Truth Be Told (8 page)

She seesawed on the reins, hauling back on them for all she was worth. The buggy bounced again, and she saw one of the wheels roll past her and veer off the road to the right. Without
warning, the buggy tilted to one side and the tip of the axle jammed into the dirt, bringing the vehicle to an abrupt halt.

With the buggy thus anchored, Smokey had no choice but to stop. He pranced and snorted while Amelia clung to the slanting buggy seat with one hand and the reins with the other.

It took her several moments to catch her breath and send up a quick prayer of thanks that she hadn't been injured.
But what about Smokey?
With the hand holding the reins, she reached for the brake handle, then realized there was little point in setting it. The buggy wasn't about to go anywhere. Looping the reins around the brake, she slid down to the end of the seat and lowered herself to the ground.

Smokey pawed the dirt with his front hoof when she approached, sending up clouds of tawny dust. Amelia stroked his neck and murmured calming words. After a few minutes he settled somewhat, though his eyes still flared wide. She ran her hand down each leg, assuring herself the horse had escaped injury. With that done, she walked back to assess the damage done to the buggy.

The axle wasn't broken, as far as she could determine. That was a relief, but what was she to do now? She couldn't move the buggy in its present condition. And even if she could find the wheel and somehow fashion a lever, she couldn't lift the buggy to replace the wheel on her own.

She eyed Smokey and pursed her lips. Could she unhook the buggy and ride him back to town? If she did manage to get him loose, would he stand still long enough for her to find a way to mount? She shook her head, dismissing the idea. It wouldn't be worth the risk. If the horse ran off, she would be utterly stranded.

Shielding her eyes, she checked the sun's position. It had dropped nearly a handspan lower in the sky since she'd left the livery. She chewed on her lower lip. If she left Smokey and the buggy and walked back to Granite Springs, it would be nearly dark when she arrived. Then she would have to ask Mr. Olsen to come out to retrieve her horse and repair the buggy. He'd be out there half the night.

Her shoulders slumped. Look what her impulsive decision had cost her! It wouldn't be right to leave poor Smokey out there alone. He'd already been spooked enough. No telling what danger he might get himself into if she left him on his own. She would either have to stay with him until someone happened to come along, or figure out a way to ride him back to town.

Or . . . she took a deep breath. If she could get Smokey free of the buggy, she could lead him. It would still be late when she arrived, but at least she would be sure the horse was safe. Stepping over to his side, she lifted her hands and started fumbling with the harness when the gelding flicked his ears backwards. He nickered again, and his eyes grew wide.

Amelia took a step back and scanned the ground. Had Smokey's keen senses detected another snake?

A moment later, she heard the faint
clip-clop
of hooves on the packed dirt road, somewhere beyond the curve. Her heart leapt. A rider was coming!

She took a stance in the middle of the road, ready to greet her potential rescuer. Then caution asserted itself. What was she thinking? She had no idea what kind of person might be coming her way. Without further deliberation, she left Smokey standing in the road and faded back into the close-set cedars.

A
melia ducked under a low branch and moved back into deeper cover. The hoofbeats grew nearer, but the thick tangle of branches screened the approaching figure. The rider must have spied the wreck, because she heard the horse pick up its pace.

When he reached the disabled buggy, the rider stopped and dismounted. Holding her breath, Amelia peeked between the cedar branches and could make out a figure rushing to the buggy and looking inside. He turned around and cupped his hands around his mouth. “Miss Wagner! Where are you? Are you all right?”

Relief flooded Amelia when she recognized Ben Stone. Had it only been an hour before that she was ready to swat him away with her reticule? Now he seemed more like a knight in shining armor, come to rescue her from her plight.

Pushing the concealing branches aside, she stepped out of her hiding place. “I'm over here.”

Ben rushed to her side, concern written on his face. “Are you hurt? Were you thrown from the buggy?”

Heat tinged Amelia's cheeks. “I heard you coming, but I
didn't know who it was. I wanted to be sure it was safe before I showed myself.”

A light glowed in Ben's eyes. “I'm glad you're all right . . . and that you felt you could trust me.” Turning back to the buggy, he walked over and bent to study the axle. “The cotter pin is missing.”

Amelia frowned. “How could that have happened? Did it break? And what can we do about it?”

“I have an idea that may work.” He turned around in a slow circle. “Do you have any idea where the wheel went?”

Amelia pointed toward the right side of the road. “It rolled off that way.”

He disappeared into a dense clump of manzanita and buckbrush. A moment later he reemerged, carrying the wheel by its spokes. Back at the buggy, he leaned the wheel against the side and set the brake. Then he squatted next to the axle and gripped the underside of the buggy. “When I pick this up, can you slide the wheel onto the axle?”

