Jumper (8 page)

A man got out, glanced around the yard, then strode up to the house. He was about thirty and had the ruddy look of someone who spent most of his time outdoors. There was no answer to the doorbell, so he ambled back after a moment, frowning. Then he sighed and reached inside the red pickup for a thermos cup. He leaned against the bumper of the truck and sipped the steaming liquid from the cup.

I was trapped.

I couldn't move from my hiding spot with that guy there, couldn't look for Grandpa or Kayla, even if I knew where to look. The minutes ticked past. The man looked at his
watch. I struggled with the idea of making a run for it, but the heavy vibration of an engine interrupted my worried thoughts. I glanced up to see Bellamy's truck toiling up the drive from the opposite end. Bellamy cut the engine of the semi just in front of the barn.

The guy walked over from the pickup just as I heard the semi's door slam.

“Hey, Jim,” the man said, “ready to load ‘em up?”

“Yeah,” Bellamy said gruffly. “Sorry I'm late. I had a problem with the truck. Had to take it down to the shed and grab a few tools.”

The younger man looked interested. “What was wrong?”

“Nothing,” Bellamy snapped. “Just a few bolts loose on the trailer. The door was rattling.”

The younger man scratched his head. “That doesn't sound like much of a problem,” he commented. He looked puzzled—and so was I. Why would Bellamy waste time fixing loose bolts when he obviously had more
pressing things to deal with? If Grandpa and Kayla had gotten away with the forms, Bellamy would be trying to stop them, and if they hadn't, then they should still be here. I tried to suppress a jolt of fear. Something was definitely wrong.

Bellamy ignored the man. “I'll back the trailer up to the gate. The horses managed to get out of the corral, but if you saddle Hoser and take the dogs, you should be able to get them in pretty quick.”

The younger man snorted. “You call your horse
Hoser
?”

“Yeah, it's from that old SCTV skit. And trust me, he is a hoser. Totally brainless. Once you help me load up, you can go.”

“I thought you wanted me to start working some of your colts today,” the younger man said.

“Not anymore,” Bellamy answered quickly. “I'll still pay you for the day, though.”

The younger man shrugged. “Okay. Whatever. Let's get started.” I heard him go inside the barn. There was a scraping noise right above me as a saddle was lifted off the
wall. I sank back, mentally ticking off all the clues.

Grandpa and Kayla had disappeared. Bellamy was still going ahead with his plan to ship the horses.

He had taken the truck and gone somewhere—maybe to the shed, as he claimed. But what was he doing there? Loose bolts shouldn't be much of a problem—anyone with a wrench could take care of that. Why a special trip to the shed?

And then the pieces came together.

What if Bellamy had managed to lock Grandpa in the horse trailer? It would have been no big deal for Bellamy to force Kayla in there too.

I didn't think Bellamy would really hurt them. He could get serious jail time for that, and Bellamy was in this to make a fast buck. He just needed them out of the way long enough so he could carry out his plans. He probably drove them somewhere in the trailer, tied or locked them up, then came back to load the horses. It couldn't be far away either, or else he wouldn't have gotten back so fast.

I peeked between the hay bales, my gaze landing on the log shed Bellamy had stopped at in the truck. It was at the end of the drive, nearly at the road, half visible through the bushes.

The shed. It seemed too obvious. But, after all, there weren't many other choices. And it did make sense—Bellamy didn't really need to take the truck all the way down there to tighten a few bolts with a wrench. That was just a flimsy excuse to avoid having the hired guy ask too many questions.

By the time Grandpa and Kayla managed to get free—if they could—it would be too late. I swallowed hard at that thought. Bellamy would have his money and it would be our word against his that it had been the wild mustangs that were slaughtered.

I shuddered and clasped my hands tightly to stop them from shaking. Bellamy backed the truck up to the corral gate, and the younger man stepped out from the barn and saddled Hoser. I crouched even lower to the ground as he swung up into the saddle. Bellamy whistled for the dogs, which set off
with the younger guy and the horse right away. Bellamy busied himself setting up the ramp into the trailer, then walked into the corral, out of my line of sight.

