The Beekeeper's Son (The Amish of Bee County Book 1) (35 page)

Forcing her gaze to Phineas, she took two steps in his direction. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you had . . . company.”

“You never listen, do you?”

Deborah shook her head. She inhaled the scent of sweat and dirty feet and desperation. Phineas had a bloody welt below his right eye, and his lower lip was swollen and bruised. Blood stained his shirtsleeve. “You’re hurt—”

“Shut the dog up or I’ll shoot him.” The man swung the rifle toward Butch, who bared his teeth and growled, the sound
fiercer than any Deborah had ever heard. “If you think I’m kidding, you’re crazy.”

Her gaze glued to the gun, Deborah sank to her knees next to Butch. “Hush, hush.” She wrapped an arm around the dog, suddenly grateful for his warmth, however wet. An icy cold invaded her arms and legs, making it hard to force them to obey her commands. “Shush, Butch, it’s okay.”

The barking subsided, but the guttural growl in the dog’s throat made his entire body hum under her touch.

“Move over next to him.” The man jerked his head, the gun bouncing from Deborah to Phineas, then back. “Now.”

“Take whatever you want.” Phineas inched toward Deborah. “Just let her go. She won’t tell anyone you’re here.”

“Right.” The man snorted, then winced. One hand went to his side and he stooped a little, his face creased in a grimace. “You Pilgrims have a sense of humor. The second I’m out of here, you’ll call the sheriff.”

“Pilgrims—”

Phineas shot her a look. She closed her mouth.

“We don’t have a phone. We can’t call anyone.”

“No phone!” The man chortled. “You really are Pilgrims.”

“We’re not Pilgrims, we’re Amish.” Deborah ignored Phineas’s scowl. “We believe in helping people in need.”

“I’m definitely in need.” A sudden, crooked smile covered the man’s face, revealing gaps where teeth should’ve been and a dozen or more silver fillings. He eased closer to her, peering as if he needed glasses. “You’re a pretty lady, despite the weird getup. You know how long it’s been since I had a . . . date? Seven years, four months, and twenty-two days. But who’s counting?”

Phineas shot forward, filling the space between Deborah and
the man. The rifle swung in an arch, smacked Phineas in the ribs, and sent him flying back.

With a half-stifled groan, he stumbled, his legs collapsed under him, and he slumped to the floor on his knees.

Butch wiggled from Deborah’s grip and raced forward, his barking rising to a crescendo that filled the room.

“Phineas!” Deborah scooted toward him on her hands and knees.

A gun blast lit up the room and drowned out the sounds of barking and thunder and rain.

An unlit kerosene lantern shattered and clanged against the floor. Deborah’s ears rang. She clasped her hands to them and hugged the wooden floor. No air filled her lungs.

Gott, Gott, Gott. Not Phineas. Lord, please not Phineas.

“That’s a warning shot.” The man’s voice sounded cool. Dead. “The dog is next.”

“Butch, stop. Now. Stop.” She crawled toward the dog, reaching out with one hand. “Come on, boy, come on.”

Panting, Butch circled and planted himself in front of her, teeth bared. Deborah wrapped her fingers around his collar and held on.

“Get up.”

Gasping for breath, she gazed up at the man. She didn’t move. Phineas’s fingers touched her free hand. They were icy cold. She wrapped hers around his without looking at him. She’d held his hand once before. He’d said he wanted to believe it would happen again. Here they were, with a dog between them and an escaped prisoner. They were connected. They faced this danger together. She swallowed and took a breath. “What’s your name?”

“What?”

“What’s your name?”

“I’m not telling you my name.”

Of course not. Silly question. Phineas coughed, his breathing labored. Deborah scrambled for words, any words. “I just wanted something to call you, that’s all.”

“Why, girlie? You like what you see?”

An acrid bile burned the back of her throat. She gritted her teeth against it, fearing she might vomit.
Breathe. Breathe
.

“I thought maybe you were hungry. I could fix you something to eat.”

“Call me Joe.”

His sneer told her this was not his name.

“Joe, I think my . . . friend has some fresh honey in the kitchen. He probably has bread his aunt made. Homemade bread. I could make you a sandwich. Peanut butter and fresh honey or homemade grape jelly. I’m sure you don’t get much of that in prison.”

“Why would you do that?”

“When was the last time you ate? Everyone feels better on a full stomach. I know I do.”

