It even seemed to take Mr. Churnley a minute to collect himself, his eyes bugging slightly as he eyed them, before he cleared his throat, seeming to remember what we’d all come here for.
“Good afternoon! I’m Geoffrey—Geoffrey Churnley—and I’m from the other side of the field, Elmcreek Farm. Are you our new neighbors?”
The taller man’s slate eyes rested on Mr. Churnley, and he nodded. “Not exactly, sir. We are here to work.” His low voice rumbled up from the depths of his chest, and it was… definitely not Texan. I couldn’t put my finger on what the accent was exactly. It was neutral and clear but had a slight foreign twang, almost British but… not. I wasn’t great at discerning accents anyway, given how little I’d traveled. Maybe he was an immigrant.
“Oh, I see,” Mr. Churnley replied. “And what sort of work are you doing here?”
“We’ve been hired to renovate the old farmhouse within this patch of woodland,” the man replied, his expression stoic and his eyes wandering casually to the fence. “We won’t be staying long.”
“Is the owner planning to move here, then?” Mr. Churnley asked.
The man shrugged, still avoiding direct eye contact. “We wouldn’t know, sir. We’re simply here to do a job.”
“Aha, naturally,” Mr. Churnley murmured, squinting in the sunlight as he took in the length of the fence. “You sure put this up quick.”
The man gave him a faint, perfunctory smile that told me he was quite done with the conversation. It seemed Mr. Churnley picked up on it too.
With the three of them working together, I guessed it was possible to put up a fence that fast—especially with a team as fit as this one. Not that I had any experience putting up fences…
“Well, thanks for your time,” Mr. Churnley said. “We’ll—”
“Um, one moment, if you don’t mind,” I interjected, not quite prepared to leave these guys yet. Mr. Churnley seemed to have forgotten what I considered to be the most important question.
I set my eyes on the taller man, who was now looking right at me. Focusing on my train of thought became suddenly way harder than it should have been. “I, uh—we had a break-in last night,” I explained, furrowing my brow and shifting my attention to the other two men. “Someone came in through the front door and… didn’t really take anything of value, but it was quite worrying. I guess this is a long shot, but I wondered if you’d seen anyone or anything out of the ordinary in the past day or two?”
I dared return my gaze to the taller man, and his dark brows drew together in a frown.
Then he shrugged, and responded with a single word: “No.”
“Right, okay.” I felt myself flush slightly, and exchanged a quick glance with Angie and Lauren, who looked like they didn’t know what to make of the situation. Which was basically how I felt.
I hadn’t been able to see much of the intruder last night, but the one impression I had been left with was that he was male and he was tall. How tall, I couldn’t pinpoint—it had all happened so fast—but it was probably stupid to suspect these guys. Millions of men fit that descriptor, and from the looks on these men’s faces, they really just wanted to get on with their work and get out of the heat. I couldn’t imagine why they’d bother to break into an old shack to steal a… wing.
Honestly, I was beginning to think we might just have to lay this whole incident to rest as some unexplained mystery in our lives. Something so bizarre that there probably was some funny and complicated explanation for it, but one we’d likely never unravel. As long as the guy didn’t come back, it really didn’t matter.
After spending more than half the night talking about it, I was kind of done with the subject anyway.
“Well, we’ll leave you to it,” Mr. Churnley said courteously, nodding and backing away toward the truck. “Good luck with the renovation, and if you need anything, give us a yell! Happy to help.”
“Thank you,” the tall man murmured. His eyes passed over me one last time before he turned his attention back to the fence, his two companions swiftly following suit.
Lauren, Angie, and I returned to the vehicle, and seated ourselves all in the back seat. Angie harrumphed as Mr. Churnley turned the car around and we began rolling in the opposite direction.
“Well, that was… interesting, I guess,” she said, her gaze taking on a dreamy quality as she stared out ahead through the windshield. “They sure were fine. Could any of you make out that accent?”
I shook my head, and so did Lauren. They hadn’t traveled that much abroad, either.
