A Tailor-Made Bride

  “It’s ready, Miss Richards.” Tom waved her forward.

  She gathered her wits and joined him by the buggy.

  “You know how to handle the reins, right?” The stern Jericho had returned.

  “Yes.”

  “Good. I’ve double-checked the harness and all the straps. The carriage is sound.” He tugged on the leather and kicked at the spokes as if to verify his words. “If you get stuck in mud or have any difficulty with the buggy, just leave it where it stands, unhitch the horse, and ride him back to town. I don’t want you stranded out there.”

  Hannah smiled at the gruffness in his voice. “Now who’s worrying unnecessarily?”

  She picked up her skirt and placed her foot on the step, but when she reached for the handle on the outside of the seat to pull herself in, Jericho was suddenly there, offering his hand.

  She accepted, enjoying the feel of his callused skin against her palm. The contact was far too brief, but it warmed her nonetheless. Reluctantly, Hannah let go and retreated onto the seat, where she extracted a silver dollar from her purse and passed it over to him.

  “Can you give me directions to Ezra’s place? Except for my constitutionals with your sister, I haven’t ventured far from town.”

  Jericho tipped his hat back and pointed to the north. “Take the main road out of town. Go about a mile past the schoolhouse, then turn right on the road that leads to the river. You’ll cross a wagon bridge. Go another two miles or so until you see a post to the left with a hummingbird carved into the wood at the top. His wife loved the things. Follow the ruts that turn off by the post. They’ll take you to the house.”

  Hannah collected the reins, and the horse stomped the ground in anticipation. “Thank you for your help, Jericho.”

  “Um . . .” Tom sidestepped up to the buggy, shooting leery glances at his employer as he moved. He cupped his hand around his mouth as if to tell her a secret but forgot to lower his voice. “He don’t like that name, ma’am. Nobody calls him that.”

  “I do.” Hannah grinned and flapped the reins. The roan set off down the street, leaving a stunned Tom and a scowling Jericho in its wake.

  Feeling better than she had all morning, Hannah reveled in the freedom of being out in nature. Thickets of trees covered distant hills, where random specimens boasted the first red leaves of autumn. White clouds rimmed in gray blew gently across the sky, and the same breeze that propelled them pushed the loose tendrils of hair away from her face and cooled her skin. A pair of blue jays flew overhead, scolding each other as they swooped in and out of the mesquite. A lovely morning to be out for a drive.

  Jericho’s directions proved easy to follow, and Hannah soon found herself at the wagon bridge. Desert hackberry with its dark green oval leaves and bright orange berries combined with prickly graythorn and other shrubs to line the banks of the North Bosque River. The fragrant aromas of juniper and cedar teased her nose and induced a sneeze as she brought the buggy to a halt. The rush of the river seemed unusually loud. She edged forward until she could make out the water below. The usually narrow, slow-flowing stream had swollen with the recent rains. The trestles still cleared it by several feet, though, so she clicked to the horse and rolled from the dirt onto the bridge’s planks. The roan’s shod hooves thunked against the wooden boards with a hollow cadence that sent a shiver tiptoeing down her neck. Hannah tightened her grip on the reins, but she made it to the opposite side without incident.

  Once back on the road, Hannah urged the horse to a trot. The river reminded her of how quickly things could change. She needed to get to Ezra.

  When she finally reached his homestead, the sun stood high in the sky. As she stepped down from the buggy, a door on the weathered house creaked open. Ezra hobbled out into the yard, leaning heavily on one of his walking sticks.

  “Miz Hannah? What are you doing all the way out here?”

  She hurried to his side and steadied him with a hand at his elbow. “I was worried when you didn’t make it to town for so many days. I wanted to make sure that everything was all right.”

  Ezra shook his head and let her lead him back to the house. “You should be in town sewing up some fancy piece of calico instead of checking up on an old-timer like me. I ain’t worth your worry.”

  “Of course you are. Now, let’s get you back in the house so I can make you some tea.”

