Secrets, sabotage and small-town danger.

Someone wants an Amish woman dead.

Taking the reins of her father’s Amish horse-trading business, Grace Miller’s prepared for backlash over breaking community norms—but not for sabotage. Now someone’s willing to do anything it takes to make sure she fails, and it’s undercover FBI agent Jack Kaufman’s mission to stop them. But can Jack face his own Amish past long enough to shield Grace from a killer?

KATY LEE writes suspenseful romances that thrill and inspire. She believes every story should stir and satisfy the reader—from the edge of their seat. A native New Englander, Katy loves to knit warm, wooly things. She enjoys traveling the side roads and exploring the locals’ hideaways. A homeschooling mom of three competitive swimmers, Katy often writes from the stands while cheering them on. Visit Katy at katyleebooks.com.

Also By Katy Lee

Warning Signs

Grave Danger

Sunken Treasure

Permanent Vacancy

Amish Country Undercover

Roads to Danger

Silent Night Pursuit

Blindsided

High Speed Holiday

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk

Amish Country Undercover

Katy Lee

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-0-008-90643-6

AMISH COUNTRY UNDERCOVER

© 2020 Katherine Lee

Published in Great Britain 2020

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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Grace had a gentle way with the horses that Jack found sweet.

But not enough to walk away.

“I’ll round the other horse up,” he said. “Before he’s long gone.”

“Please do find him.” Grace worried her lower lip. “I don’t want another animal in these people’s hands. I won’t let it happen. And I need to get the others back from them.”

“How do you plan to do that? Do you know who his boss is?”

“No, but I’ll be ready when he comes back.” She took slow steps out of the woods and hobbled on her own toward her house.

Jack moved in a hurry to take her arm again. “You don’t get it. He has to kill you or be killed. His boss will require it. You’re not safe until I know who he’s working for.”

“How will you find out?”

“I don’t know yet, but at least I know one thing beyond a reasonable doubt.”

“What’s that?

“Innocent or not, the danger has only begun for you. And it’s nothing you can be ready for.”

Dear Reader,

I enjoy traveling to new places and meeting new people, especially when those people live such different lifestyles than I am used to. Writing about the Amish people meant taking a trip to an Amish community. I spent a whole day meeting some of the kindest and gentlest people I’ve ever met. One neat thing I enjoyed learning about them is they also love to read. I felt closer to them instantly.

I am glad to introduce you to Jack and Grace in the pages of Amish Country Undercover. I hope their story of redemption and second chances warms your heart, but I also hope the excitement and suspense keep those pages turning lightning quick. Grace’s love for horses endeared her to me, and I hope you love that trait about her, too.

I love to hear from readers, and you can reach me through email at KatyLee@KatyLeeBooks.com or through Facebook, Instagram and Twitter. My website is KatyLeeBooks.com.

Happy reading!

Katy Lee

Wherefore seeing we also are compassed about with so great a cloud of witnesses, let us lay aside every weight, and the sin which doth so easily beset us, and let us run with patience the race that is set before us.

—Hebrews 12:1

To the families who love those who can no longer remember.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Note to Readers

Introduction

Dear Reader

Bible Verse

Dedication

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

FOURTEEN

FIFTEEN

SIXTEEN

SEVENTEEN

EIGHTEEN

EPILOGUE

Extract

About the Publisher

ONE

The hay crunched beneath a heavy foot, snapping Grace Miller to high alert. Earlier that night, she had thrown the straw across her barn floor as an alert system to tell her when the thief arrived. Now her makeshift alarm had sounded. She tensed, ready to catch him in the act this time.

Twice now, Grace had lost her father’s newly purchased horses. The thought of having to explain a third to the church elders and lose her daed’s job gave her the strength she needed to confront the thief now—even if no Amish woman would ever think of doing such a hazardous and ferhoodled thing.

From her hiding place in the far back stall, Grace quietly shifted from her sitting position onto her bare feet. She gripped her long blue skirt and matching apron in her fists and readied herself to spring up into action. She had a horse thief to catch.

Or most likely Leroy Mast.

Leroy had been pestering her to continue their courting, which had been put on hold six months ago when her mother passed away. But now Grace’s daed’s illness had propelled her into his role as the horse trader in the Amish community of Rogues Ridge, Kentucky. And if the bishop found out how far along Benjamin Miller’s Alzheimer’s had progressed, she would also be forced into another role in her community—most likely as a maidal woman in need of a husband. Just what Leroy wanted.

But did she?

Not if Leroy thought stealing her father’s horses would endear her to him. That wouldn’t be the type of mann she wanted—if she wanted one at all.

The hay crackled again as the intruder moved toward the horses in their stalls—here to take her life as she knew it away from her. If the intruder was Leroy Mast, he would find out right now that she was certain sure not having any of it—or him.