“You said you saw four guys yesterday, didn’t you?” Lauren asked, rubbing her forehead and looking befuddled.
“Yeah,” Angie replied. “I guess he must be in the enclosure somewhere.”
I heaved a sigh as the Churnleys’ farmhouse came into view, replaying the brief encounter we’d just had over in my head. The timing of everything was definitely odd—how the first break-in the Churnleys had ever had coincided with these workers arriving here, and—
I caught myself before I could venture further down that rabbit hole, reminding myself that it was pointless and would probably end up giving me a headache if I dwelled on it much longer.
It was all a coincidence, I simply reaffirmed to myself. Just an odd coincidence…
Chapter Five
I managed to avoid thinking about the wing incident for the rest of the day, though it was hard to get the lumberjacks completely out of my head, partly because of just how damn good looking they’d been, but also because the noises they were making back in their enclosure echoed over to our land throughout the rest of the day. It sounded like they’d finished putting up the fence—the banging and chopping of wood had stopped—and they’d started shoveling something, perhaps rocks or cement, or upturning the ground itself.
We didn’t talk much more about them, though, after our visit, and generally tried to distract ourselves with other things—which Mrs. Churnley made fairly easy, once she’d doled out our tasks for the day.
We set to work digging out weeds from the vegetable patch and then we took the dogs out for a stroll, walking them in the opposite direction of the woods, until we spotted Mr. Doherty’s farmhouse. The old man was sitting out on his porch and noticed us before we could turn back, so what had started out as a short stroll ended up as a rather long outing, by the time we’d had tea with him and his wife. They were both exceptionally friendly, and due to the day’s high temperature, much to Lauren’s dismay, we were given ample opportunity to verify Mrs. Churnley’s statement about the curly white chest hairs.
Once we managed to extricate ourselves, we headed back, and by the time we’d helped with some vegetable peeling and laundry hanging, the sun was already setting.
We had a small dinner with the Churnleys out in the front yard, and when darkness set in, we snuffed out the dining candles and went indoors. Angie, Lauren, and I made for the stairs, and since it was dark, there wasn’t much else to do other than get an early night. The heat of the day still hung heavy in the air, and I was looking forward to splashing some cool water on my face in the bathroom. But Mrs. Churnley called out to us as we were mid-way up the stairs, bringing us to a halt.
“Hey, girls. I just realized we never showed you the treehouse, did we?”
We turned around to face her, and shook our heads.
“No, you didn’t,” Angie replied.
“Well, why don’t you let me show you? It’s just near the house.”
“Now?” I couldn’t help but ask. Nighttime didn’t seem like the best time to admire a treehouse.
“I was actually thinking you might like to sleep up there tonight, given how hot it is indoors. There’s mosquito netting and—” She paused abruptly, her voice faltering for a moment. “We used to sleep up there with our Ethan, around this time of the year. I-It really is lovely.”
My voice caught in my throat as I realized who Ethan must be, and Angie immediately softened. “Oh, of course. We’d love to check it out!”
Mrs. Churnley’s round face lit up as Angie grabbed our hands and pulled us back down the stairs toward her. She waddled into the kitchen, pulled open a drawer beneath the counter, and retrieved four flashlights. She handed one to each of us, keeping one for herself, before leading us outside.
Cricket song filled the night and the gentlest of breezes touched our skin as we crossed the porch and rounded the house. She took us to a tree-lined enclosure around the back that none of us had paid much attention to since our arrival.
She stopped at a tree with a ladder running down it, and as I tilted my head upward, beneath the light of our collective flashlights, I laid eyes on a quaint little treehouse, square in shape and lined with flower vines. It had four glassless windows covered with meshing, and the construction showed its age. It was also at least twenty feet up, though the promise of the view that it would afford was enticing, and I couldn’t imagine Mrs. Churnley suggesting we go up there if it wasn’t safe.
