Colton's Ranch Refuge

Icy comprehension slammed Violet. Panic exploded in her chest. “Mary, run!”

Violet staggered backward, spun, grabbed Mary’s sleeve as she scrambled to flee. But Mary was yanked from her grasp, and the girl screamed.

In the next second, a large hand seized Violet’s cape and yanked her backward. She whirled, arms raised, ready for battle. Adrenaline flooded her, fueling her fight, and every self-defense lesson she’d learned flashed through her brain.

Eyes. Throat. Groin. Do not let them take you to another location.

As a beefy arm slid around her waist, hauling her toward the car, Violet slammed her elbow behind her as hard as she could, stomped the man’s insole and reared her head back to smash his nose.

“Damn it, bitch! Stop that!” the man growled, digging his fingers in her arm.

She searched for Mary, fear for the Amish girl pounding through her.

“Fight them, Mary! Fight back!” she shouted as she struggled against her captor’s grip. She thought of Hudson and Mason, and her chest tightened. She wanted to see her babies again, couldn’t leave them orphaned. “Fight hard, Mary! Don’t let them get you in the car—no matter what!”

“Shut up!” the man holding her snarled and smacked his hand across her cheek.

“You bastard! Let me go!” Violet clawed at the man’s eyes. In her peripheral vision, Mary fell to the ground, and the other man snatched the girl’s head back by the hair. Fury exploded in Violet. “Don’t hurt her, you prick!”

“Such language,” her captor mocked, seizing her around the waist and lifting her easily from the ground. “What would Mamm and Datt say if they heard you? You’d be shunned, for sure.”

Violet aimed her boot heel at his kneecap and kicked. “I’m not Amish, jerk!”

Growling in pain, her captor loosened his grip and clutched at his leg. Violet struggled free and seized the opportunity. Gathering her wits and tossing off her encumbering cape, she assumed a combative stance.

“Nooo! Violet!” Mary wailed.

Violet jerked her gaze toward the teenager. The second man had Mary penned on the ground, his fist reared back.

“No!” Violet screamed.

The man’s hand bashed Mary’s jaw, and Violet flinched as if she’d received the blow.

“Not the face, idiot!” the other man shouted. “He said their faces can’t be messed up!”

The next punch landed in the girl’s gut. Mary cried out in pain, and, fury surging, Violet lunged at the man holding Mary. She threw herself on his back and wrapped an arm around his neck, squeezing, gouging at his face. “Get off her! Leave her alone!”

Immediately, Violet’s attacker grabbed the back of her dress and forcibly pried her off his partner. As she was dragged away, Violet struggled and fought the restraining arms. Twisting at the waist, she snagged her captor’s ski mask and dragged it off.

A prickle ran through Violet when she realized what she’d done. His face! She had a chance to identify the kidnappers. Look at his face!

But a blow to the side of her head caught Violet off guard, and she reeled back, tripping and toppling dizzily to the ground. She had only a split second to brace herself before a booted foot collided with her ribs. All the air in her lungs whooshed out from the impact, and a throb of pain ricocheted all the way to her skull. Violet curled in a ball to protect her ribs, her belly. Tears puddled in her eyes.

Hudson and Mason … she had to survive this to see her boys again.

“Damn it, get the girl in the car! We gotta get out of here!”

The ski cap was snatched from her hand, and she groaned internally. Summoning every ounce of her strength, Violet blinked her vision clear, focused on gathering details while she had the chance. The pair of paint-splattered work boots inches from her head faced the other direction. Her captor had turned his back. She angled her gaze up, glimpsed his short brown hair, bleeding nose, snarling mouth. Then he yanked the ski mask back over his face and turned toward her.

“Can’t leave no witnesses. I have to kill you now.” When he reached under his jacket, terror spurred Violet to action. She rolled away from him, despite the ache in her side, and sprang back to her feet. She risked a glance toward Mary. The girl was sobbing, still thrashing, still fighting the man who was dragging her by the feet toward the open car door.

Violet’s attacker advanced on her again, and a hunting knife flashed in his hand. Trembling, Violet backpedaled, scrambling mentally for a plan. She couldn’t outrun the men. They outweighed her, outnumbered her, had Mary’s life in their hands.

The knife-wielding thug edged closer. “Come on, bitch. You think you’re so smart?”

Disarm him, her brain shouted.