Listening carefully, waiting for the most opportune time to make her presence known, Grace leaned forward, hoping to tell when the thief reached the first horse’s stall. She turned an ear to detect any sound but heard only silence.

Holding her breath to be as quiet as possible led to aching lungs, and she had to refill them, realizing the only thing she could hear was her heart pounding in her ears. No other sounds drifted her way, not even the flapping lips of the sleeping horses. She felt ferhoodled at her slip. She must have simply imagined the crunching. Maybe it had been one of her horses shifting in its sleep.

That had to be it, she figured.

With a disgruntled sigh, Grace eased back onto her makeshift bedding. The pitchfork she’d used to fluff the hay earlier now leaned against the back of the wooden stall. Her white organdy kapp lay on the lumpy sack she had propped up to use as a pillow. Catching a thief in the act was proving to be a long and tiring endeavor, and most likely a ridiculous waste of time for an amateur like herself. There was a reason the English called on their police for this type of work. But not the Amish. They shied away from involving law enforcement in their business. Even if Sheriff Maddox had repeatedly made his willingness to help her known, she would not take him up on his offer. Ever since her mamm died in the buggy accident, the sheriff learned about her daed’s illness and took it upon himself to check in. He came by after the first theft occurred and wanted her to report it. But she could handle this on her own, even if it took all night.

Scooping up her kapp, she settled it back on her head and tied it in place. There would be no more dozing. She had to keep her wits about her if she hoped to succeed without involving the local law enforcement or the elders. Calling on either of them would bring her daed’s illness to Bishop Bontrager’s attention. Grace held out hope her father’s illness wouldn’t grow worse.

Thinking about Benjamin Miller had Grace frowning and biting her lower lip to halt any more tears. Nighttime was the hardest. She didn’t think it could be so, but most nights she spent thinking about and planning for what all his needs would require of her the next day.

But there never seemed to be adequate planning for what the day would bring.

By the time the sun shone over the ridge that shadowed her farmhouse and cornfields, Grace would find herself exhausted, with no rest in sight.

“Please, Gött, help me keep him safe,” she whispered. “Help me to know what to do and how to protect and care for him.” And help him not to forget me anymore.

The crunch came again.

Grace’s nerves shot back to full alert. She was certain sure that she wasn’t alone, after all. And in all the time she had relaxed, the thief had been creeping closer. There was no time to prepare. Grace quickly reached for the pitchfork with both hands, and in one movement, jumped to her feet and came running out of her stall.

“Leroy Mast, you leave my horses alone!” she yelled. Her voice carried weight and authority.

Except it was not Leroy who stood before her. It wasn’t an Amish man at all. Because no Amish man would ever hold a gun in his hand, never mind point it at someone.

Grace had expected to see Leroy, or perhaps a young Amish boy pranking her. Perhaps an elder setting her up for her own good, so the bishop could give her father’s job as the horse trader to an Amish man, a much more suitable choice than her.

But none of her ideas matched the grave reality before her.

All she could focus on was the black barrel of the handgun less than two feet from her eyes. Its ominous closeness meant nothing compared to the speed of the bullet that could come through it and sink into her flesh. Being Amish, she’d never fired a gun, but sometimes hunting was necessary, and her daed had a shotgun for such a case.

Oh, why didn’t I think to grab that, instead of this pitchfork?

Because I never dreamed this would happen.

“That’s where you’re wrong,” the man aiming the gun on her said in a sad tone. “These are not your horses.”

Cautiously, Grace glanced up into the face of the gunman. In the dim light of moonbeams filtering through the windows and door, she could make out black, shaggy hair beneath a cap, but his eyes were in shadow behind the gun. Without seeing his face, she couldn’t tell why his tone of voice didn’t match his threatening stance.

A quick glance down showed he was dressed in full black attire, from his booted feet to the cap. Dark and sinister, maybe, but his deep voice didn’t correspond to the dark clothing, either. He sounded disappointed in her.

“I really wished I was wrong about you,” he said. He even sighed and shook his head.

More cues that didn’t match up.

Grace couldn’t follow his words. In the moment, her brain struggled to compute the whole scene, never mind what he meant about being wrong about her. The only thoughts running through her mind were of escape.

In her peripheral vision, she saw the heads of the horses, watching from their stalls. She silently prayed for their protection as her gaze swung back to the gun. Grace became aware of a large lump growing in her throat. She tried to swallow, but her mouth was dry. She finally managed to gasp, “The sheriff knows.”

The words were meant to warn the man and cause him to run, but instead, he gave a short laugh. His head lifted a bit as the jovial sound slipped from his lips.

That’s when she saw he wasn’t alone.

