Handpicked Husband (Love Inspired Historical) (22 page)

Regina glanced sideways at him then ducked her head. But not before he saw the shy smile tug at her lips. Something warm settled in chest.

He reached for her hand, but paused when an outraged hail snagged his attention.

“Hey, come back with that!”

That was Chance’s voice.

Adam turned sharply to discover the motor carriage puttering onto the track. But rather than Chance, Wade Sanders was gleefully manning the tiller, his friends cheering him on. Chance sprinted after him, but the mayor’s son had enough of a lead to guarantee him a nice ride before he was caught. And Wade’s friends were deliberately slowing Chance down.

Confounded show-off! He could get himself or someone else hurt. Adam pushed Jack toward Reggie. “Get over by that tree and stay put.” Adam sprinted toward the motor carriage. Between him and Chance, they should be able to head the kid off before he did too much damage. But, mayor’s son or no, Wade Sanders was in for an earful when Adam caught up to him.

Suddenly the motor carriage hit a large rock, jarring the whole vehicle. It picked up speed then, and began weaving wildly. Adam adjusted his own direction, pushing himself to an even faster sprint.

Wade’s grin turned to openmouthed alarm as he tried to get the vehicle back under control.

In a panic, the boy leapt from the still-moving vehicle. Adam didn’t give him more than a passing glance—he had to stop the runaway vehicle which was now headed for a busier area of the field. People began scrambling to get out of the way.

All except one.

Constance Harper, holding a bright red candy apple in one hand, turned to see what the fuss was about, then froze.

Adam yelled at her to move—he’d caught up with the vehicle, but knew he wouldn’t reach the controls in time to turn it, if in fact it could still be steered at all.

Then, out of nowhere, Chance dived at the girl, tackling her and rolling her to safety.

Adam pulled himself into the carriage and yanked on the tiller.

It didn’t budge.

He tried again, and this time it moved just enough to steer away from the milling crowd. But before he could draw a relieved breath, Adam found himself facing more trouble.

The vehicle was now pointed directly toward Regina’s photography wagon.

Chapter Nineteen

R
egina’s heart jerked painfully. Her mind rebelled, refusing to believe her eyes. “Jump!” she screamed. “Get out of there.” But it was no use.

The scene unfolded with tortuous slowness. Each detail etched itself in her mind with gruesome vividness—the grim determination on Adam’s face, the bulging muscles in his arm as he strained to turn the tiller, the bone-jarring jolts his body absorbed as the runaway motor carriage careened toward the wagon.

Then the motor carriage slammed into the wagon and time whooshed forward again.

Only when Ira’s hand released her did Reggie realize she’d been struggling to race forward. Now she picked up her skirts and dashed toward the splintered mess.

Please God, let him be all right.

She repeated that prayer a dozen times before finally reaching the wreckage. Her knees crumpled in relief when Adam climbed shakily out of the crazily tilted motor carriage.

Then she saw blood trickling down his forehead and she scrambled back to her feet. “You’re hurt!”

Reggie yanked a handkerchief from her pocket. “Find Doc Pratt!” she yelled. Then she gently dabbed at Adam’s cut.

“How do you feel? Are you hurt anywhere else? You should be sitting down.” She knew she was babbling, but she couldn’t stop.

Chance raced up. “Is he okay?” he asked, struggling to catch his breath.

Reggie rounded on him, finding a target for her roiling emotions. “How could you let this happen? Adam could have been killed.”

Chance looked abashed. “I’m sorry. I don’t know how it happened. I only turned my back for a few seconds—”

“A few seconds! It—”

Adam grabbed her wrists. “I’m all right, Regina. Truly. Just a little sore.”

She met his gaze and tears welled in her eyes. “Are you sure? When I saw the crash, I was so afraid—”

He tugged her closer. “I’m sorry. I tried my best to avoid hitting the wagon, but the tiller was stuck.”

Reggie jerked away. “You
what?
” Suddenly she was furious.

A puzzled pucker appeared between Adam’s brows. “I said I’m sorry I wrecked both vehicles. I did my best but—”

Reggie shook a trembling finger in his face. “Of all the inconsiderate, fool stunts. How
dare
you do such a thing, Mr. Adam Must-Play-the-Hero Barr. Don’t you ever,
ever,
put me through that again.”

He grabbed her wrist again, but this time more firmly. “Whoa, there. I said I was sorry about the wagon. I—”

“The wagon! I don’t care a fig about the wagon. It’s just a
thing
. Ira and I built it and we can build another one. I’m angry because you didn’t jump. You put me through sixty seconds of absolute torment just to save that stupid collection of paint and timber. Must have taken ten years off my life.”