“Why don’t you all head on up and I’ll send Mr. Churnley out with some suitable bedding,” she said. “You’ll find mattresses there already— three of them.” She sighed wistfully, then chortled, running a hand over her ample stomach. “These days Mr. Churnley and I wouldn’t make it halfway up the ladder.”
With that, she turned and left, leaving the three of us to decide which one of us would head on up there first. Predictably, it was Angie who volunteered for the challenge, and mounted the creaky ladder, while Lauren and I shone our flashlights to light her way.
“First thing you gotta do is clear the area for snakes and spiders,” Lauren ordered. She was already getting antsy about being outside in the dark, shifting from one foot to the other, and scratching at invisible itches on her arms.
“And for cockroaches, rats, termites, moths, earwigs, weevils—” Angie extended Lauren’s list of horrors as she climbed, until Lauren told her to shut up.
Once Angie had actually reached the top, however, and pushed through the door to look around inside, she reported back in the affirmative. “Wow, looks amazingly pest-proof!”
“You’d better be sure about that,” Lauren replied suspiciously.
“Pinky promise. The wood is well sealed, with no gaping holes, and I think this mesh stuff really works. Seems to have kept everything out over the years… except for dust… and maybe the odd patch of mold. But hey, we’ve got mold on our ceiling inside too.” Angie’s head suddenly disappeared from sight, and the floorboards creaked. “Woah!” she called a minute later. “The view up here, it’s… ah-mazing! Get up here, girls!”
I didn’t need asking twice. I gripped the ladder and scaled it, and when I reached the top, I realized exactly why Angie was gushing. The view was absolutely breathtaking. We could see for miles across the fields from up here, thanks to the moonlight. It bathed the landscape in a stunning pale hue, making it look surreal in its beauty, almost fairy-tale like.
I heard a grunt behind me and turned to find Lauren clambering up the last of the steps and staggering inside—careful to immediately shut the treehouse’s door behind her. I thought the first thing she’d do was make sure Angie wasn’t lying about there being no pests, but her attention was stolen by the view too.
“Okay,” she said, standing next to us as we gazed out of the windows, “this is pretty awesome.”
We admired the view for another minute or two, before directing our flashlights to our more immediate surroundings. There were three mattresses, propped up by wooden blocks on the floor, and one little bedside table with a cupboard, whose interior was empty. If there had once been a more elaborate set up here, I guessed they’d stripped it down after Ethan had passed away.
“Special delivery!” Mr. Churnley’s cheery voice drifted up from the ground.
Angie hurried out and down the ladder to collect a large shoulder bag stuffed with bedding from the old man, before thanking him and climbing back up.
He’d brought thick sheets for us to cover the old mattresses with, as well as three pillows, a water bottle, and a black waist bag containing keys in case we needed to return to the house. The water was an especially thoughtful touch, considering we probably would get thirsty during the night. We made our beds, gawked at the view one last time, and settled down for the night, enjoying the fragrant breeze wafting through the mesh and over our skin.
All in all, I was grateful for Mrs. Churnley’s suggestion. It was so much more pleasant out here than in that stuffy wooden house.
“Maybe we should sleep out here every night,” Angie said.
“Well, let’s not be getting too hasty there, Miss Angelica,” Lauren replied. “The night is still young.” I snorted. “But, I’ll concede,” she went on, holding up a hand in the air, “I am more optimistic for a good night’s sleep tonight than I have been since we arrived. This netting is quite comforting.”
“I would’ve sold my brother for a treehouse like this, growing up,” Angie said wistfully.
“You would’ve sold him for much less,” I chuckled, recalling how mad her little brother used to make her. Up until the age of twelve, his favorite pastime had been setting booby traps for her around their house, which more often than not resulted in her showing up to school late, with globules of glue in her hair, or in some other similarly unfortunate state.
“Okay, probably,” she conceded, “but my point stands.”
“We actually had an old treehouse in our backyard,” Lauren said, “at least, in the first house we lived in. My parents are the literal opposite of handy, though, so we never got it fixed up.”
