Where Love Abides. Irene Hannon

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      Chapter Two

      A faint knocking penetrated Christine’s slumber, pulling her back to consciousness. There must be someone at the door. Or maybe the pounding was only in her head, which was throbbing just as it used to when…

      Her eyes flew open as the painful memories crashed over her, and she sat bolt upright.

      Bad mistake.

      At the abrupt movement, the hammering in her temples increased and she grabbed her head with both hands. An ice pack beside the pillow registered in her peripheral vision, and more recent memories displaced the older ones. She’d had a car accident. The sheriff had picked her up. She’d spent the night at the Oak Hill Inn.

      “Christine?”

      A woman’s voice came through the door, and Christine gingerly scooted to the edge of the bed and swung her legs to the floor. She recognized the jeans and shirt draped over a nearby chair, but had no idea where she’d gotten the oversized caftanlike nightgown in psychedelic shades of purple and hot pink. She had a vague recollection of slipping it over her head last night, but she’d turned the lamp off because the bright light bothered her. Otherwise she surely would have noticed the loud colors, which did nothing to ease the ache in her temples.

      “Christine? Are you awake?” The voice was more anxious this time.

      “Yes. Just a moment.”

      Grasping the post on the elaborate Victorian headboard, she stood. Her legs felt a bit unsteady, but strong enough to support a trip to the door. Moving with caution, she worked her way across the ornate room, which looked as if it had been transported intact from the 1880s. She’d driven by the pale pink, gingerbread-bedecked B and B a few times since moving to Oak Hill from Nebraska, but she’d never been inside until now.

      When she pulled open the door, Marge Sullivan, the owner of the inn, was standing on the other side. The woman’s attire of orange capri pants and a fluorescent yellow-and-pink tunic top edged with beads tipped Christine off to the source of her borrowed nightclothes. Considering they’d met only once, when Marge had stopped by the farm with a welcome gift of the B and B’s signature homemade cinnamon rolls, the older woman’s kindness was heartwarming. Even if her taste was a bit on the flamboyant side.

      “How are you feeling, dear?” Marge asked.

      “Improving, thanks.”

      “Your color is better. That’s a good sign.” Marge gave her a swift perusal, her head cocked to one side, and nodded in approval before turning apologetic. “I’m sorry to wake you, but Dale stopped by to drive you to your truck. I told him you were still sleeping, so he said he’d come back in an hour. That was thirty minutes ago.”

      With a frown, Christine checked her watch. Nine-fifteen. She’d slept for almost twelve hours!

      “I had no idea it was this late. I’ll get dressed and be down in a few minutes.”

      “I have some breakfast waiting for you.”

      Food was the last thing Christine wanted. The pounding in her head had subsided to a dull throb since she’d stopped moving, but her appetite was nonexistent. Nevertheless, she managed a weak smile. “Thanks.”

      Ten minutes later, after dressing and running a comb through her hair, Christine started down the grand staircase that led to the foyer of the inn, gripping the rail as she took the steps one at a time. She was halfway down when the doorbell rang, and Marge bustled out from the rear of the house to answer it.

      Seeing Christine on the steps, the innkeeper called up to her as she passed, “Be careful, dear. Like everything else in this monstrosity of a house, those stairs are overdone. Extra wide. I’ve almost taken a tumble myself a time or two.”

      As Marge pulled open the front door, Christine resumed her descent, now more careful and focused than ever. She paid no attention to the rumble of voices until she heard footsteps on the stairs and looked up to find the sheriff taking them two at a time.

      On instinct, she tried to back up. But her heel connected with the step behind her and she lost her balance. The sheriff skipped the final two steps and lunged for her as she wavered, his grip firm on her upper arms until she got her footing.

      Even then, he didn’t release her at once. His steel-blue eyes probed hers, and a muscle twitched in his jaw as he inspected the discolored lump protruding from her temple. In daylight, and at this close range, she could see the fine lines at the corners of his eyes, and a few sprinkles of silver glinted in his dark hair. There was strength in his face, and character, she reflected. The kind that you expected to find in an officer of the law. But she’d been fooled before. And she wasn’t about to repeat that mistake.

      When she attempted to pull out of his grip, he shifted his attention away from the knot on her forehead, his gaze locking on hers.

      “I doubt either of us wants to visit Dr. Martin again.” His voice was calm and quiet, but there was an edge to it that hadn’t been there last night. “I’m not sure what it is about me you don’t like, but I suggest you take my arm going СКАЧАТЬ