  Before she could make tea, however, she had to find the kettle. A mound of dishes, pots, and pans littered the kitchen. All of them dirty. The poor man probably hadn’t eaten off a clean plate since his wife died. It was a wonder he ate at all in this mess. A half-empty can of beans sat on the table, a spoon standing stiff in its middle. His lunch, no doubt. He hadn’t even bothered to warm it up. Hanging up her cape and bonnet, Hannah vowed to make the place habitable before she left.

  She located an apron, tied it about her waist, and pushed up her sleeves. Not allowing Ezra to talk her out of her mission, she dragged in the washtub from the back porch, filled it with well water, and started dropping pots and pans into its depths. The plates went into the dishpan along with the cups and flatware, and she left them to soak until she had heated enough water on the stove to clean them properly.

  Ezra finally stopped trying to dissuade her and sat at the table whittling while she chattered on about the progress Cordelia was making. She told him about the lovely fern-green wool they had decided on for the main body of the dress, the jet buttons, the fern-and-burgundy-striped skirting, the way the polonaise would gather at the back for a slight bustled effect. She doubted he cared a whit about her babble, but it helped pass the time.

  When the dishes and utensils were clean, Ezra insisted on helping her dry. Hannah made him do it sitting down. The way he grimaced and limped around, his pain was obvious. She didn’t question him about it, though, until the work had been completed and they both sat at the table with a cup of honey-sweetened tea.

  “Did you hurt yourself this week? I can send the doctor out to see you.”

  Ezra took a sip and shook his head. “Naw. It ain’t worth the bother. He can’t do nothing for these old joints.” He set the cup down and rubbed his leg. “My rheumatism acts up somethin’ fierce when it rains. And with the way my knee is aching, I bet we’re in fer some more.”

  “Do you have a soup bone I can use to make stock? I could put together some beef or vegetable soup before I go, to tide you over until you’re feeling better.”

  “No. You done too much already.” He slapped his palms onto the tabletop and pushed to his feet. With a hitch in his step, he shuffled over to the window and tilted his head to view the sky. “Looks like that new storm is rolling in. There’s a wall of dark clouds to the northwest. No telling how soon it’ll reach us. You better head back to town.”

  Hannah swallowed the last of her tea and stood. “Are you sure there’s nothing more I can do for you?”

  “I’m sure. Now skedaddle before I have to sic Jackson on you. That mule’s as ornery as I am when the weather turns sour.”

  “All right. I’m going.” Hannah held up her hands in surrender as she moved to collect her hat and cape. “I did promise Mr. Tucker I’d have his rig back this afternoon. I wouldn’t want him to think me irresponsible.”

  “From what I’ve seen, the boy’s more likely to think you irresistible,” Ezra mumbled with his head aimed at the floor.

  A thrill passed through her at his words, but caution quickly rose to quell it. She probably hadn’t heard him correctly. However, when Ezra raised his head, his eyes were dancing with roguish light, resurrecting her optimism.

  When they stepped outside, the wind immediately whipped over them, tugging Hannah’s cape with such ferocity it nearly choked her.

  “I think you’re right about that storm.” She leaned into the wind and moved to inspect her rented horse. The roan lifted its head from the trough where it had been drinking, seemingly unperturbed by the gusty conditions. Jericho had trained him well.

  Ezra led t
he horse around so the buggy faced the road, then handed Hannah up. He took something out of his pocket. Hannah recognized the wood he’d been whittling on in the kitchen. “Here, I made this for you. Alice always liked ’em.”

  She accepted the offering—a hummingbird, complete with feathered wings and a long, narrow beak. “Thank you, Ezra. It’s beautiful.”

  She placed it in her purse. Then, afraid the wind might blow the small bag off the seat, she tucked it deep into the crease of the cushions, leaving only the hummingbird bulge free.

  Ezra handed her the reins. “Time to get going, gal. Take care on the way back.”

  “I will.” Hannah set the roan in motion with a flick of her wrist and waved farewell to her friend.