My stomach was so knotted with worry that I felt sick. What if Grandpa had a heart attack or something? I couldn't just sit here. I needed to investigate that shed. Bellamy was on the other side of the barn. I'd never have a better chance.

I took off running, dodging as silently as possible behind the bushes and bracken that edged the drive. Once I was hidden, I stopped running, creeping instead. I knew that every branch and twig snapped like a gunshot, and if I moved fast the swaying of the bushes would be a dead giveaway that someone— me!—was there.

My heart gave great leaping thuds and I gasped for breath as hard as if I'd run a mile uphill. Calm down, I told myself. Bellamy hasn't seen you. But I knew he would be watching for me.

The log shed was about five hundred meters away, but when you go that distance
on your hands and knees, it seems a lot longer. When I finally gave a careful glance around and emerged from the bushes, I felt like I'd been crawling through them for more than an hour. Lucky for me, the door to the shed was on the opposite side from the barn, so neither Bellamy nor the other guy could see me from the barn.

“Grandpa?” My voice was hoarse. I put my mouth right up next to the door. “Kayla? Are you in there?”

The shed was silent and I felt my heart sink.

Then I heard a soft shuffling noise. Grandpa's whisper was only a croak. “Reese?”

“Grandpa!” I stifled the urge to shout with joy. “Are you and Kayla all right?”

“Well, I've had better days,” Grandpa said. “And Kayla's pretty shook up. But we're okay.”

“Can you get us out, Reese?” Kayla's voice sounded thin and scared.

I looked at the door. It was bolted with a heavy cast-iron latch, and there was a padlock threaded through the casings. “It's locked,” I said.

“Can you break it?” Grandpa asked.

“Not without tools. A saw or something,” I answered. “If I had a screwdriver, I could take it apart.”

“There are a lot of screwdrivers in here,” Grandpa said. “But that doesn't help.”

“I'll look and see if I can find something.” I searched around the perimeter of the building, but there was nothing except a rusty rake leaning against the woodpile, and an old tire.

“I'll have to go back up to the barn,” I said through the door.

“You can't!” Kayla sounded panicky. “Bellamy will catch you for sure.”

“Well, what am I supposed to do?” I demanded. “This door is solid wood. I can't break it down.”

“Karate-chop it,” suggested Kayla.

“I'd break my wrist,” I said, but Kayla had given me an idea.

Chop it. I looked over at the woodpile. I hadn't really searched in there, but where there is split firewood, there should be an axe. I investigated, and, sure enough, an axe—rusty and weathered, but still sharp—was buried in a thick stump.

I wrenched it free with a few wiggles and a mighty tug. “Stand back,” I said. I swung the axe as hard as I could at the door. It bit into the wood with a jarring thunk and stuck there.

“Well, that didn't work,” I muttered. The heavy door remained fully intact, without even a crack. I yanked at the axe, but it wouldn't budge. I had to work it loose bit by bit.

“Try chopping at the wood around the latch,” Grandpa said from behind the door. “Maybe you can knock one side loose.”

I heaved the axe up and let it fall. The axe glanced off the metal with a ringing clang. I hoped the horses were making enough noise that Bellamy wouldn't notice the racket I was making.

“Try again. Aim for the wood just above the casing,” Grandpa said.

I did. I tried, but I finally stopped, my arms aching. Only a few slivers had flaked off the door. “It's no use,” I panted. “I can't do it.”

I peered around the corner of the shed. I could see Bellamy beginning to load the horses. The younger man helping him had tethered Hoser and was ushering Rosie up the ramp. They must have managed to recapture all the horses.

“Grandpa, are you guys okay in there?” I asked, sliding back to the shed's door.

“It's not exactly a four-star hotel, but we're fine. Why?” Grandpa said.

“Bellamy's loading the horses and he's got Rosie.” I steadied my voice. “I've got to find a way to stall him until the police come.”

“I don't know if the police are coming!” Kayla cried. “The signal kept cutting out when I was talking. And then I lost the phone when Bellamy grabbed me.”

“It's okay. I found it,” I said. “I'll keep trying to get a signal. But I can't let Bellamy just drive away with the horses.”

“Don't, Reese. Please. Bellamy really means business. He's not going to let you get in his way.” Grandpa sounded worried.

