She was nude.She felt vulnerable.She could barely breathe.Hardly think.
Where had she put her robe?Her cell phone?Where were her truck keys?She kept the key to her gun box on her keychain.Where was the key to her rifle case?
Okay, okay.Where was her purse?
Shit!Shit!What if someone was outside?Or had come inside?
She’d heard the vehicle take off, but someone could have been left behind.
Her teeth wouldn’t stop chattering.Sickness roiled in her tummy.
Oh God, now was not the time for a puking festival.
Breathe!Breathe!Slow down.Calm it down!
Man, it was so hot and stuffy in this house.And too damned noisy as the wind zipped through the smashed window, making the curtains flutter like a ghost.
Her racing heart pounded in her ears as she listened for footsteps inside the house.She stood there for so long, she wondered if hours had passed.But she heard nothing except that damned wind.
She needed to call for help.Just in case someone was around.
Shoot!Who was she going to call?911?The nearest town was an hour drive.Her nearest neighbor, Sam, was away.
Any other neighbors were at least half an hour away.
She would call a cop friend of hers.He’d get someone here sooner.She’d use her landline phone in her kitchen, then she’d search for her purse.It was nights like these that she was glad she’d had the foresight to close all the curtains before turning in for bed, but she wished she’d remembered to keep her purse close by.
She’d let her guard down since being back.Just because she’d taken a leave of absence didn’t mean she wasn’t a target.She’d stepped on many toes over the years as the acting director of Cowboys Online and she’d made enemies.
Early releases for prisoners convicted of murder and other severe sentences didn’t sit well with many of the families of the victims.The pain of loss and their desire for justice meant that news of these prisoners walking free, even though conditional, reopened old wounds, stirring up resentment and anger.
Her actions as the owner of the early release program, also provoked powerful figures in the justice system.The most recent was a judge who she’d found incriminating information about.Using that knowledge she’d pressured him, well blackmailed for lack of a better word, into signing off on paperwork that prevented a woman ex-convict from returning to prison allowing her to stay on the working ranch she’d been placed.
These decisions, though they were made with intention and purpose, placed Jenna squarely in the crosshairs of some who disagreed with the method of giving hope and a second chance to prisoners that had little to no risk of reoffending.The fallout from her choices lingered, and tonight, it seemed, the consequences of her actions had followed her home.
Her mouth was so dry, and despite the heat, her teeth chattered uncontrollably from the shock of what had just happened.
She remained paralyzed, the tension in her body making it hard to move.At last, summoning every ounce of courage, she forced herself to take a step forward.
Quietly, she made her way down the dark hallway and into the bathroom where she remembered leaving her bathrobe.She took her garment from the hook on the door and hurriedly put it on.Then she tiptoed into the kitchen and using the lightreflecting from the microwave clock, she swooped up the phone receiver and thanked God there was a dial tone.
She had her friend’s number on the speed dial, and she was so grateful when Ben sleepily picked up on the second ring.When she told him what had happened his voice sounded instantly alert, and he told her to remain inside, and that he’d have a chopper here within fifteen minutes.
She thanked him and reluctantly hung up, so he could call whomever he was going to call.She was all for staying inside, truly she was, when she suddenly spied her purse tucked away in the corner on the kitchen countertop, exactly where she’d left it several days ago after a trip into town for groceries.
Whispers of courage breathed through her, and she cautiously moved to her purse, withdrew her cell phone and the keychain that held the keys to her handgun and rifle cases.Her fear, however intensified as she crept back into her bedroom, fully expecting to see a face illuminated in the smashed window.
The ghost-like fluttering of her curtains almost freaked her out but then she carefully navigated across the room, using the light from her cellphone to illuminate the path before her.She was determined to avoid the shards of glass scattered on the floor, and with deliberate steps, she managed to reach her closet without cutting her bare feet.
In the closet she found her handgun case, jammed in the key, and palmed her loaded gun.Making sure the safety catch was off, she quietly and cautiously moved through her dark house, toward the back door.
Now that she was armed, that son of a bitch intruder or intruders better think twice about coming into her home.That is, if they were still out there.
Keeping her shaking gun glued to the back door, she fully expected the door to crash inward as she moved toward it.
Nothing happened.
Near the door, she bent over and slipped on her running shoes.Once her shoes were on, she blew out a tense breath, unclicked the door lock and slowly cracked open the door.