Amelia nodded, and he began to lift. She could see the muscles in his shoulders stretch the fabric of his shirt as he strained to raise the buggy high enough. She watched for the moment as the axle lined up with the hub of the wheel, then she wiggled the wheel onto the shaft.

“Is it in place yet?” he asked through gritted teeth.

“It's on as far as I can make it go.”

He eased his grip, not turning loose completely until he assured himself the wheel would support the buggy's weight.

Amelia looked up at him. “Now what? How can we keep it from coming off again?”

“Give me a minute, and I'll show you.” Ben eyed the hole
where the cotter pin had been, then he walked over to a scrub oak. Pulling out his pocketknife, he cut off a small branch. As he walked back to the buggy, he began whittling the smaller end. After tapering it down, he jammed it into the hole and tapped it into place with a rock.

“There you are.” He stood back, admiring his work.

Amelia tilted her head. “Are you sure that will work?”

“If we take it easy, it should hold long enough for us to get back to town.” When Amelia eyed him doubtfully, he chuckled. “What do you think they used on the old Conestogas that rolled all the way across the prairie?”

“Surely they used something more sturdy than a twig.”

“Granted, but it's the same principle. If it worked for them, it should work for us . . . at least as far as Granite Springs.” Ben walked back to lead his own horse to the buggy and tied it to the rear.

Amelia stared at him. “What are you doing?”

He shrugged. “You didn't think I was just going to send you off on your own, did you?”

She opened her mouth to protest, then reconsidered. What if the improvised pin broke on the way back? Who knew how long it would take for someone else to come along. Did she really want to be out alone on this road after nightfall? Catching up her skirt in one hand, she scrambled into the buggy, not waiting for him to help her up.

Without comment, he circled around to the other side and took his seat before gathering the reins and setting Smokey off at a walk. Amelia sat rigidly upright, hands folded primly in her lap. Being stranded had unnerved her enough to let her guard down when Ben arrived, but now that the danger was over . . .

The buggy wheel dipped down into a rut in the road and bounced back out again. Amelia held her breath, but the substitute cotter pin held fast. The slight pitch of the buggy jostled Ben to one side, and their shoulders brushed. Amelia drew in a quick breath and slid as far to the right of the seat as she could.

“I'm sorry your journey was interrupted,” Ben said. “What brought you out this way?”

Amelia flicked a glance at him, then looked away. “I wanted to check into something, but I guess I'll have to do that another time.” She slid her right hand from her lap and clutched the edge of the seat to steady herself against the swaying motion of the buggy.

Ben held the reins in a sure grip and kept his eyes on the road ahead. “I admire you for taking on the newspaper. That's quite a venture for anyone—especially a woman alone. But you seem to be up to the challenge.”

Amelia eyed him narrowly, trying to decide whether his tone held sincerity or sarcasm. To her surprise, she saw only honest admiration in his gaze.

“Your employer doesn't seem to share your opinion. He offered to buy the
Gazette
before I had a chance to run it into the ground.”

He whipped his head around to face her fully. “He did? When?”

“The day of my father's funeral. Just after they lowered his casket into the ground.” Speaking the words aloud brought back the bitter memory of that unhealed wound.

Ben's eyes shadowed, and he shook his head. “I'm sorry. I'm sure the offer was made in good faith, but his timing was deplorable.”

So even Owen Merrick's own employee recognized how rude and thoughtless his actions had been. Amelia allowed herself to relax enough to let her shoulder blades touch the back of the padded seat while the buggy rolled along. After the tension of the past few weeks, it felt good to allow someone else to take over and relieve her of even this small responsibility.

The breeze stirred the curls at her temples, soothing her even more. Under different circumstances, an evening buggy ride with the soft, pastel hues of approaching sunset threading their way across the sky and a handsome man beside her would have been heavenly. But this man worked for Great Western.

Watch yourself, Amelia.
Much as she'd been enjoying Benjamin Stone's company, she didn't dare let down her guard completely. Just because he had helped her in her recent plight, it didn't mean his motives were pure. She pulled herself erect, and they rode the rest of the distance to town in silence.

When they pulled up in front of the livery, Carl Olsen hurried out to greet them. He slid to a stop, and his mouth dropped open when he spotted Ben driving the buggy and his horse tied behind. Recovering quickly, he turned his attention back to Amelia. “So, you went out for an evening drive . . . ?”

Amelia felt her face flame. Up to now, she was just grateful to have made it back to town safely. Until she saw the goggle-eyed look on Mr. Olsen's face, she hadn't considered what other people's reactions might be at seeing her in Ben's company. She forced herself to answer calmly. “I had a bit of a mishap with the buggy wheel, and Mr. Stone was kind enough to rescue me.”

Ben stepped to the ground nonchalantly, as if coming to
the aid of damsels in distress was something he did every day of the week. As he walked around the back of the buggy, he patted the right wheel. “‘A bit of a mishap' may be an understatement. This wheel came off while Miss Wagner was driving. It's a good thing she wasn't seriously hurt.”

