Handpicked Husband (Love Inspired Historical)

by Griggs, Winnie

  “I consider myself the lucky one.”

  “That motor carriage caused quite a stir yesterday.” Pierce settled into the large leather chair behind his imposing desk. “Yes, sir, quite a stir. And her idea to sell rides at the fair—absolutely brilliant. I predict it will earn quite a bit of money.”

  Adam casually leaned against a bookcase. “My wife is an enterprising woman.”

  “That’s our Reggie,” Pierce agreed good-humoredly. He steepled his fingers. “So, what I can I do for you today? Do you wish to open an account?”

  “I’ll need to do that, of course. But that’s not why I’m here this morning. I know we’ve been putting it off because of other priorities, but now that I’m married to Regina, she’s asked me to formally take over the management of Jack’s affairs.”

  The banker frowned. “I hope she’s not concerned with how I’ve handled matters so far. I assure you—”

  “Nothing of the sort. In fact Regina was singing your praises to me just this morning.”

  The jovial smile returned. “Well, that’s a relief. And I’m happy to do what I can for Jack. Lemuel and I were partners for fifteen years. I almost feel like the boy’s uncle.”

  “Regina and Jack certainly appreciate all you’ve done, but it’s my duty to assume those burdens now.” He flashed a man-to-man smile. “Since I’m new at this family man business, I want to prove I’m up to the task.”

  “A commendable attitude. But I’m certain you’ve nothing to prove to Reggie.”

  Adam wished he was as confident of that as Pierce. “Regina mentioned something about an office here?”

  “Ah, Lemuel’s old office. Of course, you must consider it yours.”

  “Thank you, I will.” Adam hadn’t really been asking the man’s permission.

  “Oh, yes, well, let me show you where it is.”

  The personal escort was unnecessary since it turned out the office was right next to Pierce’s. The room was a mirror image of the other in size and layout, but there the similarity ended. Pierce’s office had a pretentious opulence about it, much like the man himself. This office reflected more of the dark, somber heaviness Lemuel’s study had.

  Pierce seemed to read his mind. “Lemuel was a good friend and a solid businessman,” he said solemnly, “but these last few years he didn’t seem to have interest in, or time for, much else.”

  Then the man shook off his uncharacteristic gloom. “I’m sure you’ll want to put your own stamp on this place. Take your time. You’re a newlywed after all. I can keep an eye on Jack’s investments a bit longer.”

  Adam nodded, then managed to maneuver Pierce out the door without being rude. He rolled up his sleeves and began familiarizing himself with the ledgers and books in his new office.

  Lemuel had been well organized, but it took Adam a while to accustom himself to the man’s filing system, and deciphering his personal shorthand was proving a challenge.

  After three hours hunched over the books, Adam decided he needed a break. He stood and grabbed his coat. A walk seemed just the thing.

  A few minutes later, without conscious thought, Adam found himself outside Regina’s studio.

  As usual, the jingling bell announced his presence when he opened the door. A moment later Ira bustled out from the back room.

  “Is Regina around?” Why did he feel like a callow youth talking to his sweetheart’s father?

  Ira pointed his thumb toward the stairs. “She’s in her office.”

  Adam hesitated. She’d seemed very protective of her privacy last time he’d indicated an interest in her third-floor office.

  “You’re married to her now,” Ira said with a knowing smile. “She might get her back up, but I don’t think she’ll throw you out.”

  With a nod, Adam headed for the stairs. The closer he got to the top floor, however, the more of an intruder he felt. After all, everyone was entitled to a bit of space they could claim as entirely their own.

  “Ira, is that you?”

  “It’s Adam. Mind if I come up?” At least now the choice was hers.

  There was a long pause. “No, of course not.”

  Not quite an open-armed invitation, but he’d take it. When Adam stepped onto the landing, the first thing he spotted was Regina at her desk, an open ledger at her elbow.

  He groaned. “Don’t tell me you’re working on your books. I’ve seen more than enough columns of figures for one day.”

  She grinned. “That bad?”