Joe eased toward a window, took a quick look, then whirled as if sure she’d lunge at him. “I don’t see no car out there. How’d you get here?”

“Wagon.”

A wagon with Leroy’s horse still hitched, standing out in a storm.
Gott, forgive me. I didn’t know
.

“A wagon.” Joe uttered a string of obscenities the likes of which Deborah had never heard before. “Just my luck, I stumble on to some backward cult in the middle of nowhere. I want to get out of here.”

“We’re not a cult.” Phineas’s voice was strong now. “We don’t
want any trouble. We’ll share with you what we have. There’s a bad storm bearing down on us. It might be best if we all went down to the basement together.”

The basement, all of them together. Phineas, an escaped prisoner, and Deborah in an enclosed space with that enormous rifle.

“Don’t you think I know that? Why do you think I was evaced here?” Joe laughed, a big, horsey laugh. He was someone’s son, maybe someone’s husband. He was a desperate man, but he hadn’t always been. “Best thing that ever happened to me, that storm. I can’t wait around. I gotta get while the getting is good.”

This was good? He appeared to be hurt. He’d escaped in a hurricane-spawned storm likely to rip him from the road and land him on his head in a ditch somewhere. “I think Phineas probably has some doctoring things. I could fix you up.”

“Why would you do that?”

“It’s the neighborly thing to do.”

“We ain’t neighbors, lady.”

Not in the traditional way, but he was still a human being.
Gott, help me help him. Don’t let him hurt Phineas any more, please. Gott, You brought me here for a reason. Phineas. Please spare him. I promise to love and cherish him always
. “Maybe not, but you’re a guest in this house.”

“Honey, I’m no guest. I’m the kind of guy your mama told you to never talk to.”

True, but Mudder would also pray for this man. Even if she didn’t want to do it, she would.

Outside, hail pinged against windows and tree branches tore at the roof. A crack of thunder directly overhead made all three of them jump. Lightning lit up the front room for a split second, giving the man’s face an eerie clown-like appearance, his features
white against the dark around them. Rain filtered through the open window and wet the wooden floor.

“My mudder told me to be kind to strangers and to share.” The words stuck in Deborah’s throat. Mudder couldn’t have imagined a scene such as this one. “We could fix you up and give you something to eat.”

She tightened her grip on Phineas’s hand and stole a look at him. His bruised face stared up at her, his eyes filled with concern and an emotion even she could identify. She saw no fear there, only determination. He struggled to sit up. She shook her head. He shook his right back at her. “I’ll grab some provisions from the kitchen and we’ll ride out the storm in the basement. As soon as the storm clears, we’ll go.”

“You think that horse and wagon will still be sitting out there?” Joe’s derisive chuckle turned to a lung-rattling cough. “I’m a city boy and I know better than to leave an expensive horse sitting out in the middle of a hurricane.”

“I can put the horse in the barn. I’ll come right back. I promise—”

“He’s right, Deborah. He needs to go now.” Phineas growled, his hand on his side. He ignored her glare and focused on Joe. “We’ll show you the way out. You can take us along for . . . hostages or insurance, whatever you want to call it.”

Phineas must have thought they had a better chance out there than in here with a man who wanted nothing more than to escape his captors.

Ride out into the storm and then what? Out there in the wind and the rain, maybe they would have a chance to escape. If the storm didn’t get them first. Or last.

“Phineas—”

He shook his head. She closed her mouth.

Joe pursed his lips, his forehead furrowed. After a few unnerving seconds of silence punctuated by continuous rolling thunder and lightning, he jerked the rifle toward the door. “Up.” The gun bounced up and down. “Now.”

Together, Deborah and Phineas rose to their feet. Phineas stooped, his lips pressed tightly together creating a thin, white line. Deborah slid an arm around his waist and braced herself to take his weight. “Can you make it?”

“I’m fine.”

“Out the door. Now. Let’s go.”

“We need to get to the basement,” Deborah pleaded. “He’s hurt and there’s a terrible storm out there. If we go out there, we’ll all die.”

“I’m fine.” His teeth gritted, Phineas glared at her. “We can make it. You can let us go when we get to the highway.”

“Your boyfriend’s right. We gotta go now. They’re looking for me right now. I need to put miles between me and that prison. If they find me, they’re gonna find me with two hostages.”

