Free Paxton Pride by Kerry Newcomb Page B

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