Flanna and the Lawman

by Cathy Maxwell

  For a moment she was paralyzed with embarrassment. Their gazes met…and then they both laughed, relaxed again.

  “Here, I’ll dish you up some grub,” he said, and reached for a heavy china plate from the pinewood cupboard beside the stove.

  Flanna took the moments of his inattention to unplait her hair. She ran her brush through it and decided to leave it be for the moment. Then she pulled on her sturdy shoes.

  When she walked over to the table, she was glad she hadn’t rebraided her hair. Trace lifted his hand as if to reach out and touch her—but he stopped. “You have the loveliest hair. I used to dream about it.”

  She held her breath. “I was in your dreams.”

  His gaze met hers. He gave the smallest of nods and then abruptly stepped back. “I’d best get outside and stand watch. Wouldn’t be good for Slayton to come riding in and me standing here moony-eyed.”

  Moony-eyed. She loved the sound of those words. Before she could speak, he ducked out the door. Both dogs went with him, easily accepting his leadership in the household.

  Flanna sat down at the table, her hunger forgotten. Something had happened overnight. He’d decided to let the past be. There was trust again and on trust, one could build love.

  Trace loved her.

  She knew it all the way down to her woman’s soul. He hadn’t said the words, but he was moony-eyed and mooney-eyed wasn’t far from love.

  Rory would have told her himself that when a buyer was interested, you kept the product in front of them. She picked up her plate, grabbed a fork, and headed outside to be with Trace.

  * * *

  TRACE SAT ON THE WAGON seat, the rifle across his lap, alert and watchful for signs of Slayton. But he was also aware of the woman inside the soddy. He knew the moment she stepped out the door.

  She walked toward him, her plate in one hand, a fork in the other, and her red-gold hair shining in the morning sun like a bright lure. She’d changed, too, into a practical dress of brown calico. She appeared like the kind of woman a man fought to protect.

  The dogs wagged their tails in greeting as Flanna climbed up into the seat and plopped down right beside him. “I was lonely,” she explained to his unasked question. “Couldn’t see any sense eating inside on a glorious day like today.” She dug into a gravy-covered biscuit. Savoring the first bite, she hummed her satisfaction.

  Trace watched with a befuddled sense of awe.

  “I think the people of Loveless were foolish to let you go,” she said, taking a piece of biscuit and sopping up the rest of the gravy.

  “Because I can cook?” he asked, using humor to guard against what he feared she might not say.

  “Because you are the type of man who will take a stand.” She added, “And you know what you’re doing. Trust me, Burrell Slayton is quaking in his boots.” She said the last with relish and he had to smile.

  Then he turned serious. “The truth is, I never did fit in Loveless.”

  “But you were born there.”

  He shrugged. He’d assumed someone had told her.

  “Why is that?” she asked softly. “You were always standoffish but I thought it was because you were sheriff. Was there another reason?”

  He studied the line of the bluff, watchful for the appearance of movement, but his mind was on her question. Then, with feigned nonchalance, he said, “My mother was the local whore. Loveless used to know wild days. Some folks have long memories.”

  He waited, anticipating her reaction with a touch of dread. During his last days in Loveless, his long-dead mother’s line of work had been the buzz of gossips.

  “Rory had to run from Ireland because he stole a pig from the magistrate,” she said. “My mother was the youngest of ten daughters of a Catholic farmer who didn’t have an acre of land to his name. She thought her chances for a good life were better with a pig thief than her family.”

  “Did Rory ever try and not take anything that wasn’t nailed down?” Trace asked, relieved that she hadn’t withdrawn after his small confession.

  “No,” Flanna said simply, and then laughed. “I never knew my mother. She caught a chill in Missouri and died while I was still a babe. I’m lucky Rory didn’t leave me with some farmer’s family. He was a rascal, but I loved him. Did you get along with your mother?”

  Trace considered the question. No one had ever asked him about her before in a normal, everyday sort of way. “Yes. She was a good woman and she did what she had to do to survive. She raised me right.”

  “But you never knew your father?”

