Free Jumper by Michele Bossley

their ears pricked, followed at a gallop. Within seconds the corral was empty.
    I sprinted back toward the barn, fear for Grandpa sending a burst of adrenaline through me. As I rounded the back of the building, I spotted an object on the ground. I bent to pick it up, panic rising in my throat. It was Kayla’s cell phone. I slipped it in my jacket pocket and listened hard, but there was no sound except for the gentle whickering of the horse Bellamy had led out earlier, still tethered to the fence.
    Where was Kayla? She had obviously been here. And where was Grandpa? I peeked around the corner of the barn, but there was no sign of anyone. Even Bellamy’s truck was gone.
    I sank to the ground, my mind spinning with possibilities. Had Grandpa and Kayla made a run for the truck? I didn’t think so. Grandpa wouldn’t leave me stranded unless he absolutely had to. And what aboutBellamy? It wasn’t likely that he’d popped out for groceries, not in that big rig. So why would he take a huge truck, that would hold dozens of horses, if it wasn’t loaded?
    I just didn’t get it.
    A red pickup truck pulled up the long drive from the main road and parked near the house. I flattened myself against the barn wall, behind some hay bales and a stacked assortment of rusty old tools.
    A man got out, glanced around the yard, then strode up to the house. He was about thirty and had the ruddy look of someone who spent most of his time outdoors. There was no answer to the doorbell, so he ambled back after a moment, frowning. Then he sighed and reached inside the red pickup for a thermos cup. He leaned against the bumper of the truck and sipped the steaming liquid from the cup.
    I was trapped.
    I couldn’t move from my hiding spot with that guy there, couldn’t look for Grandpa or Kayla, even if I knew where to look. The minutes ticked past. The man looked at hiswatch. I struggled with the idea of making a run for it, but the heavy vibration of an engine interrupted my worried thoughts. I glanced up to see Bellamy’s truck toiling up the drive from the opposite end. Bellamy cut the engine of the semi just in front of the barn.
    The guy walked over from the pickup just as I heard the semi’s door slam.
    â€œHey, Jim,” the man said, “ready to load ‘em up?”
    â€œYeah,” Bellamy said gruffly. “Sorry I’m late. I had a problem with the truck. Had to take it down to the shed and grab a few tools.”
    The younger man looked interested. “What was wrong?”
    â€œNothing,” Bellamy snapped. “Just a few bolts loose on the trailer. The door was rattling.”
    The younger man scratched his head. “That doesn’t sound like much of a problem,” he commented. He looked puzzled—and so was I. Why would Bellamy waste time fixing loose bolts when he obviously had morepressing things to deal with? If Grandpa and Kayla had gotten away with the forms, Bellamy would be trying to stop them, and if they hadn’t, then they should still be here. I tried to suppress a jolt of fear. Something was definitely wrong.
    Bellamy ignored the man. “I’ll back the trailer up to the gate. The horses managed to get out of the corral, but if you saddle Hoser and take the dogs, you should be able to get them in pretty quick.”
    The younger man snorted. “You call your horse
Hoser
?”
    â€œYeah, it’s from that old SCTV skit. And trust me, he is a hoser. Totally brainless. Once you help me load up, you can go.”
    â€œI thought you wanted me to start working some of your colts today,” the younger man said.
    â€œNot anymore,” Bellamy answered quickly. “I’ll still pay you for the day, though.”
    The younger man shrugged. “Okay. Whatever. Let’s get started.” I heard him go inside the barn. There was a scraping noise right above me as a saddle was lifted off thewall. I sank back, mentally ticking off