Page 101 of Conveniently Wed
Would he even care enough to come after her?
She didn’t know.
And that’s why she was doing her best to get herself out of this situation.
She’d worked at the knots behind her hands. Her skin felt chapped and raw beneath the rough ropes, but she had managed to loosen the bonds somewhat.
One problem was that she had to make sure Underhill or his men didn’t notice.
She’d also been unobtrusively attempting to gauge their surroundings. They’d convened near a wooded area. She thought if she could somehow get away from the men, she might have a chance in that direction. The trees were close together and it wouldn’t be easy for horses to move through them, meaning the men would be forced to chase her on foot.
But she wasn’t sure she was faster than them, especially hampered as she was by a skirt.
Other than the wooded area, there was open prairie all around, which meant the men would be able to run her down on horseback.
Unless she was able to get on one of the horses.
If she somehow broke away, could she get onto the horse? There was one smaller pony, but it was on the other side of the men, far away.
Perhaps she could make some kind of diversion.
Why, oh why, had she left the pistol back in the wagon?
“We’ve got to do something soon,” the man dressed as a federal marshal said. “Daylight’s burning.”
That meant her window for making an escape could be closing. She needed to make her move.
But what move?
There was a loud crack. A gunshot.
The men turned as one to face the noise—turning away from Fran.
She hadn’t been able to get her hands untied, but she pushed to her feet anyway and ran on wobbly legs toward the pony.
One of the men shouted.
She didn’t stop.
She reached for the saddle knob and got her hands on it.
The horse whickered and stepped away, maybe afraid of her skirt fluttering in the wind.
“Easy, boy,” she said, even as the shouts behind her probably spooked the animal more.
She managed to get her foot into the stirrup and pulled against the knob.
Her leg swung over the saddle, and she squeezed the way Edgar had shown her. The animal jumped forward, but a larger horse and rider got right in front of Fran.
Her horse pulled up, rearing.
She shrieked and bobbled, tried to stay balanced, grasped the saddle as best she could with her hands bound, but she couldn’t stay seated.
She hit the ground hard on her shoulder.
Rough hands grabbed her as the pony’s hooves hit the ground only inches from her face.
She scrambled, arm screaming with pain, trying to get up, get away.
