Paxton Pride (8 page)

Hermann, his drawn-out face especially morose in the dim light, touched his fingers to his hat in a small salute. The gesture loosed from the brim of his hat a small torrent of water which cascaded down his startled face and disappeared under his slicker. He shook his head woefully, slammed the door and started out for a nearby tavern, pushed by the wind at his back and soon hidden by a thick curtain of rain.

Karen looked out her window. The wind, full force, howled around the side of the carriage and drove streaming sheets of water against the pane. A sudden curiosity to see what the storm really looked like seized her and she released the latch and pushed the door slightly ajar. The fiercely driving water stung her fingers and cheek and she released her hold, allowing the wind to slam the door shut again.

“Damn it, what are you doing?” Barrett grumbled at her furiously. “Leave the door shut.”

“I was just.…”

“Don't ‘I was just' me, young lady. I've eaten at your cafe, ruined my hat, broken my carriage, probably, and gotten wet in the bargain, to say nothing of the delay. We could have been safe and dry, quietly and serenely sitting at the bar over a decent glass of port had I not been so affable. Now I am beyond affability. Leave the door shut,” he roared, striking his cane on the floor in emphasis.

The carriage soon grew quite stuffy. Barrett suffered the most for he refused to shed his coat. Karen's dress was light so she suffered to a lesser degree. Indeed, the wait was more boring than uncomfortable, the only diversion being a glance cast now and again toward her father who was desperately trying to sit up straight in spite of the angle of the seat. There was one consolation: the delay would keep them from the House, hopefully until too late. Seen in those terms, the ordeal became more than bearable.

A rap on the door broke the stiff silence. Barrett opened it again to find Hermann, quite drenched to the skin. The driver touched his hat carefully and bowed slightly. “I've brought help, Mr. Hampton. We'll have the wheel free momentarily.”

“Be quick about it, man.”

“Yes, sir.” The door slammed again and directly the carriage began to rock to and fro as Hermann and the men he had found tried to push it loose. Muffled curses and shouts sounded through the steady drum of rain and drone of wind. The whinny of excited horses cut through everything. Karen held on as best she could, rocking violently against Barrett at one moment and the side of the carriage the next. Finally the rocking and cursing stopped. Silence, followed by another rap on the door.

Barrett flung the door open for the third time. “Well, what is it?”

“Yes, sir. Begging your pardon, sir. The carriage needs to be a bit lighter. It's sunk pretty deep.”

“Damn it, man, are you asking me to help?”

“Not actually, sir. Only if you'll be so good as to step out while we try again, and if you could stand at the horses' heads, sir. They're a bit spooky, what with the thunder and all.…” He paused apologetically. “There's but three of us, sir.”

Barrett flustered. He started to tell the lanky servant to go straight back and get more help but there would be little use to that. Only hold them up longer. The best thing to do would be get out from the damned mess they'd found themselves in before they all drowned in the mud. Barrett sighed deeply, the picture of sacrifice and resignation. “Must my daughter get out too?”

“No, sir. I don't think so.”

Barrett pulled a rain slicker from the trunk under the seat, donned it, placed his already ruined hat on his head, his cane in hand and stepped nobly into the torrent. A rush of rain swirled in behind him before the door could be closed, spattering Karen's dress.

She could hear an assortment of male voices shouting back and forth.

“If you've got their heads, sir, we'll give her a push.”

“Push, then, damn it, push.”

“Aye, sir. Put your backs to it, men!”

“Together, now. Heave! Heave!”

The carriage rocked forward then settled back into the rut, rocked forward again, almost righted itself and then settled back. The horses whinnied and strained at their bits, terrified of the storm, more so of the flapping slicker under their noses. The curses started anew, fierce and hard against the rain, wind and rolling thunder. A whip cracked and the horses screamed in protest as their bodies strained against the harness.

“Heave … heave … heave!” The carriage bolted upright, free of the rut at last, hovered on solid ground for a second, then lurched forward a foot or two and held.