The silhouette of another gunman at the door also had his gun aimed right at her. She couldn’t make out his face at all, but she could tell by his outline that he wore a cowboy hat perched low on his head, and he was much shorter than the man in front of her. But height didn’t matter when one had a gun.

“What do you want?” Grace whispered, as her gaze flitted between the two men. Fear threaded through her words even as her hands tightened around the handle of the pitchfork. “Are you the ones stealing the horses?”

“Ones?” the man in front of her said and turned his head to look behind him.

In that instant, Grace had a choice to make. Stand and be shot or make a run for it. With the pitchfork still in her grasp, she took the opportunity to thrust it at the man in front of her. As he stumbled back, she veered around him, heading for the side door.

Two gunshots rang out behind her. Grace ducked her head as the bullets whooshed by her and splintered the wood frame of the door she ran toward. Two shots meant for her that missed their mark, but there would surely be more that might not. She could not stop running.

She reached the door and flung it wide, bursting out into the pitch darkness just as multiple gunshots went off. Throwing herself to the ground with her hands up over her head, she felt the hard gravel bite into her cheek. But adrenaline had her moving again, scuttling forward a few feet with her head low. Then she lifted her face with the goal of seeking safety. The refuge of her home was straight ahead...but still so far. The structure was dark, with no candles or lanterns burning in the windows. Grace prayed for it to stay that way.

But nothing was going the way she had planned tonight, for the upstairs bedroom in the far right corner lit up as a lantern’s flame burned bright.

The gunshots had awoken her father.

More shots rang out behind her, and Grace began to run even before she stood up completely. She had to get to him before these men did. Nothing could stop her, not even the blasts behind her.

With her head bent low, she scrunched up her long dress and apron in her hands and ran all the way to the porch stairs. Tiny rocks flew up with each step and hit the backs of her calves. The hard wooden boards of the stairs scraped her bare feet when she reached them and took them two at a time. The door beckoned; she was almost there. But just as she reached the door, it swung wide and Benjamin Miller blocked her way.

Grace barreled into her father’s chest with a loud oof. “Daed! Get down!” she gasped. She tried to push him back.

“Intruder!” her father hollered. Anger filled his face as he stared at her.

Tears of fear filled Grace’s eyes. “Please, Daed. Get back inside.” She pushed on his chest with all her might, but even in his weakened condition she couldn’t budge him.

He leaned close and yelled in her face, “Intruder! Get off my land!”

Grace wanted to cry at his lapse of memory of her, but then another gunshot went off behind her. Desperate, she grabbed her daed’s bearded face and forced him to look into her eyes. “Daedi, it’s me, ya? It’s your Grace. Your daughter.” She willed him to see her, rising up on her tiptoes to get closer.

“Was ist letz?” Benjamin Miller squinted at her in a fogged state. “Grace?”

“Ya, it’s Grace. Komm. We have to get inside.” She pushed him again, and this time he allowed her to steer him backward into the safety of their home. Grace slammed the door behind them just as another shot rang out in what had become a nightmare of a night.

But this wasn’t a dream Grace could wake up from. Just like her father’s illness, it was a trial she would have to face head-on—and alone.

Jack Kaufman held his gun close and ready to fire again. A simple arrest for a horse theft had turned dangerous. As an FBI special agent, he was put on this case when an anonymous caller from the local racetrack reported a stolen horse. A little digging and Jack found the missing thoroughbred at an overseas illegal betting operation. The transporting of the animal across borders brought the theft into his jurisdiction, so here he was in a sleepy little Kentucky town planning to close this case tonight. He had hoped to make his arrest and get back to fighting some tougher crimes.

Boy, did I misjudge that.

Never had he thought he would walk straight into a shootout on an Amish farm. He also never thought a pretty Amish woman would be involved. Any Amish, for that matter.

“Never a dull moment on this job,” he mumbled, and scanned the tree line for the gunman who had nearly taken him out, back in the barn. He grimaced at how close he had come to lights out. A glance in the direction of the farmhouse had Jack wondering if the woman had fared as well. He shouldn’t care, since it was her partner who could have killed him. Whether she was hurt or not, he would deal with her after he apprehended the shooter.

He shifted position to behind the outhouse, closer to the forest. No shot went off, and he wondered if the guy was long gone. Jack silently scoffed at the idea of the woman teaming up with this bad guy with a gun. No Amish person he’d ever known dealt with guns. He hoped he lived to find out her reason, and it better be good.

For now, he had to figure out if the shooter was still out there gunning for him.

Jack crouched low and patted the ground with his free hand, still holding his gun at the ready. His fingers brushed against hard dirt. He stretched farther until he felt a rock. Throwing it might expose his body to the shooter more than he wanted, but it would be worth the risk if an ensuing gunshot determined the guy’s position.