When he stepped closer, Violet swung her leg up in a roundhouse kick, aiming for his wrist. But at that same moment, he stabbed at her in an arc, and the blade jabbed deep in Violet’s thigh. Adrenaline masked the pain for the first several seconds, even when her assailant jerked the blade out and shoved her to the pavement. She landed with a bone-jarring, breath-stealing impact. The world around her blurred … slowed … muted.

Help! Help me, she screamed, but no sound came from her mouth.

Then white-hot pain seared her leg. She touched the wound and felt the sticky warmth of her own blood.

Straining to focus her eyes, she looked for her attacker and braced for another blow—the death blow.

“Get her arms!” The shout seemed to come from the end of a tunnel … underwater … from a deep well.

Then she heard a scream—piercing, terrifying, chilling.

Violet searched for Mary. She saw the men lift her and shove her in the backseat.

Still Mary fought, wrenched one hand free and grabbed the car door.

Violet sucked in a ragged breath. Mary! She stretched an arm toward the sedan and dragged herself an inch at a time. Her leg throbbed, but she ignored the pain. Mary! She had to help Mary.

One of the brutes slammed a fist in Mary’s gut, and the girl doubled over in pain. Her fingers slipped from the door. With a booted foot, the man shoved Mary inside and slammed the car door shut. “Go!”

Violet stretched out a trembling arm. “Noooo!”

With a squeal of tires, the silver sedan screeched away.

Horror punched Violet as she collapsed on the road, sobbing, “Mary!”

Chapter 3

Nausea roiled in Violet’s gut. Her leg was on fire. Her head throbbed.

But the worst pain came from her heart. She felt flayed, raw. She was tormented by the knowledge that the kidnappers had taken Mary, had hurt Mary. God only knew what they had in store for the Amish girl.

Violet pressed a hand to the gash in her leg, curled in the fetal position and sobbed harder than she had since she was a child.

Mary! They had Mary!

Her head swam, and the road seemed to rock beneath her.

On some level, she knew she needed to get help. She was bleeding, losing consciousness and aching from head to toe.

But she couldn’t erase from her mind’s eye the look of terror on Mary’s face as the animals shoved her in the backseat.

“Mary,” she muttered, feeling her strength seeping from her.

The clop of horse hooves rattled through her skull, and a sudden shadow blocked the sun from her eyes.

“Mein Gott!” a male voice said.

Gentle hands rolled her onto her back, probed the wound on her leg and lifted her.

A vague image of a dark beard, black hat and grim mouth wavered before her. She moaned in protest as the man moved her. “Mary,” she rasped.

The man said something to her in Pennsylvania Dutch as he laid her on a hard surface. The scents of dirt and horse sweat filled her nose, and she struggled not to retch. Near-blinding pain reverberated through her as the surface below her lurched into motion, bouncing roughly down the road. A buggy …

Violet’s vision dimmed. Her consciousness faded in and out as her Amish rescuer jerked to a stop, shouted words she didn’t understand. But a name filtered through the haze.

Troyer. She’d been on her way to visit Caleb Troyer. It was the next farm … not far.

“Mary …”

She heard more voices—urgent voices, young voices. “Violet! What happened?”

Hudson? Mason? No … David and William.

More German. Another name—Dr. Colton.

A bandage was wrapped quickly and tightly around her thigh. Dizzying pain shot through her. And then she was being lifted again.

This man was younger, strong, capable. Caleb Troyer?

“Hold on, Violet. I have you,” he said in English, his voice compassionate and soothing. “We will get you to the doctor.”

She tried to speak, had to tell them … what?

“Where’s Mary?” one of the young voices asked. Mary …

Violet’s mouth was dry, and her tongue felt swollen to twice its normal size. She tried to speak, tried to tell them. “Took … her …”

“Easy, ma’am. You are going to be all right. Dr. Colton is a good doctor. The best.”

“Mary,” she rasped, curling her fingers in the front of Caleb’s shirt. “Took Mary …”

Caleb stilled, met her gaze with piercing gray eyes. “What?”

“They … took Mary …”

Pain filled Caleb’s face, and his jaw tightened. She felt the tremor that shook him.

He set Violet down in another buggy and shouted something in Pennsylvania Dutch to the other man. As Caleb Troyer cracked a whip at his horses, sending the buggy forward with a lurch, he added, “And find Emma Colton. Tell her to meet me at her brother’s office!”