  By the time she reached the bridge, fat raindrops were plopping with great frequency against the carriage top. The sky to the north had gone nearly black. She could hear the water rushing, and as she started the buggy onto the bridge, she found the river had risen a good foot since her earlier crossing.

  The horse snorted and shook its head, pawing the ground restively.

  “I know it looks frightening, but the bridge is solid. We can make it.” Hannah spoke to the horse, but she used the words to convince herself, as well.

  The storm was still upriver. They had time.

  She drove the buggy onto the bridge. Hannah focused on the horse’s rump as they traversed the bridge, not trusting her courage to last if her focus wandered to the river.

  They were midway across when she heard the roar.

  Heart pounding, she looked upstream. A surge of water was thundering toward her, overwhelming the meager banks that fought to contain it.

  Flash flood!

  “Yah!” Hannah slapped the reins against the roan’s back. He lurched forward. They had to get off the bridge.

  Ten yards from the end, the water caught them. It crashed over the trestles and threw the horse into the rails. The roan screamed and struggled to find purchase through the torrent that swirled at its knees. The weight of the buggy kept the animal from being swept away, but soon that anchor lost its grip, as well.

  The carriage tipped under the pressure of the water’s barrage. Hannah released the reins and grabbed the seat handle on the upstream side. She could feel the wheels on that side lifting off the ground. The conveyance shifted and rammed the railing at an angle, splintering the wooden rods that supported the carriage top on the left side. Hannah toppled onto the floor. She clung to the handle above her with both hands as cold water soaked her skirts.

  With the underside of the buggy now blocking the main thrust of the floodwater, Hannah crawled up the sloping floor and swung a leg over the side. Tilted and broken, the buggy was useless, but if she could unhitch the horse, perhaps he could get her to safety.

  The roan strained against the shafts that twisted toward the river and pinned him to the bridge railing. Hannah debated whether to risk climbing down over the foot of the driver’s box in order to get to the horse, but between the flailing hooves and tangled harness lines, it looked too hazardous. So instead, she plunged into the swirling pool beside the upturned buggy. The icy water stole her breath as it reached past her knees, but she slogged forward, fighting the current as she circumvented the wheel. Once at the front, she no longer benefited from the buggy acting as a dam. The water was not as deep, but it rushed faster, nearly knocking her from her feet.

  Using the shafts to keep her balance, Hannah edged closer to the horse. She unclipped the driving bit and worked free the straps that anchored the horse to the right shaft. She’d have to find a way to undo the ones on the left next. Wading to the horse’s head, she latched on to his bridle and tried to soothe the animal, but his terror was too great. The roan lunged for his freedom, and Hannah lost her footing. She fell to her knees, the violent flow tugging her toward the river. Still holding the bridle leather, she fought the water and managed to stand.

  “No more of that. Do you hear me?” She yanked the horse’s head down and yelled in his face. “I need you to get me off this bridge. I’ll get you free of the carriage, then you’ll get me to dry ground. Understand?” The roan jerked his head up and down, probably in a struggle to escape her hold, but she chose to take it as a sign of agreement.

  She moved back to the carriage, climbed over both horse shafts, and wedged herself between the second wooden pole and the railing. She undid the first loop but couldn’t squeeze her way farther up the shaft. The railing was already digging painfully into her back.

  The horse must have sensed the nearness of his freedom, for he strained against the final loop that tethered him to the carriage. His wild movements opened a space for her. She stretched forward and loosened the loop. The roan did the rest. Hannah lunged for the harness saddle so he could pull her free, but she was too slow. The traitor ran for the road, leaving her behind.

  “Hey!”

  Hannah barely got the shout out before the wooden shaft pounded her back into the railing. The blow knocked her feet out from under her. She flung her arms around the offending pole and tried to pull herself upright as she had done before. Only this time, her legs dangled over the side of the bridge between the rail posts. There was nothing but water to push against. The current tore at her. She slid farther and farther over the side. Her strength waned. Her knees scraped over the side. Then her hips. Finally, the edge of the bridge jabbed its planks into her ribs. Water pounded her face and filled her mouth. She swiveled her head and sputtered, desperate for a breath.

