Page 51 of The Promise
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?"
