29

Dear Reader,

I still can’t believe what happened. I’m in shock. I will tell you all about it later.

Shelby had to restrain herself from dropping to her knees when she saw Billy. She rushed toward the stall.

“Billy! Are you all right?”

Billy could only mumble with the kerchief tied around his mouth, but he managed to nod. Shelby knew he was trying to be brave, and that nearly broke her heart.

Shelby whirled around. “How could you do this?” She pointed at Billy and then held out her hands toward Jim. “Take me instead. Let him go, and take me.”

Surely her chest would explode, Shelby thought as blood pounded in her ears so loudly, she could barely hear.

“You’ll get your turn. Don’t worry,” Jim said, moving toward the stall.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m going to turn Blackjack out. Let’s see how long Billy can stay seated. He’s a good rider. I give him a minute or two.”

Jim opened a trunk that sat outside Blackjack’s stall. When he turned around he had a gun in his hand.

“At least until the gun goes off, I should imagine. Then Blackjack will spook and . . .”

He waved the gun toward Shelby and she winced.

Shelby glanced around wildly. She had to do something, but what? Blackjack continued to stomp his hooves, clearly getting more and more impatient. Would he burst out of the stall the moment the door was opened? Would Billy be able to stay on his back?

Shelby looked at her hands. She had nothing to use as a weapon. Certainly nothing that would stop someone with a gun.

Jim reached for the latch on the stall. So much blood flooded Shelby’s head, she felt faint and her vision grew hazy.

A flash of red in her peripheral vision caught her eye. A fire extinguisher. It was leaning against the wall between the stalls. Jim’s back was turned as he fiddled with the latch on the stall. Could she possibly . . . ?

Shelby tried to tame the trembling in her hands and legs long enough to reach for the fire extinguisher. She stepped backward as quietly as possible and held her breath as she bent down.

The canister was heavy and cool in her hands. Fortunately she knew how to use it. She kept a fire extinguisher in her kitchen and had once had to grab it when one of her pot holders caught fire.

The latch on Blackjack’s stall must have been stuck, because Shelby heard Jim swear as he fiddled with it. Shelby was able to pull the pin on the canister and aim the nozzle.

“Jim?”

Jim turned around. Shelby took aim and squeezed the lever on the fire extinguisher, releasing a cloud that obscured Jim in a swirl of powder. He immediately began to cough. Shelby continued to spray until the canister was empty.

Jim bent over with his hands on his knees, his body racked with hard, incapacitating coughs.

Shelby wasted no time. She undid the latch and yanked open the stall door. Blackjack was wild-eyed, stamping his hooves and shaking his head. Shelby struggled to untie the twine that bound Billy to the saddle. Her fingers felt fat and clumsy trying to tease out the tight knot.

Shelby heard Jim coughing. She didn’t dare waste time checking to see if he was still leaning against the wall, bent over, the way he had been. She had to focus on getting Billy out of there.

Finally the knot in the twine gave way, and Shelby pulled it loose. She helped Billy down off the stallion and untied the bandanna that was over his mouth.

“Mom,” he wailed, reaching out for Shelby.

Shelby wanted to hold him forever—to never let him go. But he needed to get out of there to safety. She cradled his head for a moment and bent to kiss it. Finally she shoved him toward the door. “Run!”

Shelby was about to do the same when Jim grabbed her arm in a grip that made her wince.

“Not so fast. I’ll catch up with that boy of yours, but first I’m going to take care of you.”

Shelby tried to pull her arm free, but Jim held on tight. She could see her skin turning white around the indentations made by his fingers. She struggled briefly but soon realized it was futile when he waved the gun in front of her face.

As long as he had the gun, she would have to do what he said. She just prayed that Billy had had the sense to run down the drive and out to the main road, where the police would surely see him when they got there.

What was taking them so long? Shelby wondered. They ought to have arrived by now. Once again she listened for sirens, but all she could hear was her own ragged breath. Jim was still wheezing, but the vicious coughing had stopped.

The police might get there too late for her, but at least she’d been able to rescue Billy. She knew Frank would take care of the kids if something happened to her.

And it looked like something was going to happen to her. Shelby stifled a sob at the thought, and then squared her shoulders. She wasn’t going down without a fight.

But how could she defend herself against a man with a gun? Shelby thought in despair. This wasn’t a fair fight, like two kids taking each other on in the playground using only their fists as weapons. Jim was armed, and she wasn’t. The deck was clearly stacked in his favor.

Loud noises were coming from Blackjack’s stall, and Shelby saw him straining against the cross ties. The stall door was open, but she was too far away to reach it, and if she moved she didn’t know what Jim would do. His teeth were clenched, and a muscle twitched along his jawline.

He forced Shelby out of the stable. She’d forgotten it was raining and was surprised to feel the drops on her head and face and running down her back. She looked around quickly, but didn’t see Billy. He was a smart boy and she knew he could take care of himself.

“Come on, move.”

