TAKE A CHANCE (Chance Colorado Series)

by Mayhue, Melissa

  Logic told him he really didn’t need to go inside when he dropped Matt off. Even if Allie’s car had broken down, there was nothing he could do for her tonight. Her best option was to have Hugo tow it to the garage tomorrow.

  But it wasn’t logic that urged him to turn off the engine and follow Matt into the house.

  Susie Flynn sat in her recliner, eyes closed, bathed in the soft, flickering glow emanating from the television.

  “Hey, Mom,” Matt greeted, dropping a kiss on the top of her head. “Where’s Allie?”

  “Still over at the Hand, I guess. The twins stopped by on their way home to check on me and let me know that they left her going through Papa Flynn’s stuff up on the second floor.” Susie shifted in her seat, seeming to notice they had a guest. “Welcome, Logan. Make yourself comfortable. I think there’s pop in the fridge.”

  “Thanks, Susie.” Logan automatically reached to pull his cap off his head, remembering only at the last second he wasn’t wearing one tonight.

  “What’s she doing that for?” Matt asked.

  Susie fluttered a hand, her eyes fixed on the television screen. “The girls are trying to talk her into setting up a bookstore or some such thing. I guess she’s hunting through the old furniture Papa Flynn has stored up there. You don’t need to worry about her. The girls said she should be along shortly.”

  If Allie was considering her cousins’ offer seriously enough to wander around in that junkyard of her grandfather’s this late at night, surely that must mean she was planning to stay here in Chance. And planning to stay must mean there was no special attachment waiting in Texas, where he’d heard she’d been living.

  In spite of his expectations, his questions were getting answered after all.

  “How long ago was that, Mom? What time was it when the twins stopped by?”

  “How long?” Susie lifted a hand to her forehead and rubbed it over her eyes. “I’m not sure, Matty. I’m sorry. I might have drifted off to sleep after they left. But you don’t need to worry. Your sister has been taking care of herself for a long time. Besides, you need to remember that you’re back in Chance now, not in some big city.”

  “Yeah, that may be true, but it’s after midnight, Mom, and I am worried.” Matt walked over to the window and twitched the drapes back to stare outside. “I’m not all that comfortable with her still being over there by herself. The place looked completely dark when we drove by.”

  Offering to help seemed the only sensible thing to do.

  “I can stop in to check on her. I go right by there on my way home, so it won’t be any trouble.”

  It had been a long time since chance had dropped such a perfect opportunity in his lap.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Allie climbed the squeaky stairs, the old key Dulcie had given her clutched tightly in her fist.

  “Enjoy!” Dulcie’s voice floated up the stairs after her. “Hope you find a trove of buried treasure.”

  Treasure. Right. Allie’s biggest hope was that she didn’t encounter mice or an inordinate number of spiders. If she hadn’t been so consumed with whether she’d get to see Logan again, she might have remembered to bring some plastic gloves.

  At the top of the stairs, she turned to her left and opened the first door she came to, inching her way inside. As her cousin had promised, a lamp stood next to the doorway and she flipped the switch.

  Light settled over the cluttered room, but hardly made a difference in beating back the shadows that clung stubbornly to the far corners. Odd shapes danced in those shadows, created by furniture and stacks of boxes and plastic bins.

  Allie vaguely remembered the downstairs looking very much like this the one time she’d peeked inside as a child. A creepy, scary-movie feeling had filled her chest and she’d avoided the old building after that, in spite of her grandfather’s invitations to join him.

  That same feeling tightened her breathing now.

  “I’m not a child now.” She spoke aloud into the silence to reassure herself.

  Besides, it was only dust filling her lungs, not some Hollywood-type premonition of monsters and knife-wielding murderers wearing goalie masks.

  She lifted the antique floor lamp and carried it with her as far into the room as its cord would allow.

  “Wow.”

  For as long as she could remember, her grandfather had haunted estate sales, auctions and generally any place he could haggle for a bargain. If he didn’t have the entire second floor of this building to store it all in, he’d make a perfect candidate for a study on hoarding.

  Though the original facade of the building made it appear misleadingly small from the outside, it was, as her cousins had reminded her, really large.

  Chairs of every description occupied the room, along with a variety of tables, all neatly stacked. If the other rooms held even half as much as this one, her cousins had been correct. She’d have no problem furnishing an area to serve as a bookstore and lending library.

  A huge old bookcase stood against one wall, peeking out from behind two tall stacks of classic cardboard storage boxes. From here it appeared she’d found an excellent piece to use in setting up a bookstore downstairs, though she’d need to move the stacks to get a better look.

  She stuffed the key she still held into the pocket of her jeans. Dulcie had told her she’d need it to lock up after herself if she stayed up here very long, since they’d be leaving soon. Allie had taken it, though, in truth, she doubted she’d need it. She didn’t plan to be here long tonight. In the bright daylight with the windows wide open, it would be much easier to explore this area. And much less creepy.

  Still, it wouldn’t take long to move the boxes and quickly inspect the bookcase to make sure all its shelves were intact.