  Out of options, she did the only thing she could. She let go of the pole and allowed the river to take her.

  CHAPTER 22

  J.T. peered out the back of the livery, across the corral, and down the road that led out of town. She should have returned by now.

  Dark clouds were converging from the north. The light rain that had arrived ahead of them a few minutes ago had sent him out to gather the horses. Now that they were all stabled and dry, he couldn’t tear himself away from the open doorway.

  Where are you, Hannah?

  Surely if something had been seriously wrong with Ezra she would have driven back to town for help right away. So what was keeping her? Maybe she decided to wait out the rain at his place. Or she could have taken a wrong turn.

  His gut told him there was more to it.

  “Tom!” J.T. spun around and marched through the stable.

  The boy stuck his head out of one of the stalls, a currycomb in his hand. “Yeah?”

  “Saddle up the gray for me while I get my slicker. I’m going for a ride.” Trusting that his order would be obeyed, he strode on without stopping.

  “In the rain?” the boy called out after him.

  “Yep.”

  He had just retrieved the oiled raincoat from the nail on his office wall when the pounding of hoofbeats set his heart to racing. He dashed out to the street. The roan ran past him, straight into the livery.

  Hannah.

  J.T. shoved his sleeves into the arms of his slicker but didn’t bother with the buttons as he sprinted toward the gray’s stall. “Tom! I need that horse. Now!”

  “I got him. I just need to cinch him up.”

  J.T. ran a calming hand over the roan’s heaving sides. “It’s all right, boy,” he murmured. “You’re safe. But where’s Hannah, huh? You didn’t throw her, did you?” Tension crept back into his voice at the thought of Hannah injured or lost out on the road somewhere. The horse sidestepped, and J.T. backed away.

  “Tom,” he gritted out through clenched teeth.

  “Here, J.T. He’s ready.”

  The second Tom emerged from the stall, J.T. grabbed the reins and swung into the saddle. “Take care of the roan.”

  Tom eyed the animal, then turned a panicked look on J.T. “B-b-but where’s Miss Richards and the buggy?”

  “That’s what I’m going to find out.” Not taking the time to offer any more explanation, J.T. nudged the gray forward and sped out of town.

  He held the geld
ing to a moderate pace so he could scan the brush for signs of Hannah. But as each consecutive section he passed yielded no sign of her, the tension in his gut wound tighter. J.T. rounded the bend that preceded the bridge, a thicket of pecan trees blocking his view of the river. Through the branches, however, he caught a glimpse of a large black object. He reined in his mount and approached with caution.

  When his view cleared, his heart dropped to his knees. It was the buggy, all right, but it lay broken and tipped against the railing. Debris cluttered the bridge, and J.T. knew at once that the dripping planks had been drenched by something more sinister than the drizzling rain that fell now.

  “Hannah!”

  He jumped off his horse, grabbed the lariat from the back of his saddle, and ran onto the bridge. His boots slid on the damp wood, but he didn’t slow his pace. Praying that the only reason he didn’t see her was because she was huddled inside the carriage, J.T. climbed between the lopsided horse shafts and thrust his head into the buggy’s interior.

  Nothing.

  He punched a fist into the side of the carriage.

  Lifting his head, he searched the banks, the water, the brush. No sign of the pretty pink outfit she’d been wearing that morning. Where was she?

  Lord, help me find her. Alive. Please, alive.

  J.T. scanned the carriage for any clue it could offer. He spotted her purse jammed into the seat cushion and jerked it free. Opening the front of his slicker, he tucked it inside his vest. Something stiff and hard poked him in the chest, but he welcomed the discomfort if it meant having a piece of her close.

  He looked back at the empty rigging. The roan would never have been able to free himself without her aid. Therefore, she must have survived the flash flood. At least initially. But he hadn’t passed her on the road or seen footprints in the muddy earth. That didn’t bode well. Surely she wouldn’t have walked back to Ezra’s place. Not when the buggy was closer to the town side of the bridge. So where was she?