He located two good-sized stones, and after tucking one in his jeans pocket, he searched for a safe place to throw the other, one where a bullet wouldn’t hit anyone. A shadowed clearing near more trees and the towering cliff seemed to be the best.

In as silent a motion as he could manage, Jack hurled the rock toward the clearing and quickly stepped back into the protection of the small structure. He listened for the smack and roll of the rock against the hard earth. Then he braced for the reaction.

Nothing.

Seconds ticked into minutes before he tried again, with the second stone.

When only the silence of the night followed, he figured his shooter had hightailed it out of here.

For now.

The man would be back for the horse that the woman had stolen for him that day at the racetrack. Earlier, at the Autumn Woods Ranch and Racetrack, Jack had watched her tie the horse to her buggy and drive away without anyone realizing she had just stolen a thoroughbred right out from under their noses.

No one suspected the thief to be a pretty, demure Amish woman. But her little conniving and criminal operation would end tonight—before someone did get killed.

This woman had no idea who she was in cahoots with. They would surely kill her when they had no more use for her. She had to be ferhoodled if she thought otherwise.

Jack snickered at his use of a word he hadn’t uttered for nearly eight years. Not since his Amish days before—

He pushed the thought away and made his way back to the barn. His path was now clear to get the horse he was here to collect.

Right inside the door, he located a lantern, and soon had it lit and burning. Some things were like riding a bicycle, even the bicycles he hadn’t been allowed to ride back where he had lived. Most Amish communities felt the commercially produced bicycles were too worldly and too fast, and opted instead for simple, two-wheeled scooters they could stand on.

Either way, those days were long gone and would never return, if he had something to say about it.

Jack held the lantern high to peruse the individual stalls. He counted three horses. One had to be the horse the woman had stolen earlier from the track. Were the others also stolen thoroughbreds? Just how deep was she into this heist? How many more had she taken and sold before someone realized?

The dim light showed each animal was a beautiful creature. The trader knew how to pick a good horse.

Or steal one.

“Hey there,” Jack said in a soothing tone, so as not to spook the creature he approached first. He lifted his free hand to caress the side of the horse’s head and was greeted with a soft snicker. “That’s it. Just let me see your lip.”

Jack lifted the equine’s upper lip to reveal the permanent identification number tattooed above the row of teeth.

Not one of the numbers he was looking for. Not even the right kind of horse.

This was a standardbred, not one of the stolen thoroughbreds.

Jack took his lantern to the next stall and repeated the routine. This horse also allowed him access without a snub.

And proved to not be the stolen property.

A niggling doubt crept into his mind. Had he been wrong about the woman? Maybe he had missed the real thief because she had caught his eye for some reason.

Jack chided himself for thinking such a thing. An Amish woman was not for him. No woman was while he was on the case.

But he had to admit to himself that Grace Miller was a beautiful woman. Her hair matched the stunning chestnut color of the horse before him, but it was her wide blue eyes that drew attention to her pretty face. Why she wasn’t already married was beyond him. Most Amish couples settled down at a young age. She had to be nearing twenty-five. So what happened?

“None of my concern,” he muttered, answering his own wandering thoughts. He focused on the task at hand. Finding the thief.

Jack moved to the last horse in the barn and stopped short.

“I think we have a winner,” he whispered, and paused to observe the stoic horseflesh before him. Even before Jack held out a hand to touch the smooth, sleek neck of the animal, he knew he was looking at a thoroughbred. This one demanded respect just with the tilt of his head. His coat rippled with tension. “I know it was loud in here tonight,” Jack said, speaking with reverence. “But you’ll be home in your own stall soon. I promise.”

Jack eased his hand slowly toward the muzzle and was glad when the horse deemed him worthy to touch him further. A quick lift of the lip revealed the correct numbers and letter configuration he’d been looking for.

Jack let the horse go and stepped back. A growing disappointment percolated through him. A glance in the direction of the house was followed by a frown. “And someone else will be getting a stall tonight. But hers will be at the county’s holding cell.”

Jack put the lantern up on the ledge of the stall and grabbed some tack. He opened the door and slowly approached the equine with palms up. The horse stepped back, but only once. Jack secured the lead quickly and had him out of the stall and the barn within moments.

Jack’s waiting truck and trailer were hidden at the end of the drive, as he hadn’t wanted to reveal his presence until he knew if the stolen horse was really here. He needed to call his supervisor and relay the events, but until any other missing horses were found, Jack wanted to wait. His best course of action would be to bring the woman in and get her to talk about their whereabouts.

Jack brought the horse to the trailer and loaded him up. He moved his truck to the house and prepared to make his arrest. Sitting behind the wheel here in the farmyard reminded him how different his current life was from his past.

But once he entered the farmhouse, how much of his past would come back? He wanted none of it.