She crossed her arms and tilted her chin up with a watery sniff. “Not that I give a plug nickel about your sorry hide right now.”

Adam’s expression twisted into a tender smile and he pulled her back into his arms. She offered only token resistance—just enough so he wouldn’t think she was ready to forgive him.

“Mrs. Barr,” he whispered, “I’m very much afraid you’re as terrible a liar as you are a singer.” And with that he kissed the top of her head.

“What’s this all about?”

At the question, Reggie guiltily freed herself from Adam’s embrace to find Doc Pratt studying them.

“My husband was riding in that motor carriage when it crashed into the wagon.” Reggie patted her hair self-consciously.

Doc Pratt glanced at the wreckage with a raised brow. “Doesn’t seem to have been doing too good a job of it.” Then he turned to Adam. “Let’s have a look at you, son.”

“That’s not necessary. I—”

Reggie gave him her fiercest frown. “Do as the doctor said.”

Adam responded with a long, hard look, then rolled his eyes and allowed the doctor lead him to a spot where he could sit comfortably.

Reggie watched them a moment, then turned to survey the damage. Before she could do more than grimace, however, Mayor Sanders approached, hauling a red-faced, profusely sweating Wade by the shirt collar. With some not-so-gentle prompting, he forced a stammering apology from his son.

Reggie listened silently until Wade’s words came to a stuttering halt. “What you did was both foolhardy and dangerous.” She fought to keep her voice steady. “It’s only thanks to my husband and Mr. Dawson that no one was seriously hurt.”

The mayor’s wife came huffing up. Eula Fay stayed in the background but commented loudly to no one in particular that Reggie and Adam had brought this on themselves by introducing such a dangerous contraption into their midst.

Reggie ignored the woman and instead turned on her heel and marched off to see what Doc Pratt had to say about Adam’s condition.

“Your husband here is a very lucky man,” the doctor said as soon as she arrived. “He’s a bit battered and bruised, but there shouldn’t be any lasting effects.”

Adam rolled down his sleeves. “I told you it was nothing to worry about.”

Doc Pratt frowned as he snapped his satchel closed. “I said it won’t have any lasting effects, but, to make certain of that, I strongly suggest you don’t exert yourself unduly over the next few days.”

Before Adam could protest, Reggie spoke up. “Thank you, Doc. I’ll make sure he follows your instructions.”

Ignoring Adam’s glower, she continued to address the physician. “We were planning to board a train for Philadelphia tomorrow. Should we postpone?”

“If he’s feeling back to normal tomorrow, then travel shouldn’t be a problem. Just make certain he takes it easy.”

“You can count on me.” She turned to Adam. “You heard the doctor. You may give orders to your heart’s content, but if I see you so much as lift a finger to help clear out that wreckage I’ll recruit Mitchell to sit on you.”

Jack was once more consigned into Mrs. Peavy’s capable hands while the cleanup effort got underway.

The mayor offered to furnish some wagons to haul whatever salvageable items they recovered back to her carriage house, or wherever else Reggie wanted to take them.

The motor carriage seemed basically intact, but no amount of effort or cajoling would coax the engine back to life.

“If you don’t mind,” Chance offered, “I’d be glad to tinker with it and see if I can get it running again.”

“Help yourself.” Reggie gave a dismissive wave. “I don’t care if I never see the ornery thing again.”

Taking a deep breath, she turned to survey the wreckage of what had been her photography wagon. Luckily, much of her equipment had been set up where she was taking photographs. But the wagon itself seemed unsalvageable.

There were plenty of helping hands initially, but gradually the crowd dwindled to just a handful. Her three former suitors, however, stayed the whole time. Surprisingly, somewhere along the way, they had all become good friends.

Despite Reggie’s best efforts, Adam managed to slip in and help a bit. After a few hours though, she saw signs that he was tiring. When she saw him sway slightly, she decided he’d had enough. Signaling Mitchell to follow, she marched up to her stubborn husband.

“Mr. Fulton, I believe my husband has had enough for one day. I’d be obliged if you’d escort him home. And please see that he stays put, even if you have to sit on him.”

“Now, Regina—”

“Don’t you know better than to argue with a lady?” The corners of Mitchell’s eyes crinkled. “Especially when she’s so obviously right.”

It was late when Reggie and Ira returned to the house and Mrs. Peavy met them at the door. “Look at you two,” she fussed. “Practically asleep on your feet. Ira Peavy, don’t you know better than to let Reggie work so hard?”

