Nightmare Mountain by Peg Kehret

What could she talk about that would make him linger?
    “Money!” she cried.
    He looked at her, his eyebrows raised.
    “I—I was wondering how much money you got for the llamas,” Molly said.
    “Big money,” he said. “Too bad we lost two in the avalanche.”
    “We didn’t lose them. They ran down the path before the snow could hit them.”
    She decided to appeal to his sense of greed. More llamas to sell would increase his profit enormously.
    “Why did you go all the way up the mountain to steal the llamas yesterday?” she asked. “It would have been a lot easier to take some from the lower pasture, right there by the barn.”
    “Do you think I’m stupid? I couldn’t be loading those animals on the truck in plain sight of the house and the road. Up the mountain, nobody could see me.”
    “Well, nobody can see you now, even in the lower pasture,” she said.
    The man hesitated. His hand was on the key but he didn’t start the engine.
    “True,” he said. “There’s nobody around now.” He looked thoughtfully at the house.
    He seemed calmer now, less anxious. Keep him talking, Molly thought. Keep him here. Stall . . .
    “Did you really get a good price for Merrylegs and Soapsy and Pretty Girl?” she asked.
    “Top dollar.”
    “Didn’t the buyer wonder where you got them?”
    “No questions asked. I just showed him my business card for Baldwin Llama Ranch and he wrote out the check.”
    What a creep, using someone else’s business card to make himself seem legitimate. Uncle Phil was going to go through the ceiling when he heard about this.
    Keep stalling, Molly reminded herself. Keep him here as long as possible. “You make it sound easy to sell the llamas,” she said.
    “It was a snap.” He looked toward the pasture. Then he started the engine, and put his foot on the gas pedal. The truck lurched forward. Molly clutched at the seat to keep her balance while he made a fast U-turn and headed back past the barn. A group of curious llamas watched as he slammed on the brakes.
    “Those brown ones are nice,” Molly said. “They’d probably bring a good price.”
    She didn’t have any idea whether the two brown ones she pointed out were especially nice llamas or not, but she knew that’s what the man wanted.
    She could tell the man was still nervous. He sat with the engine idling for a moment, looking back toward the road. If he left now, she knew he could make his escape before anyone else came.
    Keep him talking, she told herself. Keep him sitting here.
    “What kind of business are you in?” she asked.
    The question backfired. Instead of prolonging the conversation, as Molly intended, it seemed to bring the urgency of the situation back to the man’s mind. He turned off the engine and jumped out of the truck.
    Molly looked morosely out the window. Ten minutes ago, she’d felt elated, certain that she’d saved Glendon’s life, and that help would soon be coming. Now Glendon was still lying up there in the snow with a broken arm and probably a concussion and who knows what else, and she was being kidnapped by a man with no conscience.
    He acted like a crazy man. One minute he insisted they had to leave immediately and the next minute he was willing to take time to catch more llamas.
    She wondered why he needed money so desperately. Maybe he was on drugs and was frantic for money inorder to buy more. If that was so, her chance of survival with him seemed slim.
    “Get out here and help,” the man said.
    He took a length of rope from the back of the truck and started toward the dark brown llama. Slowly, Molly climbed out of the truck, trying to think of a way to escape.
    There was no point trying to run away. She was simply too tired. She’d never make it and the attempt would make the man angry. She looked around. She saw only the path, some bushes, and, beyond the lower pasture, the lift.
    She looked at the lift. She could get to it before he could catch her. She could turn it on and