Chapter 13 #2
The scent grew stronger and she thought she could smell the first wisp of smoke. She had to find the door. A thin crack of light outlined the opening and she breathed a sigh of relief at the sight. With trembling hands, she felt for the handle, twisting it to open the door.
Nothing happened.
She pushed against it. Again, nothing
Something blocked the door from the outside.
A sob welled in her throat and she whispered the word, 'no.' She could smell the smoke more clearly now. She sucked in a breath, determined to open the door. She wasn't going down without a fight.
She slammed into the door with her whole body. The building shook, but the door refused to budge. She stood back, catching her breath, trying to think what to do.
Suddenly, the door flew open, the sunlight blinding her even more than the dark had. Hard arms encircled her and she tensed not sure what to expect, her mind too numb to react.
"Are you all right?"
The voice washed over her and her heart sang out with relief. Patrick. Patrick was here.
"Yes, I was…trapped…fire…Amos…Oh, God." Her words tumbled out without rhyme or reason. She buried her face against his chest, unable to think coherently.
He stroked her hair and back awkwardly, waiting patiently until she found the strength to pull herself together. "I'm all right. Really."
Still clinging to his hand, she allowed him to pull her outside. She gulped the fresh spring air, grateful for the cool feel of it in her lungs.
"What happened?"
"I don't know for sure. I went to the shed to get Jack some breakfast." As if to emphasize the point the horse whinnied from the lean-to. "I was filling the bucket when the door slammed." She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to quell the panic threatening to surface again.
"It's all right, Loralee. You're safe now."
"What about the fire?" She whispered the question into his chest, not really certain she wanted an answer.
"What fire?"
His response wasn't what she'd expected, his face a contrast between concern and confusion. "I smelled kerosene and then smoke."
"There wasn't any fire, Loralee."
Now she was confused. "Yes, there was. I'm certain of it. And someone locked me in."
His brows drew together. "No, the door was stuck a little, but it definitely wasn't locked."
She stamped her foot in frustration, her fear turning to anger. "You listen to me, Patrick Macpherson, I know when a door is locked and when it isn't. And I can smell as good as the next person."
Patrick searched her face, and then, finding whatever it was he was looking for, smiled crookedly. "I believe you."
Her heart did a little flip-flop and her anger evaporated.
Patrick let her go and walked to the side of the shed, his eyes scanning the knee high grass butting up to the walls.
"What are you looking for?"
"Your fire. If you smelled it, there's got to be some sign of it."
She nodded and followed him as he walked around the little building, staring at the ground. Coming around the corner, he stopped suddenly and she crashed into his back.
"Sorry." He shot her a sheepish grin, then sobered as he knelt for a closer look at something.
"What is it?" She peered over his shoulder. He was staring at the grass.
"The weeds are crushed here. See?" He gestured to a wilted looking clump.
Bending closer, she could see that the stalks were indeed broken. "But I don't' see?—"
"Did you walk around here earlier?"
She shook her head, still confused.
"Well somebody did." He gestured along the wall and sure enough she could make out several other places where the grass had been pressed flat. Footsteps. A shiver traced its way up her spine.
Patrick had moved ahead and was standing at the far corner of the shed. She hurried to his side.
"Take a deep breath."
She wrinkled her nose and eyed the converted outhouse. "I'd rather not. I've already had a nose full, believe?—"
"Breathe." He cut her off, leaving her nothing to do but obey.
"Kerosene." She smiled triumphantly. "I told you so." She paused, her momentary elation fading. "What happened to the fire?"
"Someone put it out. Look." He pushed aside the tall grass.
Loralee leaned over, her heart beating faster.
There was a two foot expanse of bare earth.
Charred bits of kindling and grass littered the ground.
Several black stripes ran up the wall, fading into the weather-washed boards.
Loralee knelt and placed a trembling hand on the ground, her gaze locking with Patrick's.
He nodded, his expression grim. "It's warm."
Loralee felt a wave of nausea and swallowed, trying to maintain control, the reality of the situation hitting her like a miner's blast.
Patrick released the grass, and the evidence disappeared, only the faint scent of kerosene lending credence to her tale.
She swallowed again, and stood up, her whole body trembling. "I could have?—"
Patrick reached for her hand. "Hush. You're safe now. I won't let anything happen to you, I promise."
Loralee sighed. The words sounded good. But they were just words. Her fingers automatically circled her locket. She had firsthand experience with promises, and she knew that despite the best intentions they meant absolutely nothing.
"Come on, we're getting out of here." Patrick tightened his grip on her hand, propelling her toward the lean-to.
"But Ginny will worry."
"Ginny will be fine. We can get word to her."
"But—"
He stopped, turning her to face him. "I'm not taking any more chances with your life, Loralee.
" His gaze locked on hers and she shivered at the look in his eyes—something deep inside her flickering to life, wanting to respond.
But before she had time to sort through her jumbled emotions, he moved again, pulling her along behind him.
"You ride Jack." Hearing his name, the horse raised his ears and snorted.
Patrick grabbed the saddle and threw it on the sorrel. Still bemused, Loralee tried to focus on what was happening. "Where are you taking me?"
He tightened the cinch, looping the girth into place. "Clune. You'll be safe there."
"But, Patrick…" He swung her up onto the horse, and then met her gaze, one eyebrow quirked inquiringly. "I don't want to get you involved in all of this." Her tone sounded mutinous even to her own ears.
"It seems to me you've got it backwards.
It's my family that's gotten you involved.
My father's ramblings seem to be the key to this whole thing, and until we figure out why, I want you somewhere safe.
" He adjusted the stirrup with a jerk, his black brows drawn into a fierce frown. Not a man to quibble with.
"Fine. Clune it is." She forced her voice to sound light, but she shivered as the vision of Corabeth's lifeless body filled her mind. Would she be next?