  “She never talked about him.” He leaned forward, warming to the subject. “When I was a kid I used to ask questions. I know she got pregnant and her family threw her out, but that’s about all…and eventually, that got to be enough.”

  Flanna set the plate aside and slid a few inches closer to him. Her thigh brushed his…and she hooked her hand in the crook of his arm.

  He sat still. The wind ruffled her hair as she looked over to the stream. She smelled of sunshine and woman—a woman he loved. What had been between them once had never died.

  “All of this, even down to the scrawniest chicken, is because of you,” she said.

  “I drove you out of Loveless.”

  She leaned closer. “Ah, yes, but you also made me want more.” She paused. “Don’t you want more, Trace? Or were you thinking of drifting the rest of your life?”

  Was she asking him to stay? To help build the house over by the stream with the big porch to enjoy during the evenings?

  He could see himself there, raising the walls…creating a home.

  “You know, Flanna, Rory was right about me. I really am not good enough for you.”

  She smiled, not looking at him, and said quietly, “You’re all I ever wanted.”

  For a second Trace feared his ears played tricks but then she swung toward him and, there, in the depths of her eyes was the truth. She loved him!

  And in her love was power. Loneliness, anger, regret, doubts—all fell away from him. Flanna Kennedy, this wondrous, mercurial woman, loved him. He wrapped his arm around her—

  Samson sat up and barked. Delilah quickly joined him. They jumped off the wagon and ran toward the barricade blocking the path over the bluff. Trace lifted the rifle, ready to fire.

  “Get down,” he ordered, “as close under the seat as you can.”

  Of course she didn’t obey him. “Hand me your gun.”

  “And let you shoot off your toe? Get down.” He pushed her off the seat and, with a hand on her head, forced her to follow his orders.

  A wagon drove over the bluff. “Hello!” the driver yelled, and then reined in when he saw the barricade. “Flanna? It’s Jacob Gustaf.”

  Flanna’s head popped up. “It’s my neighbor.” She climbed backward out of the wagon. Waving, she started up the hill toward Mr. Gustaf.

  With a soft oath, Trace followed, keeping his rifle at the ready.

  Mr. Gustaf was a tall, long-nosed man dressed in somber clothes. He nodded at Trace but turned his attention to Flanna. “I’ve come to warn you, Miss Kennedy, Slayton is planning to come out here and burn you to the ground, but I can see by the fence you already know.”

  “We’re surprised he hasn’t shown up yet,” she said bitterly.

  Gustaf sent a nervous glance in Trace’s direction. “There are some who don’t want to battle Mr. Cordell. He has a reputation. Slayton’s having trouble rounding up a party of men. But he plans on coming out here tonight.”

  “How many men has he gathered?” Trace asked Gustaf.

  “Not many. Even Judge Rigby isn’t falling into line.” Gustaf’s gaze drifted down to the rifle in Trace’s arms. He shifted nervously. “I came to take Miss Kennedy to my place. She’d be better off there.”

  “You’re right,” Trace agreed, and would have put her up in the wagon next to Gustaf but Flanna stepped back.

  “I’m not going to run. I’ll stay here and fight.”

  “Flanna—”r />
  “I won’t go, Trace. You could tie me up and put me in Mr. Gustaf’s wagon and I’d escape and run back.”

  “Miss Kennedy, this land isn’t worth your life,” Gustaf said.

  “This land is my home,” Flanna countered. “I won’t leave.”

  Trace couldn’t blame her. He looked up at Gustaf. “Can you fetch the U.S. marshal? He’s in Dodge. Then we can stop a man like Slayton for good.”

  Gustaf shook his head. “I don’t know. I’ve got two sons, a wife. Slayton would destroy my farm. Look what he did to Rory Kennedy.”

  Flanna placed her hand on Gustaf’s wagon. “I understand. It’s not your fight.”

  But Trace didn’t understand. This was the way it had been back in Loveless. They’d wanted him to fight the dirty battles, but once the town was clean, they’d expected him to leave.

  “Then, get on your way,” he told Gustaf coldly. “Tomorrow evening come around. We’ll either be here or we’ll not. If we’re here, you won’t ever have to worry about claim jumpers like Slayton again.”

