Page 11 of Her Redeemed Protector

I scoot backward while Bethany curls up tighter. I peer through a gap in the stall door, watching as the man strides very close to the stable, eyes scanning the area. My mind races for a solution.

“It’s time to come home, sweetheart,” he says, his voice softer now but still carrying an edge of menace—the conflict between wanting his daughter back and the anger driving him.

I lean close to Bethany, mouthing and signing, “I’ll distract your father while you escape. Here.” I hand her my car keys. “Call the police from my cell once you’re safe.” She takes the keys.

“Your phone code?” she queries.

I smile in shame. “1234.”

She nods, then signs, “Be careful, he’s strong.”

“Don’t worry,” I assure her. “Now, crawl to the back door and leave. Don’t look back.”

Bethany gathers her courage and crawls silently across the floor toward the back door. Her elbows and knees brush against the rough straw, her movements careful. I watch her, holding my breath, praying her father doesn’t notice her maneuvering. He stands just outside the doorway at the other end of the barn. The contrast between bright daylight and the dim interior might work to our advantage.

Finally, he steps inside. His eyes survey the stalls, his presence unsettling the horses who shift nervously in their enclosures. Fortunately, the horses’ movements help mask the noise of Bethany’s body against the straw-covered floor.

Bethany passes the end of the barn, sneaking into a nook behind the storage room. She pauses, peering around cautiously before edging toward the already ajar back door. Her fingers curl around the bottom of the oak slab. Sheltered by the storage room’s shadow and her father’s preoccupation with the restless horses, she remains unseen.

The back door opens slightly wider, creating just enough space for Bethany’s frame to slip through the gap. From there, she runs, disappearing into the field.

Meanwhile, her father continues to advance, oblivious to Bethany’s escape. His heavy footsteps echo ominously as he nears my position.

Realizing he’s dangerously close, I act. I grab the rifle from where I left it, rising to my feet.

“You’re trespassing!” I take aim and point it directly at him.

“Whoa! Easy, lady. I’m here looking for my daughter.”

“There’s no one else here.” My finger tenses on the trigger. “You’d better get going.”

Suddenly, his hand shifts toward his back, his body bracing as if to charge. I squeeze the trigger.

Click.

No bang.

Fuck!The rifle is empty.

The man laughs loudly, raising both hands to show he’s unarmed. What a stupid move. I could’ve killed him! Yet, without a weapon and little chance of winning hand-to-hand against this behemoth, I suddenly find myself the prey.

I back into the empty stall where Bethany and I were, then scale the partition, barely squeezing through the space between the ceiling and the wall. As I leap into the adjacent stall, my rushed and precarious effort causes me to land awkwardly, sending me rolling across the floor.

A massive stallion looms over me.

“Easy…” I whisper, my voice steady despite the acute awareness that the stallion could easily trample me. The bay-colored giant shifts restlessly, muscles rippling beneath his glossy coat. But he maintains a calm demeanor, his eyes flickering with curiosity rather than aggression.

My adversary, too bulky to follow my move over the partition, leaves me silently thankful. His discomfort around the horses earlier gives me hope that the imposing animal beside me might deter him from advancing.

My hopes start to solidify as he pauses at the stall door, eyeing the stallion warily. The horse extends its neck toward him, causing the man to shift back and forth uneasily. Perhaps seeing the man as a threat, the stallion responds with a sharp snort, sizing up the intruder with clear suspicion.

As the man retreats, spewing curses, his attention and mine snap to the barn door, where a distant figure darts past. My heart sinks. It’s Bethany, likely confused and wandering back in our direction.

“Bethany!” her father roars, urgency overtaking his aggression toward me as he pivots from the stall to pursue her.

Driven by desperation to prevent him from reaching Bethany, I frantically search for anything to use as a weapon. My gaze sweeps across the stall, and there, within arm’s reach, is my makeshift armament.

5

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