Linda Castle - Heart Of The Lawman

“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 Jack close and did a quick once-over on the mine. It appeared to be in fairly good shape—from the outside. He gnawed on the inside of his mouth while he thought. If the Lady could be reopened it would surely help Hollenbeck Corners.

“Well, that’s another thing I can speak to old Moze about.” Flynn spoke and Jack worked his ears back and forth in response. That was the only kind of conversation they ever had: Flynn talked and Jack listened.

Flynn heard the distinct sound of a twig snapping. He swiveled in his saddle and drew his Colt at the same time. Nothing but lonesome prairie and cactus met his eye. He sat for a moment while his pulse ticked off the time. Then when he heard and saw nothing, he kicked Jack up and headed back to Hollenbeck Corners.

But he kept his gun drawn.

That evening went much like the one before it. Mrs. Young left after saying her usual dozen words, Flynn and Rachel spent a quiet evening and then she went to bed. At one o’clock in the morning she woke up crying for her mama. By three o’clock in the morning Flynn had decided that he would go see Moses as soon as Mrs. Young showed up at seven.

Flynn was riding down the hill when he came upon Clark’s Dairy wagon.

“Morning, Flynn.”

“Morning, Amos.”

“Did you hear the news?” Amos asked with a happy grin.

“Can’t say as I have.” Flynn rested his wrist on the saddle horn while Jack took a disagreeable nip at Amos’s old bay wagon horse.

“My cousin in Tombstone was getting ready to start delivering milk yesterday when his wagon fell through the street,” Amos said with a chuckle.

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Flynn tried not to laugh along with Amos.

“No, don’t be. My cousin was still on his own land—when they got the wagon out they found a vein of silver. He’s gonna be a rich man.” Amos chuckled again.

Now Flynn laughed. “I guess I better start taking care where I walk, eh?”

He had heard tales that there was a honeycomb of tunnels beneath Tombstone and Hollenbeck Corners.

“Yeah, I’m hoping I’ll have the same kind of luck.” Amos Clark smiled and touched his finger to his white cap. Then he clicked his tongue and the bay started off at his plodding gait toward the mansion.

Flynn laughed one more time before he urged Jack on down the slope. Hollenbeck Corners was becoming civilized. It seemed like only yesterday that Geronimo was raiding; now they had door-to-door milk delivery and two daily newspapers and a fire pumper•but no sheriff. The mayor and citizens had decided that John Slaughter, marshal of Cochise county, was near enough. And besides, J.C. was the only man who had ever been murdered, and everybody knew who was guilty even before the trial.