Page 5 of Outsider

Adam lurched away, raised his hands. “I have children.”

She raised her other hand, fingers blue with cold and covered with blood. She looked at it as if she wasn’t sure it was hers, wiped her face. “Who are you?”

“Adam … Lengacher.”

She blinked at him. “Where am I?”

“Painters Mill.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he ascertained the location of his children. They were ten yards away, near the fence. Too close. If this woman was narrisch—crazy—and fired that gun, there would be no protecting them.

Adam scooched back another foot, kept his hands raised. “I’m leaving. Just stay calm and we’ll go. Okay?”

“It’s a lady.”

His heart gave a single hard thud at the sound of his son’s voice. He hadn’t heard him approach. He twisted around fast and made eye contact with him. “Gay zu da shlay, Samuel. Nau.” Go to the sleigh. Now.

The boy’s eyes widened at his datt’s tone. He took a step back. “What’s wrong?”

“Gay,” he said. “Nau.” Go. Now.

The boy walked backward, frightened. Adam turned back to the woman. She was looking at Sammy. Gripping the pistol as if it were her lifeline. Dear God, what had he stumbled upon?

Before he could ponder the question, the hand holding the pistol collapsed as if she no longer had the strength to keep her arm outstretched. The gun slid from her palm. Her body went slack and she settled more deeply into the snow. She stared at him for a moment and then closed her eyes.

“I’m spent,” she rasped.

Adam wasn’t sure how to respond. The one thing he did know was that he didn’t want her reaching for that gun again. Moving closer, he picked it up. The steel was cold in his palm, wet from the snow, bits of ice on the muzzle. Not a revolver. He was no stranger to rifles; he’d been a hunter since he was thirteen years old. He had a .22 and an old muzzle-loader at home. This was … something else. What was she doing with a gun? Was it for protection? Was she a trustworthy individual? A criminal? If he helped her would he bring danger into his home?

Keeping the weapon out of sight from the children, Adam turned it over in his hand. It took him a moment, but he figured out how to release the magazine that held the ammunition. He dropped the clip into his coat pocket. He pulled back the slide, checked the chamber, dumped the single bullet into the snow. He put the weapon in another coat pocket.

“I guess I’m at your mercy now, huh?” the woman whispered.

Adam got to his feet. A glance over his shoulder told him all three children were sitting in the sleigh, their faces turned his way, expressions curious and worried. Around him the day no longer seemed magical. The snow no longer a gentle thing, but a threat. The wind had picked up, driving the falling snow sideways. Even the horse was hunched against the cold and wind.

He looked down at the woman. She lay still, unmoving, her eyes closed, as if she’d given up. Already a thin veil of snow clung to the newly exposed area of her clothes, her hair. If he left her here, she would freeze to death—or become buried if the sheriff’s deputies couldn’t get to her quickly.

She shifted as if in pain, made a sound that might have been a word. Keeping his distance, Adam knelt. “Do you want me to help you?” he asked.

She didn’t open her eyes. Her lips barely moved when she spoke. “Get Kate Burkholder,” she ground out. “I’m a cop. Get her.”

Adam knew the name. He’d known Katie Burkholder most of his life. How did this stranger know her? This was not the time to question her. She was injured and weak. He looked at his children. “Make a place for her on the backseat!” he called out. “We’re taking her home.”

“Ja!” Sammy said.

Adam looked at the woman. “Can you walk?”

She shifted, winced, her left leg flailing and then going still. “I don’t know. Give me a minute.”

He didn’t think a minute would help. In fact, if she didn’t get out of the cold soon, she’d likely fall to unconsciousness and die.

“I’ll help you.” Not giving himself time to debate further, he bent to her, plunged his hands into the snow beneath her, and scooped her into his arms. She was small, smelled of cold air and some sweet English-woman scent.

“Sammy!” he said. “Take the lines. We’re going home.”

The woman’s head lolled; she was dead weight in his arms. Concern for her niggled at the back of his mind when he saw blood on her coat. He felt the warmth of it run across his wrist as he trudged through deep snow.

“An Englischer,” Sammy said as Adam approached the sleigh.