Deborah chose to ignore the word
boyfriend
. Whatever Phineas was to her, that word didn’t come close to touching it. “They’re not looking for you in this storm.”

“You don’t know how much it kills them that a guy slipped from their grasp. ’Sides, I hurt one of them bad and took his rifle. They don’t like that. They’re looking for me, you can bet on it. Go on, get out there. Stay in front of me.”

Plain folks didn’t bet. Deborah pushed through the screen door. Head bent against the onslaught of rain and wind, she tightened her grip around Phineas’s waist. His quick intake of breath told her pain assailed him. His hand covered hers and squeezed. What did he have in mind?

The wind knocked her back a step on the porch. She stooped against its force, unable to move forward. “We can’t go out in this.” She had to scream to be heard. “We need to get inside.”

“Nee.” Phineas jerked her toward the edge of the porch. He whirled, his body blocking her from Joe’s view. He stood between Deborah and the rifle. “Now, Butch! Now!”

Butch roared through the open door. The man swung his gun toward the animal. “Not you, you rangy mutt. You stay.”

Butch ignored the command. Snarling, he leaped at the man as if he’d been released from a chain. His teeth sank into Joe’s bare ankle. The man screeched and cursed. His arms flailed and his leg kicked out, shaking Butch like a rag doll. The dog hung on, his face contorted in a fierce grin.

The rifle clattered onto the porch.

Phineas shoved Deborah over the edge of the porch. “Run, run!”

She stumbled, caught herself, and took off into the wind and rain, sure that any second the man would scoop up the rifle, a blast would deafen her, and a bullet would strike her between the shoulders.

Phineas’s grip bruised her arm. “Don’t look back. Go!”

She slipped and slid in the mud, fell to her knees, then regained her balance. Phineas jerked her along. His hat flew through the air but he didn’t stop for it. “Come on! Come on!”

She struggled to keep pace with his long legs. He raced, one hand on his side, the other gripping her arm. “Don’t look back. Keep going.”

They ran into a day darker than night. Blackness closed around them. Swirling rain and wind danced with tree branches that dipped and soared in a wild choreography. Lightning crackled and thunder boomed so close overhead she ducked without
thinking. Hail pelted her head and pinged against her face in a painful pattern.

Please, Gott, please, Gott, please, Gott.

She inhaled rain, coughed, and struggled to breathe. Her sneakers sank in the mud and stuck, making it hard to lift her legs. Still, she kept moving.

They ran on and on, it seemed. The rain came harder, the wind more fierce, as if in collusion with the man who would hold them hostage.

“Here.” Phineas veered right, taking her with him.

They raced into a stand of scraggly trees bent almost to the ground in the wind. Here they had a sliver of cover, both from the wind and from the man who called himself Joe. Deborah sank to her knees, her lungs ready to burst. “Here?” She gasped and sucked in air, not sure she could get another word out. “It’s not much shelter.”

“Just for a minute.” Phineas squatted, his head down. His breath came in hard spurts. He inhaled, then rubbed his chest. “Just give me a minute.”

“You’re hurt.” She pushed wet hair from her face, suddenly aware her kapp had slid down her back. She pushed his hand away from his arm. Blood soaked his shirtsleeve. “You’re bleeding.”

“It’s just a scratch. The ribs hurt more.”

“What possessed Butch?”

“Butch is a guard dog. I imagine his former owner taught him a thing or two.” Phineas smeared his face with the back of his sleeve and laughed, a hoarse, breathless sound. “Besides, he likes you, and he’s not keen on sharing you with a stranger.”

“How did that stranger get in your house?”

“He took me by surprise. I turned and he was on top of me
on the porch. I grabbed at the rifle, thinking I’d take it away, I guess. It was . . . instinct. Stupid, I should’ve backed off right away. Instead I went for the gun.”

“Not stupid. Like you said, instinct. Do you think he’s chasing us?”

“If he’s smart, he’ll take the wagon and go. I’m praying he makes a run for it.”

“If he was smart, he wouldn’t be in prison.”

“He’s probably driven off into the rain, thinking he’s making a big escape.” Phineas laughed again, then gasped, his face contorted in pain. “If he was smart, he’d have taken you up on the offer of bread and honey. He won’t get that where he’s going when they find him in a ditch after this is over.”

Lightning crackled in the sky directly overhead, illuminating black clouds that hung so low she might be able to touch them. She ducked again. Silly thing to do. “You think Butch is okay?”