* * *
TIME LOSTall meaning as Colette huddled on the steps. Every few minutes she tried once again to open the door, but to no avail. Panic became her biggest enemy, along with the claustrophobia that threatened to suffocate her.
This must be what it’s like to be buried alive, she thought, the scent of damp earth sickening her. The darkness frightened her, the noise of the rain on the door threatened to drive her insane.
Despite the fact she knew it was futile, from time to time she yelled for help, until her throat hurt and her ribs ached.
She steadfastly refused to consider the possibility she might never be found, knew that to dwell on that thought would truly send her into the depths of insanity.
Somebody had to find her. Brook needed her. Colette wanted to raise her daughter, find her missing past. Her life was too incomplete for it to end now, in the bottom of a root cellar.
A sob tore through her at the thought of her daughter. A child without a father. Would she also be a child without a mother?
This thought spurred her to stand and bang on thedoor once again, tears racing down her face. She screamed for help, refusing to give up as long as her voice held out, as long as any strength remained in her body.
She paused. Had she heard something? She stood still, trying to hear beyond her own ragged breathing, beneath the pounding of the rain.
“Colette?” The voice was barely discernible.
“Yes, yes, I’m here,” she yelled, once again using her fists frantically against the door.
She stopped as a new noise resounded, the sound of something being dragged across the tin door. It stopped, then resumed again. There was another moment of silence, then the door creaked open.
Lightning flashed, momentarily blinding her. As her vision cleared, she saw Hank leaning down, a hand extended to help her out.
In a split second a flash of fear raced through Colette. This was the second time she’d found herself in a life-and-death situation and Hank had been the one to find her. Coincidence?
“Colette…come on, let’s get you home.”
She swallowed her fear, refusing to examine it at the moment. She just wanted to get out of the cellar and back to the ranch. Reaching up, she took hold of his hand and allowed him to pull her out of the dank, dark tomb.
The sky was gray and dreary, but a welcome sight to her. She breathed in deeply of the rain-fresh air, wanting to rid herself of the smell of damp earth and death.
Hank immediately took her by the shoulders and eyed her. His eyes narrowed and a muscle ticked inhis jaw. “We’d better get you back to the house, then I want to hear what happened.” He pulled the rain slicker off and held it out to her.
She pulled it on, although she was already soaked to the skin and chilling. With a practiced ease, he mounted the horse, then held out a hand to her.
Colette’s ribs screamed in pain as she allowed him to help her up behind him. “You have to go slow,” she said through clenched teeth. “I think I have some broken ribs.”
As the horse started to walk, she leaned into Hank’s back, fighting against waves of unconsciousness. Now that she was safe, the horror of what had happened chilled her through and through.
Who would want to harm her? Who on earth would want to see her dead? Was it possible it was the man whose body heat now warmed her? Both times something had happened, Hank had been there.
“What happened?” he asked.
“I was looking down into the root cellar and somebody came up behind me and hit me in the back of the head. I woke up in the cellar. How did you find me?” she asked, grateful that the rain had let up to a fine mist.
“Earlier I saw you take off walking. When Abby told us to see if we could find you, that’s where I started.”
“But how did you know to look in the root cellar?”
“At first I didn’t.”
She had to lean forward to hear his words before they were snatched by the wind and carried out of her hearing range. “I went around the Walker place, butdidn’t see anything to indicate you’d been there. Then I noticed the old root cellar. I wouldn’t have thought twice about it except there were three large rocks sitting on top of the door…rocks that didn’t belong there.”
So that’s why she hadn’t been able to open the door. Again a chill worked up her spine and convulsively her arms tightened around Hank. Somebody had intentionally placed those rocks on top of the door to keep her locked inside. An additional death warrant if the blow to the back of the head hadn’t killed her.
“Colette, we need to talk,” Hank said. But before he could continue, Abby appeared on horseback, riding hell-bent for leather toward them.
