Patriotism won the man over. Without even slowing, he grabbed Regan’s arm and hauled her into the wagon as if she weighed nothing. With another swift motion he pushed her to the back and covered her completely with grain sacks.
Seconds later Farrell appeared on horseback, and Regan held her breath as he shouted at the old man. After pretending he was deaf for some minutes, the old man refused to allow Farrell to search his wagon; he pulled a pistol when Farrell kept insisting. At last the old man reluctantly admitted having seen three men riding by, one with a pretty woman in the saddle in front of him. Farrell took off in a flurry of hoofs and dust.
“You can come out now,” the old man said, grabbing Regan’s arm and pulling her to the seat.
Rubbing her arm, she refrained from asking the man to stop tossing her about like one of his feed sacks. After several ferocious sneezes, she asked if he knew where the Stanford plantation in Virginia was.
“That’s a long way. It’ll take days.”
“Not if we change horses and travel all night. I’ll pay for the horses and any other expenses.”
He seemed to study her for several minutes. “Maybe we could work something out. I’ll get you there in record time if you’ll tell me why that Englishman was chasing you and what you want with Travis, or is it Wesley you’re after?”
“I’ll tell you everything, and Travis is mine.”
“Lady, you got your hands full,” he said, chuckling as he yelled for the horses to start moving. Within seconds they were tearing down the road, and Regan was holding on with both hands, her teeth jarring together constantly. She couldn’t speak or tell any story.
An hour later the man stopped the wagon, got down, and pulled her out after him.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“We’re going by boat,” he said. “I’ll sail you to Travis’s front door.” After a mile hike they came to a little cabin and a dock reaching into a narrow stream of water. The man disappeared into the cabin for a moment and soon returned with a canvas bag. “Let’s go,” he said, shoving her into a boat as worn-out as his wagon had been.
“Now talk,” he said once they were under way.
Days later the man dropped Regan off at the dock of Travis’s plantation, bidding her goodbye and good luck. It was early morning, and the plantation was silent as she ran all the way from the dock to the house.
The door was open, and as she tore up the stairs she prayed Travis and Jennifer would be asleep in one of the rooms. She started throwing open door after door, cursing the house for being so large and causing her to take so much time.
She found him, just his hair showing above the sheet, in the fourth bedroom. “Travis!” she cried, flinging herself at him. “Where’s Jennifer? Is she all right? How could you have left me not knowing and be here sleeping so calmly?” she asked, giving him a good cuff on the ear.
The man who sat up was not Travis. He was very much like him but a smaller version.
“Now what has my brother done?” he asked wearily, rubbing his ear, but as he looked at her he smiled. “You’ve got to be Regan. Let me introduce—.”
“Where are Travis and my daughter?”
Wesley was instantly alert. “Tell me what’s happened.”
“Margo Jenkins kidnapped our daughter, and Travis went after her.”
Before she could answer, Wes threw back the covers, not caring that he was nude, and began to dress.
“I always told Travis that Margo was no good, but he felt he owed her something so he always indulged her. She thinks she can have anything in the world, that it’s hers by right. Come with me,” he said, grabbing her hand and pulling her with him.
“You’re very much like Travis,” she said, gasping at the pain he was causing her wrist and trying to keep up with his long strides.
“There’s no time for insults now,” he said, leaving her at the library door while he loaded two pistols and stuck them in his belt. “Can you ride? No, Travis said you couldn’t. Come on, you can ride in front of me. The two of us together aren’t as heavy as Travis.”
If Regan had time or the inclination, she would have been disgusted with Travis’s little brother. How could there be two men like Travis? And in another year or two Wes was going to be as large as Travis.
“I’m Wesley,” he said as he dropped her into the saddle before mounting behind her.
“Somehow I assumed that,” she said before they took off at a breathless gallop.
At the door to Margo’s house, Wes let her down. “We’ll go in separately. Remember, I’ll be close by you.”