and brown, a sight that under other circumstances she’d love to take in and admire.
But a sense of urgency beckoned. One she hadn’t felt earlier. When she’d walked into Norman’s to ask about Samson, anxiety had filled her, but now fear accompanied the nervous energy that had propelled her so far. And it wasn’t fear for herself or fear of the man who was her father. Rather, she was experiencing a more amorphous dread that bordered on panic, one she couldn’t define but encompassed her anyway.
Without warning, the trees dissipated and an open field stretched in front of her. Sitting dead center, all alone on the empty land, was a pathetic-looking, dilapidated house. The closer she got, the more evident the disrepair. The roof was old and missing shingles, while the paint on the outside had cracked and peeled.
She’d never considered where or how Samson lived. And as she pulled the car to a stop in front of the house, an overwhelming sense of sadness filled her for what looked like a lonely, pathetic existence.
She walked up the graveled driveway. If blacktop had ever covered the long stretch, no remnants remained now. Halfway to the house, she was startled by a yipping sound. She glanced aroundas a small dog that resembled a pug came running toward her on short, chubby legs. Jumping up and down on his hind legs, he shamelessly begged for a pat on the head.
Sloane leaned down and ran a hand over his short fur. Grubby-looking, he needed a bath as much as he apparently needed attention, and despite her better judgment, she picked him up.
He was heavier than she’d anticipated. “You’re a hefty one,” she told him, and carried him to the house. She couldn’t deny having her arms full gave her a more secure, comfortable feeling and she clutched the dog’s warm body tighter against her chest.
At the front door, she paused, nerves overtaking her. Before she could back out and run to the car, she rang the bell. She wasn’t surprised when no sound came out, and after trying once more, she started to bang loudly on the door. To her shock, the door pushed wide open. The dog squirmed and jumped out of her arms, running inside.
“Hello?” she called out, uncomfortable just walking in. But no one answered and so she cautiously stepped over the threshold. The jitters in her stomach were now uncontrollable, but so was her determination to find Samson, as she walked into a dark hallway.
The smell of rotten eggs hit her immediately. Though she lived in an apartment, she’d grown up in a house and Sloane knew a gas leak when she smelled one. The odor that assaulted her senses couldn’t be anything else.
Wisdom dictated she get out and have someone call the gas and electric company, but what if Samson was inside? She called out once more. “Hello? Samson?”
No response.
She glanced around, but from the darkened rooms and obvious smell, the house had to be empty. Anyone home would have gotten out by now, though why they’d leave their pet was beyond her. And said pet had decided to act like a tough guy, running to the top of the basement stairs and yapping like crazy.
“Come on, pooch.” She patted her thighs, calling him with enthusiasm.
He wasn’t impressed.
And she wasn’t leaving without him.
She walked slowly toward him. The closer she came, the more distinct the gas odor became. Get out . The mantra started to run through her head. She intended to heed it, but she had to get the dog first.
“Come on, Mr. Dog, let’s go.” She knelt down, and though his yapping didn’t subside, he did run to her on his stubby legs.
Get out . The thought repeated itself as Sloane grabbed the still-barking dog and started for the exit. She made it outside, as far as the front lawn, when a loud explosion sounded, knocking her to the ground.
Chase figured he’d missed Sloane’s visit to Norman’s by a matter of minutes. Izzy couldn’t stop raving about the new redhead in town, one gorgeous enough to stop
But a sense of urgency beckoned. One she hadn’t felt earlier. When she’d walked into Norman’s to ask about Samson, anxiety had filled her, but now fear accompanied the nervous energy that had propelled her so far. And it wasn’t fear for herself or fear of the man who was her father. Rather, she was experiencing a more amorphous dread that bordered on panic, one she couldn’t define but encompassed her anyway.
Without warning, the trees dissipated and an open field stretched in front of her. Sitting dead center, all alone on the empty land, was a pathetic-looking, dilapidated house. The closer she got, the more evident the disrepair. The roof was old and missing shingles, while the paint on the outside had cracked and peeled.
She’d never considered where or how Samson lived. And as she pulled the car to a stop in front of the house, an overwhelming sense of sadness filled her for what looked like a lonely, pathetic existence.
She walked up the graveled driveway. If blacktop had ever covered the long stretch, no remnants remained now. Halfway to the house, she was startled by a yipping sound. She glanced aroundas a small dog that resembled a pug came running toward her on short, chubby legs. Jumping up and down on his hind legs, he shamelessly begged for a pat on the head.
Sloane leaned down and ran a hand over his short fur. Grubby-looking, he needed a bath as much as he apparently needed attention, and despite her better judgment, she picked him up.
He was heavier than she’d anticipated. “You’re a hefty one,” she told him, and carried him to the house. She couldn’t deny having her arms full gave her a more secure, comfortable feeling and she clutched the dog’s warm body tighter against her chest.
At the front door, she paused, nerves overtaking her. Before she could back out and run to the car, she rang the bell. She wasn’t surprised when no sound came out, and after trying once more, she started to bang loudly on the door. To her shock, the door pushed wide open. The dog squirmed and jumped out of her arms, running inside.
“Hello?” she called out, uncomfortable just walking in. But no one answered and so she cautiously stepped over the threshold. The jitters in her stomach were now uncontrollable, but so was her determination to find Samson, as she walked into a dark hallway.
The smell of rotten eggs hit her immediately. Though she lived in an apartment, she’d grown up in a house and Sloane knew a gas leak when she smelled one. The odor that assaulted her senses couldn’t be anything else.
Wisdom dictated she get out and have someone call the gas and electric company, but what if Samson was inside? She called out once more. “Hello? Samson?”
No response.
She glanced around, but from the darkened rooms and obvious smell, the house had to be empty. Anyone home would have gotten out by now, though why they’d leave their pet was beyond her. And said pet had decided to act like a tough guy, running to the top of the basement stairs and yapping like crazy.
“Come on, pooch.” She patted her thighs, calling him with enthusiasm.
He wasn’t impressed.
And she wasn’t leaving without him.
She walked slowly toward him. The closer she came, the more distinct the gas odor became. Get out . The mantra started to run through her head. She intended to heed it, but she had to get the dog first.
“Come on, Mr. Dog, let’s go.” She knelt down, and though his yapping didn’t subside, he did run to her on his stubby legs.
Get out . The thought repeated itself as Sloane grabbed the still-barking dog and started for the exit. She made it outside, as far as the front lawn, when a loud explosion sounded, knocking her to the ground.
Chase figured he’d missed Sloane’s visit to Norman’s by a matter of minutes. Izzy couldn’t stop raving about the new redhead in town, one gorgeous enough to stop
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