Grace and the Guiltless

Chapter 2

Grace’s eyes widened and she gritted her teeth, trying desperately to stiffen her arm. But she couldn’t steady the hatch lid, couldn’t stop the tremors. Would Hale notice the door’s quaking? It wouldn’t matter. If he was coming to check the cellar, she was as good as dead. Her heart stuttered the way it had once when she’d surprised a rattlesnake – but the cruelty in Hale’s eyes terrified her more than that rattler poised to strike.

Part of her wanted to back away into the darkness, try to hide, bury herself under the vegetables. But if they were searching, they would find her soon enough. And if she was going to die, she would not die a coward. She gritted her teeth, ready to pop the hatch door into Hale’s face when he leant down to open it…

His spurs jingled with each step closer. Six paces away.

Five . . . four . . .

“We better move out!”

Hale stopped as othe man who killed Daniel galloped around from the side of the cabin, shouting. Bile rose in Grace’s throat, and she crouched to see his face more clearly. He was clean-shaven, and the bandana tied around his neck was as black as his eyes.

“Pretty Boy already done set the place on fire,” he yelled.

Hale spun and spat. “Grab some of the horses first.”

Relief coursed through Grace when Hale changed direction and strode quickly toward the paddock, but her body still trembled uncontrollably. She could make out curls of smoke rising from the far corner of the cabin.

Zeke!

If her baby brother was still safe, she had to find a way to get to him. Her eyes darted furtively left and right, watching for an opportunity. Graying twilight silhouetted the men as they ran toward the stable.

Chaos whirled above her hiding place — horses whinnying, men swearing, hooves stamping. The slaps of saddles being thrown on horseback, reins jangling as horses were being yanked viciously into a group.

“Let them wild ones go!” the man with the drooping mustache shouted. “They’s nothing but trouble.”

The freed mustangs bolted from the barn, heading for the hills, and Grace choked on the clouds of dust kicked up by their hooves as they stampeded past the cracked cellar door. All her father’s work . . . for nothing. As two of the men tossed tack and equipment into a heap by the stable, the ache in her chest grew.

One whinny stood out from the rest of the bedlam.

Bullet! Please don’t let them take Bullet . . .

Keeping the hatch lid steady, Grace squatted lower to keep an eye on her horse, swallowing hard as Hale opened the paddock gate. He lunged at Bullet, grabbing for the halter, and the stallion pulled back his lips, revealing his teeth. He snapped at Hale, who stepped back to avoid the horse’s chomping jaws.

Grace cheered silently as Hale was unable to get close.

He stormed away and vaulted the fence. Mounting his own horse, Hale galloped back to the paddock gate. “Toss me a lead,” he shouted to the nearest man, who was loaded down with tack.