  “I wish…” Gustaf started but then hung his head. “I wanted you to be warned.”

  Trace answered, “I’ll be waiting for him.”

  “We’ll be waiting for him,” Flanna corrected. “Goodbye, Mr. Gustaf.”

  The man didn’t like leaving. Trace could understand. He’d not like admitting he was a coward, either.

  They watched the wagon turn and drive out of sight.

  Trace broke the silence. “You should have gone. I could have handled this by myself.”

  “You’ve always been by yourself.” She linked her fingers in his. “I left you once. I’ll not leave you again.”

  He felt humbled in the face of her love. “Flanna Kennedy, will you marry me?”

  “Yes, Trace. Yes, yes, yesyesyes!”

  For a second he could barely believe his good fortune. With a whoop of joy, he lifted her in his arms and twirled her around. The dogs barked, wanting to join in the play.

  Then Trace lost his footing. They both tumbled to the ground, laughing, he protecting her fall with his body, the rifle on the ground beside them.

  Flanna looked down at him, her body stretched along his.

  The laughter stopped as they both became aware of how intimately they fit together.

  He reached up and ran his hand along her bright, shining hair. He wanted her so much. He wanted to brand her with his body, with his love.

  “We’ll marry tomorrow,” he promised, then added with a smile, “We’ll have Rigby say the words since he likes to talk so much.”

  “Tomorrow,” she agreed softly.

  Again he ran his hand over her gleaming hair, burying his fingers in the curling mass. Dear God, he wanted her, wanted her as he’d never wanted another woman before.

  “Tomorrow, we may not be alive,” she said soberly.

  “I’ll not let anything happen to you,” he swore fiercely. He’d fight with a superhuman strength to protect her.

  She placed a finger over his lips. Her legs were entwined with his. He could feel the beat of her heart against his chest, its rhythm mingling with his own. “Whatever happens, we’ll be together. But I’m not going to wait for some pompous fool like Rigby to say vows before I make mine.”

  She smiled, her eyes shiny but serious. “Will you, Trace Cordell, take me to be your lawful wife?”

  Chapter Eight

  TRACE SAT UP, causing Flanna to straddle him, her skirts hiked up, her knees on either side of his hips. “Flanna, are you sure?”

  She knew what he was asking. She trained her gaze on his and continued, “To love and cherish. To hold fast in your heart through sickness and in health.”

  The dogs, stretched out on the grass, watched with lazy curiosity. A bird flitted to the wagon seat and cocked its head. Even Bill, Trace’s gelding, and her Spice had wandered over to the fence to witness.

  He took her hands in his. “I do. Do you, Flanna Kennedy, promise to love, honor—” a smile came to his lips “—and obey me?”

  She laughed. “I shall love, honor, and listen to you the best I can,” she vowed.

  His teeth flashed white in his smile. Then he added soberly, “Till death do us part?”

  “Yes.” She pulled her hands from his and cupped the sides of his square jaw. His skin was warm beneath her touch. “Forever.”

  “Forever,” he echoed.

  For the space of several heartbeats, in which she could have sworn neither one of them breathed, they stared at each other, caught up in the miracle of their love. “Yes,” she confirmed aloud, “this is a miracle. I thought you were lost to me and here we are.”

  “Husband and wife,” he said. In one smooth movement he rose to his feet, carrying her with him. His arms supported her as he walked down the bluff toward the soddy.

  Flanna clung to him, her arms around his neck. This was right. This was the way it should be. But Trace walked right by her small house. Instead he carried her to the wood house. He stepped onto the first floor, the frame of the walls all around them.

  “Wait for me,” he said, and headed off to the soddy. A moment later he came out carrying the cotton mattress and quilts. He spread the mattress out on the floor and threw the blankets over it.

  “I don’t want us to be together in that dank soddy,” he explained. “I’d rather have the fresh air and cottonwood trees for a roof. After we beat Slayton, we’ll build this house and this ranch into the finest in all Kansas.”

  She stepped into his arms. “I love you.”

