“That’s not necessary. I—”
Reggie gave him her fiercest frown. “Do as the doctor said.”
Adam responded with a long, hard look, then rolled his eyes and allowed the doctor lead him to a spot where he could sit comfortably.
Reggie watched them a moment, then turned to survey the damage. Before she could do more than grimace, however, Mayor Sanders approached, hauling a red-faced, profusely sweating Wade by the shirt collar. With some not-so-gentle prompting, he forced a stammering apology from his son.
Reggie listened silently until Wade’s words came to a stuttering halt. “What you did was both foolhardy and dangerous.” She fought to keep her voice steady. “It’s only thanks to my husband and Mr. Dawson that no one was seriously hurt.”
The mayor’s wife came huffing up. Eula Fay stayed in the background but commented loudly to no one in particular that Reggie and Adam had brought this on themselves by introducing such a dangerous contraption into their midst.
Reggie ignored the woman and instead turned on her heel and marched off to see what Doc Pratt had to say about Adam’s condition.
“Your husband here is a very lucky man,” the doctor said as soon as she arrived. “He’s a bit battered and bruised, but there shouldn’t be any lasting effects.”
Adam rolled down his sleeves. “I told you it was nothing to worry about.”
Doc Pratt frowned as he snapped his satchel closed. “I said it won’t have any lasting effects, but, to make certain of that, I strongly suggest you don’t exert yourself unduly over the next few days.”
Before Adam could protest, Reggie spoke up. “Thank you, Doc. I’ll make sure he follows your instructions.”
Ignoring Adam’s glower, she continued to address the physician. “We were planning to board a train for Philadelphia tomorrow. Should we postpone?”
“If he’s feeling back to normal tomorrow, then travel shouldn’t be a problem. Just make certain he takes it easy.”
“You can count on me.” She turned to Adam. “You heard the doctor. You may give orders to your heart’s content, but if I see you so much as lift a finger to help clear out that wreckage I’ll recruit Mitchell to sit on you.”
Jack was once more consigned into Mrs. Peavy’s capable hands while the cleanup effort got underway.
The mayor offered to furnish some wagons to haul whatever salvageable items they recovered back to her carriage house, or wherever else Reggie wanted to take them.
The motor carriage seemed basically intact, but no amount of effort or cajoling would coax the engine back to life.
“If you don’t mind,” Chance offered, “I’d be glad to tinker with it and see if I can get it running again.”
“Help yourself.” Reggie gave a dismissive wave. “I don’t care if I never see the ornery thing again.”
Taking a deep breath, she turned to survey the wreckage of what had been her photography wagon. Luckily, much of her equipment had been set up where she was taking photographs. But the wagon itself seemed unsalvageable.
There were plenty of helping hands initially, but gradually the crowd dwindled to just a handful. Her three former suitors, however, stayed the whole time. Surprisingly, somewhere along the way, they had all become good friends.
Despite Reggie’s best efforts, Adam managed to slip in and help a bit. After a few hours though, she saw signs that he was tiring. When she saw him sway slightly, she decided he’d had enough. Signaling Mitchell to follow, she marched up to her stubborn husband.
“Mr. Fulton, I believe my husband has had enough for one day. I’d be obliged if you’d escort him home. And please see that he stays put, even if you have to sit on him.”
“Now, Regina—”
“Don’t you know better than to argue with a lady?” The corners of Mitchell’s eyes crinkled. “Especially when she’s so obviously right.”
It was late when Reggie and Ira returned to the house and Mrs. Peavy met them at the door. “Look at you two,” she fussed. “Practically asleep on your feet. Ira Peavy, don’t you know better than to let Reggie work so hard?”
Ira held up his hands. “Have you ever succeeded in getting her to quit when she’s made her mind up?”
The housekeeper tsked. “Hardheaded, the both of you.”
Reggie smiled as she rolled her shoulders. “I’m fine. How’s Adam?”