After locking the truck up, he made his way up the steps and knocked hard on the door. “Open up! FBI! I have a warrant for your arrest. Don’t make me come in there.” Please, don’t make me come in there.

TWO

“Arrest?” The appalling word felt foreign to Grace’s lips as she repeated what the gunman had just announced.

Gunman or lawman?

She peered out from the side of the curtain to see the looming shape of the man she’d faced in the barn now on her porch. Her mind couldn’t comprehend what all these horrific events were about, and she had no plans to open the door to ask this gunman or lawman or whoever he was to explain.

“Go away!” she yelled. “You should know the sheriff knows all about you.” It wasn’t a total lie. Sheriff Maddox knew about one of the thefts, so he would know there would be a thief, as well.

Just maybe not one so menacing.

“And the FBI knows all about you.” The gunman’s response was quick and nonchalant. “The sheriff won’t be able to stop me from taking you and your daed away.”

Daed?

With a gasp of horror, Grace pressed her back against the wall and glanced over at her father, in his chair at the table. He looked so small now, hunched over with fear and confusion on his face.

“I won’t let them take you,” she said to him. “I promise.”

“I know you don’t like to consort with the law—” the voice came from behind the door again “—but it’s best if you open the door. Resisting arrest won’t go well for you in court.”

“How do I know you’re telling the truth? How do I know you’re really the police?” she asked. In the next second she heard a tap on the window beside her.

Grace slipped aside the curtain just enough to see a badge and a small flashlight on a phone illuminating it.

Federal Bureau of Investigation... Special Agent Jack Kaufman.

The light beam moved to the tall man’s face.

They were a match.

Her breath picked up its pace at her dilemma, and she said the first thing that came to her mind. “Please don’t take my daed.” It felt like begging, but that was the only choice she appeared to have left. “You can take the horses, but please leave us alone.”

“That’s not how this works. I watched you steal that horse today from Autumn Woods. There’s nothing you can say to make me not take you in. You’re all under arrest. And that includes your partner with the gun back there, when I catch him. And believe me, I’ll catch him.”

“My partner?” Now Grace was even more confused. But another feeling rose to the surface in a rush before she could temper it. The audacity of this man to accuse her of consorting with someone with such evil intentions as murder! Grace grabbed the doorknob. “He was with you, not me. How dare you?”

“Grace, a soft answer turns away wrath,” Benjamin called from the table in a shocked and concerned voice. He stood up abruptly, knocking over his ladderback chair with a crash. The sound of that and her father’s rightful reminder brought Grace back to her senses. Opening the door to set this man straight would only put them in more danger.

“Thank you, Daed, for reminding me. I’ll be certain sure to keep my mind at peace, even in the midst of such danger.”

“Ya, we must always strive for that peace of mind, Gracie.”

A burst of hope caused Grace to smile at her daed. His moment of clarity was a glimpse into the man that she knew was still inside him. His response was lucid and insightful when he cautioned her to keep her calm. These moments made her forget about all the times he didn’t recognize her.

Until the next time.

Was he even aware of them? Or would it be only Grace who would bear the burden of watching Benjamin Miller become lost in his own mind?

“Open the door, miss.” The lawman spoke again, and it didn’t sound like he was asking.

Grace stared at the doorknob she still held in her hand. Indecision paralyzed her. Never had she had to decide between two perils.

A blast sounding in the distance jolted her, but immediately afterward the window she stood beside shattered inward, knocking her to the floor.

Grace let out a scream as her body hit the wood planking. She rolled over onto her belly and started crawling toward her father. “Get down, Daed!”

The doorknob rattled. “Grace!” the man outside yelled. “Are you hurt?”

Grace hadn’t even thought to examine herself. She only wanted to get to her daed. “N-no, I don’t th-think so,” she said, glancing down in panic.

“Please, open the door.” The demand in his voice had been replaced with concern...and maybe some fear, she thought. He could have been killed if the bullet had hit him.

And still could be.

Grace pushed herself up on her knees and scrambled to the door, her long skirt protecting her from the scattered shards of glass. As soon as she unlocked it the man pushed it wide, and Grace fell onto her back, peering up at his towering figure. Her gaze lit on his drawn gun, once again leveled at her.

“Stay down!” he commanded and slammed the door behind him. His booming authority sent a spike of fear through Grace. Had she made the right choice, letting him in? Or were she and Daed in even more danger now?

The moonlight filtered through the windows, casting shadows on the large interior of the Amish home. The door from the porch opened into the sitzschtopp, the living room, and from there the kitchen opened off to the side, much like the homes he remembered. The Amish woman and her father sat together against that wall.

At the racetrack, he had determined her to be in her midtwenties, with light brown hair pulled back tight beneath her white kapp. With no one else in the house, it seemed he was right about her being unmarried, especially if her community followed the same rules as his, with the white halsduch cape worn over her dress. But that was a long time ago. Perhaps things had changed in eight years.