  Pride lit his silvery eyes. “I love you.” Then he kissed her. This kiss was different than the one yesterday. This kiss held promises, commitments.

  Flanna opened herself to him, her heart pounding in her chest. When his tongue first touched hers, she started but then relaxed. This was Trace. This was her husband. She knew any vows she took on the morrow would pale in comparison to these vows of her heart.

  Trace started undressing her.

  Samson and Delilah, sensing they were not wanted, jogged off to chase rabbits. Above in the trees and around the prairie, the birds sang but it was as if they’d created a wondrous choir just for Flanna and Trace.

  Without modesty, she held her arms up and he pulled her calico over her head. He tossed the dress aside.

  Flanna held her breath. Her nipples pressed against the thin material of her chemise. He began untying the tapes of her petticoats. His lips brushed her breasts, wetting the thin cotton material. She buried her hands in his thick curls, bringing him to her.

  For a second she allowed the sensations to overwhelm her and then her petticoats fell to the ground. He bent, his arms around her knees and gently lowered her to the mattress.

  Swiftly, intently, he undressed her until she was gloriously naked in front of him—and completely unashamed.

  “You’re beautiful,” he whispered.

  “Come to me.” She held out her arms.

  Trace undressed. He was hard and ready. She discovered her first glimpse at a boldly naked man did not alarm her. Instead she was ready for this. She’d waited for him.

  He lay down beside her and pulled the quilts up over them. “If Slayton comes now, he’ll be in for a surprise.” His arms hugged her close to the heat of his body. “But I could not stop myself for any reason in the world.”

  “I know,” she agreed, and then gasped as he kissed the hollow of her shoulder. He nibbled the line of her neck and circled her ear with his tongue.

  “I want this to be good for you,” he whispered in her ear.

  “It will be.” Beneath the covers, she ran her hand up the velvety length of his shaft, pleased with the low growl of desire she drew from him.

  His teeth teased her skin, followed by the smooth caress of his tongue. Soft intakes of breath, small sighs, and loving laughter revealed their progress. Each moment seemed to drive the need Flanna felt for him.

  At last, he gave her breast one lingering kiss and then settled himself bet
ween her legs. He rested his weight on his arms.

  “I want this to be good for you,” he said, his expression intent.

  Instinctively she cradled his body, her legs around his hips. “It will be.”

  He smiled. Then, in one smooth movement, he entered her.

  Flanna tensed. He stopped, letting her grow accustomed to him. He pressed forward.

  There was small pain as he broke through the barrier of her virginity but it was not unpleasant. He was watching her, a line of worry between his eyes.

  She soothed that small line with the tips of her fingers, and arched herself up to him. Her movement buried him deeper. Her muscles clenched and then embraced…and she was in heaven.

  “Dear God, Flanna. You are so tight, so sweet.” Trace began moving.

  She had thought them done. Now she discovered there was more, much, much more.

  He took his time, paying attention to her pleasure. And, proudly, she met him every step of the way. His thrusts grew more demanding. She didn’t know what to expect. A part of her centered on him and another part was spiraling out of control.

  Then she discovered where they were going. One moment she was grounded to him and in the next, she was no longer a creature of this earth. She was like the water that bubbled over the rocks in the stream near where they lay. She was music and art and beauty.

  Trace knew where she was. He’d been the one to bring her here. Now he thrust once, twice, and then with a glad cry, he filled her. He completed her.

  They lay in each other’s arms lost in the aftermath of their lovemaking for what seemed like hours. Flanna stroked his arm, admiring the muscle beneath. “Is it always like this?”

  “It’s never been like this.” He looked down at her. He was still inside, connected with her. “We are one.” There was reverence in his voice.

  For the first time Flanna understood the meaning of the phrase. She threw her arms around his neck and laughed with joy.

  * * *

  THEY MADE LOVE several times, right there outside beneath the sky. To Flanna, it was as if they’d created their own Garden of Eden. For the space of a few hours, the world was held at bay.

  She lost herself in the heady sensation of desire. Her lips tasted his skin. She loved the warmth and scent of his body…and in his arms she felt loved and protected.