“Been upstairs most of the evening. I didn’t even bother him for supper. Thought it best to let him rest.”
Reggie nodded. “Good. I’ll look in on Jack and then turn in myself.”
As she trudged up the stairs, Reggie sighed, sparing a moment to mourn the loss of her beautiful wagon. Tomorrow the remains would be consigned to a bonfire with the rest of the discarded trash and materials from the fair.
Ah, well, as she’d told Adam, she could always replace a wagon. People were another matter.
Reggie eased open the door to Jack’s room and leaned against the jamb. She heard his even breathing, smiled at his abandoned sprawl.
Her gaze moved to the bedpost where the third place ribbon he and Adam had earned for their showing in the three-legged race hung. Jack had been as proud of that ribbon as if it had been a gold crown.
She quietly eased the door closed and crossed to Adam’s room. She peeked inside to find him asleep as well.
Reggie stood there a moment, reflecting. She’d discovered something this afternoon when she watched him crash into her wagon.
She loved him.
It was as simple and as complex as that.
Realizing how she felt didn’t make living with their half marriage easier. On the contrary, it made it a thousand times harder.
But there it was.
For good or ill, she was in love with her husband.
She just didn’t know if she could pretend to be content with half his heart much longer.
* * *
“Are you sure you’re up to starting that long trip to Philadelphia this afternoon?”
Adam, who’d just stepped onto the first floor, raised a brow. “And good morning to you, too.”
Reggie waved impatiently. “Good morning. And before you say anything else, no, I’m not trying to delay my talk with Grandfather. I just think it might be best if you rested another day or two.”
“I’m fine. Now stop trying to mollycoddle me. I spent all of yesterday afternoon and last night in bed just to humor you. But I refuse to do it again today.”
Her expression turned prim. “Well, if bad humor is a sign of healing, you must be on the mend.”
Adam smiled in spite of himself. Reggie certainly wasn’t shy about speaking her mind.
“The rest of us have already eaten,” she said moving to the door. “Mrs. Peavy is keeping your breakfast warm in the kitchen. I’ll be at my studio packing up the equipment I want to take with me.”
“Hold on.” He placed a hand on her arm. “Give me a minute to grab a quick bite and a cup of coffee, and I’ll join you.” He folded his arms. “Or would you prefer to not be seen with the infamous man who wrecked not one but two of your carriages?”
She raised a brow. “Think about those two vehicles. Do you really think I shrink from ‘infamous’?”
He laughed. “I see your point.”
“Besides,” she said, softening, “as far as I’m concerned you’re a hero. There’s no telling what might have happened if you hadn’t risked your neck the way you did.”
Then she fingered her collar. “I suppose I could check on Jack and see how his packing is coming while I wait for you.”
“Excellent idea. I’ll be quick.”
Her expression turned prim again. “Rushing through your meal is not good for your digestion.”
“Yes, ma’am.” And with a smile he headed into the dining room.
Fifteen minutes later they were stepping onto the sidewalk.
Myrtis Jenkins, pruning shears in hand, stood by her own front gate. “Mr. Barr. I’m so glad to see you looking well today.
”
Adam bowed. “Thank you. I feel right as rain this morning.” He ignored Regina’s disbelieving sniff.
Myrtis, however, apparently had something else on her mind. “Did you hear what happened?”
“What was that?” Regina asked politely.
The woman dramatically placed a hand to her throat. “Thomas Pierce was attacked on his way to the bank last night. Someone stole all the fair money.”
Adam frowned. A robbery? Here in Turnabout?
“Is he all right?” Regina’s voice echoed his own shock.
“According to Doc Pratt, he’ll be sporting a lump the size of a lemon for a few days, but otherwise he’ll be fine.”
“Do they have any idea who did it?” Adam gave Regina’s hand a comforting squeeze.
Myrtis shook her head. “He said the thief came up from behind and it was dark. Some think it might be one of the peddlers who set up at the festival yesterday.” She drew herself up, the picture of moral indignation. “Wouldn’t surprise me none. Sheriff Gleason is checking the wagons of the ones who haven’t left town yet, but the thief’s likely long gone by now.”