  The boxes turned out to be extraordinarily heavy for their size. A closer examination revealed the word BOOKS scrawled on the side of each one.

  Her breath caught again as she lifted the first lid, but this time neither dust nor fear was involved.

  Hardbacks stacked two layers deep filled the box.

  W. Somerset Maugham, James Joyce, Harper Lee, Mark Twain, William Faulkner and John Steinbeck.

  This find was too good to be true. If she actually did set up a lending area, these books would provide a great head start.

  She lifted another lid and found paperbacks in this box. Romance, science fiction, mystery. The third box held more hardbacks, and she still had four more boxes to look through.

  Obviously she’d been too quick to scoff. Papa Flynn had indeed accumulated a wonderful trove of treasure.

  “We’re leaving now!” Her cousin Desi’s voice echoed up the stairs. “You want us to lock you in?”

  “No!” The idea of being locked in this place all by herself was much creepier than simply wandering around up here in the dark. “I’ll be down in just a few minutes.”

  How long could it take to unstack these boxes and check the bookcase? Five minutes. Ten tops.

  Dragging all the boxes to the center of the room where the light was best took considerably longer than she’d anticipated. Once she had them all down and within reach, she knelt in the middle of her newly found treasures and lifted their lids, one by one, pulling out books and sorting them into stacks.

  Gone With the Wind, Wuthering Heights, Jane Eyre and…

  “Oh my,” she breathed, carefully running her hand over the cover of one of her all-time favorites, Pride and Prejudice.

  It had been years since she’d last read Elizabeth and Darcy’s story. On her lap, the book almost seemed to fall open by itself, and her fingers flipped the pages as if controlled by someone from afar. Her eyes flickered over the words, slowly at first, then more quickly as the story took on a life of its own.

  Allie was over a third of the way through the book before she surfaced back to reality. Some sliver of noise had broken through her barriers and into the magical world in which she’d immersed herself. Some noise that snagged her attention and caused her to
lower the book. Head tipped to the side, she listened. It had been a noise like…

  Damn. She was normally so observant. This sort of thing only happened when she lost herself in a story. Her brain had definitely registered something out of the ordinary, but she wasn’t sure exactly what it might have been.

  How long had she been up here, anyway? Her cramped muscles told her it had to have been quite some time. With the draperies pulled over the windows, she had no way of judging if any light was left outside. Maybe the twins had come back to check on her. She started to call out to them to let them know where she was but caution—and that familiar trickle of dread—held her tongue.

  What if it wasn’t the twins?

  Again she listened, holding her breath to eliminate any outside noise. That might have worked if her heart hadn’t been pounding so loudly in her ears that it drowned out everything else.

  There! Another sound. A squeaking noise she recognized.

  The stairs.

  “Shit,” she whispered, clutching the book to her chest, where her heart thumped a quickening tattoo against her ribs.

  It could be anyone! She’d told her cousin to leave the door unlocked, and from the looks of how far she’d read into the book, that must have been hours ago.

  She fought the panic pressing against her lungs and forced herself up to her knees in spite of her left foot having gone to sleep where she’d sat on it. It was ridiculous giving in to a silly childhood fear this way. Of course she’d hear squeaks up here. The building was well over a hundred years old. If she’d been paying attention instead of being lost in her reading, she’d probably have heard all sorts of groans and creaks. She only heard it now because her foot had lost all feeling and was already pulling her out of the book.

  Yeah. That was it. That had to be it.

  Another squeak sounded, closer than before, followed by a thud that could be nothing other than a foot on the stairs. A big foot.

  Her panic returned, so well reinforced this time that her throat closed off and the expletive she wanted to shout had no hope of passing her lips.

  When a large figure filled the doorway, she drew back her arm and launched the only weapon she had at hand—her precious hardback book.

  * * *

  The coffee shop was dark when Logan pulled up, but he could swear he saw light flickering behind the window coverings on the second floor. He knocked on the door once and waited.

  No response.

  Allie’s car was still parked in the lot, so she had to be here. Either that or her car had died on her again and she’d walked home.

  Only she wasn’t at home, so he refused to even consider that possibility. She had to be inside.

  The second time he pounded on the door, he also wiggled the handle. The knob turned easily in his hand and, with only a little forward pressure, the door swung wide open.

  The whole shop was bathed in the black that comes only on an almost moonless night, and Logan’s senses sharpened. He pulled the high-powered little flashlight he always carried from his pocket and switched it on.

  He didn’t like this. Not one damn bit.

  “Allie?”

  He waited for a full minute in the silence that followed his call before heading to the back of the building, where he knew he’d find the stairs to the upper level. The twins had told Susie that they’d left Allie going through the storage items up there.

  Midway up the stairs he paused, listening for any sound of activity.

  “Allie?” he tried again, a little louder this time.

  He’d been up here about six months ago conducting a fire inspection. Thanks to Harley Flynn’s lifelong passion for “collecting,” the second floor was a hoarder’s fantasy. Even as neatly as the twins had tried to arrange things, the old man’s obsession had ensured that the place was loaded to the gills.