Ira held up his hands. “Have you ever succeeded in getting her to quit when she’s made her mind up?”

The housekeeper tsked. “Hardheaded, the both of you.”

Reggie smiled as she rolled her shoulders. “I’m fine. How’s Adam?”

“Been upstairs most of the evening. I didn’t even bother him for supper. Thought it best to let him rest.”

Reggie nodded. “Good. I’ll look in on Jack and then turn in myself.”

As she trudged up the stairs, Reggie sighed, sparing a moment to mourn the loss of her beautiful wagon. Tomorrow the remains would be consigned to a bonfire with the rest of the discarded trash and materials from the fair.

Ah, well, as she’d told Adam, she could always replace a wagon. People were another matter.

Reggie eased open the door to Jack’s room and leaned against the jamb. She heard his even breathing, smiled at his abandoned sprawl.

Her gaze moved to the bedpost where the third place ribbon he and Adam had earned for their showing in the three-legged race hung. Jack had been as proud of that ribbon as if it had been a gold crown.

She quietly eased the door closed and crossed to Adam’s room. She peeked inside to find him asleep as well.

Reggie stood there a moment, reflecting. She’d discovered something this afternoon when she watched him crash into her wagon.

She loved him.

It was as simple and as complex as that.

Realizing how she felt didn’t make living with their half marriage easier. On the contrary, it made it a thousand times harder.

But there it was.

For good or ill, she was in love with her husband.

She just didn’t know if she could pretend to be content with half his heart much longer.

* * *

“Are you sure you’re up to starting that long trip to Philadelphia this afternoon?”

Adam, who’d just stepped onto the first floor, raised a brow. “And good morning to you, too.”

Reggie waved impatiently. “Good morning. And before you say anything else, no, I’m not trying to delay my talk with Grandfather. I just think it might be best if you rested another day or two.”

“I’m fine. Now stop trying to mollycoddle me. I spent all of yesterday afternoon and last night in bed just to humor you. But I refuse to do it again today.”

Her expression turned prim. “Well, if bad humor is a sign of healing, you
must
be on the mend.”

Adam smiled in spite of himself. Reggie certainly wasn’t shy about speaking her mind.

“The rest of us have already eaten,” she said moving to the door. “Mrs. Peavy is keeping your breakfast warm in the kitchen. I’ll be at my studio packing up the equipment I want to take with me.”

“Hold on.” He placed a hand on her arm. “Give me a minute to grab a quick bite and a cup of coffee, and I’ll join you.” He folded his arms. “Or would you prefer to not be seen with the infamous man who wrecked not one but two of your carriages?”

She raised a brow. “Think about those two vehicles. Do you really think I shrink from ‘infamous’?”

He laughed. “I see your point.”

“Besides,” she said, softening, “as far as I’m concerned you’re a hero. There’s no telling what might have happened if you hadn’t risked your neck the way you did.”

Then she fingered her collar. “I suppose I
could
check on Jack and see how his packing is coming while I wait for you.”

“Excellent idea. I’ll be quick.”

Her expression turned prim again. “Rushing through your meal is not good for your digestion.”

“Yes, ma’am.” And with a smile he headed into the dining room.

Fifteen minutes later they were stepping onto the sidewalk.

Myrtis Jenkins, pruning shears in hand, stood by her own front gate. “Mr. Barr. I’m so glad to see you looking well today.”

Adam bowed. “Thank you. I feel right as rain this morning.” He ignored Regina’s disbelieving sniff.

Myrtis, however, apparently had something else on her mind. “Did you hear what happened?”

“What was that?” Regina asked politely.

The woman dramatically placed a hand to her throat. “Thomas Pierce was attacked on his way to the bank last night. Someone stole all the fair money.”

Adam frowned. A robbery? Here in Turnabout?

“Is he all right?” Regina’s voice echoed his own shock.

“According to Doc Pratt, he’ll be sporting a lump the size of a lemon for a few days, but otherwise he’ll be fine.”

“Do they have any idea who did it?” Adam gave Regina’s hand a comforting squeeze.

Myrtis shook her head. “He said the thief came up from behind and it was dark. Some think it might be one of the peddlers who set up at the festival yesterday.” She drew herself up, the picture of moral indignation. “Wouldn’t surprise me none. Sheriff Gleason is checking the wagons of the ones who haven’t left town yet, but the thief’s likely long gone by now.”

“Thanks for the news.” Adam tipped his hat and drew Regina forward.

Regina fingered her collar as they resumed their walk. “Everyone worked so hard to raise that money, and now it’s gone. It’s like stealing from the church itself. Who would do such a terrible thing?”