The man who ran the livery stable introduced himself as Otto Clay, and he seemed like a very nice person. He rented Regina the same horse and buggy they’d used the day before, and he hitched everything up and got them ready to go. Regina tried not to give any indication of the nerves she felt, and when he asked if she was set, she gave him a bright smile. This would be a challenge, certainly, but she would be up to it, and her motivation was certainly strong enough.
“I think this is the most foolish of every foolish thing you’ve ever done,” Ariadne said as the buggy turned toward Bachelor.
“Then let’s remember every detail so that when you retell the story over and over again for years to come, you’re getting it right,” Regina replied, not in the mood to deal with any sort of churlishness from her sister.
“That’s not fair,” Ariadne said, slumping back in her seat. “I don’t repeat every story over and over again.”
“Just enough that I feel I should make a point of it. Now please—I’m not the most skilled driver, and I need to concentrate.”
The first little bit of the drive was pleasant, but then the road became steeper, and the curves sharper, and with each passing minute, Regina found herself more terrified. She wouldn’t show it, though—she didn’t want her sister to worry, and she also didn’t want to admit just how very wrong she’d been. Surely Reverend Bing would come into Creede at some point and she could have spoken with him then, but her impetuousness had overtaken her logic, and she’d listened to it.
“Regina. . .” Ariadne said as the ground dropped away on the side and they caught view of the water tumbling below, “I think we should try to go back.”
“There isn’t a way to turn around,” Regina replied. “We have to go forward. We have no choice.”
“But . . .”
“I know. I want to go back too, but it’s impossible. Just take some deep breaths.” Regina tried to sound reassuring, but that was rather amusing considering that when they’d come this way before, Regina’s eyes had been closed and Ariadne’s had been open. It was obvious who had the most courage, and yet the roles were reversed now and the cowardly one was driving the buggy.
They inched forward, and Regina began praying. If they could just make it a bit farther, they’d be safe. Her hands grew slippery on the lines, and she wiped them on her skirt one at a time. She had to remain in control. She couldn’t look at the edge of the road—she just couldn’t.
And then the unthinkable happened—a wagon approached from the other direction.
“No!” she cried out. She had no idea what to do. When Mr. Honeycutt had been driving, they hadn’t encountered another rig, so she had no idea how they should maneuver to make room for both conveyances side by side. The other driver was calling out and waving his arms, but she couldn’t tell what he was saying.
“Can you move over?” Ariadne asked.
“I don’t know how to do it! What if I go too far? Or what if it’s still not far enough, and we scrape? What if I knock him off the road?” Regina wished they were back in Creede. More than that, she was starting to wish they were back in London. She’d never had to deal with anything like this in London.
The other driver was turning red in the face. He stood up in the front of his wagon, yelling and waving like a bee was buzzing around his head. Regina lifted both hands and shrugged, trying to express that she didn’t know what he was saying. She’d brought the buggy to a stop, and that’s all she was capable of doing.
She closed her eyes. “Please,” she whispered. “Please make a way.”
Her eyes had just barely opened again when she heard horse hooves galloping up behind her, then alongside her, and Jake Honeycutt stuck his head under the canopy of the buggy. “You seem to be in a spot of trouble.”
“Oh, Mr. Honeycutt, you’re an answer to my prayers. Honestly, I was just praying. I don’t know what to do.”
He nodded. “Hold tight.” He waved at the other driver, who sat down and folded his arms, then turned and guided his horse to the back of the buggy. He tied the animal to the rear of the rig, then walked back up to the front. Regina was all too glad to scoot over and let him do the driving.
He took hold of the reins and guided the horse to the side, his arms held firm. Regina was sitting closely enough that she could sense the tension in them. It flashed through her mind that she was likely sitting far too close if she was that aware of him, but this wasn’t the time to be moving all around and fussing over propriety. The other wagon inched forward as well. Regina forced her eyes to stay open as they passed, determined to learn how it was done. Amazingly, both rigs came out unscratched, no one went off the road and into the river below, and no one crashed into the canyon wall that created the other side of the road. She never would have believed it possible, and yet, it had just happened.
Once the other wagon was on its way, Mr. Honeycutt urged their horse onward, and he drove until they reached Bachelor. Then he brought them to a stop and turned to Regina. It was all she could do not to throw herself in his arms from sheer relief.
“Miss Stoker, I have to ask you what in the blue blazes you think you’re doing.”
Well, now. That certainly snapped her out of any romantic daydreams she might have been having. She sat up straight. “I beg your pardon?”
“I told you yesterday that only skilled drivers came this way. Are you a skilled driver? Obviously not, and yet, here you are, risking your neck—and your sister’s, too. What’s so important that you have to act like such a . . .” He trailed off.