“Thanks for the news.” Adam tipped his hat and drew Regina forward.
Regina fingered her collar as they resumed their walk. “Everyone worked so hard to raise that money, and now it’s gone. It’s like stealing from the church itself. Who would do such a terrible thing?”
“Someone either very greedy, or very desperate.” Adam tightened his jaw. “Tell me about Sheriff Gleason.”
“What do you want to know?”
“What kind of sheriff is he?”
“He’s been sheriff here for as long as I can remember,” she said carefully. “I’ve always thought of him as fair-minded.” She shrugged. “Of course, the most he normally has to deal with are the occasional Saturday night brawls or mischief makers trying to steal melons from Carl Mason’s garden. Why?”
“I just wondered if he’d be likely to detain any of these ‘peddlers’ without solid proof.” He felt an obligation to make certain that didn’t happen.
She gave his arm a squeeze. “If he does, I know a good lawyer who’ll call his hand on it.”
Adam returned her smile, pleased by her show of faith. “That obvious, am I?” They had reached the studio by this time. “I think I’ll stop by the sheriff’s office and see what I can find out. I’ll be back to help you in an hour or so.”
“Take your time.” She waved him on. “Ira’ll be here soon and he can help me pack up what I need.”
* * *
As he passed the general store, a breathless youth rushed out, nearly running him over. “Sorry,” he said. Then quickly followed with “Did you hear? Sheriff Gleason caught the thief! He caught him!”
“Did he now?”
“Yes, sir. It’s one of them peddlers. The sheriff found the money hidden under a floorboard in his wagon.”
“Is the man in custody?” Adam asked.
“Yes, sir. And his daughter is there, too, complaining something fierce that her father ain’t guilty.”
Adam moved on, deciding he really ought to have a talk with this peddler. The sheriff may have gotten the right man, but it wouldn’t hurt to hear the other side of the story.
A few minutes later, Adam stood outside the sheriff’s office. He could hear a belligerent female voice before he stepped through the open door.
“I tell you, my pa ain’t never stole no money in his life. Why, he didn’t even know that money was there.”
The sheriff glanced up when he entered, looking as if he’d been thrown a lifeline. “Mr. Barr. You’re looking none the worse for wear after your accident. It was downright neighborly of you not to press charges against Mayor Sanders’s son.”
“That was my wife’s decision, not mine.” Adam kept his eyes on the girl as he spoke. In turn she sized him up and dismissed him in the space of a few seconds.
The sheriff leaned back. “Was there something you were needing from me?”
The girl planted her hands firmly on the sheriff’s desk and glared. “I was here first.”
Sheriff Gleason let out an exasperated huff. “Look, miss, I don’t like being disrespectful to a lady, but we’ve been through this a dozen times. Your pa was caught with the stolen money. He’s staying right there in that cell until the circuit judge comes through next week.”
“And I’m telling you that money is mine. I’ve been saving it up for near on five years. If Pa’d ’a known that money was there, he’d ’a gambled it all away by now.”
Adam stepped in. “Pardon me, miss. Do you mind if I ask your name?”
She glared at him suspiciously. “Daisy Johnson.”
“Miss Johnson.” Adam executed a short bow. “If your father is innocent, perhaps we can clear this up quickly.”
She still had a wary look about her, but some of the belligerence dimmed. “How we gonna do that?”
Adam turned to Sheriff Gleason. “Where’s the money you found in their wagon?”
Sheriff Gleason seemed as suspicious as the girl, but he pulled a sack out of his desk drawer. “I was planning to take this over to the bank for safe keeping.”
“That’s my money, I tell you.”
Adam held out a hand. “May I?”
At the sheriff’s nod, Adam opened the sack and counted it out. “Over ninety dollars. Is that the amount that was taken?”
