horses are not stolen. I purchased them all fair and square. But someone has been coming here at night and stealing them from me. And when I say someone, I mean you and your partner.”
“That man was not my partner. I don’t have a partner. I work solo. Do you? Or do you have a team?” Jack crossed his arms and spread his legs wide, awaiting her response.
Grace pursed her lips. “I don’t know how else to tell you this, but you have the wrong person. I am not stealing from Autumn Woods. I would never do that. They have been good to my father for years and his daed before him. And now to me, since I took over the dealings.”
Jack glanced at Mr. Miller again. The man mumbled something incoherent. He was obviously unable to handle the role of an Amish horse dealer, but Jack struggled with the idea that the elders would allow Grace to take over.
Something was amiss.
“How long have you been working in your father’s place?” he asked.
Grace’s bravado dispersed in an instant. Obvious pain washed over her shadowed face as she glanced her father’s way, but when she turned back to Jack, he saw worry had replaced the pain—more worry than when he had told her he was here to arrest her.
Something really was amiss.
Grace shook her head. “I’m not answering any of your questions. My daed’s business isn’t your concern.”
“It is if you’re stealing horses.”
“I have the papers to these animals.”
“You may have papers, but they don’t all match. At least one of those horses was stolen, and I’ve already loaded him into my trailer.”
In the next instant, Grace let go of her father’s hand and jumped to her feet. “I’m telling you the tru—”
Another gun blast cut her off, and Jack dived toward her. Before he reached her to cover her, yet another shot went off. They were coming from outside, but didn’t appear to be aimed their way. Still, he tried to pull her down. But Grace Miller held firm.
Then her face reflected what she was looking at: a golden glow coming from the yard.
Jack turned to the window, to see flames burst from the barn door.
“The horses!” Grace yelled, and passed him in a flash.
“It’s not safe,” Jack said, and stretched out his arm to attempt to hold her back. But there was nothing he could do to stop the woman from racing into danger.
“Get off my property!” Mr. Miller hollered in confusion from behind, as Grace ran out the door and onto the porch. “All of you!”
Benjamin Miller was obviously suffering from some illness like dementia. Grace would need a lot of money to give him the care he needed, especially with no health insurance, as was the Amish way. That told Jack that Grace Miller could be bought.
And she needed those horses alive.
When no more gunshots went off, Jack wondered if that was the proof he needed to show she had teamed up with this operation. But she knew the thoroughbred had been moved to the trailer. So why was she putting her life at risk for the other horses?
Was he wrong about her?
Grace had her halsduch cape unpinned and pulled over her head before she reached the open barn doors. Flames flickered outward, but she could see there was still room for her to slip inside. Knowing that the shooter was somewhere outside encouraged her to race forward to get out of the line of that fire, too. As she drew closer and closer, she expected to hear another shot go off, stopping her from rescuing her horses before the flames grew too fierce.
Heavy footsteps thudded behind her. Before she could turn her head, Jack Kaufman ran up beside her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “Stay low!” he yelled, pulling her closer to shield her the rest of the way to the barn.
They reached the doors and, with faces turned away from the flames, ran inside.
“Grab the blanket on the hook,” she yelled, while she threw her heavy organdy cape over the flame closest to the first stall to stomp it out.
The FBI agent lifted the blanket and threw it over the strongest blaze. Together they beat at the fire until it was finally out.
Grace’s heart raced, and her breathing was fast and rasping. “The shooter must have struck a lantern and knocked it into the hay,” she said, feeling her adrenaline slowly start to ebb.
“That was my fault,” the agent said, taking his cap off and swiping at his forehead. “I lit the lantern and left it on when I went to your door.”
Grace took in the smoldering hay scattered across the dirt floor. A slow awareness of pain radiated up her legs. As she began to squirm, she said, “And I threw the hay down to try and catch my thief. It made for a fire hazard that didn’t have to...”
She couldn’t say another word as agony overcame her, emanating from her feet.
Her bare feet.
She hadn’t thought her actions through before racing to put the fire out.
Grace stumbled back, and as she raised her head she caught the lawman staring at her. She watched shock overtake his face and knew it had to match her own.
In an instant, he dropped his hat and stepped in front of her, then swept her up in his arms.
“Put me down!” she tried to yell, but her voice cracked with pain.
“You foolish woman,” he muttered. At this close range, and without the black cap, she could see his temple pulsing. He fixed his gaze on the house, and she knew there was nothing she could say to stop him, even if she could speak through the growing burn. With her in his arms, the lawman raced forward. “What were you thinking? And I don’t just mean about your bare feet and the fire. These people are not to be messed with. Why would you ever deal with them?”
As if on cue, a shot rang out from the trees. The lawman grunted, but kept running, now bending his head to cover her as much as possible. He reached the porch steps, taking two at a time, just as another shot sounded. The bullet pelted the floorboards at his feet, missing its mark.
The door swung wide, and he carried her through. Her father had opened it for them this time, but he shrank and cowered back when the lawman kicked it shut again.
He lowered her to the floor instantly. “Stay down,” he ordered, then looked up at her father. Grace expected him to bark orders at her daed as he had with her, but he surprised her with a quiet tone. “Benjamin, I’m going to sit you on the floor. It is safer there.” He handled the elderly man gently, his strong hands guiding him down beside her.
Grace watched the lawman crawl to a window, his gun back in his hand and at the ready to shoot. The sight stupefied her. How had such an event come to be? This farmhouse had been the only home she’d ever known and had always been filled with peace and laughter, even after her mamm died. Grace did her best to put aside her grief, making sure her daed received what he needed as his mind deteriorated further. Benjamin Miller was a wonderful father—even if most days now he didn’t remember he had a child.
“It’s been quiet since we got inside,” Grace said in a timid voice at last. “Do you think he’s gone?”
“If he is, it won’t be for long. He came for the horse. He can’t go back empty-handed.” The daunting Jack Kaufman glanced her way, his expression skeptical. “As I’m sure you know.”
Grace shook her head in denial, then gave up with a sigh. What else could she say? Nothing. “Think what you want about me. I know the truth.”
“And