  “I’m just out of practice. I’ll have it figured out soon.” He looked around. “So, this is your inner sanctum.”

  She grimaced. “More like my junk room.”

  The walls were covered with pictures, but these were quite different from those on the first floor. “Your personal collection?”

  She nodded.

  He moved closer. These were mostly of her family. He recognized her father, stepsister and stepmother in several poses. One photograph captured Patricia with a baby on her lap and a man at her shoulder—Lemuel? Another depicted an elderly couple. Her grandparents perhaps?

  And everywhere he looked were photographs of Jack, at every stage of his life.

  She had spoken once about helping people preserve their history through photographs. She obviously took her own advice.

  Something was missing though. “I thought you kept some of your botany pictures up here.”

  “I ran out of wall space.” She waved to a table across the room. “Most of them are in those albums if you want to have a look.”

  Adam moved to the table and discovered a number of albums stacked here, some of them seeming to date back several years. He pulled out an older one first and studied the images with interest. These weren’t as polished and sharp as the photographs he’d seen in her workroom that first day, but he could see the beginnings of the professional she became.

  In the third album that he opened, he spotted the photograph of a young man. It wasn’t anyone Adam had seen around town, but there was something familiar about him.

  “That’s Daniel.”

  Adam started and glanced up. She still sat in her chair, but had pushed back from the desk and watched him with a guarded expression.

  “You kept his picture?” He didn’t understand. Why was she still holding on to a likeness of him after all the pain he caused her? Could she possibly still have some tender feelings for him?

  Regina crossed the room and her jaw clenched as she stared at the picture. Then she moved to the window and rubbed her upper arms. “I thought someday, if Jack learned the truth, he’d wonder about his real father.” Her words were soft, muted. “I wanted to be able to show him what Daniel looked like.”

  Adam moved beside her. “Is that all it is?”

  She faced him, a look of guilt and something fierce in her eyes. “I hate what he did to me, how he made me feel. But despite all of that, he gave me Jack.”

  Her eyes blazed a challenge. “And as awful as it may sound, I will be forever grateful to him for that. If that makes me a terrible person, I’m sorry.”

  Adam pulled her into his arms and kissed the top of her head. “On the contrary, it makes you a very honest, very brave person.”

  * * *

  Reggie strolled across the field, greeting other workers as she passed the booths and attractions.

  She’d left Jack and Mrs. Peavy at the food booth, unloading a small hand cart full of some of the housekeeper’s finest pies and breads.

  The morning was beautiful—perfect fair weather. Puffy white clouds floated in a bluebird sky. She could tell it was going to be another scorcher, but a light breeze wafted through that promised to keep the humidity down.

  Reggie inhaled deeply, enjoying the smells—food, sawdust and freshly trampled grass being the dominant ones. The dew was still on the ground and soaking the hem of her dress, but she didn’t care. It would dry soon enough, and today was too gorgeous for such petty worries.

  Not even thoughts about their plann
ed departure tomorrow for Philadelphia could dampen her mood. She’d come to terms with telling her grandfather the truth about what happened seven years ago. Difficult as it would be, she owed it to both him and herself. She would just have to trust that God would give her the right words.

  “There you are,” Ira hailed. “I’ve got everything set up for you.”

  “Don’t go preaching at me about being late,” she said with a mock pout. “The fair won’t officially open for another thirty minutes. Besides,” she added, “you moved. I thought we were going to set up in the competition area so we could talk the winners into getting their photographs taken.”

  “Moving here was my idea.” Adam strolled up from her left. “I thought there might be more folks who’ll want to get their photograph taken sitting inside a genuine motor carriage.”

  She glanced toward the vehicle in question. It sat proudly under a nearby oak, waiting to sputter to life again. Although it already gleamed like a beacon, Chance was lovingly polishing it with a rag.

  She nodded, coming back to his question. “Good idea.” Besides, this new location would give her more opportunities to spend time with Adam.

  “Well, ready or not,” Ira warned, “it looks like some folk decided not to wait for the official opening time.”

  The rest of the morning was a blur of activity.

