Amish Country Undercover Page 3

  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 that would be what?” His right eyebrow arched. “Let’s hear it. And I only want the truth. Nothing else.”

  Grace pressed her lips tight, not wanting to tell this bullish man anything. He’d done nothing but invade her life and home, treating her like a criminal ever since he’d showed up with his gun drawn on her.

  But to say nothing in self-defense could land her in handcuffs.

  With her mind made up, she laid out the facts. “I’m the horse trader’s daughter. I’ve been helping my father with the dealings for as long as I can remember. It’s all I know.” Grace frowned, glancing at her daed. “And now...it’s up to me to take over the business—”

  “Your bishop will allow that?” Agent Kaufman interrupted.

  The air whooshed from Grace’s lungs. How did he know what to say to trip her up?

  He wanted the truth, but to tell him Bishop Bontrager would be receptive to her taking the reins from her father would be a lie. The elder had already made it clear he had someone in mind to take over the business when Benjamin was no longer up to the task.

  Grace reached for her father’s weakened hand. Squeezing it, she searched his eyes to see if he recognized her. His smile calmed her enough to continue. Her daed was beside her, giving her all she needed to impart the rest of the details to the agent.

  “I will lose my job,” she admitted, looking around the room. “And all you see here. The horse trader is supposed to be a man. It’s not right for a woman to be dealing with such things.”

  “You say that like you’ve memorized the rules, but don’t actually believe them.”

  Grace searched his face. Again, the man saw too much. “It’s been three months since I started going alone to the racetrack in my father’s place,” she admitted, instead of replying to his comment. “I’ve handled it competently. I meant for Bishop Bontrager to see my father taught me well.”

  “Did your father teach you to steal?”

  “No. Of course not. He taught me what to look for in a good buggy horse. He taught me how to place a bid on the horses that the track rejected for racing. Just because they aren’t fast enough for harness racing doesn’t mean they should be put to pasture. The Amish live a slow life. We don’t need fast horses.”

  “I know all about the slow life.”

  Grace squinted up at him, not sure how the man knew about her way of life. “You’ve interrogated other Amish people before?”

  He suppressed a laugh and looked out the window from the edge of the curtain, not responding.

  What did she expect? He was here for answers, not questions.

  “Go on,” he instructed, as he dropped the curtain and moved away from the window. He placed his gun in its holster and walked to the basin and water pump in the kitchen. He cranked the handle with ease, then brought the full basin back into the living room. “I said go on.”

  But Grace could only stare at him, wondering what he planned to do with the water. Until he knelt in front of her and reached for one of her ankles.

  She jerked her leg back. “No. You don’t have to do that.”

  “You just keep talking. I can’t be bringing my prisoner in with burned feet. My boss won’t take too kindly to that.” He pressed a cool, wet rag to the scorched sole.

  Grace inhaled sharply at the contact. She sighed as relief took over.

  Then his words propelled her to finish her side of the story. She couldn’t be taken anywhere, never mind prison. Her father needed her to keep things going at home.

  “I go to Autumn Woods every Tuesday and Saturday when they are testing their horses, and sit in the stands. When one fails the trainers’ tests, they look to the bidders and ask if anyone wants to buy it. I raise my hand when I see a horse that would be a good fit for the Amish. Like I said, my father taught me well. I know when to bid and when not to. They give me a ticket for each horse I buy, and I take them to the stables when I am ready to leave. I hand over the tickets, and they tie up my horses behind my buggy. That’s it.”

  “What price did you pay for the horse today?”

  Grace nodded at the desk across the room. “Twelve hundred. The papers are in the drawer. You’re welcome to look at them. You’ll see I paid a fair price for each one. I didn’t steal those horses.”

  Jack reached into a pocket on his pant leg. He took out a sheet of paper and showed her a list of numbers. “These are the identification codes of some of the stolen horses. These are the codes for thoroughbreds, not standardbreds. They are tattooed on the horses’ inner upper lip.”

  “I know all about the identifications. A thoroughbred begins with the letter of the year of its foaling, followed by four or five numbers.”

  “So you know a look when we go out there will prove one way or the other if any of those are the stolen horses, but I’ll save you the suspense. I already checked.”

  “And?”

  “And I wouldn’t still be here if you weren’t my thief.”

