Читать книгу Colton's Ranch Refuge - Beth Cornelison - Страница 8

“Mary, I want you and your brothers to deliver this food before school,” Alice Yoder said and placed a basket on the wooden table next to a burlap sack.

Violet looked up from her breakfast of fresh baked bread with honey, fried ham and scrambled eggs with homemade cheese. Her Amish family might not use many of the conveniences the modern world took for granted, but Alice Yoder’s cooking was heavenly.

“Ja, Mamm,” seventeen-year-old Mary replied, then glanced toward Violet and said, “Yes, Mother.”

Violet shook her head. “No, don’t speak English for me. I want to learn Dutch.”

Mary glanced at her mother, who gave a nod, and the teenager faced Violet again. “As you wish.”

Alice finished instructing her daughter about the delivery in Pennsylvania Dutch, and the only words Violet understood were a name: Caleb Troyer.

“Troyer? Isn’t he the man whose sister was kidnapped?” Violet asked, her gut pitching with empathy for the young Amish man.

Alice’s face reflected her concern for Caleb. “Ja. His sister, Hannah. He’s been working with the Englischers to find her, which doesn’t leave much time for preparing meals. It is our duty to look after Caleb and his precious daughters during this difficult time.”

Violet smiled. “I think it’s awesome the way the Amish community rallies around their neighbors in times of crisis.”

“Awesome?” Mary blinked and frowned.

Violet realized her slang use of the term must have confused the girl.

“Oh, by that, I mean that it’s wonderful. Kind and generous.”

Mary nodded and fingered the strings of her black kapp, the head covering worn in respect for God and signifying her unwed status. Because of her role as an unwed Amish woman, Violet also wore the traditional dress, apron and black kapp that she would wear as Grace during the filming.

“William, David, are you ready for school?” Alice called to her young sons.

The two boys ran in from outside, their cheeks ruddy from the cold, and Alice handed them their burlap bags. “Go with your sister, and take these to Caleb Troyer. Go now. Don’t be late for school.”

Violet shoved to her feet. “I’ll walk with them. I’d like to meet Caleb and his family, offer my assistance, as well.”

Alice handed Mary the basket and kissed her daughter’s cheek. “You may walk with Mary and the boys, but do not be offended if Caleb refuses your offer. We take care of our own but do not want outside influences or help from Englischers.”

“I understand.” Violet pushed away from the table and hurried to the door to catch up with Mary and the Yoder boys. “Thank you for breakfast, Alice. I’ll help you clean up when I get back.”

Alice waved her out the door. “No, you are our guest. Go on before the boys leave you.”

William and David had, in fact, already trotted to the road that led to the Yoder’s farm. Mary lifted a hand to wave goodbye to her father, tending the horses in the stable, and Violet, pulling on a thick cape for warmth, hustled to catch up, her feet crunching through the thick frost. Her plain leather lace-up boots and calf-length skirt of her dress made running difficult, especially on the uneven earth of the Yoder’s farm, but Mary lingered at the road, waiting for her.

“How far is the Troyer’s home?” Violet asked, readjusting her kapp, which had come askew as she rushed.

“Not far.” Mary pointed down the rural road. “It is the next farm. Only two miles.”

Violet chuckled, her breath forming a white cloud in the cold air. “Your definition of not far and mine are a little different. No wonder you all can eat so well and stay in shape.”

Mary angled her a shy smile and started to ask a question but was distracted by her brothers’ playful bumping and swatting of each other. “William, settle down.”

“I can beat you to the next road!” David shouted and took off running. William cast a quick glance to his sister then gave chase.

“David!” Mary called to no avail. She sighed heavily. “Boys are so …” She waved a hand in frustration, clearly searching for the right word that wouldn’t get her in trouble.