The Amish, change? No, not possible. He scoffed at the idea and got back to work.

“Stay where I can see you,” he instructed, keeping to the side of the broken window. He scanned the tree line, his gun at the ready. The shooter had circled back. Jack should have expected he would return for what he’d come for. The guy couldn’t go back to his boss without the horse. “I can’t believe I can’t turn my back on an Amish woman. Never would have believed it. I’ve been assigned to investigate your horse theft operation.”

Jack looked at Grace Miller and shook his head in disappointment. “What were you thinking when you decided to join the operation with these thieves?”

Grace rubbed her father’s hand to keep him calm, but her chin lifted in defiance. “I don’t know what you mean by ‘join the operation.’ I didn’t join anything.”

“Partner. Alliance. Bintness.” Jack said the last word in her Pennsylvania Dutch language and saw her face contort in shock over him knowing it. He looked away from her inquisitive stare and glanced at the elderly Amish man beside her.

Benjamin Miller rubbed his straggly gray beard, which bobbed as he opened and closed his mouth in confusion. Did the man not know his daughter was a horse thief? “Mr. Miller, I’m sorry to tell you this, but your daughter has been caught stealing a horse. With my own eyes I saw her take the animal out of the stable.” He looked back at Grace and said, “But if she cooperates and tells me who she is stealing for, I might be able to get my supervisor to cut her a deal. Right now, I want the guy who nearly clipped me back there in the barn, and again on the porch. Thankfully, he’s a bad shot, or my blood would be all over your property now.”

The Amish woman’s eyes glittered so fiercely Jack thought he was about to experience an Amish person resisting arrest. Never would he have believed it, growing up. Didn’t they abhor fighting in all cases?

But could this Amish woman be different? After all, she had attacked him in the barn with the pitchfork.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Grace said. “That man was your partner, not mine. In case you didn’t notice, you both had your guns pointed at me. The only people working together here are the two of you.”

Jack had to admit that something didn’t add up. But that didn’t mean he was about to turn around and let this woman continue running a horse theft ring. “Except I saw you take the horse, and the thoroughbred is right outside, on your property.”

Grace pointed to the barn. “My 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?

THREE

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 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 left 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 was 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.”

Grace remembered the grunt the lawman had given when he was carrying her. Had he been shot and never said a thing?

She glanced to the floor where he had placed her and taken care of her burned feet. He had lowered her father so gently, as well, all the while hurt and bleeding from his own wound?

The idea bewildered her. It was a gesture of charity even in the midst of pain. And now he was out there searching for the gunman.

Or bleeding out.

Grace felt at an impasse. Should she go out to look for him and help him? Or stay inside and risk him never returning?

Whatever she chose would put them in danger. But if she stayed inside, she would invite the danger in.

Grace’s eyes filled with tears at her father’s feebleness. Whatever she did, she had to make sure he was safe. That’s all that mattered.

“Daed, I’m going to go out for a while. I’ll be back real soon,” she said, in the most normal voice she could muster.

Benjamin squinted up at her and she knew he wasn’t placing her. She figured it was just as well. In a sad way, his brain was protecting him through this ordeal. When this nightmare was over, hopefully he wouldn’t remember a single gunshot.

Though Agent Kaufman would.

Grace limped over to the closet and found a pair of her father’s boots. She bound wet rags around her feet and gingerly slipped them into the boots. A careful test proved she could endure walking in them. At the door, she reached for a lantern to take with her, but thought better of it. A flame would only draw attention. Still, going out empty-handed seemed just as dangerous.

An idea flickered in her mind, one that seemed so wrong.

A glance in the direction of the closet, with its door still opened wide, showed her the long box with the shotgun was still there. She’d never fired it but had seen her daed load it enough times to understand the mechanics involved.

She looked his way, and it was as though her father could read her thoughts. His head tilted, and his green eyes sought hers for an excuse valid enough to go against the Amish way of no violence.

She had none.

With quiet acceptance, she opened the door and walked out into the dark of night empty-handed. She couldn’t use a weapon to help the agent, but Grace didn’t think there were any rules about creating a diversion.

She looked to the barn and the trailer. The thoroughbred kicked up a fuss against the steel sides. Grace headed toward the horses and thought that she just might have the perfect weapon, or weapons.

Three to be exact.

As soon as Jack left Grace’s house, he shot his truck’s tire to stop the thief from riding out with the vehicle and trailer. With a flat tire, the pickup couldn’t go anywhere, but by the time Jack made it there the driver’s side door was open and the cab was empty. The man had run off.