  * * *

  Jack felt Grace stiffen under his touch. She was burned, but he knew her response had less to do with his ministrations and more to do with his accusation. He took the next foot and examined it. “This one looks better than the other. You must stomp heavier with your right foot. Ever thought of taking up square dancing?” He tried to lighten the mood, but his attempt at a joke fell flat. He wrapped the foot in the cool cloth and pressed gently. “Sorry, I forgot the Amish don’t dance. But we do sing.”

  “We?”

  Jack winced at his slip. “Old news. I grew up in a community in Colorado. I lef
t eight years ago, when I was eighteen. End of story.”

  “That hardly sounds like the end of that story.”

  Jack shrugged and locked his gaze on Grace’s wide eyes. So inquisitive for the Amish, but then, Grace was unique all around. She was a fighter, and that in itself was as unlike the Amish as could be.

  Jack recollected his first glimpse of her in the barn, her pitchfork held high. He had to bite down on the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling. She might think he was trying to make light of the situation again, and this really was no time to laugh about anything. Not when he was going to have to arrest her.

  “You have stolen goods on your property, or at least one of them,” he said, bringing the subject back to her. “You’ve told me your story, but it doesn’t explain how you ended up with a thoroughbred, instead of the standardbred you purchased.”

  “Th-thoroughbred?” She swallowed hard as her eyes filled with shock. Or most likely feigned shock. “H-how?” Her voice cracked.

  Jack bit back a smile. Even if she was faking it he found the sight of her bewilderment endearing. He could almost believe she was innocent in all this. Almost. “That’s what I’ve been asking you to explain. How did you switch the horse today without the stable hands not noticing?”

  Grace reached for the papers with the identification codes. As she silently read them her eyes grew wide in shock. “These are thoroughbred numbers. I can’t believe this. I didn’t even look at the identifications. I’ve just been concerned with showing the bishop I could handle the job.” She glanced toward the door and moved to stand up.

  “Whoa,” Jack said, keeping her down with a hand on her shoulder. “I’ll need to clear the woods before you go anywhere tonight.”

  “I have to protect that horse until I can get him back to the stables. Do you have any idea what a thoroughbred is worth? They are purebred.”

  “I’ve done my research, yes.”

  Her face blanched further. “I’ve already lost two horses to the thief. What if...” Her eyes searched his with growing fear. Shaking her head, she said, “I can’t replace them or pay for them.”

  “I gathered that,” he said.

  “You don’t understand.” Panic made her hands shake as she reached for his, still holding her foot. “I could go to jail.”

  Jack nodded. “That’s what I’ve been saying, ya.” He cringed at his unconscious slip into the old language. One night with this woman, and his past was already breaching the borders of his new life. He looked to see if Grace had caught his dialect, but she was facing her father.

  Benjamin slumped back against the wall, watching them talk with a look of confusion on his face. “Oh, Daed. What should I do?” she implored him.

  Benjamin squinted in response. If he had an answer, he wasn’t sharing it with his daughter.

  For the first time since Jack met Grace tonight, he saw tears well up in her eyes. Not even when she was being shot at did she cry. But in this moment, with her father unreachable, he could see how much Grace relied on him.

  With Benjamin inaccessible, she was left to take care of everything alone. Left to run the business as perfectly as possible, so the elders wouldn’t take her job away from her.

  Signing on with a horse theft ring wouldn’t be the way she would go, not if she wants to show how well she can handle the job.

  The thought bounced around in Jack’s head—and disrupted his plan.

  The plan was to bring in his horse thief, no matter what.

  But what if I’m wrong?

  The idea seemed ludicrous. He was never wrong. He always had a way of sizing a person up and knowing if he had his man...or woman, as the case may be. That talent traced all the way back to Colorado, when someone had pinned a crime on him. He’d figured out who was behind the scheme and had called him out—even if he’d had to stand alone to do it.

  But that was another story.

  After that day, Jack had vowed he would always seek justice, and he wouldn’t stop until he had the right criminal behind bars. Up until this point he hadn’t been wrong when he’d brought a perpetrator in.

  Could he be wrong about Grace?

  Jack studied her crestfallen face as she searched her father’s confused gaze. Jack wasn’t ready to give in and admit to being wrong about her. Too much evidence was stacked against her. She’d had the stolen horse in her barn...and now in his trailer.

  But maybe...

  Jack pressed his lips together in annoyance. He typically liked a good joke, but not when the joke was on him. He could imagine his supervisor, Nic Harrington, laughing hysterically if Jack brought in an Amish woman who was completely innocent. Nic would never let him live it down.

  Before Jack could slap cuffs on anyone, he would need to be 100 percent sure he had the right person.

  But first, he had to catch the gunman in the trees.

