…
Raynewastoo big for the horse. But he’d known he would be already—just as she had. But once he’d seen the panic flare in her eyes, he’d seen no option but to go onward.
His inner imperative—keep her safe, keep her with you—wasn’t interested in reason or details. Urging along an experienced horse in a steady ride was the quickest way to separate her from her fear.
Besides, by the time he’d settled into the saddle, the postilion had taken the promissory note and was already running back down the road for the nearest shelter.
He could not turn back even if he wanted. The road beneath them was quickly becoming a stream. And, if the bridges behind them had been as bad as the postilion claimed, retreat wouldn’t be any safer than forging ahead.
He encouraged the horse to move forward, keeping his pace slow as the wind whipped rain against his face, almost blinding. Any slower, in fact, and he’d risk sinking into the mud. But slow, he hoped, would cover enough ills to prevent catastrophe.
He wasn’t sure how much time had passed—an hour, maybe more—but eventually he caught the scent of smoke on the wind and took a deep, fortifying breath.
Almost there.
Once they reached the next inn, there’d be warmth.
There’d be shelter.
There’d be rest.
He hadn’t told Julia the full truth—she’d been pale enough as it was. What he’d written hadn’t been payment for the horses but a promissory note, payable only in the event the horses were injured…or worse.
Which they wouldn’t be. He caught the first faint scents of a hearth fire, and occasionally, through the fog and the trees, he could just make out what looked like stables and an inn.
Definitelyan inn.
Cold rain had soaked his beard and was working its way down his neck. He shook his head, scattering the pools of wet from the brim of his hat.
All he needed to do was cross one long bridge ahead and this particular trial would be over. But what of the next trial? And the next?
He’d ignored his troubles for too long. But whatever troubles may come, he wanted to face them with Julia. Eventually, he must tell her—let her know he hadn’t continued this journey with her because a land agent was waiting. Or because he wanted to deliver her to her groom.
Every mad choice he’d made since the moment he’d pulled her out of that fight had been for her and her alone.
After they reached the inn, he would do it. He’d be honest—perhaps for the very first time in his life. He’d tell her he wanted her to himself, even if honor demanded he also give her all the reasons staying with him would be a very bad idea—for her.
And if he bared his soul and she chose Cracked-skull… Well, what more could he do but return to New York as he originally planned?
Which was, by far, the easier option, when he factored in all the looming specters…namely, facing her family’s disapproval and beginning the impossible task of setting the Grange to rights.
He set his lips and focused on the stream of smoke rising from the chimney of the inn. The sound beneath him changed as shoed horses’ hooves hit the bridge’s wooden floor.
Ka-thunk—Ka-thunk—times eight.
Suddenly, the comforting sound disappeared, swallowed up by a roar to his right.
Water.
A wall of it.
Heading in their direction.
A cry ripped from his lungs as he urged the horses to full speed. The carriage squealed over the thunder of hooves. Forward, forward, forward…just a few more feet…
Behind them, the river water sloshed, then the wood bridge let out a terrible moan.
He tightened his thighs, leaned forward in the saddle, and bellowed, forcing himself—and the horses—through their fear. The clopping resumed even as the cracking continued. Rain blurred his eyes, but he kept onward—shocked a little more by each heady moment they were not overtaken by the deluge.