  Remembering how it had looked on his last visit, Logan quickened his step. Anything could have happened up there. Allie might have fallen and hurt herself. She could even be trapped.

  The thought of her wedged under a pile of toppled antique furniture sent him pounding up the remaining stairs toward the light spilling out through the open door.

  He’d no more than stepped into the doorway before a missile flew directly toward his head. He ducked, deflecting the heavy projectile with a quickly lifted forearm.

  “What the hell?” he grunted.

  Crouching or shifting behind the doorframe would have been the smart thing to do, but Logan thought of neither. He barged into the room, ready to deal with whatever had attacked him.

  “Logan?”

  Allie knelt in the center of the room, surrounded by stacks of boxes and books piled higher than the top of her head. Her voice sounded small and breathless, and her wide, rounded eyes confirmed the surprise he’d heard there.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked. “You scared me half to death!”

  He could understand that easily enough. This place, with its looming shadows, was creepy as hell at night.

  “I yelled your name a couple of times. You didn’t answer. Your family was worried when you didn’t come home.” At least, her brother was worried.

  “I didn’t hear you.” She pushed up to stand, teetering on one foot while she dusted off her hands on her jeans before making eye contact with him again. “I got into the books and sort of lost track of time. And then I heard some noises and…” Her words trailed off and she shrugged one shoulder.

  “So that’s why you launched the aerial attack?”

  Shaking her head, she defensively crossed her arms in front of her. “I told you. It’s kind of weird up here in the dark and, I’ll admit it, I freaked a little. You don’t look any worse for it though.”

  “Yeah? Well, you and…” Logan leaned down to pick up the object that she’d thrown in his direction, pausing to glance at the cover. “You and Jane Austen almost took my arm off.”

  For the first time since he’d entered the room, the beginning of a smile curved her lips, an expression that lit her face. “Then I guess we can both be thankful that Jane and I were off our game tonight, because I was aiming for your head. Well,”—her eyes darted away toward the floor again—“not actually your head. The head of whatever creature was coming after me.”

  Her eyes flickered back up toward him, and he returned her grin as he gradually made his way through the furniture and boxes to the spot where she stood.

  “Your mom says you’re thinking of opening a bookstore downstairs.”

  “And a lending library.” Her expression turned wistful. “If I can get my hands on enough books. I think there’s plenty of furniture up here to set up shop. I just need to haul it downstairs.”

  The idea of her surrounded by books seemed to fit. Now that he thought of it, he seemed to remember her, as a kid, dragging a book around with her more often than not.

  “Have you thought of asking for donations for the lending library? I know my mom and Katie have boxes of books stacked out in the barn. I bet they’d be willing to help.”

  “That was something the girls—” She started forward but stopped, her face wrinkling as if she were in pain when she put her weight on both feet.

  “Are you hurt?” He cleared the distance remaining between them by vaulting over the boxes blocking his path.

  “No.” She chuckled, accepting the hand he offered as she teetered on one foot. “I sat on my foot too long and cut off the blood flow. Now it’s at that icky, tingly stage.”

  Not quite what his imagination had conjured when he’d started up the stairs tonight. Instead of finding her trapped and injured, he’d found her alone and frightened. Almost as bad.

  “Listen. I’m off duty tomorrow. I’ll come by your place to pick you up and we can come up here together to figure out what you need to take downstairs. I make a pretty decent moving man.”

  Allie stared into the dark shadows, shaking her head. “You don’t need to do that. It’s kind of a lot to ask.”

&
nbsp; “No, I don’t need to,” he said—though in an odd way, he felt as if it was exactly what he needed to do. “But I want to.”

  She looked up again, her expression hard for him to read. “Okay, then. If you’re sure.”

  “I’m sure. I’m also sure that what we need to do now is get you out of here.”

  He swept an arm behind her legs and lifted her off her feet, ignoring her startled little squeak just as he tried to ignore her arms slipping into place around his neck.

  “I can walk out of here on my own,” she said quietly, her warm breath feathering over his cheek.

  “I’m sure you can,” he agreed. “But it’s already almost one in the morning, and with the way you’re limping, I’d have to clear all those boxes for you to be able to get out of here. This is much faster.”

  He wouldn’t add that holding her like this was a lot more enjoyable than stacking boxes could ever be.

  She seemed as if she might argue the point that it would only require waiting a few minutes for her to fully recover, but she didn’t. What that might mean he didn’t know and didn’t care. All that mattered was that they were on their way out and she was in his arms.

  “Flip that switch for me.” He motioned his head toward the floor lamp they stood beside.

  “Off?” Her voice squeaked with the question, as if she couldn’t believe she’d heard him correctly. “You want me to turn it off?”

  “We can’t very well leave it on all night, unattended. It’s an old lamp and this is an old building.” The last thing he wanted to be responsible for was starting a fire he’d get called back to put out before the night was over. “Burning this place down would look bad on my record. Firefighters don’t get promotions for starting fires.”

  She smiled at him then, as if the little joke helped relax her, and she grasped the switch. Instantly the inky black that had been held at bay by the old lamp engulfed them. Her free arm fastened around his neck and a shiver ran through her body.