"No." Grace shook her head. "You did that all on your own." She grasped for one more thread of courage. “If you care about me at all, you’ll leave here. Leave the Coulters alone.”
His face remained hard, his jaw clenched tight, his eyes glinting like cold steel in the dim light filtering through the barn slats. "I've put my whole focus on getting what we want from the Coulters. That's more important than anything else. More important than you."
His words pierced like a knife, severing her heart. She could only stare at him. Where was the father she once knew? Or thought she had known. His expression held nothing soft. No warmth, no compassion, no love. Only an icy, unwavering resolve.
"And if you can't abide that," he continued in that same icy tone, "then you're no daughter of mine."
The words slammed into her like a physical blow, driving the air from her lungs. She staggered back a step, eyes blurring.
Jess gripped her arm, holding her steady.
Grace blinked to clear her eyes, forcing herself to straighten. She couldn't let him see how much he'd hurt her. Couldn't give him the satisfaction.
Beside her, Jess straightened, and a glance at her profile showed her jaw set. "Both of you need to leave. Now." Her voice rang out strong and clear in the tense stillness of the barn. "Or I'll call the entire Coulter clan, and they'll be more than happy to force you off their land."
Her father let out a harsh bark of laughter, the sound grating against Grace's ears. "I'd like to see you try, girl." He took a menacing step toward Jess, his weathered face twisting into a sneer. "In fact, it would be mighty helpful to have them all gathered together. Make things simpler."
Icy tendrils of fear snaked through Grace's veins as the weight of his words sank in.
How could she have ever thought her father cared enough to listen to her pleas? That there was anything left inside him besides callous self-interest and hate? Nausea roiled in her stomach.
She darted a glance at the barn door. The only other exit was a stall farther down that opened to the corral. But their fathers blocked them from leaving this stall. She and Jess would have to get past them to escape.
She darted a glance at the rifle Jess had left propped in the corner of the stall. It was close, so close. If she could just get her hands on it…
But even as the thought crossed her mind, doubt followed swift on its heels. Could she really do it? Point a gun at her own father and pull the trigger? At anyone?
She had to try. For Jess. For Sampson and his entire family.
In a lightning-quick move, she snatched up the rifle and brought it to her shoulder, sighting down the barrel at her father's chest. Her hands shook, but she gripped the stock tight, finger poised over the trigger.
The man she’d always thought of as Father stared at her for a long moment, then a slow grin spread over his face, and he laughed. Actuallylaughed.
The sound came harsh and mocking. "What in the world do you think you're doing, girl? Put that toy down before you hurt yourself.” Then any hint of humor leaked from his expression, leaving only cold fury. “Who do you think you are to point a gun at me?”
Anger surged through Grace, hot and bright. She had no trouble holding the rifle steady now. "I am Grace Hampton Coulter." As the words left her mouth, she absorbed the truth of the, soaking them into every part of her. "And this is my home, my family."
She met his gaze without flinching, letting him see the resolve in her eyes. "I will not let you hurt them anymore. I won't let you destroy the only good thing?—"
Her father’s hand shot out, knocking the rifle sideways.
She stumbled, her grip faltering as the weapon slipped from her grip. Before she could recover, her father lunged forward, his fingers digging into her arms like iron bands.
Panic exploded through her as he dragged her out of the stall, his strength overpowering. She thrashed against him, desperate to break free, but he held her fast. He wrapped an arm around her, clamping her tight against him, holding her wrists with his other hand. His foul breath blew hot against her ear.
"You've made your choice." His growl coiled more fear inside her. "Now you'll pay the price."
From the corner of her eye, she could just see McPharland snatch up the fallen rifle, leveling it between her and Jess. She couldn’t see his expression, but she didn’t have to. He was just like her father. Heartless.
Her captor—she couldn’t bring herself to think of him as Father anymore—clamped the arm around her tighter as he let her wrists go to reach for a coil of rope hanging on a nearby post. Her pulse surged into a panicked gallop as he wound the rough fibers around her upper body, pinning her arms to her sides.
The rope bit into her flesh, the pain secondary to the utter helplessness that washed over her. How had it come to this? How had she let herself believe that she could stand against him, that she could protect those she loved?
Tears burned behind her eyes, and she could no longer hold them back.
Jess stood frozen, her face pale and stricken. Grace wanted to call out to her, to tell her to run, to save herself, but the words lodged in her throat, choking her.
McPharland's voice cut through the tense silence. "What are you doing, Jedidiah?"