Jack scanned the tree line, knowing he would have to go in if he was going to catch this guy. The horse thief wasn’t leaving without the thoroughbred, and Jack wasn’t leaving without his thief—or thieves, if Grace Miller was really part of the operation. Although that was appearing to be not the case, he wouldn’t rule it out yet, especially since he’d witnessed her taking the horse at the track.

Jack reached under the dashboard and pulled apart the twisted strands that had hotwired the vehicle. With the engine killed and his gun up, he headed toward the base of the cliff for a game of cat and mouse in the woods.

Jack held his weapon in his right hand. His other palm was pressed tightly against his left side, where a bullet had clipped him during his run with Grace. “Thank you, God,” he muttered under his breath. The gash burned like crazy, but could have been so much worse than a missing chunk of skin. It still could be dangerous if he didn’t stop the bleeding, of course. Judging by the feel of the wound, the gunman had nothing bigger than a .22. Most likely why he’d missed his mark from out in the woods.

Jack pulled his hand away, only to find fresh blood on it. Well, maybe it wasn’t a complete miss. But at least the bullet didn’t get Grace. At least she was still locked up safely in her home. Jack would play hide-and-seek with this gunman all night if it meant keeping him away from Grace and Benjamin.

Jack pressed his hand over his side again and tilted an ear to his right. The sounds of leaves rustling in the breeze mingled with a few far-off crickets. Then he heard what he was waiting for.

The snap of a twig.

The gunman was off to his right, just as Jack had predicted. Moving stealthily, he followed the other sounds the thief made, and soon realized the guy wasn’t very smart. So far, he had moved in the same right, right, left pattern. Jack figured it was so he could find his way out of the forest. But that also meant he could be tracked.

And just like that, Jack became the stalker with the upper hand.

He readied his gun as he took silent steps to his right. At ten feet, he turned left to keep to the gunman’s right. Jack picked up his pace to outmatch his target’s. He took one more turn, this time left, and came face-to-face with a shadowed figure in the dark, his eyes wild at being caught.

“Who are you?” Jack asked into the night, his trigger finger ready to pull. He stepped closer and noticed a bandana covered half the man’s face.

Or more like a boy’s.

Jack huffed in disbelief. “They’re hiring them younger and younger these days. How old are you? Seventeen?”

“None of your business. I’m here for the horse, but you have inconvenienced me.”

Jack laughed aloud. “That’s a big word for such a little guy. That’s a good one.” He laughed again.

The gunman’s eyes narrowed with anger. “How would you like another bullet in you?”

Jack’s laughter stopped cold. “I let you take a shot at me once. It won’t happen again.”

The boy lifted his gun straight at Jack’s head. Jack wasn’t about to give him another chance to fire.

He jerked to the right as his left hand reached for the gun and pushed it away. The weapon blasted, but the boy gripped it firmly as they grappled together.

The sound of a horse running interrupted them. Then Jack heard the thud of several horses’ hooves on the hard ground.

“There’s more than one,” he said aloud.

“The horses!” the boy yelled frantically. “The horses are loose!” He took off in the direction of one of the running animals, then veered to go after another. “Which one is it?”

Jack could see the boy knew what was at stake if he didn’t return with the thoroughbred.

His life.

“Tell me who you work for, and I can help you,” Jack said. He hadn’t moved from his spot, just turned to watch the boy grow more and more frustrated.

“She did this!” the boy wildly yelled. “I knew she would be trouble. I knew it wouldn’t be that easy.”

“You think the Amish woman did this?” Jack asked, biting back an amused laugh at the idea. Then he gave the remark some thought. The boy had to be right. Only Grace could have released the horses and caused the confusion.

But that wasn’t all she’d managed to do.

“That little Amish woman not only freed the horses, but she managed to disarm you,” he said with a smirk.

The boy looked down at his hands, now empty. He lifted confused eyes and saw two guns now in Jack’s possession. The boy’s own gun was now aimed at him.

“So tell me who you are,” Jack ordered.

The boy’s eyes flitted from side to side before resting on Jack. Slowly, he peered through angry eyes. “I’ve got all night. How long do you have before you bleed out?” He lifted his head in defiance.

Jack recognized that smug expression. He’d been just a little bit older when he had given that same look to his family and walked away forever. Only Jack had gone into law enforcement. This kid wouldn’t make it out of his teens if he stayed on a track of crime much longer.

“You’re a dead man,” Jack said. “You know that, right? And it won’t be me pulling the trigger that does you in.”

“That only means I’ve got nothing to lose.”

Jack shook his head. “You’ve got everything to lose. You’re just too blind to see it right now. Let me help you.”

A crunch of leaves to Jack’s left alerted them to the presence of someone else. Jack expected to see a horse trotting in, but at the silhouette of an Amish woman, he knew it was Grace. His weakening state held him back a fraction of a second too long. Just the time the boy needed to reach down to his ankle, then spring into a run at Grace. He wrapped an arm around her neck just as Jack leaped toward them.

