Free Courage to Love (Flynn Family Saga) by Erica Graham Page A

cheek.  It was rough with whiskers.  “Yes, husband.”
    He kissed her.  “Good night, wife.”
    “Good night.”  She kissed him back.  With a sigh, she laid her head on his chest.
    Flynn held her and stroked her back until she slept.
    *  *  *
    In the morning, they ate breakfast together.  Flynn made the coffee.  Maggie had two helpings of bacon and eggs.  Frank and Ben exchanged knowing looks.
    Maggie blushed.
    Just as they were finishing breakfast, Peter Ellis came to the lead wagon.  He looked from Flynn to Maggie and back again.  “Mr. Flynn?”
    “Yes, Peter?”
    “Why aren’t you mad at Mrs. Flynn anymore?”
    Frank choked on his coffee.
    Ben grinned.  “Yeah, Mr. Flynn.  Why aren’t you mad at Mrs. Flynn anymore?”
    Maggie turned beet red, which made Ben’s grin even broader.
    Flynn cleared his throat.  “When a man and a woman—when two people love each other—”  He, too, started to blush.
    “You’ll understand when you’re older, Peter.”  Maggie patted his shoulder.
    “Aw, gee.  My Pa says that all the time.”
    Maggie’s mouth twitched.  “Your Pa is right.”
    Flynn looked smug.
    That day, they rode side by side at the head of the train with their knees touching.
    *  *  *
    Maggie rode more and more in the lead wagon.  Her back began to ache as her belly swelled, and at night, her legs cramped.  When they reached Fort Bridger, Maggie bought extra water barrels for the trek through Utah.  They topped off their water barrels in Salt Lake City and prepared for the trek across the salt flats.
    Maggie saw very little of Flynn.  Time and time again, the creeks they usually used were dry.  They pushed as hard as they dared across the salt flats.  It was always a race between the distance between waterholes and the endurance of their horses and mules, but this was the worst drought Maggie had ever seen.  She began to ration the water.
    Then, horses began to die.
    Maggie went from wagon to wagon.  At the Danton wagon, Andrew Danton shook his head stubbornly.  “You can’t ask me to throw out my belongings.”
    “Actually, Mr. Danton, I don’t have to ask.  Under the articles you signed, I have the right to take everything you own, if need be, and toss it off a cliff.”
    Andrew Danton scowled at her.  “Why didn’t you tell us this at St. Jo?”
    Maggie sighed.  “Because it’s in the contract.”
    He folded his arms and shook his head.  “You can’t make me.  I have rights.  I—”
    Maggie grabbed his arm and dragged him toward the lead wagon.  Books littered the ground.  Her eyes filled with tears.  “I’ve carried these books with me ever since my grandparents died.”  She turned to him.  “Now, what in tarnation is so all fired important in your wagon?”
    His face reddened.  He opened his mouth and shut it.  Then, he turned and stalked away.
    Maggie heard the sound of crates hitting the ground.
    She closed her eyes and sighed.
    *  *  *
    Halfway across the desert, Flynn shook the water barrel next to Frank’s fire and frowned.  He turned to Maggie.  “We have maybe three or four days left.”
    She nodded.  She looked solemn.  And scared.
    Flynn turned away.  He stared at the mountains a long time.  Fear clawed at his belly, like a mountain lion trying to get out of a cage.  He walked away from the wagon train and sat down on the ground.  He shut his eyes and tried to feel the earth the way Keeper had taught him.  He smiled at the memory.  He could see Keeper, sitting across the fire from him, speaking softly in his deep voice.  "Feel the Earth.  Know her the way you will one day know a woman.  Learn her secrets in silence.  Then, you will feel the water that runs through her."
    Flynn heard Maggie's voice, and fear yanked him back to the present.  He drew a deep breath and tried again.  Images of Maggie drifted into his mind:  Maggie walking into the corral in St. Jo wearing a yellow slicker two sizes too big for her;