CHAPTER SEVEN
Darkness. So deep. So profound. It surrounded her when she awakened. She lay sprawled, her entire body screaming in outrage. She closed her eyes and inhaled, wishing back her unconsciousness, seeking the oblivion that had shielded her from the pain. She wanted to fall into the black void, yearned to be embraced by its nothingness. No such luck.
She’d expected green grass beneath her, the gray sky overhead, but instead she found solid earth and darkness.Where am I?She tried to clear her thoughts. She remembered. The blow to the head. The root cellar. She was in the root cellar.
Tentatively she moved, stretching arms and legs, checking to make sure there were no broken bones. She sat, wincing with each breath, certain that her ribs were either broken or severely bruised. A headache pounded and, reaching up, she touched a goose egg on the back of her head.
She pulled her knees to her chest and hugged them close, needing a moment before attempting to find her way back up the stairs.
Somebody had intentionally tried to hurt her.Somebody had snuck up behind her and hit her in the back of the head, then shoved her down the stairs. She shivered as she remembered her fall from the butte. That time she hadn’t been certain whether she’d slipped or been pushed. This time she was. Somebody had tried to kill her.
Why? Why would somebody try to shove her off the butte? Why would somebody try to bash in her brains? Why would somebody want to kill her? She fought a wave of nausea. Why? Why? The question made her head pound.
She couldn’t think about it now. She had to get out of here. She kneeled, disoriented by her fall, unsure if she faced the stairs or away from them. Reaching her hands in front of her, she encountered nothing but space.
The sound of her breathing surrounded her. It bounced off the walls and let her know the area she was in was small. Moving her arms over her head, she stood. At least the ceiling was tall enough to let her stand. She moved straight ahead, like a blind man without a cane, unfamiliar with the surroundings.
She stopped as her fingertips encountered an earthen wall. Turning in another direction, she moved forward once again, tactilely exploring, seeking the way out.
A loud boom resounded overhead, causing her to jump and gasp in fear. Following the boom came the sound of rain on tin. She must have been unconscious for some time if the storm had moved in.
With the noise of the rain to guide her, Colette found the edge of the stairs that led up to the door. She climbed seven stairs before her head touched theslanting door. Reaching her arms up, she pushed against it. It didn’t budge.
She paused a moment to catch her breath. The sound of the rain was deafening and she fought against a suffocating claustrophobia.
She tried to open the door once again, putting her shoulder into it and pushing with all her might. Nothing. Not a single inch of give.
“Help,” she screamed, then realized how futile it was. Nobody knew she was here and the pounding rain would drown out what little noise she could make.
For the first time since regaining consciousness, she fought against panic. Nobody knew where she was. Her ribs shot pain with each breath and she probably needed some kind of medical attention.
She sank down onto one of the steps, the rain echoing in maddening furor. Pressing her hands over her ears to mute the loud noise, she tried to think, but one single thought held court in her head.
Somebody had tried to kill her. And if she wasn’t found, they would succeed. She would die in here.
* * *
HANK RODElike the wind, the rain slicker little protection against the driving rain. His heart pounded as loud as the thunder overhead and the horse’s eyes rolled in terror as lightning slashed the sky.
He had to find her. When several hours had passed and she hadn’t returned from her walk, Abby had raised an alarm, asking the ranch hands to stop what they were doing and try to find her.
Hank had immediately saddled up and ridden out. He’d been working in the corral when she’d left thehouse and he’d watched her walk toward the distorted tree. Rusty had asked him to saddle up a couple of horses and when he’d returned from the stable, she’d been gone.
He headed toward the grotesque-looking tree, cursing the storm and his own stupidity. When he’d seen her out walking alone, he should have followed her. He should have never let her out of his sight.
Dammit. He tightened his grip on the reins, the horse protesting the heavy hand with a toss of his head.
Perhaps she’d had another snap of memory, had wandered off and couldn’t remember how to get back to the ranch house. Maybe she’d slipped in a pasture rut and fallen, unable to walk home. So many maybes and perhapses.
He reached the tree, but found no sign of her. Pulling his hat down on his forehead to shield his face from the rain, he eyed the surrounding area, seeking a flash of her clothing, anything that would point him in the right direction.
To the right of the tree was nothing but flat plain and short-grass pasture. To the left, amid the waist-high prairie grass, he knew was the old Walker place. It was in this direction he headed, moving slowly, methodically, through the wild growth.
Where could she be? Surely she’d known the storm was coming and would have come back to the house if she were able. A chill stole through him, one that had nothing to do with the cold, penetrating rain.
He’d hoped she’d regain her memories here, at the ranch where she felt safe and secure. But time was running out and Hank was running out of options.When he found her he was going to have to face some difficult decisions about her future. He grimaced, not thinking of what might happen if he didn’t find her.
When he reached the old stone foundation of the Walker place, he stopped the horse and looked around. Nothing. No sign that she’d come this way. Where in the hell was she? Where in the hell could she be?
