Katy Lee - Amish Country Undercover

At the racetrack, he had determined her to be in her midtwenties, with light brown hair pulled back tight beneath her white kapp . With no one else in the house, it seemed he was right about her being unmarried, especially if her community followed the same rules as his, with the white halsduch cape worn over her dress. But that was a long time ago. Perhaps things had changed in eight years.

The Amish, change? No, not possible. He scoffed at the idea and got back to work.

“Stay where I can see you,” he instructed, keeping to the side of the broken window. He scanned the tree line, his gun at the ready. The shooter had circled back. Jack should have expected he would return for what he’d come for. The guy couldn’t go back to his boss without the horse. “I can’t believe I can’t turn my back on an Amish woman. Never would have believed it. I’ve been assigned to investigate your horse theft operation.”

Jack looked at Grace Miller and shook his head in disappointment. “What were you thinking when you decided to join the operation with these thieves?”

Grace rubbed her father’s hand to keep him calm, but her chin lifted in defiance. “I don’t know what you mean by ‘join the operation.’ I didn’t join anything.”

“Partner. Alliance. Bintness. ” Jack said the last word in her Pennsylvania Dutch language and saw her face contort in shock over him knowing it. He looked away from her inquisitive stare and glanced at the elderly Amish man beside her.

Benjamin Miller rubbed his straggly gray beard, which bobbed as he opened and closed his mouth in confusion. Did the man not know his daughter was a horse thief? “Mr. Miller, I’m sorry to tell you this, but your daughter has been caught stealing a horse. With my own eyes I saw her take the animal out of the stable.” He looked back at Grace and said, “But if she cooperates and tells me who she is stealing for, I might be able to get my supervisor to cut her a deal. Right now, I want the guy who nearly clipped me back there in the barn, and again on the porch. Thankfully, he’s a bad shot, or my blood would be all over your property now.”

The Amish woman’s eyes glittered so fiercely Jack thought he was about to experience an Amish person resisting arrest. Never would he have believed it, growing up. Didn’t they abhor fighting in all cases?

But could this Amish woman be different? After all, she had attacked him in the barn with the pitchfork.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Grace said. “That man was your partner, not mine. In case you didn’t notice, you both had your guns pointed at me . The only people working together here are the two of you.”

Jack had to admit that something didn’t add up. But that didn’t mean he was about to turn around and let this woman continue running a horse theft ring. “Except I saw you take the horse, and the thoroughbred is right outside, on your property.”

Grace pointed to the barn. “ My horses are not stolen. I purchased them all fair and square. But someone has been coming here at night and stealing them from me . And when I say someone, I mean you and your partner.”

“That man was not my partner. I don’t have a partner. I work solo. Do you? Or do you have a team?” Jack crossed his arms and spread his legs wide, awaiting her response.

Grace pursed her lips. “I don’t know how else to tell you this, but you have the wrong person. I am not stealing from Autumn Woods. I would never do that. They have been good to my father for years and his daed before him. And now to me, since I took over the dealings.”

Jack glanced at Mr. Miller again. The man mumbled something incoherent. He was obviously unable to handle the role of an Amish horse dealer, but Jack struggled with the idea that the elders would allow Grace to take over.

Something was amiss.

“How long have you been working in your father’s place?” he asked.

Grace’s bravado dispersed in an instant. Obvious pain washed over her shadowed face as she glanced her father’s way, but when she turned back to Jack, he saw worry had replaced the pain—more worry than when he had told her he was here to arrest her.

Something really was amiss.

Grace shook her head. “I’m not answering any of your questions. My daed ’s business isn’t your concern.”

“It is if you’re stealing horses.”

“I have the papers to these animals.”

“You may have papers, but they don’t all match. At least one of those horses was stolen, and I’ve already loaded him into my trailer.”

In the next instant, Grace let go of her father’s hand and jumped to her feet. “I’m telling you the tru—”

Another gun blast cut her off, and Jack dived toward her. Before he reached her to cover her, yet another shot went off. They were coming from outside, but didn’t appear to be aimed their way. Still, he tried to pull her down. But Grace Miller held firm.

Then her face reflected what she was looking at: a golden glow coming from the yard.

Jack turned to the window, to see flames burst from the barn door.

“The horses!” Grace yelled, and passed him in a flash.

“It’s not safe,” Jack said, and stretched out his arm to attempt to hold her back. But there was nothing he could do to stop the woman from racing into danger.

“Get off my property!” Mr. Miller hollered in confusion from behind, as Grace ran out the door and onto the porch. “All of you!”

Benjamin Miller was obviously suffering from some illness like dementia. Grace would need a lot of money to give him the care he needed, especially with no health insurance, as was the Amish way. That told Jack that Grace Miller could be bought.

And she needed those horses alive.

When no more gunshots went off, Jack wondered if that was the proof he needed to show she had teamed up with this operation. But she knew the thoroughbred had been moved to the trailer. So why was she putting her life at risk for the other horses?

Was he wrong about her?

Grace had her halsduch cape unpinned and pulled over her head before she reached the open barn doors. Flames flickered outward, but she could see there was still room for her to slip inside. Knowing that the shooter was somewhere outside encouraged her to race forward to get out of the line of that fire, too. As she drew closer and closer, she expected to hear another shot go off, stopping her from rescuing her horses before the flames grew too fierce.

Heavy footsteps thudded behind her. Before she could turn her head, Jack Kaufman ran up beside her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “Stay low!” he yelled, pulling her closer to shield her the rest of the way to the barn.

They reached the doors and, with faces turned away from the flames, ran inside.

“Grab the blanket on the hook,” she yelled, while she threw her heavy organdy cape over the flame closest to the first stall to stomp it out.

The FBI agent lifted the blanket and threw it over the strongest blaze. Together they beat at the fire until it was finally out.

Grace’s heart raced, and her breathing was fast and rasping. “The shooter must have struck a lantern and knocked it into the hay,” she said, feeling her adrenaline slowly start to ebb.

“That was my fault,” the agent said, taking his cap off and swiping at his forehead. “I lit the lantern and left it on when I went to your door.”

Grace took in the smoldering hay scattered across the dirt floor. A slow awareness of pain radiated up her legs. As she began to squirm, she said, “And I threw the hay down to try and catch my thief. It made for a fire hazard that didn’t have to...”