Page 65 of The Texan's Secrets

“Not a problem.”

“I’ll set you up with a flashlight and a high-vis vest.”

Although the blackout was an inconvenience to Rafe’s customers and everyone else in Royal, Nico would take the temporary distraction from Emilia. He didn’t like any of the options reality offered for their relationship, but time was forcing him to settle on something.

Candlelight flickering in the dark room behind her, Emilia watched the lightning storm from her window. She’d turned an armchair to give herself a better view and poured a glass of chardonnay before the fridge had a chance to warm up.

Paris was out with Chase, and Emilia would be shocked to see her before morning. Who wouldn’t want to snuggle up with a hot guy on a pitch-dark stormy night?

The image sent her thoughts to Nick and where he might be right now. She imagined him here with her and smiled around her sip of wine. Her bed might be compact, but they’d fit fairly comfortably in it last time, their limbs tangled together under her thick comforter.

She picked up her phone, tempted to call him and see if he’d join her. But she hesitated, her thumb hovering over his name.

How could she ask him to drive on the flooding roads? According to social media, conditions were deteriorating fast. The citizens of Royal were being advised to shelter in place for the next few hours.

She set down her phone and settled more deeply into the soft armchair as lightning bolts reflected off the wet street below and thunder rattled the windowpanes. The rain grew harder still, fat drops falling thick and fast, sheeting their way down the glass.

It was too early to go to sleep, so she decided on reading a book. Her corner bookcase was full of mysteries, adventures and biographies—most of which she hadn’t read in years.

She took the brightest candle to check out the shelves. She didn’t want anything frightening. Not that she was afraid of storms. But blackouts were a little bit unnerving, especially when the old house creaked and groaned around her.

A biography seemed best. She located the glossy hardcover bio of a famous comedienne and decided it was a good bet.

Book under her arm and candle in hand, she returned to the chair and spread a knitted afghan across her legs. As she opened the first pages, the house rumbled again. Then it creaked louder, odd-sounding groans coming from the lower floors.

She told herself to chill. She was in a loft in downtown Royal, not in a horror movie. The aliens were not about to emerge from pods in Paris’s bedroom. Emilia focused on the birth and bucolic early childhood of the comedienne.

A sudden loud metallic bang had her sitting up straight, her skin going cold then hot.

There was no way that was the house settling.

She sat frozen, waiting, listening intently.

Something clunked. It clunked again, then again, continuing rhythmically.

She forced herself to her feet, turning on her phone flashlight and walking shakily to the top of the stairs.

The rhythmic clunking continued.

“Paris?” she tried, but her voice came out low and raspy. “Paris?” she tried louder.

She hovered at the top of the stairs for a full five minutes before she convinced herself to go investigate. She’d seen enough horror movies to know it was a bad idea for the young woman to check out the strange noise all alone, but she didn’t have any better ideas. She couldn’t just stand here all night and be afraid.

She took the stairs one at a time, pausing after each one to listen. The noise remained the same, neither speeding up nor slowing down, and there were no more sudden bangs.

She made it to the main floor and looked in the kitchen and living room. Lightning flashed and lit the room. Nothing looked out of place. The sound was behind her now, in the stairwell leading down to Paris’s room on the lower floor.

Emilia lit two more candles, setting them on the side table in the foyer so she’d have some light to come back to.

She took a deep breath and started down the stairs.

Halfway there, she spotted the problem. At first, she breathed a sigh of relief. But then she picked up her pace, realizing the seriousness of the problem. The wood floor of the landing was under six inches of water.

Shocked and worried, Emilia stepped gingerly into the cold water. It came up to her midcalf, soaking her socks and the bottom of her yoga pants. Gritting her teeth, she rounded a corner and shone her light around the room.

Water was gushing under the back door, filling the room at a frightening rate. A chair had been caught in the current and tipped over. It was banging back against a wooden table leg.

At least it wasn’t killer aliens.

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