Lancelot of the Pines (Louisiana Knights Book 1) by Jennifer Blake

cleaned the kitchen by the simple expedient of tossing the empty boxes, plastic forks and picnic glasses into the trash. He gave Mandy first dibs on the shower, along with a reminder to conserve water since they only had what was in the tanks. When she was done, and wrapped in an old robe of Trey’s over another of his undershirts, Lance dug out the biggest flashlight he could find. He then walked Mandy and her sheets across to the empty, derelict house.
    “We should have looked around inside before it got dark,” he said as they mounted the rickety front steps.
    “It doesn’t matter. I’m sure it will be fine.”
    He wondered if she was that foolhardy, or only that reluctant to be alone with him. He also wanted to think her lack of fear suggested an innocent notion of personal safety, but couldn’t help a cynical suspicion that she thought he might be the greater danger.
    “Probably,” he answered, “but I’ll still take a look around before heading back to the RV.”
    “If you must.”
    That reply was tepid to say the least. She couldn’t wait to get rid of him.
    All right then.
    Lance went ahead of her to open the tall front door. It was stuck, and he used his shoulder to push inside. The big front hall and parlor that opened to one side were about as expected; musty and layered with ancient rags of spider webs, heavy with the smell of mold and something warm-blooded, probably feral cats. Lumpy shadows of furniture covered with old sheets and blankets sat here and there. The dust and dirt was so thick on the ancient wood floor it was like walking on gray velvet.
    The bedrooms were upstairs, as he remembered. He led the way, but stepped sidewise on the staircase so he could shine the flashlight’s beam on the treads for his companion. She followed close, but refused the hand he offered. Or maybe she didn’t see it; he couldn’t tell.
    He lighted the hallway, and waited to see which bedroom she might choose. She waved at the first door as if it didn’t matter. Nor did it, as they were all similar.
    The tall panel creaked, an extended squeal as eerie as any old horror movie, as he pushed it open. Amanda Caret stepped past him and looked around at the simple double bed, chest of drawers, and dressing table with a matching stool.
    “This will do,” she said with a lift of her chin, and reached to take the flashlight from his hand. “I’ll light your way back down the stairs.”
    Lance didn’t want to go.
    It was ridiculous, considering how anxious she was to be rid of him. He didn’t owe her a thing. It was only that anything could happen in the big, rambling old house, and he’d be too far away to do much good.
    No matter. He wasn’t big on staying where he wasn’t wanted.
    He wasn’t much for neglecting his duty, either.
    “Don’t bother,” he said as evenly as he was able. “I can find my way out.”

 

Chapter 5

    Lance had been right yet again, as much as it pained Mandy to admit it. The old house was full of weird noises and odd air currents. Something bumped with a random sound, possibly a loose shutter or unsecured door. The breeze in the tree outside the bedroom she’d chosen sounded restless and fitful, increasing as if trying to blow up some kind of storm.
    She lay rigid, staring into the darkness above her. She was hot, but couldn’t bring herself to get out of bed and open a window. It seemed something might be waiting under the bed to grab her ankle, or else come from one of the dark corners to lift her up and take her away.
    Stop it, she scolded herself. Just stop it.
    If she pretended to be brave, maybe the real thing would happen. It had worked when she was a kid, after all.
    She hadn’t always slept alone. When she and Clare were small, they huddled together in one bed like two puppies, trying to keep warm under a single ancient quilt. It was only later that she became paranoid.
    That was years ago and far behind her. It had nothing to do with getting through a night in this