The lawman spread his hands. “No way to tell. They planned to count it this morning.”
“I see.” Adam raised a brow. “I did notice something interesting about this money.”
“What’s that?” the girl asked peering over his shoulder.
“It’s almost all in large bills.”
“Makes it easier to hide from Pa,” she said defensively.
“I’m certain it does.” He turned back to the sheriff. “It also means this is not the money from yesterday’s fair. That would have all been in coins and smaller bills.”
Miss Johnson brightened and turned to the sheriff with a smug smile. “There, I told you it weren’t stole.”
Sheriff Gleason appeared unconvinced. “I don’t know—”
Adam interrupted his protest. “What time was Thomas Pierce robbed last night?
“Around nine-thirty.”
“Miss Johnson, do you know where your father was at nine-thirty last night?”
She gave a confident nod. “Sure do. He was playing poker at the livery. I had to haul him out before he lost all the money we earned yesterday.”
“And do you know who else was in this game?”
The girl rattled off a few names, then shrugged. “There were four or five others, but those are the only names I caught.”
Adam nodded. “Sheriff, you should be able to check her story without much trouble. If the men verify what she’s saying, I believe you’ll have to admit you have the wrong man.”
The sheriff glowered at Adam a moment, then turned to his deputy. “Go fetch Lester and Belcher for me.”
Adam turned to the girl. “I think this will be straightened out fairly soon. You can find me at the photography studio on the edge of town for the next hour or so, however, if you need further assistance.”
She gave him a curious look. “Why you doing this for me and my pa, mister?”
“Let’s just say I hate to see an injustice done.” With a tip of his hat, Adam excused himself and left the sheriff’s office.
Chapter Twenty
Reggie approached her grandfather’s study with her stomach in knots. But she couldn’t put this off.
They’d arrived at her grandfather’s house in Philedelphia three hours ago, and she needed to get this out of the way as soon as possible. She only hoped it didn’t result in cutting their visit short. Saying a silent prayer for the right words, she knocked on the door and entered.
She inhaled the familiar scents of cigars and port and musty books with a smile. She would know where she was even if she’d been blindfolded.
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“Adam took Jack out to the stables to look at the horses,” she said as she took a seat. “I thought it would be good for you and I to talk alone.”
“I agree, my dear. It’s been far too long since we were able to chat face-to-face.” He wagged a finger. “So, is this where you give me a severe dressing-down for forcing you to the altar?”
Her lips twitched. “No, though I plan to do quite a bit of that later.” She straightened and took a deep breath. “I have a confession to make first.”
“Oh.” The judge leaned back and steepled his fingers. “I’m listening.”
Reggie braced herself for his reaction. “Jack is not Patricia’s son. He’s mine.”
Her grandfather’s expression remained impassive as he watched her. “I see.”
Reggie blinked in confusion. She’d just revealed her deepest, darkest secret, and he sat there looking as if she’d just mentioned it might rain tomorrow.
Why wasn’t he outraged, or at least shocked? “Do you understand? I lied to you, made you believe Jack was your blood kin, made you believe I was some sort of paragon looking out for my stepsister’s child.”
That brought an amused chuckle from him. “Much as I appreciate your many qualities, Reggie, I have never, ever thought of you as a paragon.”
Something was wrong here. He should be—
She straightened. “You already knew, didn’t you? Did Adam—”
“Adam didn’t breathe a word, though I’m glad to hear he knows. And I only suspected. I wasn’t certain until just now.”
“But how—”
“On your last visit it struck me how much Jack resembles you—your nose, your smile, your father’s eyes. I couldn’t see any similarity to Patricia or even Lemuel in the boy.” He shrugged. “Of course, there could have been other explanations. But once the idea of your being his mother presented itself, it explained so much about your stubborn refusal to find a husband.”
He’d known. And he didn’t seem to love her less. “Why didn’t you say something?” she whispered.
Her grandfather stood and came around to her side of the desk. “I wanted telling me to be your choice.”
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