  It seemed everyone wanted to ride in the motor carriage. Young men cajoled their less daring sweethearts to ride with them, children pleaded with their parents for a turn. And Adam’s instincts had been correct—almost everyone wanted their picture taken as they sat inside the new-fangled vehicle.

  Chance and Adam took shifts driving, and there was rarely a time when there wasn’t a line waiting.

  Reggie caught an occasional glimpse of Everett, pencil and pad in hand, strolling the area. She smiled as she wondered what he’d consider newsworthy. This had to be a far cry from the events he’d covered for the paper in Philadelphia.

  Around eleven o’clock, Adam wandered over to where she’d set up her camera. “It’s Chance’s turn to drive the motor carriage,” he announced. “Why don’t find Jack and take some time to enjoy the fair ourselves.”

  “Go ahead,” Ira encouraged. “Mabel’s bringing my lunch here in a little while. We’ll keep an eye on things.”

  Reggie didn’t need any additional arm twisting. After shedding her smock, she placed a hand on Adam’s arm and prepared to be entertained.

  They found Jack excitedly cheering on his favorite entry in the frog jumping contest under Mrs. Peavy’s watchful eye.

  As soon as he spied them he ran over. “Look what I won.” He proudly held out a small wood carving of a horse.

  Reggie made suitably impressed noises. “How did you win it?”

  “At the ring toss.” He grabbed Reggie’s hand. “The three legged race is gonna start in a few minutes. Petey and his dad are entered and I want to watch.”

  “I have a better idea,” Adam said. “Why don’t you and I enter and give them a little competition?”

  Jack’s eyes grew round with excitement. “Jumpin’ jackrabbits, can we?”

  Reggie’s heart melted there on the spot. Even though she’d forced Adam into this marriage, he treated Jack as a son rather than a burden. Already she could see Jack blooming under the attention.

  It shouldn’t matter that she’d never have all of Adam’s heart, she told herself fiercely. What he was willing to give was so much better than living without him.

  The problem was, it did matter. Because a little piece of her died each time some reminder of that unforgiving hardness in him surfaced.

  Would he ever forgive her, ever understand that she’d done the absolute best thing she could have for Jack?

  * * *

  It was nearly two hours later before Adam escorted Regina and Jack back to where the Peavys waited. He’d enjoyed escorting them to all the attractions, cheering Jack on, entering some of the competitions himself to show off a bit for his new family. This sense of protecting and belonging was a whole new experience for him and he rather liked it.

  “Land sakes, now don’t they just look like the perfect family.” Mrs. Peavy beamed at them with grandmotherly affection.

  Regina glanced sideways at him then ducked her head. But not before he saw the shy smile tug at her lips. Something warm settled in chest.

  He reached for her hand, but paused when an outraged hail snagged his attention.

  “Hey, come back with that!”

  That was Chance’s voice.

  Adam turned sharply to discover the motor carriage puttering onto the track. But rather than Chance, Wade Sanders was gleefully manning the tiller, his friends cheering him on. Chance sprinted after him, but the mayor’s son had enough of a lead to guarantee him a nice ride before he was caught. And Wade’s friends were deliberately slowing Chance down.

  Confounded show-off! He could get himself or someone else hurt. Adam pushed Jack toward Reggie. “Get over by that tree and stay put.” Adam sprinted toward the motor carriage. Between him and Chance, they should be able to head the kid off before he did too much damage. But, mayor’s son or no, Wade Sanders was in for an earful when Adam caught up to him.

  Suddenly the motor carriage hit a large rock, jarring the whole vehicle. It picked up speed then, and began weaving wildly. Adam adjusted his own direction, pushing himself to an even faster sprint.

  Wade’s grin turned to openmouthed alarm as he tried to get the vehicle back under control.

  In a panic, the boy leapt from the still-moving vehicle. Adam didn’t give him more than a passing glance—he had to stop the runaway vehicle which was now headed for a busier area of the field. People began scrambling to get out of the way.

  All except one.

  Constance Harper, holding a bright red candy apple in one hand, turned to see what the fuss was about, then froze.