Violet caught the girl’s hand in hers. “Yes, they are! Very …” And she raised her own hand in frustration, then laughed. Mary’s smile broadened, and Violet clasped her other hand around Mary’s. “And they only get worse. Men are especially … aurgh!” Violet raised her eyes toward the sky in exasperation.

When Mary chuckled, Violet squeezed the teenager’s hand and studied her lightly freckled face. Her fresh-scrubbed, makeup-free skin glowed with the dewiness of youth and innocence. Her wide gray eyes held no guile, only an earnest love for life, and her dark brown hair was twisted up in the traditional modest bun.

“Mary Yoder,” Violet said, grinning, “do you have any idea how lovely you are?”

Her compliment obviously caught the girl off guard. A pink blush blossomed in her cheeks, and she ducked her head to hide a small smile before sobering a bit. She cast Violet a guarded look. “Vanity is a sin.”

Ah, right. That belief was the reason why the Amish had no mirrors in their houses.

“Hmm, in that case I know quite a few women—and men—in Hollywood who are in big trouble!” Violet returned with a wink.

The rumble of a car engine drew Violet’s attention to the large silver sedan that was driving rapidly toward them on the country road—far too rapidly considering how narrow the road was and how frequently the lane was used by Amish pedestrians or horse buggies, she thought, twisting her mouth in a scowl.

“Careful,” she said, taking Mary by the arm to tug her farther from the road, “give this idiot—” Violet stopped abruptly as the silver car skidded to a stop a few yards ahead of them, blocking their path. Her immediate thought was the car had been sent by the production staff to find her. Was there an emergency with her boys? If that were the case, why hadn’t they called her cell?

Violet patted her apron pocket—no phone. She’d left her cell on the bedside table at the Yoders’. Her pulse gave a little leap of concern, and she took a step toward the car.

The driver’s and passenger’s doors opened at the same time, and the two men who emerged wore ski masks. Alarm and confusion skittered through Violet, and even before she’d fully registered what was happening, she moved between the men and Mary. “What’s going on?”

“We’re going for a ride, sweetcheeks,” one of the men chortled as they advanced on Violet and Mary.

Icy comprehension slammed Violet. Panic exploded in her chest. “Mary, run!”

Violet staggered backward, spun, grabbed Mary’s sleeve as she scrambled to flee. But Mary was yanked from her grasp, and the girl screamed.

In the next second, a large hand seized Violet’s cape and yanked her backward. She whirled, arms raised, ready for battle. Adrenaline flooded her, fueling her fight, and every self-defense lesson she’d learned flashed through her brain.

Eyes. Throat. Groin. Do not let them take you to another location.

As a beefy arm slid around her waist, hauling her toward the car, Violet slammed her elbow behind her as hard as she could, stomped the man’s insole and reared her head back to smash his nose.

“Damn it, bitch! Stop that!” the man growled, digging his fingers in her arm.

She searched for Mary, fear for the Amish girl pounding through her.

“Fight them, Mary! Fight back!” she shouted as she struggled against her captor’s grip. She thought of Hudson and Mason, and her chest tightened. She wanted to see her babies again, couldn’t leave them orphaned. “Fight hard, Mary! Don’t let them get you in the car—no matter what!”

“Shut up!” the man holding her snarled and smacked his hand across her cheek.

“You bastard! Let me go!” Violet clawed at the man’s eyes. In her peripheral vision, Mary fell to the ground, and the other man snatched the girl’s head back by the hair. Fury exploded in Violet. “Don’t hurt her, you prick!”

“Such language,” her captor mocked, seizing her around the waist and lifting her easily from the ground. “What would Mamm and Datt say if they heard you? You’d be shunned, for sure.”

Violet aimed her boot heel at his kneecap and kicked. “I’m not Amish, jerk!”

Growling in pain, her captor loosened his grip and clutched at his leg. Violet struggled free and seized the opportunity. Gathering her wits and tossing off her encumbering cape, she assumed a combative stance.

“Nooo! Violet!” Mary wailed.

