I pulled back and looked at her again. I couldn’t stop taking stock of her, making sure I hadn’t missed some injury or another, ensuring she hadn’t been harmed and I didn’t know it. She was shaking, but also laughing, little bursts of what sounded like shock and awe, and we were both breathing heavy as we ran our hands all over each other. “I was so scared. Oh my God. We did that. Tuck. You and me.”

“We did. You and me.”

“I thought I was going to die for a minute there—”

“But you didn’t. We didn’t. You should have seen yourself, Em. I’ll never forget it.”

“Me neither. Oh my God.”

She breathed out another startled laugh and I smiled, but it quickly dropped. My face felt as out of control as the horses had been moments before, my emotions just as runaway.

We stood, our bodies pressed together as our chests rose and fell with our quickened breath. Sweat gleamed on her skin and her eyes were still shiny with tears, but also with victory and she was wild and brave and beautiful, that same bright spirit I’d always been so enamored by shining before me.

Her lips parted and she brought her hands up between us, gripping my jacket in her palms as I leaned in, our breath mingling, lips—

“Hello? Hello?” Charlie yelled, a sob punctuating his call, the sound of his voice and memory of his existence causing me to jerk away from Emily. “Help!” he yelled. “Someone help!”

The world cleared, Emily blinking at me as I stepped away and ran my hand through my sweat-drenched hair. “Shit, Charlie,” we both said at once, her eyes widening.

I turned, rounded the back of the buggy and pulled the door open, before peering into the interior. Charlie was right inside the door, hands and feet bound and tied to the steel bar that connected the seat of the bench to the backer. His expression was wild, face red, eyes darting everywhere.

And next to Charlie sat a young woman wearing a traditional Amish dress and an unbuttoned coat, bound, but also gagged, her expression very similar to Charlie’s. What the hell?

“Oh, thank God,” Charlie said. “I couldn’t see what was going on. It felt like we were riding into hell!”

“Here,” Emily said, nudging me from the side where she’d come to stand as she too peered into the buggy. She brought the switchblade from the back of her waistband and held it out to me. “Katelyn Goodfellow gave this to me,” she murmured. “I’d almost forgotten it.” She’d wiped it on something at some point because only a trace amount of blood remained. Our eyes met as I took it from her, and I glimpsed her barely contained shock—perhaps at the memory of what she’d done—before I leaned in and cut Charlie’s bindings.