Peering over the top of the résumé he held, Derek Colton studied the attractive blonde sitting across his office. “Your credentials are impressive, Ms. Phillips, but I don’t see any references here.”

Amelia Phillips’s fingers tightened slightly on the arms of her chair. “Well, no. I didn’t list any because—”

The door to Derek’s office flew open. “Dr. Colton, come quickly!” his receptionist blurted without preamble. “We have an emergency.”

Derek frowned as he lurched to his feet. “What is it?”

“An Amish woman. Caleb Troyer brought her in. She’s bleeding badly and unresponsive.” His receptionist jumped out of his way as he rushed to his office door.

His gaze flicked briefly to Amelia Phillips. “I’m sorry. We’ll have to finish later.”

Amelia nodded, her hazel eyes wide with concern. “Can I be of help?”

Derek hesitated, giving her a quick assessing glance. “I … yeah. Scrub in. Nancy will show you where everything is, then meet me in exam room two.”

He turned without waiting for a response and hustled to the sink to wash his own hands and don a pair of latex gloves.

Caleb Troyer stood in the waiting room with a petite woman limp in his arms.

“Bring her back here, Caleb!” Derek shouted, motioning to the exam room where a vast array of top-notch medical equipment waited. When Derek had opened his practice in Eden Falls, Gunnar had quietly funded the purchase of state of the art facilities, setting Derek up to provide most any treatments or tests his patients needed.

Caleb hurried into the exam room and laid the woman gently on the exam table. “I don’t know her name. Isaac Lapp found her on the road and brought her to my house. Her leg has a deep cut, and her head has a large bump. Bruises and scrapes …”

Derek stepped closer to begin his examination, and his breath froze in his chest when he saw the woman’s pale face. “This is Violet Chastain, the actress! I just met her yesterday. Why would—”

Caleb caught Derek’s arm in a firm grip, stopping him. “We need to get Emma here. The woman was still conscious when she arrived at my house. She said someone kidnapped Mary Yoder. I think the men who took my sister have Mary now, too.”

Derek’s pulse kicked, and he muttered a curse word under his breath as he began peeling the homemade bandage off Violet’s leg. “Have my receptionist call Emma and Tate. You can wait out front for them, tell them what you know.” He jerked a nod toward his patient. “Thank you for bringing her in.”

As Caleb left, a scrubs-clad figure bustled in drying her hands on a sterile cloth. Derek arched an eyebrow. “That was quick.”

“You have to be quick when lives are at stake, right?” Amelia peered past him to the exam table and snapped on a pair of gloves. Immediately, she clipped a pulse ox monitor on Violet’s finger, then grabbed the blood pressure cuff from the countertop. “Heart rate 60. BP is 80 over 65. Oxygen 90 percent. Starting 2L oxygen now.” She retrieved the oxygen tank and non-rebreather mask from the corner of the room and settled the mask over Violet’s mouth and nose.

Derek cut Violet’s skirt off her so he could work better, then opened his mouth to ask Amelia for a thigh cuff, only to find her turning from the cabinets with one in her hand. Amelia met his gaze. “Where do you keep your IV kits?”

He jerked his head toward the cabinet across the room. “Top shelf, left side. How are her pupils?”

“Even and responsive to light. Her skin is cool and clammy.”

While Derek applied the thigh cuff, Amelia started a saline IV, finished undressing their patient, draped her with a sterile sheet and assessed Violet’s other wounds.

Satisfied that Amelia knew what she was doing, Derek finished unwrapping the pressure bandage Caleb had tied around Violet’s leg and frowned at the deep gash. “Looks like she was stabbed. There’s separation through several layers of muscle and—”

Amelia dabbed the wound with a piece of sterile gauze, absorbing some of the pooling blood so that Derek could better examine the severity of the injury, then flushed the wound with saline. He flicked a startled glance to her as she ripped open a suture tray before continuing. “Thanks.” He carefully probed the wound with a long swab. “The femoral artery appears to be intact, thank God, but several smaller veins will need ligation. What did you find?”

“Abrasions and contusions to her head and face but nothing critical.”

“Okay, push fentanyl and midazolam. Let’s get her sewn up.”