Grace shrieked and flailed. Quickly, her body stilled, and she whimpered.

Jack rushed the last few steps until he realized the boy had a knife to her throat. It must have been strapped to his ankle, Jack thought distractedly, while his brain raced to figure out his next move.

He raised his hands in surrender. “I’m not going to shoot you. I only want to help you get away from these people before it’s too late for you.” He set the guns at his feet to show his words rang true.

But he readied himself to spring in and take the boy down.

“You forgot one thing,” the youth said, keeping Grace’s back pressed tightly against him. “I don’t want to get away. I was going places. And this is so much bigger than a few horses.”

Grace struggled to get free and cried out again when her assailant twisted her arm. She was yelling as Jack took another slow step forward. He was nearly there when he saw her lift her right foot and jam it down hard on the boy’s instep. He noticed she wore large boots now just as the boy hollered out in pain, and she did the same.

The young thief let go of her, and she fell to the ground. Boots forgotten, Jack took the opportunity to run at the boy, but just as he was about to make contact, his opponent turned and ran into the dark.

Jack started to go after him, but knew that in his current state he’d never catch up. Still, he had to try.

Then he heard Grace crying behind him.

Jack stopped where he stood, torn in two directions.

But he couldn’t leave Grace sobbing.

“Are you hurt?” he asked, retracing his steps to her. “Did he cut you? Or is it your foot? I saw you stomp on him. With your burns that took some guts.”

Grace lifted her face to him. Fear shone in her widened eyes. “I fought back,” she whispered in despair.

Jack grabbed his side with a grunt as he knelt to face her. He frowned at seeing her agony, both physical and emotional, then sighed and helped her to her feet. Automatically, they leaned together for support. “I know you think you fought back, Grace, but actually, you saved his life. For at least tonight. I was going to have to take him down.”

“But he’s only a boy.”

“It was either you or him, and trust me, it wouldn’t have been you.”

Her face lifted to his. So close, he could feel her soft breath on his chin. He studied her bewildered expression and knew before she said a word what she would have had him do. He knew the Amish way of turning the other cheek. “In my line of business, I do my best to avoid bloodshed, but if there must be some, I aim for the one who’s holding the weapon, not for the innocent bystander caught in the fray.”

“Like yourself?” she asked, her gaze locked on his. “I know you were shot. I found your blood in my home.”

Jack didn’t deny it. With a shrug, he said, “I’ll live. It’s just a graze.”

“We still need to tend to the wound. It could become infected.” The angle of her chin told him she wouldn’t take no for an answer.

“I thought Amish women were supposed to be passive,” he grumbled.

“I’ll take that as the pain talking.”

Jack bit back a grin. She was different from the Amish women he’d grown up with. Maybe she would have stuck up for him when he was younger, even when his family hadn’t.

No, probably not.

He let the wishful thinking go and said, “First we need to round up the horses. They’re my first priority.”

“Not me anymore? Does this mean you believe I’m innocent now?” Hope brightened her eyes.

Jack paused before answering. The image of Grace tying the stolen horse to her buggy was fixed in his mind. “It’s not my job to determine your innocence.”

“But—”

“Let’s go. Our shooter could return at any second with backup.” He took her elbow to guide her out of the woods.

“But do you still think I’m guilty?” she asked as they moved gingerly through the trees. If her feet were paining her, she didn’t mention it. He’d give her points for that.

But he still avoided her question. “Tomorrow, you’re taking me to the track, and you’re going to show me what you do there. Cooperate with me, and I might put in a good word to my supervisor.”

They left the woods, but before they descended the hill toward the house, Grace clicked her tongue, and two horses came stomping up behind them. They approached her and stood by, panting and nickering, and nosing her outstretched hand.

She had a gentle way with horses that Jack found sweet.

But not enough to make him walk away.

“I’ll round up the other horse,” he said. “Before he’s long gone.”

“Please do find him.” Grace worried her lower lip. “I don’t want another animal in these people’s hands. I won’t let it happen. And I need to get the others back from them. It sounds like they’ve been doing this for a while.”

“How do you plan to do that? Do you know who the kid’s boss is?”

“No, but I’ll be ready when he comes back.” She took slow steps, almost hobbling toward the house.

Jack hurried to take her arm again. “You don’t get it. Horse thefts are big business. If the boss thinks you can identify him, he will make sure you never do. You’re not safe here. Especially with the boy. In fact, he’s more dangerous than ever now because you embarrassed him by making him lose his gun. You won’t be safe until I know who he’s working for.”

“How will you find out?”

“I don’t know yet, but at least I know one thing beyond a reasonable doubt.”

“What’s that?”

“Innocent or not, the danger has only begun for you. And it’s nothing you can be ready for.”

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