like sentinels, guiding her path. Admittedly the way was narrow but as long as she stuck to the main aisle she knew she couldn’t go astray. Besides, the longer she stood there the better she could see. Sort of.
Sliding one hand along the top of the nearest chest of drawers, she extended her other arm in front of her and started into the labyrinth that was her stockroom. She always kept the floor clear, so she knew there would be no unseen obstacles. She’d have the lights on and everything squared away long before Nate got back with his unnecessary flashlight.
Suddenly, there was a skittering, scraping sound to her right. Chancy froze. “Nate? Is that you?”
No one answered. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end. She held her breath. Listened. The only thing she could hear was the rapid beating of her own heart as it echoed in her ears.
Logic told her she was alone. Instinct told her otherwise. Logic suggested the presence of mice. Instinct insisted on a prowler, instead.
Well, there was no sense just standing there, she reasoned. If she backed out the door, she could reenter with Nate. If she pressed forward, she could turn on the light and banish her groundless fears. Relying on him did not appeal to her one bit. Proving her mettle, especially to him, sounded a lot more appealing.
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