Jumper by Michele Bossley Page A

trees. I had to duck to keep from being lashed across the face by branches.
    I slowed Hoser and guided him through the woods so we could come out near Grandpa’s truck. “We’re almost there,” I told him.
    I could hear Bellamy’s truck shifting gears through the trees. I slid out of the saddle and tied Hoser a good distance away.
    â€œGood boy,” I said, giving him a heartfelt pat on the neck. Then I yanked on the door of Grandpa’s truck and dove inside. I fumbled with the keys, my hands shaking. I jammed my foot down on the clutch.
    I didn’t really know how to drive. Grandpa had let me drive the tractor before, but that was it. The ignition turned over and the enginecoughed and sputtered to life. I gently let the parking brake in and hit the gas. The engine roared, but I didn’t go anywhere.
    My palms were slick with sweat. I let the clutch out and gave it less gas. The engine gave an abrupt thrum, the truck lurched forward a few inches, and the engine died.
    â€œOh, no!” I turned the key, but this time the old truck refused to budge.

chapter seventeen
    Rrr-Rrr-Rrr
, went the engine.
    I closed my eyes. “Not now,” I said. I turned the key again, but nothing happened. Bellamy’s truck sounded louder—it was getting close. Grandpa’s truck was too heavy for me to push it out into the drive, especially without help. I checked Kayla’s cell phone and dialed 911, but there was still no signal. I tucked it inside my shirt pocket and shook my head in desperation. I’d tried so hard, and nowto fail, like this. Bellamy was going to drive right past me with Rosie in that trailer, and there wasn’t a single thing I could do about it. Tears stung my eyes, and a solid lump in my throat stopped me from swallowing. I wanted to bawl, but I blinked hard, willing myself not to cry.
    â€œThere has to be another way,” I said. I got out of the truck. I could see Bellamy’s trailer through the trees. He would be here in a matter of moments. I looked wildly around for something else that could block the road—rocks, a fallen log, anything. But the only things around me were poplar saplings, sparse fir trees, trampled grasses and fresh cow pies. Bellamy must let his cattle pasture through here, I thought. It was funny to notice such an ordinary detail when I had a crisis to deal with, but there they were—big ones that were still wet, not dried or frozen solid.
    I picked up a cow pie in my—lucky for me—gloved hands. “Eeeuuuw!” I wrinkled my nose. “This is totally disgusting!” I told Hoser. “But it’s my last chance.” I armed myself withseveral heaps of cow manure and ducked behind a fir tree.
    Bellamy’s truck bumped over the road. He’d picked up a little speed, knowing that the main road wasn’t much farther. There was a faint noise coming from the cell phone in my pocket, but with my hands full of wet manure I couldn’t do anything about it.
    I watched the truck come closer...
    â€œNow!” I yelled, flinging the cow pie at the windshield. It hit square in the center, splattering in a wide circle. My next shot hit the hood, but it sprayed upward, adding to the general mess.
    The truck lurched to a stop. Bellamy swore and jumped out of the truck. “What do you think you’re doing!” he yelled. In two strides he was in front of me, his face contorted with rage.
    â€œYou keep away from me, you filthy liar, or you’ll get a faceful of this stuff next,” I told him, backing quickly away. I held up a third handful of manure.
    Bellamy’s lips twitched. “Honey, I shovel this stuff every day. You think I’m not usedto it by now?” He advanced slowly. “Now you listen to me. You and your grandpa are going to keep your mouths shut about those horses, understand me? Or there’ll be trouble. Big trouble.”
    â€œWhat are you gonna do? Lock me up