynn took the breeding cows and the one-eyed bull to a nice meadow that lay in the squat hills just past Brunckow’s cabin.
There were no windows left now and a part of the roof had blown off during the last dust devil, but the cabin and meadow provided a good place to water Jack and take a rest. The cabin had been standing since 1858 when Frederick Brunckow had come looking for riches. What he got was his body tossed down his own mine shaft by a band of renegade Mexicans. It was ironic that Ed Schieffelin had discovered a rich vein of silver only seven miles away in 1870. Poor old Brunckow.
When Flynn had still been riding for the law he had come to the cabin more than a dozen times looking for outlaws. The raw pockmarked adobe walls helped give it the name that the Epitaph newspaper had perpetuated—the bloodiest cabin in Arizona Territory.
Flynn stepped off and let the horse wander around the perimeter of the old building, nibbling grass as he went. He shaded his eyes from the sun, and leaned against the side of the cabin while Jack had a good rest. His eyes roamed the countryside, picking out a jackrabbit and a covey of quail as he rested.
It struck him that he was only a few miles from the Lavender Lady Mine. Since he was so near he decided to go check on it. A lot of men had remained out of work since the big strike that closed the Lady.
And brought him here.
Flynn’s mouth twitched at one corner. If it hadn’t been for the mining strike he wouldn’t have been in Hollenbeck Corners.
And he wouldn’t have had to be Marydyth Hollenbeck’s escort.
All these years it had stuck in his craw. He had never had to take a woman to prison before. And now he was taking care of that woman’s daughter. -
It was a hell of a thing.
Flynn leaned away from the side of the cabin and gathered Jack’s reins. He had enough daylight left to make it to the mine and still be back home before Rachel needed to go to bed.
Flynn saw the yawning black hole of the shaft from a long way off. There was something about a mine that made his flesh crawl. He supposed he was a bit of a coward when it came to working underground.
“Easy, boy.” Flynn steadied Jack and peered into the rocky outcrop that ringed the Lady. The horse was acting spooky and he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being watched.
A few years ago he would have bolted into the rocks and got prepared to fend off Apaches, but since Geronimo was gone that was no longer a worry.
Still, he couldn’t quite shake off the notion that eyes were trained on his spine.
Flynn rode