Page 25 of The Heart’s Choice (Cotton Cops Mysteries #1)

Chapter 24

Wreck

B ea tried to drag open her eyes. Her head ached. She was being tossed in some sort of bone-jarring contraption, but the temptation to slip back into sleep was powerful.

Eventually, panic threatened as what had happened gradually seeped back into her memory. Peter intended to take her to Gretna. She would never willingly consent to marry him, but he and Odlum were devious. They’d devise some scheme to trick her and the famous blacksmith.

It came to her she was sitting on the splintered floor, her hands tied, her back pressed up against the seat. Bracing her feet against the turbulent movement, she risked opening one eye. Peter dozed in a corner of the carriage, his hand on a lockbox. It appeared Glenda’s assumption was correct. They’d found the money hidden in the old vehicle.

Given the pace Odlum had set, it was a miracle the carriage was still in one piece. It creaked and rattled. She wasn’t sure how long she’d been asleep, and the windows were covered with old pieces of oilcloth. However, it was fairly dark within the conveyance. Surely, they didn’t intend to drive all night?

The need for such breakneck speed was puzzling. No one was coming in pursuit. The prospect of never seeing Roger again nigh on choked her.

* * *

“Good lad,” Roger shouted when the old carriage came in sight, traveling at speed. Midnight tossed his head, confirming what Roger sensed. He and the horse had formed a bond. The feeling of euphoria was short-lived when a shot rang out. He’d been spotted. He pulled back, just far enough so he could keep the vehicle in sight. “We’ll follow them all the way to Gretna if necessary,” he declared, though he admitted inwardly that wouldn’t be possible.

“But they’re driving their nag hard,” he said aloud, feeling somewhat silly talking to a horse. His spirits lifted. Glenda had said the kidnappers had bought a poor excuse for a horse. They’d be forced to call a halt for …

His heart stopped when he suddenly lost sight of his quarry. The sound of splintering wood reached his ears. The piercing cry of a horse in pain rent the air. Midnight’s ears twitched. Roger reined in his mount and proceeded slowly in the direction of the terrible cries, his gut clenching when he saw three wheels of the old carriage spinning in air, the stricken horse struggling in vain to free itself from the overturned conveyance.

There was no sound from the carriage, no cries for help. He vowed to kill the men responsible for Beatrice’s gruesome death. Then he saw the yellow trousers and realized fate had saved him the trouble. Odlum’s body lay at an odd angle in a nearby ditch, his head caved in by a huge boulder.

* * *

Bea didn’t know where she found the strength in her legs, but she lunged for Peter when he fired a pistol out of the window. If someone was in pursuit, it could only be Roger, though she didn’t understand how that was possible. Hampered by the rope binding her wrists, she wrestled with her cousin until he flung her away. Suddenly, there was a loud crack and all hell broke loose. At first, she thought he’d shot her, but they were both tossed about the carriage like corks in a maelstrom. A blow to the head knocked her senseless.

The screeching cries of a horse in pain dragged her out of the stupor. She was upside down, her legs in the air. Something heavy lay between her outstretched legs, making it difficult to breathe. Whatever it was moved—Peter!

“Much as I love having you beneath me,” he rasped. “Lie still or I’ll blast your brains out.”

She froze, puzzled by his jerky movements and the rustle of paper. “What are you doing?” she asked.

“I’ve worked … too hard … to leave this here,” he replied. “Wily old coot hid the money in the last place we thought to look.”

It came to her there were bank notes scattered all over the ruined carriage. He was trying to stuff them back into the lockbox next to her head, all the while trapped in the wreckage of the overturned carriage. Bea couldn’t help herself. The situation was too comical for words. She laughed out loud.

* * *

The sound of laughter startled Roger. Believing nobody could have survived the wreck and dreading he might find Beatrice lying broken and bleeding, he’d dismounted and was dejectedly contemplating how to put the injured nag out of its misery. Midnight snorted and pawed the ground.

Buoyed by the possibility Beatrice had survived, Roger hurried to the overturned carriage, said a silent prayer and succeeded in yanking open the door after three attempts. He fell backwards into the ditch when Peter barreled out and knocked him over. A pistol thrust in his face advised restraint, so he raised his hands as Leigh scrambled to his feet, a lockbox tucked under his arm. The wretch limped away and eventually managed to mount Midnight, whereupon he rode off into the dusk.

Wishing Peter well of the devil horse, and more concerned with Beatrice, Roger got to his feet and peered in the open doorway.

It was tempting to laugh at the fierce blush that reddened the face of the woman he loved. Bare legs stuck up in the air sported daintily embroidered pantalets. He briefly wondered if what he’d heard was true. Female unmentionables were reported to be crotchless.

He shook his head in an effort to banish lascivious thoughts. She presented a delightfully decadent sight, petticoats askew in a nest of bank notes. But she was alive and in one piece apart from a gash on her temple. “Beatrice,” he exclaimed. “My love.”

“The wretch had two pistols,” she replied, trying to straighten her skirts with bound hands. “Find it for goodness sake and put that poor animal out of its misery.”

He leaned in, untied the rope binding her wrists and kissed her with all the love and relief in his heart. She cradled his face and returned the kiss, opening readily to his coaxing tongue.

The sound of an approaching vehicle broke them apart.