Page 32 of Conveniently Wed
Emma had gone silent, wide-eyed in the back of the wagon.
The tips of his ears got hot. But he wasn’t going to apologize for not trusting her, not after what he’d been through as a child and how she came into his life.
He couldn’t imagine any other woman of his acquaintance making such an outrageous statement.
“I didn’t meet their wives under false pretenses.”
She went silent, and he had a moment of regret for his harsh words. Before he could decide whether or not he should apologize, a shadow in the tall prairie grasses next to them caught his attention.
“Pull left,” he commanded her, his uninjured hand covering hers and attempting to direct the horses away from the danger.
But it was too late. The right-side wagon wheels dipped into a wash hidden by the tall grasses. With both wheels on that side losing traction, it tipped the wagon at a dangerous angle.
“Whoa!” he shouted to the horses.
Fran fell into him. He heard Emma scrambling, a soft shriek, and a rip of fabric—probably the canvas wagon cover. Had Emma fallen through the canvas beneath the wagon? If so, and if they tipped any further, she could be crushed.
He used his legs to brace, but with Fran leaning into him, had to throw his bad hand out to the side of the wagon seat to stop their momentum and keep them tumbling down the wash.
He cried out, the pain fierce and fiery up his arm.
But they’d stopped.
The dog barked wildly, still on solid ground and somewhat above them.
“Quiet,” he growled, afraid it might spook the horses.
The horses were old hands and hadn’t panicked when everything behind them had gone off-kilter. They stood placidly while the wagon listed to one side, in danger of falling completely into the wide depression.
His wife hadn’t panicked either.
But it sounded like her sister was crying.
“Be still,” he told the girl in the back. “You in the wagon?”
A soft sound of assent came.
Fran scrambled to get over the side of the seat—now angled down. When she had her feet on solid ground again, she reached back for him.
“Emma? You hurt?” she called, even as she hooked both arms around his upper arm on the bad side, leaving his good hand for leverage. She might be a tiny thing, but she helped him maintain his balance as he struggled over the wagon seat.
Shuffling and soft sobbing came from behind the canvas. No answer.
“Be still,” he commanded again, loudly this time.
Fran wrinkled her entire face up and he saw her protest coming in her slightly opened lips, so he countered it before she could speak. “If things shift again and she moves wrong, the wagon could still topple.”
She glanced at the horses. She couldn’t see Emma but she seemed to wordlessly understand the disaster it would be if the horses were dragged or toppled.
He glanced over her head in the direction they’d been going. The herd and the boys had kept moving, they were too far out of yelling distance. One of his brothers would notice their absence, but it might be a while. And Emma might not have that long.
She followed his gaze. “Will they hear us if we yell?”
“Probably not. We need to get her outta there.”
The crease above her eyes deepened, showing her worry, but she followed him around to the back of the wagon.
“Shouldn’t we unhitch the horses?”