“You wouldn’t have had much of a view anyway in that place,” Angie added.
Lauren laughed. “Heh, yeah that’s true. Just the train tracks.”
My two friends continued their small talk for a bit, before falling quiet, allowing me to relish our surroundings. I listened intently, and discovered that the chirping of crickets was only the surface of the myriad of sounds that ruled the night. A soft, gentle cooing drifted over from the direction of the woods, along with the creaking of tree trunks and the whispering of leaves. I could even make out the tinkling of chimes in the distance—coming from Mr. Doherty’s home.
I let my eyes fall closed as I dug deeper into the layers of serenity, trying to identify each unique sound, each instrument in the night’s chorus. Mr. and Mrs. Churnleys’ snoring soon became a part of it.
And then a loud shout pierced the air.
At least, I thought it was a shout. It was a booming, yet short sound, which had just been too humanlike to be a bark.
I was turning over to look at my friends when I heard it again, but louder and longer this time, drifting over to us from the woodland area.
“You heard that, right?” I asked, staring at Lauren and Angie.
Their eyes were wide, concern etched across their faces. “Yeah,” Angie said. “Someone shout—”
It came again, longer and more urgent than before.
We all stood up and moved over to the window. “It’s coming from that direction, isn’t it,” Lauren murmured, pointing toward the mass of trees.
“Yes,” I replied. “I wonder who—”
When it happened a fourth time, it was closer to a scream than a shout, and there was no doubt in my mind that whoever was making the noise was definitely in pain. The near silence of the night amplified the noise, carrying it to us with unnerving clarity.
“Who else would it be but one of those guys?” Angie said after an anxious pause. “I think we should go and check it out. Make sure they’re okay.”
Lauren and I looked at her, and I swallowed, gauging the distance between our treehouse and the beginning of the fence bordering off their patch of forest. It was really no more than a ten-minute walk, and we had our flashlights out here already.
“Okay,” I said. “I think we should too.”
Lauren bit her lip. “Shouldn’t we let the Churnleys know first?”
We paused again, looking toward the farmhouse.
“Honestly,” Angie replied, “I feel bad about waking them up. If it’s serious, we’ll obviously rush back and figure out how to get help to him, but—let’s just find out what’s wrong with the guy. I mean, for all we know, it could just be a really bad stubbed toe…” She gave us a sheepish smile, and I grinned in spite of myself.
“Okay, I guess that makes sense.” I raised a brow at Lauren, who was still looking dubious. “What do you think, Lauree?”
“I guess I’m just a little nervous about wandering around out there in the dark.”
“Well, you don’t have to come,” Angie said, already rummaging around for our flashlights. “You can leave the initial recon mission to Riley and me.”
“No way,” she replied, frowning. “If you guys are going, I’m not gonna be left behind.”
“Okay, well—let’s get going then,” Angie said, handing Lauren and me our flashlights. Lauren readjusted her dark hair in a tight bun, as if she was preparing to go to war or something, and then grabbed the waist bag Mr. Churnley had brought us and fastened it around her waist. “In case we need water.” She flashed us a knowing look before we piled out of the treehouse and clambered down the ladder.
There was definitely no harm in bringing water, given how sticky the night was, but I didn’t anticipate our being gone for much more than twenty minutes. Especially if we jogged, which I suspected we would, given how intense the shouts were becoming.
As we touched down on the ground and hurried toward the gate, I had to wonder if the noise would end up waking up the Churnleys after all. Then again, they were deep sleepers, so it wouldn’t surprise me if they slept through it.
We pounded down the track leading to the woods, aiming our flashlights ten feet ahead of us, though the moon on its own was almost bright enough we didn’t need the flashlights.
We didn’t say much as we ran, since we were preserving our breath to get there as quickly as possible, but once we reached the beginning of the fence, we paused and looked at each other. The shouting was definitely louder now, meaning that it was, without a doubt, coming from within the fenced enclosure. But, now that we were here, we were faced with the predicament of —
Hotbloods Page 4