Jim had the gun at Shelby’s back now and was forcing her farther and farther away from the stable, into the pasture, where uninterested horses continued their grazing, barely glancing up at Shelby and Jim’s passage.

“You know,” Jim said conversationally, as if they were standing across from each other at a cocktail party, “when I found this sinkhole on my property I was really angry. It won’t be easy—or cheap—to fill it in. It sure wasn’t something I’d been planning on. Money got pretty tight, what with Zeke demanding his blood money every month. But now that hole is going to come in very handy.”

“Sinkhole?” Shelby said. She stumbled, trying to slow their progress across the field. “What’s a sinkhole?”

“When the property was cleared”—Jim waved a hand toward the horizon—“trees were cut down and some of them were buried in the ground. It was probably easier than hauling them away. Only, trees rot over time and slowly decompose.”

A pebble had worked its way into Shelby’s shoe. She stopped to shake it out, but Jim grabbed her arm again and yanked her along. The rain was coming down in earnest now, making the hard-packed dirt surprisingly slippery. Shelby stumbled and twisted her ankle and had to bite her lip at the sharp pain that shot through her leg.

“See, as the trees began to decompose, the ground on top of them began to sink. Pretty soon the whole mess caved in, and bingo, you’ve got yourself a giant sinkhole.”

Shelby looked back over her shoulder. The stable had retreated into the distance, and even the handful of grazing horses in the pasture looked like miniatures. When the police did arrive, would they even know where to look for her? Shelby wondered.

The ground underneath their feet was stubbly with weeds and the sharp prongs of tree seedlings. Blood slowly trickled into Shelby’s shoe from a cut on her ankle, and there was a nasty scratch cutting a swath across her left calf.

Her light T-shirt was soaked and clung to her back where her wet hair hung in dripping strands. Shelby shivered both from the chill and from fear.

She stared into the distance but couldn’t see the sinkhole Jim was talking about and was surprised to suddenly find herself on the edge of it. It was deep, with sides made muddy from the rain. Bits of branches poked up from the bottom and were interspersed with beds of decaying leaves.

Shelby backed away from the edge, and Jim let out a maniacal laugh that chilled Shelby even further.

“Don’t think you’re going to get away.” Jim waved the gun at Shelby.

Shelby put up her hands. She had no choice but to placate Jim while he had the gun.

“Come on. You’re going to go into the hole. And you might as well get nice and cozy, because you’re not coming out.”

Jim began to push Shelby toward the edge of the sinkhole. The ground was slick now from the rain, and her feet kept slipping. She didn’t see how she could keep herself from going over.

Shelby’s resolve strengthened—she wasn’t letting Jim get the better of her. She managed to hook a leg around Jim’s ankle and with a mighty tug was able to send him crashing to the ground.

She was poised to run, but before she could move Jim grabbed her ankle and she went down with a thud that knocked all of the air out of her.

By now Jim was on his feet. He began pushing Shelby toward the sinkhole with his foot. She grabbed at a clump of weeds and held on, but eventually their roots gave way. Shelby tried to grab for Jim’s foot, but he danced out of her reach just in time.

By now she was tired—exhausted—from the struggle. Surely even if Jim got her in the hole, the police would arrive before he had time to bury her? Shelby listened hard again, but there were no sirens in the distance. Maybe the police were planning a silent attack? That thought gave her hope and she renewed her efforts, snatching at Jim’s pant leg.

Suddenly the ground beneath them began to thunder and quake. The sound stopped Jim in his tracks, and for a moment he became still, listening.

“What the . . . ?”

She only had seconds, but Shelby was able to scramble to her feet.

The thundering was becoming louder. Jim still stared toward the stables, and Shelby turned to look in that direction.

Blackjack pounded across the area where the other horses had been turned out. He easily leapt the fence between the pasture and the uncultivated ground where Jim had led Shelby.

“The cross ties must have broken away,” Jim mumbled as he watched the horse approach, steam coming from its nostrils and its flying hooves a mere blur.

It was now or never, Shelby thought. She had to strike while Jim was occupied watching his horse.

Jim had the gun held loosely at his side. He was standing at the edge of the sinkhole, half turned away from Shelby. He appeared not to notice that she’d managed to stumble to her feet.

Shelby stretched her arms out, striking Jim in the back and giving him an almighty push. He flailed his arms as his feet slipped out from under him, and he tumbled head over heels into the sinkhole. The gun went flying and landed in some tall grass a couple of yards away.

For a moment, it was quiet. Shelby was breathing hard from the effort, and Jim lay stunned at the bottom of the sinkhole. Then Jim began to swear. He scrabbled to his feet, shaking his fist at Shelby.

“You’re not getting away with this.”

He began trying to climb the rain-slicked muddy walls of the hole, but his hands and feet kept slipping out from under him. His face turned red with frustration.

Shelby was poised to run when she heard someone call her name. A man was racing toward her in the distance, his loping stride as familiar as her own face. It was Frank.

Shelby ran toward him.