Page 38 of Gilded Locks

“Ahh. Grace! Stop! It was just a joke!”

Grace’s heart hammered in her chest, a sheen of sweat beading on her forehead. Her panting breaths misted in the cool, late-summer night air.

She cursed and released her brother’s arm with a push.

“Russell! What were you thinking!”

He rubbed at his arm, a cheeky grin on his face. “You were so scared,” he laughed.

“You’re such a child!”

“Grace. Russell. Stop dawdling,” Mother called.

Grace frowned at the sharp tone. Grouped with her childish brother, as if she’d decided it would be fun to let him test her fraying nerves. She turned on her heel and marched to her parents’ side. Russell sidled up to her a moment later, but she refused to look his way. The imp.

A few minutes later, they joined a cluster of people gathered outside the storage barn situated near three working farms, ready to determine each farm’s needs and the order of harvesting. Russell bounded ahead, and Grace breathed a sigh of release. She couldn’t handle more of her brother’s antics. Not when she had to keep vigilant for danger.

“We need four more workers to finish harvesting our wheat in two days. Threshing can wait for a time.” Mr. Tucker had already started the discussion without them.

In years past, the harvest celebration would have started with music. Besides lightening spirits, it had allowed farmers to trickle in as they completed their preparations; that way, all would be present for critical conversations.

But Grace couldn’t recall there ever being much celebration at this event. Considering the work awaiting them in the morning, most were too tired to sing or dance. Even those with unending reserves of energy lacked the money to spend on frivolity.

Instead, the farmers gathered, declared what help and tools they needed, debated over timelines, and then trudged home, leaving the full harvest moon to greet the impending season by itself.

Mr. Klossner jumped in. “My nephew, niece, and I can join you, but we had planned to harvest our corn starting tomorrow. I need as much time as possible to let it dry after harvest so I can take it to market on the first of the month.”

Mr. Tucker frowned. “Our wheat is ready.”

The two conversed about whose crop was healthier and whose needs more urgent, eventually concluding that there were enough workers to begin on both crops tomorrow, and the Robbins’ two fields of wheat would be started in a few days.

Talk of a more specific schedule dragged on.

Grace tried to pay attention—she would be assigned to one of the fields, of course—but her eyes constantly searched the open fields and road. The two-story storage barn and the Tuckers’ corn field blocked too much of the horizon. She felt exposed.

She patted her leg, feeling the dagger attached to a belt beneath the apron she’d worn for the specific purpose of hiding her weapon. She couldn’t bring other weapons, but this at leastgave her some comfort. If the sheriff intended to follow through on his threat, she’d be ready to defend herself.

A bird cawed, and she jumped.

“Skittish, aren’t you, Robbins.”

Grace stiffened. She knew that voice. Slowly, she turned to face Willa Leroux. All five-foot-three of her exuded annoyance—one hip jutting out, arms crossed, and brown eyes half-closed in condescending exhaustion.

What wasshedoing here?

Panic surged. How could Grace have let a Clairmont relative sneak up on her?

“Perhaps you didn’t realize, being new to the town,” she said, “but this gathering is for the farmers and those who plan to help harvest.”

Willa rolled her eyes. “You think I’d be here if I didn’t know that?”

Anger joined the panic. Grace smiled, but the expression was empty. “You don’t need to be embarrassed. People expect you to need time to figure things out when taking over someone else’s home.”

Willa raised an eyebrow. “Well, what’s your excuse? You know very well that our estate has farms. We have just as much right to be here as you do.”

Grace’s face heated. Yes, Jonathan’s old estate had farms, but the Leroux family hadn’t weaseled their way into the manor in time to plant crops for this year, so they had nothing to harvest. “Oh. Do you need help pulling the weeds, then?”

“Actually, yes. First, we thought we’d help with other harvests. But if you’re offering…” Willa smiled.

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