Chapter 35
Chapter Thirty-Five
ELLA
I pulled my scarf up higher to cover my nose and mouth. Just like that, the weather on the cove had changed from a nice, mild morning to an afternoon that looked far more like winter … in the North Pole. The temperature had dropped a good twenty degrees, and an irritating wind with a glacial feel had started explosive bursts all around town. The inside of the car was already so cold it was hard to hold onto the steering wheel. I considered running back inside to get my gloves and beanie, but I didn’t want to mess up my freshly washed hair. It was only a short drive, so I decided to forge ahead without gloves.
Or at least that was the plan. I turned the key five times and nothing. My crummy little car had betrayed me yet again. I smacked the dashboard. “Really, you couldn’t give me just this afternoon before dying?” I tried it twice more in case my plea had helped. Still nothing. At least it had stopped drizzling. It was only a mile. What would Jane Austen’s heroines do? They’d trudge through the dreary weather, and that was my plan, too.
I was pretty good at starting a fire, so I planned to get the fire roaring before Rhett returned from town. I was sure going to need it by the time I reached the house. The clouds acted almost as a blanket, making the air slightly warmer than out by the cove. I dropped my face and hiked toward the manor. There’d be a delicious spaghetti dinner and a very handsome man at the end of it.
The house always looked more uninviting with the clouds behind it, but I’d grown very fond of the place. I hated the idea of it being torn down to rubble. Didn’t seem fair. My hands had been in my coat pockets, but they were still numb from cold as I reached for the door handle. I stomped my boots on the front mat and stepped inside. The house was also much less inviting without Rhett to greet me in the tall entryway.
I hung my scarf and coat on the hook and headed down the hallway to the front parlor where we liked to sit on the sofa in front of the fire. The room was icy cold, and you could hear the wind whistling through the old windows.
I picked up several logs and tossed in some of the garden debris that Rhett had been using as kindling. I lit the long match and tossed it inside.
“She’s even skilled,” a voice said behind me.
I spun around so fast I nearly fell back against the hearth. Christine was standing in the room in a thick ski sweater and skin-tight pants. Her nose crinkled. “How rustic of you.”
“I was invited, but why are you here?” I worked hard not to show any sign of nerves, but the woman gave me the creeps big time.
Her laugh sent a shiver down my spine. “I’m sorry, Ellen.”
“Ella.”
“Right.” She released a condescending sigh. “Well, Ella, I won. Rhett has made his decision. He called me a few hours ago and begged me to come back in his life.” A simpering smile followed. I wanted to smack it off her face. “You didn’t actually think that a man like Rhett Lockwood would have anything to do with someone like you?”
“You’re lying. He hates you.” It was the best I could do. Everything about the moment had me unnerved.
She shrugged. “You can ask him yourself. He’s out in the carriage house.”
“No, he’s not. His truck isn’t in the driveway.”
She walked around the couch and sat down. “Nice fire. Well done, pioneer girl. His truck wouldn’t start. He rolled it into the carriage house to look under the hood.”
I was now looking at the back of her head. I rolled a fist and badly wanted to smack her from behind. I marched out. It seemed I’d been duped badly. Tears rolled down my cheeks. If all this was true, then boy, did I have some sharp words for Rhett Lockwood.
I swept from the house, a woman on a mission and a woman determined never to fall for a man again. The small door on the side of the carriage house was slightly ajar, and there was a flickering light inside. My heart sank. Just like Christine said. Rhett was inside.
I pulled the door open and stomped into the building. A breeze came in with me extinguishing the candle that had been standing inside. Darkness closed in around me. It was a big space, and there were shadows I didn’t recognize, but none of them resembled a truck … or a man.
“Rhett?” my voice got lost in the cold darkness. “Are you here?” The door snapped shut behind me. The sound of a latch swinging shut followed. I raced to the door and pushed on it. It didn’t budge.
“Oops, guess you’re even stupider than you look,” Christine sneered through the crack on the door.
I pounded on the door. “And you are even crazier than I thought.” I reached frantically for my phone, and my heart nearly pitched out of my chest. The phone was in my coat pocket.
My eyes started to adjust to the darkness. I walked in a few small circles to calm myself and avoid a full-on panic attack. “Rhett will be home soon,” I told myself. I just had to keep warm, and when I saw his truck headlights, I’d start screaming. I walked more circles and rubbed my arms for heat.
I was still scared to death, knowing that a madwoman was out there waiting for an unsuspecting Rhett to pull up to the house. What did she have in store for him? She was truly a whack job. I’d managed to talk myself off the ledge, and the panic attack had taken a back seat to the gears spinning in my mind about how this whole thing would end. There were too many wild scenarios, but there was one ending that hadn’t crossed my mind until I started smelling smoke. I knew she was nuts, but it seemed she was also a murderer.
Smoke began to seep through the thin cracks in the carriage house walls. They were the same cracks that just seconds ago had ushered icy air into the building. Now they were carrying in smoke. The first flames poked through, and I raced to the big sliding doors. I pulled on the handle, but they were locked. The carriage house was basically a gabled building of parched, weathered wood. It wouldn’t take long to burn to the ground—with me in it.
I raced to the small door and yanked on the handle. “All right, you’re right. You win. Let me out, and I’ll walk away for good! You can’t do this. It’s murder.” Smoke was no longer seeping in—it was pouring into the cavernous building. The beams of the sharply pitched ceiling were already invisible behind the thick haze. A first cough was followed by two more. Flames had started reaching their long fingers through the cracks. The tips of the flames lapped at some of the crossbeams and then the worst happened. One of the beams caught fire. The flames trotted across to a ledge that used to be the hayloft. The building lit up like daylight as leftover straw burst into flames. I raced to the sliding doors and pushed my mouth close to the thickest crack to breathe fresh air.
After a few good breaths, I used the light of the fire to look around the carriage house for something, anything that I might use to protect myself or as a battering ram to push through the door. Part of a stout beam, one that had fallen from the ceiling above, leaned against the wall. I grabbed it. I doubled over in a coughing fit and tried to catch my breath. Then I hurried to the middle of the room, dragging the beam. The heat from the fire made my skin and eyes burn. I wrapped my arms securely around the beam and held it tightly as I ran straight toward the door with the beam. I hit the door and bounced backward, landing on my back. The wind swept out of me, and as I tried to recover from it, I sucked in bitter smoke. I turned on my side and collapsed into a coughing fit.
“Rhett, where are you?” I couldn’t hear myself over the loud crackling fire.