For the next hour, Derek labored over Violet’s laceration, ligating the torn blood vessels and suturing the layers of muscle and skin. While he worked, Amelia monitored the actress’s vitals and cleaned the less serious scrapes and bumps. With gently probing fingers, she felt Violet’s scalp and searched her hair for other wounds. “In addition to the bump on her forehead, she’s got a rather large knot just over her right ear. External swelling. Do you want to send her to the hospital for a CT scan?”

“No need. I have a machine here. I’ll have my tech do a scan when I’m finished with her.” With the crisis past, Derek paused and watched Amelia work for a few seconds, remembering how she’d anticipated his every need, known and executed protocol without his directives, and ably and efficiently assisted him on every aspect of Violet’s treatment. “I appreciate your jumping in the mix and helping out. You were a model of professionalism and composure under pressure.”

Amelia cut a quick awkward glance toward him as she wiped disinfectant on Violet’s scraped cheek. “I’m glad I could help.”

Derek bent his head over his suturing, pulling closed another small stitch. “You did more than help. Your nursing skills may have made the difference in saving Violet Chastain’s life.”

Amelia’s head snapped up. “Violet Chastain?”

Derek pulled a grin. “The one and only … our patient.”

Amelia’s hazel eyes widened as she studied her patient’s face. “Holy cow, it is! I thought she was Amish … I mean, the dress and …”

Derek chuckled. “Violet’s here filming a movie. She plays an Amish woman, which explains her clothing.” He frowned as he snipped the surgical thread he’d just tied off. “Someone should call her director, let him know about Violet. I have his number in my desk.”

Amelia nodded and chewed her lip. “If her laceration is a knife wound as you suspect …”

When she let her sentence trail off, Derek eyed her, puzzled by her obvious uneasiness. “The police are already on their way, if that’s what you’re asking. We have reason to suspect a girl Violet was with when she was attacked was kidnapped.”

Amelia’s eyes widened. “Oh, no! How horrible!”

“Exactly.” He lowered his gaze to Violet’s wound and began applying an antibiotic ointment and pressure dressing. “She’ll need a tetanus booster before she leaves, but you can wake her up. I’m finished.”

Derek removed his latex gloves and headed to the sink to wash up, cutting side glances to the nurse who’d performed so admirably under pressure. References or not, he wanted someone with her ability and cool head on his team. “Ms. Phillips?”

Amelia glanced at him.

“I think you’ve just been baptized by fire. If you want the job, it’s yours.”

A bright smile lit her face, and he was struck again by how attractive she was. “Thank you, Doctor. I accept.”

“Ms. Chastain?”

Violet angled her head toward the door where an auburn-haired woman and tall, rugged-looking man with light brown hair waited.

“Yes?” she said weakly, her body and emotions both drained to empty.

“I’m FBI Special Agent Emma Colton, and this is my brother, Philadelphia detective Tate Colton. We’re working the case involving the abduction of Amish girls in the area. If you feel up to it, we need to ask you some questions,” the woman said.

Though she had no energy, a heavy heart and a painkiller-induced daze muddying her thoughts, Violet knew she had information the police needed to rescue Mary. “I’ll do my best.”

Emma Colton stepped in and moved the chair beside Violet’s bed. Tate was propped against the wall, a mini-recorder in hand, ready to take her statement.

“Tell us what happened to you and Mary.” Emma flipped open a notepad. “Start at the beginning, and don’t leave anything out, no matter how minor the detail may seem.”

Violet tried to shift into a position more conducive for the interview, but her weak arms gave out and her injured leg, elevated with several cushions, throbbed in protest. Sighing and sinking back into her pillow, Violet let her mind rewind to that morning, to Mary’s sweet smile.

Vanity is a sin.

Violet’s heart wrenched, and moisture puddled in her eyes. “I was … walking with Mary to Caleb Troyer’s farm. Taking him food.” She wet her dry lips and squeezed the blanket covering her. “Mary’s brothers had run ahead.”

With effort, Violet related the whole terrifying incident from the moment the silver car had screeched to a stop in front of them, blocking their path, to the gut-wrenching moment the men shoved Mary into the backseat and raced away.

“You said you were able to pull one of the men’s ski masks off.” Emma met her gaze. “Did you see his face?”

Violet nodded. “Briefly. Just a glimpse.”

“Could you describe him to a sketch artist to compose a rendering?” Tate asked.

