was when she’d screamed. Nobody else was supposed to be inside this house—nobody but her. But when she looked again, she saw nothing. Had she imagined it? Had it been a person or an animal?
She couldn’t be sure. All she’d seen was darkness but for the glint of those eyes. She shuddered as her heart continued to race. But she heard nothing now—no movement at all. Her screaming had probably scared away whatever it had been.
Torn between running for her car and going down to investigate, she hesitated at the top of the stairs. In the horror movies, the one who investigated always got killed. But then, so did the one who ran for her car. She drew in a deep breath, but it did nothing to calm her. Reaching inside her purse and pulling out her can of pepper spray made her feel a little better.
If Edith Beaulieu was going out, it was only going to happen after one hell of a fight.
She gripped the can tightly in one hand while she held up her cell phone with the other. The light illuminated the steps before her but could not penetrate the rest of the darkness of the basement. Her legs trembled slightly as she began the descent. Despite the heat of the July night, it was cold down there. The damp air instantly chilled her. Goose bumps rose along her usually smooth, dark skin. She had Mama to thank for her complexion; fortunately, that was all Edith had inherited from Merrilee MacKenzie Beaulieu.
Not the illness...
Unless she’d only imagined those eyes in the dark and had screamed for no reason. She shivered again, and it had nothing to do with the cold. As she reached the last step, she shone her light around the darkness, but it glinted off nothing now but boxes and crates and stacks of chairs and other furniture. She moved around the clutter toward a door off the hallway. As she pushed it open, the hinges screeched in protest. And above her the house creaked.
Since she’d unlocked the front door and stepped inside, she’d had a creepy sensation that she was not alone. First those eyes and now the noise against the floorboards—that sounded suspiciously like footsteps—confirmed it. Someone else was inside the house. But how had he or she gotten from the basement to the upstairs without passing her on the steps?
Unless there was another stairwell somewhere...
She’d heard the house had secret rooms. What about secret passageways?
She shivered again. But she wasn’t really cold—not with how quickly her blood was pumping through her veins. She was scared. Her hands trembled so much that she nearly dropped the pepper spray canister and the cell phone, making the light bounce around the room. It glanced off the furnace, a couple of water heaters and a metal box on the wall. She’d found the utility room.
She hurried over to the electrical panel and opened the door. Then she fumbled with the breakers, pushing them the opposite direction of where they’d been. They must have been off because a light from the dirty bulb swinging from the rafters in the ceiling came on.
She expelled a slight breath of relief. At least she had light now. But then her relief fled as she heard more creaks—of the basement door and then on each step leading down. She fumbled with her phone, shutting off the light. Then she reached for the chain hanging from that swinging bulb. She needed darkness so she could hide. But then she remembered she was the one with the right to be there. And she let the chain slip through her fingers while she tightened her grasp on the canister of pepper spray.
Whoever else was here was trespassing, which probably meant he was up to no good. Squatting? Stealing? Or using the abandoned house for other nefarious activities?
She wished now she had a gun. But the pepper spray would have to suffice. She clutched it tightly—pointing it out in front of herself. And she waited.
Within seconds the utility room door groaned as it was opened the rest of the way. A dark shadow filled the doorway. He was too far away for her to spray and hit him. So she lifted her cell phone light toward his face. The brim of a hat pulled low shadowed it, but still she saw the scars and the patch.
And she screamed again.
* * *
The pounding of hooves against the ground sent a cloud of dust rising up into the night sky and a chill of unease racing down Mac’s spine. He had returned only minutes ago from a date with Evelyn. She made him feel like a teenager instead of fifty-six. But the smile she always put on his face had slipped away when he’d found his house dark. No lights shone in the apartment above the stables, either.
Where was River? His truck was parked near the stables. But he realized why when the horse came into view, froth trailing from his mouth down his mane. The stallion looked mad. Or terrified, its eyes wild as it reared up on his back legs and stabbed at the air with his front hooves.
What had that damn stallion done? Had it thrown off River somewhere in the darkness? That unpredictable horse. Mac wouldn’t have had him but for Jade. She wanted to help the horse, but she couldn’t have him at Hill Country Farms. He wasn’t safe for kids to be around, and she had too many young visitors to her place. She worked with him here when she had the time. But she was busy rescuing other former racehorses.
And Jade was scared. Half the time her eyes looked as wild as the stallion’s. Maybe that was why she was so determined to help him.
But what if he’d hurt River?
The ex-Marine was still healing from whatever tragedy had happened on his last deployment. He refused to talk about it. Mac could understand River not wanting to answer the reporters’ intrusive questions about his scars, about his missing eye... But he hadn’t told his family anything, either.
Ever since he’d come back to Shadow Creek, he had seemed so lost.
“River?” Mac called out. Was he lost now? Where was he?
Careful to avoid the hooves, Mac grabbed the reins of the rearing stallion and tugged until the horse dropped to all fours again. With his other hand, he patted the horse’s sweaty neck. “Settle down,” he murmured soothingly. “Shh...”
He whinnied and tossed his head, pulling on the reins Mac tightly clasped. But eventually he calmed enough that Mac could lead him to the barn. He pulled open the door and led Shadow to his stall. There were other horses in the barn—ones River could have, should have, saddled up for his night ride.
Why had he taken the damn temperamental stallion? What had he been thinking?
Mac unfastened the saddle from the stallion and carried it to the tack room. He didn’t trust Shadow—either to be ridden or to lead him back to where he’d lost River. Where the hell was that? From the amount of sweat that had saturated Shadow’s coat, Mac could tell he had been running for a while. So Mac doubted River was anywhere on the ranch. He was farther away than that. But not so far that he would have needed to take the truck instead of a horse. Because of its proximity, the logical place was La Bonne Vie.
But why would River have wanted to return to a place he hadn’t been able to wait to leave ten years ago? What was his sudden interest in La Bonne Vie? And what had happened to him there that the horse had returned without him?
He should have ducked and run away. But River wasn’t the coward he’d once been. Apparently he wasn’t that smart, either. The last thing he needed was a shot of pepper spray in his good eye. But instead of running away, he rushed forward and clasped the screaming woman’s wrist. Careful not to hurt her, he raised her arm, so if she sprayed, it wouldn’t hit him directly in the face.
She struggled against him, bringing her body flush against his. While she was slender, her breasts were full and lush against his chest. And she smelled so damn good...
Like sunshine and some flower he couldn’t quite place.
“Let me go!” she demanded, her voice sharp despite its thick Southern drawl. She didn’t sound like she was from Texas. She didn’t smell like it, either.
“Let