Page 5 of Rescuing Sara

“Hello, in the house,” a woman’s voice called and then a slender, dark-haired woman entered the office while another woman waited in the doorway. Anne Hamilton’s gaze was only for Mac, and she went straight into his waiting arms to accept a long kiss. So long, Patrick cleared his throat and asked, “Don’t you think introductions are in order?”

“I’ll second that,” a voice called, and Patrick shifted his attention from the courting couple to the tall, slender woman in a dark blue coat and black cloche. She took it off, shook her head and for a moment, Patrick had to remind himself to breathe and not stare like a tame fool.

Dannielle Blake’s–for it had to be her–hair curling around her shoulders was a glorious palate of auburn and russet and copper hues, highlighting the freckles spreading over the bridge of her nose and upper cheeks. Her form-fitting coat showed a shapely figure and long legs, encased in boots. A guarded vulnerability hung about her upright posture while her tightly held mouth seemed to be waiting for someone go give her permission to smile.

But it was her eyes that kept Patrick speechless. Dark, rich brown fringed by long lashes, they appeared slightly swollen as if she’d been crying. Considering she’d lost one of her dearest friends yesterday, He could hardly blame her.

“Sorry,” Mac said, keeping his arm around his fiancée. “Patrick Dalton, that–” he pointed at the woman in the door–, “is Dannielle Blake, who everyone calls Danni. Danni, meet Lieutenant Patrick Dalton, US Army, retired and for the past few months, a member of Brotherhood Protectors. And no formality, you two. You’re going to be spending a lot of time together.”

“I can do that,” Patrick agreed, but still gave his assignment his most courtly bow, hoping it might relax those tightly held shoulders. “Nice to meet you, Danni.”

“You too,” she said, and the beginnings of a smile hovered around her mouth.

“Let’s get out of these coats and then we can talk about dinner, because I’m starving,” Anne announced. “Danni, you should be too, because you’ve hardly eaten all day.”

“I could eat,” Danni admitted. “But from the aromas coming from the kitchen, I’d say someone has already started on dinner. Who’s doing the cooking?”

“I am.” Her blond, blue-eyed bodyguard smiled. “What you smell is a dish called Country Captain Chicken, served with roast potatoes and carrots on the side as well as an ‘all green’ salad.”

“All green?” Danni repeated. “Sounds-interesting.”

He brushed a thumb against his neatly trimmed beard. “And it tastes good, too.”

“Are you good cook?”

Danton’s smile took some of the chill from her skin. “I am, but as they say, the proof of the pudding–”

“–is in the eating,” Danni finished. “Well, give me a moment to change clothing and we’ll be putting that boast to the test. ‘scuse me.”

She headed for her room, with Anne following. Once there, with the door safely closed, she turned to look at her friend and scowled. “You might have warned me Patrick Danton wasgorgeous,” she accused softly as she unbuttoned her coat, tossed it on the bed along with her hat and then sat on the bed to remove her boots.

“It will make all the time you’ll be spending together easier,” Anne teased. “And he’s not boasting about his cooking. It’s terrific. And he’s very good at what he does for BP, Danni. You couldn’t be safer than if Mac were watching you.”

“That’s good to know,” Danni said. “Because after what Officer Miller told us, I’m going to be looking over my shoulder with every step.”

She began to shake, and Anne came to wrap her arms around her. For a moment, the friends stood in silence, glad for each other’s presence.

“Patrick will be right there with you, every second,” Anne assured her. “Now, let’s go join the “brothers” before they start dinner without us.”

CHAPTER 3

Early Wednesday Morning

“You were rude to Mrs. Zenobia last night when you were helping her in the kitchen, Sara Turner,” the woman she knew as Mrs. Arthur scolded. “Being disrespectful to your elders is against the rules, so you must be punished.”

“She gave us deviled eggs for dinner,” Sara protested. “That’s nasty food. I hate deviled eggs and I told her so.”

“You are disobedient,” Mrs. Arthur intoned. “And have a haughty attitude as well. That’s also against the rules. You’ve been here long enough to know what they are.”

“I want to go home,” Sara whimpered, all her courage failing her. Pulling her legs up and pressing her back to the wall, she asked, “Why won’t you let me go home?”

“This is your home,” Mrs. Arthur reprimanded, wiping her hands on the apron she wore over her old-fashioned dress. “And your grandfather wants you to stay here.”

“He does not,” Sara sniffed, wiping at the tears sliding down her cheeks. Home was warm and clean and always smelled like Mrs. M’s cookies. It was kinda dark in here, with only a lamp mounted high on the wall near the door. It smelled bad in here too. Like when Trixie, her neighbor’s dog, tore the garbage bagsopen and got it all over the yard. That was a real stinky smell–old banana peels and dirty cat litter and spoiled egg salad.

But deviled eggs for dinner? Yuck.

No one had ever locked her in a room if she misbehaved either. Not even her grandfather when he was mad about something. He always seemed mad about something, so Sara made sure she never cried if he were around. He didn’t even seem to like having her live in his house.Hishouse, not theirs.

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