Read Online Secrets and Lace (Lonely Lace #2) by Bonnie R. Paulson - Free Book Online
Authors: Bonnie R. Paulson
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draw their attention. Hide.”
“Why? Slate, what’s going on?” Amelia stared at him wide-eyed, her voice equally quiet but more frightened. She sent out a silent plea into the universe like a prayer – please keep Mac safe.
“If Ronan’s coming to help, they’re dangerous.” He pushed her toward the ladder, murmuring as she moved. “Get up in the loft and stay out of sight. Don’t come down ‘til Ronan or I tell you it’s clear.”
“MacAllister!” A yell from the front yard pushed Amelia up the ladder. Rough and pissed, the owner of the voice wouldn’t brook an argument. “MacAllister! Get your ass out here. Time to settle up!”
She crawled across the short space to the slated window overlooking the expansive driveway.
Twelve riders on varying colored horses created a semi-circle encompassing the barn and house entrances. No matter what, they’d see where any other people came from.
Hats pulled low on foreheads, many riders hid behind bandanas raised over mouths. Jackets and gloves covered more of them. With saddlebags and rolls tied to the horses, the men had a look of chronic time on the road. Many carried guns openly in their hands, aimed at the ground, but obviously prepared to raise them to a more threatening position.
Like badass bandits from the Wild West. Who the hell did they think they were? Jesse James and his gang? Amelia held her breath, repeating her silent prayer in her heart. Please keep Mac safe. Please keep Mac safe. Wherever he was .
“You hear me, MacAllister? One more chance and I’m taking what you owe me.” The leader appeared to be the last guy to the left of the house – at least he was the yeller. He didn’t hide behind a bandana. The brim of his had sat parallel to the ground, when he lifted his face to yell, the light threw his stubble into relief, drawing attention to the hawk-like-nose and olive complexion.
The horses moved, shifting and stamping in place. One swatted his tail. Another shook his head, fighting the reins.
Amelia didn’t know much about men, but she knew animals. The horses and their antsy behavior suggested high tension among the group.
The large door of the barn slid open below her, rubbing and scraping across the ground.
She whispered to the window as she craned her neck to see at a better angle. “What are you doing, Slate? Close the door.” She leaned on the glass, her fingertips inches below her face.
Slate stepped into view, his broad back straight and his hands empty of any weapons. His voice carried, muffled through the inside of the barn. “What can I do for you, fellas?”
Amelia unlatched the window as slow as possible, wincing at the slight scrape of metal on metal. She unclenched her teeth when it swung open an inch, then two.
“You owe us money, MacAllister. And what you did to Johnson… Well, we owe you for that.” The leader climbed from his horse, settling on his feet when he landed heavily.
“Which one is Johnson?” Slate looked from man to man.
Stepping forward, the leader barked out a laugh. “Johnson’s dead, you sumbitch. You killed him.”
Amelia gasped. A breeze grabbed the open window and swung the pane to slam against the side of the barn, taking the slatted shutters with it. The crash seemed to echo through all of Lonely Rivers.
Exposed, Amelia ducked behind the wall but not before all thirteen sets of eyes had focused her way.
Footsteps scuffed over the pavement.
Amelia closed her eyes. Holy crap, she was screwed.
A dark hat, greasy hair, coal-colored eyes, and then a missing tooth surrounded by black patches of beard appeared at the top of the stairs. He saw her, his deep leer steady as he eyed her crouching position. “Come on out, girly. Or I can come in after you.” His rough voice sounded like he gargled acid-coated glass bits. “Please, let me come get you.” He chuckled like a pervert in a thriller movie.
Something inside Amelia told her to stall, not only for her but for Slate,
“Why? Slate, what’s going on?” Amelia stared at him wide-eyed, her voice equally quiet but more frightened. She sent out a silent plea into the universe like a prayer – please keep Mac safe.
“If Ronan’s coming to help, they’re dangerous.” He pushed her toward the ladder, murmuring as she moved. “Get up in the loft and stay out of sight. Don’t come down ‘til Ronan or I tell you it’s clear.”
“MacAllister!” A yell from the front yard pushed Amelia up the ladder. Rough and pissed, the owner of the voice wouldn’t brook an argument. “MacAllister! Get your ass out here. Time to settle up!”
She crawled across the short space to the slated window overlooking the expansive driveway.
Twelve riders on varying colored horses created a semi-circle encompassing the barn and house entrances. No matter what, they’d see where any other people came from.
Hats pulled low on foreheads, many riders hid behind bandanas raised over mouths. Jackets and gloves covered more of them. With saddlebags and rolls tied to the horses, the men had a look of chronic time on the road. Many carried guns openly in their hands, aimed at the ground, but obviously prepared to raise them to a more threatening position.
Like badass bandits from the Wild West. Who the hell did they think they were? Jesse James and his gang? Amelia held her breath, repeating her silent prayer in her heart. Please keep Mac safe. Please keep Mac safe. Wherever he was .
“You hear me, MacAllister? One more chance and I’m taking what you owe me.” The leader appeared to be the last guy to the left of the house – at least he was the yeller. He didn’t hide behind a bandana. The brim of his had sat parallel to the ground, when he lifted his face to yell, the light threw his stubble into relief, drawing attention to the hawk-like-nose and olive complexion.
The horses moved, shifting and stamping in place. One swatted his tail. Another shook his head, fighting the reins.
Amelia didn’t know much about men, but she knew animals. The horses and their antsy behavior suggested high tension among the group.
The large door of the barn slid open below her, rubbing and scraping across the ground.
She whispered to the window as she craned her neck to see at a better angle. “What are you doing, Slate? Close the door.” She leaned on the glass, her fingertips inches below her face.
Slate stepped into view, his broad back straight and his hands empty of any weapons. His voice carried, muffled through the inside of the barn. “What can I do for you, fellas?”
Amelia unlatched the window as slow as possible, wincing at the slight scrape of metal on metal. She unclenched her teeth when it swung open an inch, then two.
“You owe us money, MacAllister. And what you did to Johnson… Well, we owe you for that.” The leader climbed from his horse, settling on his feet when he landed heavily.
“Which one is Johnson?” Slate looked from man to man.
Stepping forward, the leader barked out a laugh. “Johnson’s dead, you sumbitch. You killed him.”
Amelia gasped. A breeze grabbed the open window and swung the pane to slam against the side of the barn, taking the slatted shutters with it. The crash seemed to echo through all of Lonely Rivers.
Exposed, Amelia ducked behind the wall but not before all thirteen sets of eyes had focused her way.
Footsteps scuffed over the pavement.
Amelia closed her eyes. Holy crap, she was screwed.
A dark hat, greasy hair, coal-colored eyes, and then a missing tooth surrounded by black patches of beard appeared at the top of the stairs. He saw her, his deep leer steady as he eyed her crouching position. “Come on out, girly. Or I can come in after you.” His rough voice sounded like he gargled acid-coated glass bits. “Please, let me come get you.” He chuckled like a pervert in a thriller movie.
Something inside Amelia told her to stall, not only for her but for Slate,
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