Violet shifted her gaze Tate. “I’ll do whatever I can to get Mary back.” More tears flooded her sinuses and dripped from her eyelashes. “They hurt her. Hit her.” She shook her head, and guilt stabbed her. “It’s my fault.”

Emma frowned. “What is your fault?”

“I told her to fight them. To resist. She did and … they hurt her.”

Emma wrapped her fingers around Violet’s wrist. “Don’t take this on yourself. The only ones to blame are the bastards who took her and the evil men behind this online sex ring.”

Violet’s heart lurched. “Sex ring?”

Emma and her brother exchanged dark glances, and Violet felt her gorge rise. She swallowed hard to keep from retching.

“The kidnapped girls are being solicited online for sex and other depravities,” Tate said grimly.

Violet trembled, imagining innocent Mary Yoder in the hands of such sick men, forced into perverted situations and abused for the pleasure of vile men. “Dear God … Mary!” She divided a stricken, panicked glance between Emma and Tate. “You have to find her! She’s just seventeen! She just a precious, innocent girl, who—”

“I know. I know.” Emma squeezed Violet’s fingers, interrupting her. “We’re as appalled and disgusted by this case as you are. And we are doing everything we can to get these girls back. I promise you. The information you have could be key to recovering not only Mary but …” Emma paused, and through their joined hands, Violet felt the FBI agent shudder. “Caleb Troyer’s sister was taken, as well.”

A bone-deep fatigue and grief washed through Violet. She closed her eyes, searching for the strength to continue the interview. Mary’s life, the lives and innocence of the other missing Amish girls lay in her hands, in her ability to remember and identify her attackers.

Can’t leave no witnesses. I have to kill you now.

Icy fear settled over her like a cold morning fog. “They … they meant to kill me,” she rasped.

“What?” Tate asked stepping closer to the bed, his brow furrowed.

“Because I saw his face. I can identify him and—” she shivered “—he said he had to kill me.”

Emma and Tate exchanged worried looks.

“I think they believed I would die from my wounds … or they wouldn’t have left me.”

The monitor registering her heart rate began to beep loudly, and Derek Colton, followed by a blonde woman in scrubs, hustled into the recovery room. “Interview’s over. Her heart rate is too high.”

Emma scowled. “Derek, we still have questions about—”

“The interview is over,” the doctor repeated firmly. “For now. My patient needs rest, not more stress.”

“We need to arrange protection for her.” Tate slid the mini-recorder in his shirt pocket. “If word leaks out that she survived the attack, the thugs who stabbed her will come after her.”

Violet’s stomach pitched. “Oh, God.”

“We can post an officer at the door of your hospital room,” Emma offered.

Violet raised a trembling hand to her temple and shot a pleading glance to Dr. Colton. “Please … can’t I recover at home? Hospitals … there’s no such thing as privacy for a public figure at a hospital. There’ll always be another patient or dietary worker or orderly looking to make a fast buck selling info about the famous patient in room 323.” In the case of her late husband, the leak had been a candy striper confiding to the wrong friends that she’d delivered flowers to the Adam Ryder, who was recovering from a drug overdose. Except Adam hadn’t recovered and the media frenzy had been salt in an already bitter wound. Violet sighed. “News that I survived the attack is sure to get out if I go to the hospital.”

“Do you really think the bed-and-breakfast where the movie crew is staying will be any more private?” Dr. Colton asked. “You need to be somewhere a medical professional can keep tabs on your progress or any setbacks.”

Violet frowned, too tired to have to deal with major decisions but desperate not to be thrust into a volatile situation. “I can … hire a private nurse.”

“Derek,” Emma started, clicking her ball point pen closed and clipping it to her pad, “we have plenty of rooms at the ranch. With Tate and I both staying in the main house until this case is closed, she’ll have protection. Plus you can check in on her anytime.”

Derek arched an eyebrow, and Violet shook her head. “I couldn’t impose. Surely, there’s some other—”

“The ranch is the perfect solution. Privacy, protection, someone there around the clock …”

“But—” Violet glanced from one Colton to another “—I …”

“Unless you have serious objections or a comparable, viable alternative …” Derek folded his arms over his chest and cocked his head, inviting her to state her case.

“I … I …” Violet’s muddled and weary brain blanked.

“Then the ranch it is. Doctor’s orders.” Derek lifted the corner of his mouth in a Denzel Washington–worthy grin.

“And you’re not an imposition. We’re glad to have you,” Tate said.