“A ranch?” Dylan hopped off the stall and spit out the piece of hay, his face lighting with boyish enthusiasm. “Where we get to be cowboys?”

“The last thing we’re doing is moving in with Wyatt.” The very core of Flynn’s being protested the prospect of relying upon Wyatt. “He’s never cared about us before, and there’s no reason for him to start now.”

Ivy’s expression fell. “He said he’s got a wife who has a little sister about my age living with them.”

“It don’t matter—”

“A ranch, Flynn!” Dylan’s voice rose. “Just think about it. We’d get to ride horses and raise cattle and fight Indians.”

“He says there’s plenty of space and lots of work for every one of us,” Ivy added. “And he really wants us to come, especially Brody.”

Brody. Flynn’s attention snapped back to his brother, who’d resumed his work cleaning the stalls. In his letter to Wyatt, Flynn had briefly mentioned Brody’s intention of joining the war efforts when he turned eighteen along with Dylan’s interest. Flynn wasn’t sure why he’d said anything, other than maybe attempting to make Wyatt feel guilty for being gone. Or perhaps he’d wanted Wyatt to know the pressure he was under in raising the kids, pressure Wyatt had run away from.

Ivy took out the letter and scanned it. “He says he don’t have a lot of extra money to help with the passage west, but that he’ll do what he can.”

Flynn’s backbone stiffened. “I don’t need Wyatt’s money.”

“Then that means we’re going?” Dylan’s eyes widened.

“Please, please, please.” Ivy was standing next to Dylan, their two young faces turned up to him, eagerness and excitement radiating there.

“We don’t have nothing left for us here,” Dylan said. “Nothing holding us back.”

Was Dylan right? Was there really nothing holding them back? Flynn’s mind flashed with the image of Helen’s face and the tears she’d shed the day he ended their relationship and told her he didn’t want to get married. It had been the day after Ma died from another awful childbirth, the day he vowed he wasn’t ever gonna get married and put a woman through the torture of birthing.

In the months of nightmares since, his resolve had only strengthened. He’d decided the Lord Almighty had given him the responsibility in raising Ivy, Dylan, and Brody. That was enough for him. But it still didn’t make the parting with Helen any easier, especially whenever he saw her at church and she watched him with hopeful eyes, as if he’d eventually change his mind and marry her after all.

“Rusty wants us gone.” Ivy glanced nervously toward the barn door.