  Adam yelled at her to move—he’d caught up with the vehicle, but knew he wouldn’t reach the controls in time to turn it, if in fact it could still be steered at all.

  Then, out of nowhere, Chance dived at the girl, tackling her and rolling her to safety.

  Adam pulled himself into the carriage and yanked on the tiller.

  It didn’t budge.

  He tried again, and this time it moved just enough to steer away from the milling crowd. But before he could draw a relieved breath, Adam found himself facing more trouble.

  The vehicle was now pointed directly toward Regina’s photography wagon.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Regina’s heart jerked painfully. Her mind rebelled, refusing to believe her eyes. “Jump!” she screamed. “Get out of there.” But it was no use.

  The scene unfolded with tortuous slowness. Each detail etched itself in her mind with gruesome vividness—the grim determination on Adam’s face, the bulging muscles in his arm as he strained to turn the tiller, the bone-jarring jolts his body absorbed as the runaway motor carriage careened toward the wagon.

  Then the motor carriage slammed into the wagon and time whooshed forward again.

  Only when Ira’s hand released her did Reggie realize she’d been struggling to race forward. Now she picked up her skirts and dashed toward the splintered mess.

  Please God, let him be all right.

  She repeated that prayer a dozen times before finally reaching the wreckage. Her knees crumpled in relief when Adam climbed shakily out of the crazily tilted motor carriage.

  Then she saw blood trickling down his forehead and she scrambled back to her feet. “You’re hurt!”

  Reggie yanked a handkerchief from her pocket. “Find Doc Pratt!” she yelled. Then she gently dabbed at Adam’s cut.

  “How do you feel? Are you hurt anywhere else? You should be sitting down.” She knew she was babbling, but she couldn’t stop.

  Chance raced up. “Is he okay?” he asked, struggling to catch his breath.

  Reggie rounded on him, finding a target for her roiling emotions. “How cou
ld you let this happen? Adam could have been killed.”

  Chance looked abashed. “I’m sorry. I don’t know how it happened. I only turned my back for a few seconds—”

  “A few seconds! It—”

  Adam grabbed her wrists. “I’m all right, Regina. Truly. Just a little sore.”

  She met his gaze and tears welled in her eyes. “Are you sure? When I saw the crash, I was so afraid—”

  He tugged her closer. “I’m sorry. I tried my best to avoid hitting the wagon, but the tiller was stuck.”

  Reggie jerked away. “You what?” Suddenly she was furious.

  A puzzled pucker appeared between Adam’s brows. “I said I’m sorry I wrecked both vehicles. I did my best but—”

  Reggie shook a trembling finger in his face. “Of all the inconsiderate, fool stunts. How dare you do such a thing, Mr. Adam Must-Play-the-Hero Barr. Don’t you ever, ever, put me through that again.”

  He grabbed her wrist again, but this time more firmly. “Whoa, there. I said I was sorry about the wagon. I—”

  “The wagon! I don’t care a fig about the wagon. It’s just a thing. Ira and I built it and we can build another one. I’m angry because you didn’t jump. You put me through sixty seconds of absolute torment just to save that stupid collection of paint and timber. Must have taken ten years off my life.”

  She crossed her arms and tilted her chin up with a watery sniff. “Not that I give a plug nickel about your sorry hide right now.”

  Adam’s expression twisted into a tender smile and he pulled her back into his arms. She offered only token resistance—just enough so he wouldn’t think she was ready to forgive him.

  “Mrs. Barr,” he whispered, “I’m very much afraid you’re as terrible a liar as you are a singer.” And with that he kissed the top of her head.

  “What’s this all about?”

  At the question, Reggie guiltily freed herself from Adam’s embrace to find Doc Pratt studying them.

  “My husband was riding in that motor carriage when it crashed into the wagon.” Reggie patted her hair self-consciously.

  Doc Pratt glanced at the wreckage with a raised brow. “Doesn’t seem to have been doing too good a job of it.” Then he turned to Adam. “Let’s have a look at you, son.”