Violet jerked her gaze toward the teenager. The second man had Mary penned on the ground, his fist reared back.

“No!” Violet screamed.

The man’s hand bashed Mary’s jaw, and Violet flinched as if she’d received the blow.

“Not the face, idiot!” the other man shouted. “He said their faces can’t be messed up!”

The next punch landed in the girl’s gut. Mary cried out in pain, and, fury surging, Violet lunged at the man holding Mary. She threw herself on his back and wrapped an arm around his neck, squeezing, gouging at his face. “Get off her! Leave her alone!”

Immediately, Violet’s attacker grabbed the back of her dress and forcibly pried her off his partner. As she was dragged away, Violet struggled and fought the restraining arms. Twisting at the waist, she snagged her captor’s ski mask and dragged it off.

A prickle ran through Violet when she realized what she’d done. His face! She had a chance to identify the kidnappers. Look at his face!

But a blow to the side of her head caught Violet off guard, and she reeled back, tripping and toppling dizzily to the ground. She had only a split second to brace herself before a booted foot collided with her ribs. All the air in her lungs whooshed out from the impact, and a throb of pain ricocheted all the way to her skull. Violet curled in a ball to protect her ribs, her belly. Tears puddled in her eyes.

Hudson and Mason … she had to survive this to see her boys again.

“Damn it, get the girl in the car! We gotta get out of here!”

The ski cap was snatched from her hand, and she groaned internally. Summoning every ounce of her strength, Violet blinked her vision clear, focused on gathering details while she had the chance. The pair of paint-splattered work boots inches from her head faced the other direction. Her captor had turned his back. She angled her gaze up, glimpsed his short brown hair, bleeding nose, snarling mouth. Then he yanked the ski mask back over his face and turned toward her.

“Can’t leave no witnesses. I have to kill you now.” When he reached under his jacket, terror spurred Violet to action. She rolled away from him, despite the ache in her side, and sprang back to her feet. She risked a glance toward Mary. The girl was sobbing, still thrashing, still fighting the man who was dragging her by the feet toward the open car door.

Violet’s attacker advanced on her again, and a hunting knife flashed in his hand. Trembling, Violet backpedaled, scrambling mentally for a plan. She couldn’t outrun the men. They outweighed her, outnumbered her, had Mary’s life in their hands.

The knife-wielding thug edged closer. “Come on, bitch. You think you’re so smart?”

Disarm him, her brain shouted.

When he stepped closer, Violet swung her leg up in a roundhouse kick, aiming for his wrist. But at that same moment, he stabbed at her in an arc, and the blade jabbed deep in Violet’s thigh. Adrenaline masked the pain for the first several seconds, even when her assailant jerked the blade out and shoved her to the pavement. She landed with a bone-jarring, breath-stealing impact. The world around her blurred … slowed … muted.

Help! Help me, she screamed, but no sound came from her mouth.

Then white-hot pain seared her leg. She touched the wound and felt the sticky warmth of her own blood.

Straining to focus her eyes, she looked for her attacker and braced for another blow—the death blow.

“Get her arms!” The shout seemed to come from the end of a tunnel … underwater … from a deep well.

Then she heard a scream—piercing, terrifying, chilling.

Violet searched for Mary. She saw the men lift her and shove her in the backseat.

Still Mary fought, wrenched one hand free and grabbed the car door.

Violet sucked in a ragged breath. Mary! She stretched an arm toward the sedan and dragged herself an inch at a time. Her leg throbbed, but she ignored the pain. Mary! She had to help Mary.

One of the brutes slammed a fist in Mary’s gut, and the girl doubled over in pain. Her fingers slipped from the door. With a booted foot, the man shoved Mary inside and slammed the car door shut. “Go!”

Violet stretched out a trembling arm. “Noooo!”

With a squeal of tires, the silver sedan screeched away.

Horror punched Violet as she collapsed on the road, sobbing, “Mary!”