“I won't. I'll just let the air out of his tires or something. I'll be right back.” I dove into the bushes and began to weave through the bracken in a crouching run. I slowed down as I approached the barn. I wasn't as worried about being seen—Bellamy had his hands full with loading up the wild mustangs. They were scared and fighting. Rosie gave a shrill whinny as the younger cowboy prodded her with a long stick. Bellamy cracked a whip behind her and she bolted forward, right up the ramp into the trailer. I couldn't get near the truck tires without being spotted.

“Hey-yup!” Bellamy shouted, cracking the whip again. The younger man guided the last of the horses through the gate and into the trailer, then shut the trailer doors with a clang and dropped the latch in place.

“That takes care of it, boss,” he said.

“Good.” Bellamy took off his hat and wiped his forehead. “You can take off now. I'll drive them straight in.”

“Okay. Give me a call when you want to start breaking the colts.” The younger man strode to his pickup and got in. The engine roared to life. He let in the clutch and bumped carefully over the rutted drive, around the pasture and out to the main road.

I realized with sick certainty that I'd missed my chance. I could hardly have vandalized the truck with the two men standing there, but the younger cowboy might have helped me stop Bellamy if he knew my story. Now I was alone.

Bellamy opened the door to the semi's cab, ignoring the squeals and thuds that were coming from the trailer. He turned the ignition and carefully pulled the semi forward, the trailer rocking and heaving on the uneven road.

The horses inside were terrified. The sharp bang of hooves on metal made me catch my breath. Bellamy's horse, still tethered to a fencepost, yanked at his bridle and whinnied in reply. As the truck wound its way down the U-shaped drive, I looked over at Bellamy's horse. I had an idea.

The semi had driven into a copse of trees, so I snuck out of my hiding place. “Hi, Hoser, old boy,” I said in a wheedling voice, approaching the horse. “Nice, Hoser.” He laid back his ears—never a good sign. “It's all right, Hoser. Nobody's going to hurt you. I just want to take you for a little ride. Won't that be fun?”

I kept talking to him as I reached into my pocket and pulled out a limp carrot. It had been in there since yesterday, when I was going to have my riding lesson, but I figured Hoser wouldn't know the difference. His ears came up and I let him smell the carrot. Come on, come on, I thought impatiently. As slow as he was going, Bellamy was getting farther and farther down the road. I didn't have much time.

Hoser crunched the carrot thoughtfully and nosed me, looking for more. “Sorry, pal,” I told him. “No more.” I untied the reins, put one foot into the stirrup and swung up. It was a Western saddle, so it felt a little weird, but I settled into my seat, held the reins with firm hands and gave Hoser a squeeze with my legs.

He didn't budge.

“All right, then,” I muttered. “I can see you're called Hoser for a reason.” I delivered a sharp kick to his ribs. I didn't have spurs, but it seemed to do the trick. Hoser bolted forward and began to canter. I gripped him with my knees and steered him toward the pasture. Bellamy had to take the long, U-shaped drive to the road, but Hoser and I could cut him off if we went straight across the pasture.

Bellamy would never be able to turn that big truck and trailer around on this narrow, bumpy drive, so he had to be driving forward— slowly, too, or he'd bottom out on the ruts. He'd pass right by Grandpa's truck. The keys were still in it. If I could pull it across the road before Bellamy got there, he'd be stuck. If I could get the cell phone to work, then the police would be on their way. If I could convince them of what Bellamy was up to, convince them to get those forms...

Hoser clearly didn't want me on his back, but I clung to him, trying to get the rhythm of his rough gallop. The barbed wire fence was
just ahead. With a quick prayer, I gave Hoser the signal to jump and hoped like anything that someone had taught him what to do. My heart was in my throat as Hoser leaped.

We sailed over the fence, landing with an ungraceful thump on the other side. Hoser's hind legs slipped on the ice-crusted mud, and for a minute I thought we'd go down. Instead he scrambled up and immediately took off through the trees. I had to duck to keep from being lashed across the face by branches.

I slowed Hoser and guided him through the woods so we could come out near Grandpa's truck. “We're almost there,” I told him.