“Yes, Mr. Honeycutt? What exactly was I acting like?”
“Like a foolish child who can’t wait to open her presents on Christmas morning!”
Of all the crude, ungentlemanly . . . “Mr. Honeycutt, I thank you for coming along when you did and helping us navigate a difficult situation. Your assistance was direly needed, and I shall always remember your kindness. Now, if you would please remove yourself from this buggy, I’ll find someone else to help us return to Creede when we’ve finished our business here.”
“Miss Stoker, I’m sure you think that because you’re sitting there with your pretty little hands all folded up and your pretty little nose in the air that I’m somehow going to bow and scrape and give you whatever you want, but that’s not about to happen. Conduct your business, and then I’ll drive you back.”
Regina nearly shrieked at this point. She was so angry that she couldn’t even find words for a moment. Ariadne was being no help whatsoever. She was studying a nearby tree as though she’d never seen foliage before in all her life.
“Mr. Honeycutt, I’m not used to being ordered around in this completely overbearing manner. I would like to remind you that I’m an independent woman with her own free will.”
“Miss Stoker, when you have used your free will to do something dangerous, it sure makes me think that you need to be ordered around a whole lot more than you are.”
They met eyes, steel clashing with steel, until Regina finally said, “Very well. You may drive us back to town. That’s not because I agree with you—I merely feel that finding another driver could be a challenge, and you’re here now.”
“I’m glad to see that you’re putting aside your pride.”
“My pride? Is that what you call self-respect?” Now she did take a moment to scoot away from him. There wasn’t a great deal of room left on the buggy bench, but she did the best she could. “Please take us to the Reverend Bing’s house.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Mr. Honeycutt flicked the reins, and they slowly proceeded down the road. If Regina wasn’t able to get her temper under control, she wouldn’t be in any condition to speak to the reverend whatsoever.
***
Jake had never been so terrified in his life as he’d been when he came tearing up the road and saw Regina’s buggy smack in the middle of the way. He knew she’d be frozen with fear, and he was right. When he took the lines from her hands, her fingers were shaking so badly, they were all but a blur.
But then he’d never been so angry in his life either. The way she kept defending her foolishness, as though he was the one who’d done wrong . . . He could feel his blood boiling in his veins, especially in the temples. He’d likely need to dunk his head in another bucket of water to stave off the headache building there. Going from terror to fury in such a short amount of time wasn’t good for a man.
Ariadne gave him a sympathetic look before she followed Regina up to the Bings’ door. At least one of the Stoker sisters had a compassionate thought for him. The other one . . . well, he didn’t even want to think about her right now. He’d never stop being angry otherwise.
His mother had always taught him to try to see things through the other man’s eyes. That had proved to be sound advice before, so he pulled in a deep breath. All right, what would he do if he was a young woman in a strange town wanting to go talk to someone in a nearby town and needed to take a dangerous path to get there and didn’t know how to drive a buggy?
He'd hire a driver, that’s what he’d do!
What on earth had come over her to try it herself? He couldn’t think of a single scenario in which it made sense. “I’m sorry, Mama, but it’s not going to work this time,” he said to the sky. “I have no idea what that woman was thinking.”
“Do you often talk to yourself, Jake Honeycutt?” said an amused voice from behind him.
He turned to see Hannah Wheeler standing there, Bob the rooster tucked under one arm and her medical bag under the other. “Hello,” he said, feeling heat rise to his cheeks. “No, ma’am, I don’t. That was more of a . . . well, I was talking to my dead mother, if you’re looking for the truth.”
“I’ve no quarrel with that,” Hannah said, giving him a smile.
“What brings you out this way? Is someone feeling poorly?”
“Some twins with a stomachache. To be honest, I think they were just hankering for a visit from Bob.” She nodded down at her rooster. “I’ve had more children pretend to be sick since he came along . . . they think he’s something else.”
Bob tilted his head from side to side.
“He thinks he’s something else too.” Jake grinned.
Hannah laughed. “He does at that. Have a good day, Jake.”
He tipped his hat and watched her as she walked away. That rooster just stayed flopped over in her arms like he was perfectly fine if his feet never touched the ground again. He was spoiled, that one.
Not unlike Miss Regina Stoker.
A man could give himself a heart condition carrying around this kind of ire. Jake closed his eyes, forced another deep breath, and focused. He could do this. He would simply push Miss Stoker as far from his thoughts as he could every time her name was mentioned or he saw her face or he smelled her perfume or heard her voice. That would be a lot of pushing he’d have to do, but it wasn’t impossible. It would simply take diligence, and he’d always prided himself on his diligence. It’s just that this time, he’d be using it to forget a woman and not for roping a tricky steer.