“I’m seventeen,” he said matter-of-factly. “Old enough to make my own choices.”
The same age as her sister, Nicole. “Don’t you have a family? Brothers? Sisters?”
“Yes, ma’am, I do,” he responded softly, resignedly. “But my momma ain’t got no idea where I am. Better if she thinks I’m dead than knows the truth. She’d never forgive me …”
Her heart ached for him. “Oh, Art, I’m sure you don’t mean that. Were you and your mother close?”
His chest puffed out. “Yeah. I’m her oldest boy. She always said how proud she was to have me for a son.”
“You know what I think? Your mother won’t care what you’ve done as long as you’re home, living an honest life.”
Art was silent a moment, his brown eyes troubled. “You really think she’d take me back? And forgive me for up and leaving and joining this gang?”
“Yes, I do. But more than your mother’s forgiveness, you need God’s.”
“My momma believes in Jesus. She read aloud from her Bible every morning and prayed with me before bed. But I—” He shook his head in shame. “I didn’t always listen. I daydreamed a lot. Thought I was too young for religious stuff.”
“And what about now?”
His earnest expression startled her. Here was a young man searching for the truth.
“More than anything, I want peace. I haven’t had that in a long time.” He lowered his voice. “I hang with a dangerous crowd. Ain’t no tellin’ when a bullet might find me. I’ve been thinkin’ a lot lately about death. Trouble is, I don’t know where I’m headed when I die.”
“Art, I—”
“Enough yakking.” Fitzgerald scowled over his shoulder. “Harrison, if you don’t shut her up, I will.”
With a shrug, Art moved away. Beside her, Harrison shot her a warning glance.
Frustrated with the interruption, she prayed for another opportunity to speak with Art about Christ. She couldn’t help thinking perhaps he was the reason she’d been placed in this situation.
“How much farther?” she whispered.
Harrison wiped his brow with a handkerchief. “A quarter of a mile. Maybe more.”
Ugh. While her new boots were great for defense, their stiffness tortured her feet. Blisters were already forming. She sighed.
“Take a drink.” He paused to lift a canteen from the saddle. “I don’t want you passing out from dehydration.”
He made it sound as if he was more worried about her possibly holding him back than her health. Scoundrel. Her thirst overrode her distaste at sharing a canteen with a stranger. She took a long swallow of the cool liquid and handed it back to him.
“Watch your step,” he advised. “The last thing we need is a twisted ankle or worse.”
Juliana noticed he slowed his pace after that. When full darkness enveloped them, he lit a lamp to light their path.
God, I don’t understand why You’ve allowed this to happen. I know You love me, but I’m having a hard time believing I’ll ever get home. Please keep me safe. And comfort poor Mr. Moore. Somehow give him his money back. And my family, Lord, give them peace.
In all likelihood, every person in Gatlinburg had heard the news of her abduction. No doubt many of the church members were even now gathered at the church to pray. The thought brought her a small measure of comfort.
Had Sheriff Timmons already organized a posse to pursue her kidnappers? Her uncle and cousins were surely taking a lead in the mission to rescue her. But how long had it taken for someone to discover Mr. Moore?
Since she had no way of knowing what was going on back home, she comforted herself with the fact that at some point her captors would let down their guard, and she would be ready to spring into action.
Time passed more slowly than a snail in a windstorm. Juliana tried not to dwell on her bruised toes or aching calves. Nor did she attempt to start another conversation. What was the point? She would only be rebuffed.
“We’re here.”
The sound of Harrison’s deep, no-nonsense voice in the darkness startled her. In the distance a tiny yellow light flickered. The cabin?
Juliana’s steps slowed as reality slammed into her. There would be more outlaws in that cabin. She was alone. A single, unprotected female at the mercy of a gang of hardened criminals. A relentless procession of unhappy scenarios flashed through her mind, churning up the acid in her stomach. Every cell in her body screamed at her to flee.
She glanced at the enigmatic man walking beside her, recalling his vow to get her to safety. Had he meant it? Or had he said that to keep her from running again?
Her face flamed as she remembered his comments about liking feisty women and being attracted to Irish beauties. What were his true intentions? She was having trouble deciding what to believe.
Harrison must’ve sensed her unease, because he curled his fingers around her wrist and held fast. She glared at him but didn’t try to free herself. Her muscles were weak from fear.
Fitzgerald and Art reached the cabin first. After securing their horses beneath a nearby tree, they waited for her and Harrison.
“Art.” Harrison stopped before the young man. “I want you to stay out here with the lady.”
Art’s eyes bulged, his mouth flopping open like a dead trout. “Me?” His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. “I don’t know—”
“It’s simple,” Harrison interrupted, his tone meant to instill confidence. “Stand right here beside her and whatever you do, do not let her out of your sight.”
He released her wrist but didn’t move away. Tucking his thumb beneath her chin, he eased her face up. “I’ll be back in a few minutes,” he reassured her in a surprisingly gentle tone. “Don’t try anything foolish.”
Juliana stared mutely at his rugged face, wreathed in shadows. So immobilizing was her fear at this point that stringing two words together seemed like an impossible task.
The cabin door banged open then and half-a-dozen men spilled into the yard, their greetings tapering to a deafening silence when they caught sight of her.
Evan stepped in front of Miss O’Malley to shield her from the men’s predatory gazes. Young, innocent and beautiful, she was a lamb amid ravenous wolves. As they strained to get a glimpse of her, he could almost see them salivating in anticipation.
God, please help me get her out of here.
He stilled, stunned by the spontaneous prayer. He hadn’t prayed in months, not since the day his brother had been gunned down in cold blood.
“It’s about time you boys got back.” Cliff Roberts, the gang’s leader, separated from the rest of the group. The middle-aged man held up his kerosene lamp, casting a muted circle of light about him. “Got the loot?”
“Right here, boss.” Fitzgerald held up two bulging sacks.
“Good.” His steely gaze bore into Evan. “Who’s the girl?”
“There was a situation at the mercantile.” Evan held the man’s gaze.
Fitzgerald snorted. “Harrison wasn’t doin’ his job.”
Roberts arched a brow in silent question.
Evan clenched his teeth. “It was either get her inside or risk a scene on the front steps. I figured the mission was more important.”
He