Barrett relaxed his hold slightly just as the air sizzled with a bolt of cobalt blue. A pine tree to the immediate rear of the carriage and team exploded with a fearsome clap and an awesome cannonade of thunder roared through the man-made valley of low buildings and shops. The team, panicked by the lightning and sent into a frenzy by the thunderous retort, broke free of Barrett's grasp, knocked him aside and surged into a terrified, mindless gallop. Hermann was clipped by the right rear wheel and sent sprawling face forward into the mud. Barrett stood rooted to the spot, his hand reaching for emptiness, his mouth gaping open in horrified surprise at being left behind, unable to realize that what was an inconvenience for him was an extremely real danger for his daughter.

The inside of the carriage was transformed into a violent maelstrom, the air filled with flying objects. Karen was first slammed against the back of the seat then jolted about viciously, flung to one side then the other in a nightmare of unpredictable motion. She managed to grip the right door latch, pull her way over to the side and force the door open. Store fronts and staring faces, trees and parked carriages blurred together as the carriage careened past, ever managing to increase its speed. She wanted desperately to jump, for sooner or later the carriage must strike another rut, quagmire or tree and destroy itself and her in the process, yet she didn't dare for fear of broken bones. Or worse. Visions of her body dashed to the ground and run over by the flashing wheels, broken and lying in the mud.… The door was torn from her grasp by the howling wind and slammed back against the carriage siding, leaving nothing between her and a disastrous fall but rain, wind and a screen of flying mud thrown from the horses' hooves and the wheels. The fear-maddened horses lurched left and just as abruptly back to the right. Karen's fingers dug with the strength of desperation into the doorway. She screamed, her voice a tiny, insignificant addition to the murderous cacaphony of rushing wind and pounding hoofbeats.

Suddenly a figure ran down a boarded walkway from a tavern and leaped at the carriage as it sped by. A hand accompanied by a flashing form slammed into her and knocked her sprawling back against the other side. Her eyes widened in new fear, for whoever had attempted the dare-devil leap was only halfway into the carriage. His lower half dangled into the stream of mud and water outside, inches from the rear wheels of the coach. The figure heaved itself forward, grasped a new hand hold and hauled itself into the doorway, and just as immediately leaped forward and up toward the driver's seat, gone before Karen could say a word or recover from her surprise. But in that instant when the face darted across her line of vision, Karen had recognized Vance Paxton.

She crawled to the doorway again in time to see Vance maneuver himself onto the carriage just behind the upsweep of wood construction capped by the driver's seat. Vance grabbed the back of the seat, hauled himself up and over, almost losing his balance as he dragged his leg over the top. For a moment it appeared he would topple over and down under the slashing hooves of the frenzied team, but his left hand shot out and he steadied himself and managed to secure his perch. He reached down to unloop the reins and gradually began to exert pressure on the guide lines and brake. Karen could hear him calling to the animals in soothing tones. Slowly the horses responded to the pressure on the lines and brake, responded to the strength in the voice above and behind them. The team's speed decreased slowly into a controllable gallop, then a canter, a trot, and finally stopped. It was over. Less than three minutes had elapsed since the bolt of lightning had stampeded the team. Karen sat back in the seat, her face white, hands and body trembling with relief.

Vance leaped from the driver's seat. He still did not know the occupant of the carriage. He had seen but a flash of a helpless figure leaning from the runaway carriage and that had been enough to warrant his action. And what the hell, he figured silently, this was as good a way as any to avoid that infernal speech. His breath came slowly as he talked to the horses and led them to a nearby hitching post He tied the reins and stroked the beasts' necks, calming them farther before leaving them.

Hermann, in a carriage borrowed from one of the occupants of the tavern, sped down the road in hasty pursuit and hauled the trembling team to a halt when he saw the carriage safely tied to the post. Barrett flung open the door and jumped out the second they stopped, for once unconcerned about the sea of mud around him. Expecting to encounter only shattered remains of coach and daughter, it took him a few seconds to comprehend what he saw; his team stopped, carriage in one piece and his daughter's face framed in the open doorway. A mud-drenched man sloshed toward the compartment. The shock on Barrett's face was nothing compared to the expression that crossed Vance's when he leaned in the door to check on his passenger and came face to face with Karen Hampton.

