“You try anything like that again, and I will break your arm,” the big man growled.
Now, it really was the driver’s moving buddies rushing in to help their boss, but they didn’t make more than a few steps, before the booming report of a shotgun firing into the air stopped everything.
The driver, the lumberjack holding him slammed against the truck, and both spare movers froze where they were. Rolling onto her knees, hugging Lily to her chest, the only sounds Stace could hear was the sporadic drip-drip-drip as the last of the mid-December snow slush melted from the roofs of the two cabins and the thick forest of evergreens all around them. Even her baby’s dwindling cries sounded weirdly distorted as Stace scrambled to get out of the mud and up onto the icy grass.
Shaking, wet, covered in mud, Stace stole a peek backwards through the skeletal branches of a wintering shrub. An old manwas standing on his front porch, dressed in baggy jeans and a flannel button-down shirt, but no coat. He held the rifle in his hands, still pointed right at them.
“I been sharp-shootin’ since before your pappies grew their first cock-hair!” the old man hoarsely bellowed. “Get! I don’t have to miss!”
“And Iwon’tmiss,” the lumberjack promised. He went through the driver’s pockets until he found the truck keys. Only then did he release the man, all but flinging him back at his visibly nervous friends. He almost slipped before one of them grabbed his arm. He regained his balance every bit as angry as he’d been before. His teeth were bared and his snarl was enough to send her scrambling to get her feet under her again when he spat, “I ain’t going anywhere without my truck.”
Slipping in the mud, she managed to get through the leafless bushes and onto the safety of the lawn. Clinging to her baby, she spun back to find the big man had moved. He was now standing between her and the three movers, all of whom were fixed solely on him.
Letting his right arm drift behind him up under the back of his heavy brown coat, it was only when his huge hand withdrew, wrapped around the butt of a wood-handled revolver, that Stace realized he was armed too.
“I will hurt you,” he warned the movers.
The driver actually smirked. “You want to pull a knife on me? There’s three of us, and one of you. Pretty sure we’re going to hurt you too.”
The lumberjack pulled the gun out from behind him, letting all three see it. “Do tell.”
“You can’t shoot all of us,” the driver snarled, his two friends looking from the revolver to him. They backed a step away.
Chuckling, the bearded lumberjack cocked the hammer on his rifle. “I sincerely hope I don’t have to shook any of you. Your truck, on the other hand…”
He shot out the dual rear tires.
“Shit!” The more skittish of the movers grabbed his companion’s arm and they both jumped back. Even the driver retreated, although only half a step. His eyes were still furious, and although it looked like he wanted too, he did not chase after the big man who calmly circled the truck to shoot out the front two tires as well.
Both she and Lily jumped at each shot. Grabbing her mother by the shirt and hair, the baby screamed all over again. Something poked her in the back of the head and Stace jerked, ducking away from this new threat, right up until she recognized the knobby branch of a wintering tree stretched out and gently bouncing from its contact with her.
“Hey!” the driver behind her shouted as the big man continued on his way around the truck, shooting out the tires.
“Hey,” another hoarser voice called, and she looked to the old man still standing on the front porch. His rifle was leaning up against the side of the cabin as he held a phone to his ear and waved her to him. “Get inside, girl.”
She’d never had such an urge to run towards an armed stranger in her life, but she didn’t know him or the big man who’d now rounded the big rig and who now held the gun at the driver who was yelling, “I’ll fucking sue you. That’smytruck you just shot to hell, and those tires is $500 each! You owe me!”
“Guess that’s another five grand you won’t be collecting.”
“Watch me beat it out of you,” the driver snarled. His face was dark, his fists clenched, and in the distance, the familiar wail of a police siren could just be heard.
Shaking his head, the lumberjack raised the gun and aimed it straight at him. He cocked it again. “See if you can help me witha little math problem. A revolver holds six shots, and I just killed ten of your tires. If I reloaded at the front bumper, tell me: How many bullets do I have left? Come on, now. Use your common core. This is the day when math really can save your life.”
“Cops are coming, man!” one of his mover buddies called from behind the wheel of the pickup. “Let’s go!”
“I’m not going anywhere. Not until I get my money.”
“Are you nuts?” Eyes bugging, the movers glanced at one another. The look that passed between them was an entire conversation’s worth, one that ended in a firm decision. He jumped into the white pickup, and both doors slammed. A half second later, the vehicle came rumbling to life and immediately backed down the muddy road. It pulled into the short driveway of her aunt’s cabin, turning around before peeling out the way they had come, splattering everything behind them with a wave of mud and rocks.
Two sharp smacks, like the clapping of hands, caught her ear and when Stace looked back to the front porch, the old man pinned her with a stern frown. He snapped his fingers and pointed the porch at his feet. “You get your hide on up here, little miss. Don’t you make me come get you, or you won’t like what happens. Come on, obey me now.”
Her feet were moving before her brain or quivering stomach accepted the wisdom of following his command. She hated confrontation. She hated it more when people got angry with her. And that tone… she wasn’t used to not obeyingthattone.
There were only two houses that she could see on this street, and it had been miles since they’d bumped and jostled past her last nearest neighbor. If the old man and lumberjack were father and son, then it was entirely possible that they were the same people she’d come to interview with. The address was right, although the directions she’d printed off of Mapquest had said there was at least two miles between her new home and her(hopefully) new employers. Was she at the right place, or was she about to jump out of the frying pan and into a hot new kidnapping situation?
The police siren was growing louder, drawing nearer, and that made her feel just safe enough to risk climbing the front porch steps. They couldn’t hurt her with cops on the way, right?
She climbed, her back and hip aching as she moved up the stairs. It was the first that she’d realized she’d hurt herself when the driver knocked her down. She reached back, feeling along the chilly wetness of her pants and through the mud, revealing the cut in her jeans. She looked at her hand, finding the stark red of wet blood on her muddy fingers.