  Jack winced as he stood up to go. He’d hidden from Grace the fact that the gunman had clipped him. Something that the man would pay dearly for.

  “I’ll tell you what you’re going to do,” he responded, when Grace’s question to her father went unanswered. He opened the door. “You’re going to prove your innocence.”

  “How will I do that?” she asked, clearly bewildered as she looked up at him from the floor.

  “I’m going with you to Autumn Woods.”

  Her eyes widened once again. “But what will I say when I’m asked why I’m with an Englisher?”

  “You won’t be.” At her confusion, he said, “I’m going to need some of your daed’s clothes.”

  “You’re going to pretend to be Amish? I don’t like this at all.”

  “Ya, me neither. But believe me, this is going to hurt me so much more than it will hurt you.”

  Just then the sound of a vehicle starting up outside alerted Jack to the present danger. How? He felt for his keys in his pocket.

  “That’s your truck. With my horse!” Grace shouted. She jumped to her feet, then crumpled back to the floor in obvious pain, clearly not going anywhere.

  Jack withdrew the keys from his pocket, needing to get outside. But instead of reaching for the doorknob, he stepped forward to help Grace. Instantly, she waved him away, struggling to speak through the pain. Then she forced out the only word he needed to hear.

  “Go!”

  FOUR

  Grace released the pent-up breath she’d been holding since Jack left, slamming the door behind him. She stretched out her throbbing feet and winced from her burns. Her days of walking barr fees were over much earlier in the season than normal. Autumn was only beginning, and she should have had a few more weeks of warm weather to walk the farm with no shoes.

  Two gunshots echoed through the night, reminding her of the danger just outside her front door. Both she and her daed jolted in their places on the floor. Her lack of shoes was the least of her worries when there was a gunman on the loose.

  “Are we under attack?” Grace’s father laid his forehead on her shoulder. His voice had never sounded so fearful. The whole scenario was unfathomable for their simple Amish lifestyle, never mind for someone whose mind couldn’t comprehend normal, everyday things.

  As Grace rubbed his cheek, she looked up at the closed door. The FBI agent had just left through it, hoping to catch the thief stealing his truck and trailer—and her horse. Would she hear another gunshot? Or had the thief just found his mark?

  “I wish I could say no, Daed, but I’m not sure what’s going on. It appears someone is using me to steal horses from Autumn Woods, and the FBI believe I’m involved.” Grace wasn’t sure how much of that her father understood, if anything. She didn’t understand it herself. “What do I do? I could be in a lot of trouble.”

  “We mustn’t fight,” he said solemnly, and lifted his head. “No fechde.”

  Grace frowned at his appropriate reply. It wa
s not what she wanted to hear. His Amish gentleness stayed true, even when he could lose his daughter to prison. He didn’t understand what was at stake. But he was still right. There could be no fighting.

  “I know,” she replied, and swallowed a growing lump of resentment. With the possibility of going to jail, Grace wondered how far God would ask her to go.

  She thought of Joseph in the Old Testament, wrongly accused of a crime that had put him in jail for years. As horrifying as it was for him, Joseph had to go there to save many lives. God needed him there. God’s will was done. “Gött’s will be done to me, as well,” she said under her breath. Her gaze dropped to her folded hands in her lap. A prayer formed in her heart, and she spoke it quietly as her eyes drifted closed. She sought protection for herself and her father in whatever place they were called to go from here.

  Grace opened her eyes and lifted her gaze to the window the agent had been standing by earlier. The curtain billowed out in the slight breeze. Then Grace heard the truck’s engine shut down. Someone was out there.

  Was it the agent? Or the thief?

  Rising up on her knees, Grace crawled over to the window, careful to keep her skirt under her, protecting her from the broken glass. As she reached the window, she noticed a stain on her white curtains. Smudges of dirt, she thought.

  But when she touched the fabric, a bit of the substance came off on her fingers. She studied her fingertips, then looked at the floor in front of her, finding little droplets of a dark liquid.

  Grace dabbed her pointer finger in one and knew in an instant what it was.

  “He’s bleeding,” she whispered, as the possibility became real.

  Agent Kaufman was injured. But how?

  It didn’t matter.

  “Daed, he’s hurt!” Grace spoke louder, crawling back to her father. She pushed herself up on her feet, then cried out, crumpling back to the floor in pain.

  Carefully moving to stand on the edges of her feet, Grace found her balance and caught her breath. “Daed, I have to go outside. The agent is bleeding.”