“Are you all right, Karen?” Barrett forced his way past Vance and climbed in.

“I … I think so.”

“My God, we thought something terrible had happened to you. I don't know what we expected to find.” He turned back to Vance, still standing in the doorway. “Who is this?”

“He saved my life, Papa. He jumped on the carriage and stopped the team. He …”

“Climb in, man. I would not have you drown now after having been of such service.”

Karen adjusted her hat and offered Vance an amused smile. Vance hesitated but a moment before stepping into the carriage and sitting on the jump seat facing Karen and Barrett.

Barrett extended a hand to Vance. “My name is Hampton, sir. Barrett Hampton. And this is my daughter Karen.”

Vance looked across at the woman whose life he had probably saved. A tenuous strand of gold had come undone from her coiffure and fell from under her hat. It framed her cheek, coiled down across her bosom and curled up provocatively at the tip. She was as beautiful now as she had been the day before.

Karen extended her hand. “Thank you, Mr.…”

“Paxton, ma'am,” he answered, wondering why she should choose not to admit their acquaintanceship. Could she be ashamed? Spoken for? Or was this merely a social game to be played on a mere whim? “Vance Paxton from Texas.” Very well. He would play. Again.

“Paxton.…” Barrett's forehead knotted in thought. Then he brightened. “You're not the fellow who was to speak this afternoon?”

“Yes, sir. I'm afraid so.”
Afraid
was the correct word. He had sought out information about the Hamptons only that morning and discovered Barrett had an intense dislike of southerners. Texans were southerners, were traitors. The relationship would not be a happy one.

“Well, then. I suppose you ought to be riding with us if you want to make it there in time to clean up. You're a frightful mess, if you don't mind my saying so. We'll be on our way directly.” He ducked his head out the door to confer with Hermann and pay the man who had loaned them his carriage.

Vance glanced boldly across at Karen whose eyes dropped demurely away from his. After an uncomfortable silence, Vance was the first to speak. “Miss Hampton, it seems we've met before. A lady lovely as yourself would be difficult to forget.”

Karen returned his appraisal more boldly. “You are very gracious, Mr. Paxton, but I doubt it.”

“Possibly at a party?”

“Possibly, though I think not. I should imagine we travel in different circles.” Karen smiled again for him. Her voice was one of pleasant formality but her eyes told him a different story.
Two can play at this game, Mr. Paxton, and I would suspect I'm more adept at it than you
. The door slammed closed and the carriage jerked forward. Vance gave up the point and gazed out the window, a slow anger beginning to grow inside him.

The remainder of the trip was brief and passed silently. They stopped at the base of the Capitol steps within minutes. “We'll go on in. Karen, you might as well return home,” Barrett decreed. “You're a bit mud-spattered.”

“I'm not nearly as soaked as you two, and Alfred is expecting me,” Karen replied. “Besides, if Mr. Paxton is going to speak, I should like to see if his words are as heroic as his actions.”

Barrett frowned and started to contest the issue, but as the downpour slacked abruptly, he gave up without a murmur, shrugged and said, “Suit yourself.”

Vance, wondering at this new turn of events, managed to back his lanky frame out of the coach without cracking his skull on the door frame. Barrett followed and waited to one side as the Texan offered his hand to Karen.
Hot one minute, cold the next. A man should stick to cattle and business, land and politics. I'm damned if I understand them
. Karen's hand touched his lightly as she stepped down. The contact startled them both. She withdrew the hand as if it had been burned and moved toward her father to take his arm. Barrett was oblivious to her, though, now the danger was past, and hurried up the steps ahead of her.

Karen frowned and turned back to Vance. “My father is a man of the moment, Mr. Paxton, little given to the niceties of life. Now that he has given you the use of his carriage he's probably decided the favor you paid me has been returned. You risked life and limb and he graciously allowed you to ride in the Hampton carriage. I wouldn't expect anything like a verbal expression of his appreciation, were I you. He never expresses gratitude. Such a gesture would be entirely out of character. I suppose he feels any service rendered him was due him in the first place.”