While the livery owner bent to examine the damaged wheel, Ben moved forward to help Amelia down. Her mouth went dry when his strong hands spanned her waist, and her breath left her lungs in a
whoosh
. Seemingly unaware of her response to his touch, he walked over to explain about the cotter pin and point out his improvised solution.

Mr. Olsen placed both hands on the wheel and wiggled it back and forth. He examined the makeshift cotter pin, and his face reddened. “I don't know how I could have missed that the pin was damaged.” He straightened and faced Amelia. “I'm sure glad you weren't hurt. I'll go over every bit of this buggy and make sure it's in top shape before you take it out again.”

“Thank you,” said Amelia. “I wouldn't want to put my guardian angel to the test too often.”

“It will be dark soon,” Ben said. “May I escort you home?”

Amelia frowned. “What about your horse?”

“He'll be fine. I'll only be gone a few minutes.”

She didn't really need an escort now that she was back in town. But in the face of Carl Olsen's curious gaze, she decided not to argue. It was obvious the livery owner had questions about her encounter with Ben. No point in giving him more reason to speculate.

Ben smiled and offered his arm. Amelia hesitated, then she tucked her fingers in the crook of his elbow. Their heels thudded softly along the boardwalk until they reached the
Gazette
building, where a single light shone inside the printing office. Ben opened the door, and Amelia walked in first.

Homer looked up from setting a column of type. “There you are. I wondered where you'd gotten off to.” His smile faded when Ben stepped in behind her.

Removing his hat, he nodded to Homer, then turned to Amelia. “I'm glad we got you home safe and sound. I hope the rest of your evening goes better.” With that, he nodded again to Homer and took his leave.

Homer strode across the floor while Amelia busied herself with the lock. His head swiveled back and forth, looking first at her, then out the front window. “Safe and sound? What was that all about?”

Amelia sagged back against the door. “I wanted to check on something out at the old Sparks place, so I started out there in the buggy. But the wheel came off while I was passing the cedar thicket. If Mr. Stone hadn't come along and helped me, I might still be stranded out there.”

Homer's eyes bulged, and he sputtered like a teakettle on the boil. “What were you thinking, taking off that late in the day?”

“Emmett Kingston told me Papa bought that land. It's the first I'd heard about it, so I thought I'd go out and take a look.” Amelia removed her hat and hung it on the coatrack near the door, hoping the move would keep Homer from seeing the flush that tinged her cheeks at the reminder of her foolishness. “It seemed a good idea at the time.” Smoothing her skirt with her hands, she turned back to face him. “But I'm fine. And Carl Olsen feels terrible about it. He couldn't apologize enough for not having noticed it was damaged.”

“Unless the problem was man-made.”

She shot a sharp glance at him, startled at the frown that darkened his face. “What do you mean?”

“What was young Stone doing out there? Seems to me it was awfully convenient that he happened to come along just when you needed help.”

“I didn't ask what he was doing there. You aren't suggesting he had something to do with the cotter pin, are you?”

Homer snorted. “I wouldn't put it past any of that Great Western bunch. He may not be as bad as Merrick or some of the others, but you can't lie down with dogs and not get up with fleas.”

Amelia was too tired to argue. The keyed-up emotions that had sustained her throughout her adventure seeped away, leaving her empty and exhausted. “We can talk about that another time. I'm just glad he came along when he did.” She stood on tiptoe to brush a kiss on Homer's lined cheek. “Lock the back door when you leave, will you? I'm turning in for the night.”

Upstairs in her room, she went through the motions of getting ready to retire and tumbled into bed, letting out a blissful sigh as she stretched out on the sheets and her head sank into the pillow. Worn out as she was, her mind kept drifting back to her panic when the wheel sailed off, and the relief she felt at Ben's timely rescue.

Homer might have found the coincidence to be suspicious, but if Ben hadn't come along, she would have had to deal with a most unpleasant—and possibly dangerous—situation on her own. She was grateful for his chivalrous assistance.

Her eyelids drifted shut, only to fly open again an instant later, remembering her earlier encounter with Ben Stone that afternoon. He'd extended his invitation to the poetry reading,
and she had turned him down abruptly before walking off to leave him standing alone on the boardwalk.

Amelia pushed herself up on her elbows and stared into the darkness. She had made no mention of leaving town, she was sure of it. Nor had she spoken of going to the livery.

By the time he came upon the wrecked buggy, she was well hidden in the tangle of cedars, yet he'd immediately called her name and asked if she was all right. Her chest tightened, and she struggled to draw a breath.

Ben had asked her what she was doing out on that lonely road . . . but he never explained his own reason for being there. What brought him out to the scene of the wreck?

And if Ben had nothing to do with the accident, how could he have known whose buggy it was?