A knock bellowed through the house, echoing upward and quaking the bat into flight once more. It plunged past Jenessa’s head and she couldn’t help the shriek that escaped. Who would be at the door this late? Maybe it was about the kids. Maybe Colie had lied and someone really was looking for them.
Another knock rattled from below and the bat lunged again, wings flapping. This time she let out a full-fledged scream, her racquet clattering to the wood planks underfoot.
Any and all bravado fled in an instant. She tripped over a plastic tub, lost a slipper, and didn’t bother reaching for it. Instead, she righted herself and wound through the maze of forgotten belongings, one hand holding her helmet in place. She needed to get out of here, needed to see who was at the door, check on the kids, and—
A crash of shattering glass sounded from below. What was happening? Was someone breaking in?
She darted to the stairs, her heart pounding almost as loudly as her footsteps.
Except those weren’t her footsteps. She slowed, telltale thumps sounding from down below. Yes, someone was in the house and making his or her way up to the second floor. The kids.
Cold, clammy air stilled around her as grim resolve cemented in her stomach. Her muscles stiffened as she whirled around, ignored a hiss of air and flutter of wings. She found her racquet and barreled down the attic stairs. If she could get to her phone before whoever was down there got to her—
A flood of light gushed into the stairway and before she could slow her steps, she rammed into something solid and warm. And apparently off-balance. Because suddenly she was tumbling, squealing, crashing into the walls around the staircase, tangling with a mess of arms and legs . . .
And then landing with a thud on top of a man, her helmet smacking into his chest. One of her arms was jammed under his shoulder, but even if she’d been able to move, shock froze her in place.
Until a groan rumbled underneath her.
Her trapped breath released in a yelp and she rolled off him, attempted to yank her arm free.
“Nice helmet.”
Wait, she knew that voice. “Lucas?” She moved just enough to free her arm and scrambled to her knees. The amber light of the sconces lining the second-floor hallway was dim but it was enough to confirm it was definitely Lucas she’d just landed on. “What are you doing here? Are you okay? Can you move?” She bent over his prostrate form. “Should I call 9-1-1?”
“Easy, Belville. Need a sec before I’m up to a game of twenty questions.” He peered up at her through eyes the color of sandstone—hazel with streaks of brown and gray.
She pulled off her helmet, her hair spilling free from its unruly bun, and bent closer to Lucas’s face. “I’m trying to remember the signs of a concussion. Your pupils don’t look dilated. You know what day it is, right? You know your name? And my name?”
She sank back on her knees as he sat up, revealing the badminton racquet he must’ve landed on. He winced, stretching his neck from side to side. “I just said your name, didn’t I?” He glanced over his shoulder. “Was the racquet for me?”
Remembrance rushed in and she bolted to her feet, slammed the attic door to stop any attempted escape by the bat, and leaned with her back against it. “The racquet was for a bat originally. ’Til I heard someone breaking in.”
He was propped with both hands on the floor behind him. “I knocked. You didn’t answer. And then I heard you screaming.” He lifted one corner of his mouth in a sheepish half-grin. “I busted a window to get in.”
“Oh. Okay. That’s . . . that’s fine.” Now she just had a broken window to take care of and probably glass to clean up. Add that to the list of all she needed to do to get this house ready to sell. Although why she was thinking about the house when she had three children currently sleeping just down the hall, she didn’t know. At least, she hoped they were still sleeping, considering all the noise they’d just made.
And to think, just this afternoon she’d been pondering decluttering her life.
“Hey, you okay, Jen?” Lucas’s upward gaze was fastened on her face from his spot on the floor, and apparently her nod wasn’t good enough for him. Not according to the concern narrowing his eyes. “I’m sorry about the window. I was just worried.”
“It’s fine. I’ll call somebody. S-someone who fixes windows. A window-fixer. Except it’s late so I can’t do that until tomorrow. And tomorrow’s Saturday, so I guess I’ll need to wait until Monday. Which is fine, because I’ve definitely got more immediate things to take care of in the meantime. Like finding some tarp or something to cover the window and—”
“I think maybe what you should do right now is sit down.”
She squeezed her eyes closed as she slid her back along the attic door until she was on the floor again. Knees bent, head tipped.
A warm hand settled over her forehead.
She opened her eyes to see Lucas crouched in front of her. “What are you doing?”
He shrugged. “Making sure you don’t have a fever. You’re pale. You’re suddenly quiet.” His focus traveled from her face to her bare feet—where had her other slipper gone?—and back again. “You’re wearing sweatpants. Never in the three years since you walked up to me that day in Coffee Coffee and demanded we be friends have I seen you in sweatpants.”
Her stomach growled. Why hadn’t she downed a piece of pizza earlier? “I wasn’t expecting company, thank you very much.”
“I’m just not used to seeing Casual Jen.” He grinned and stood.
“What are you doing here anyway?”
“You never came home. Someone had to check on you.”
Home. Strange how perfectly the word fit her little room at the B&B and not this house she’d spent most of her life in. She glanced up at Lucas, took in his mussed hair—long, and damp at the tips. He always showered at night, which might be a weird thing to know about a man she wasn’t related to. But then, they lived in the same house. His rhythm was as familiar to her as his hawk-like features—straight nose, high cheekbones.
But there were times she wondered if she truly knew him. She had a feeling Lucas Danby held more secrets behind those hazel eyes of his than even this house.
“Where were you earlier tonight, Luke? You never showed up for the engagement party.” Not that they’d had much of a party after finding the kids. No bonfire. No cupcakes.
No Lucas.
“I . . .” He closed his mouth. Opened it again. “Something came up.”
“You could’ve at least called.”
“I’m sorry.” He held out his hand and she placed her palm in his, let him tow her to her feet. She came up mere inches from him, though a head shorter, and huh, maybe she didn’t know all his patterns. Because whatever soap or shampoo he’d used tonight, she didn’t recognize it. Made her think of the trees out back, of a glistening first frost on a late-autumn morning.
Lucas looked back at her, a hint of a grin forming above his shadowed jawline.
“What?”
“Just thinking about you trying to kill a bat with a badminton racquet.”
“Luke, if you tell Sam and the others about this—”
“And the way you looked running down the attic steps wearing that helmet—best thing I’ve seen in a long time, Belville.” He barked a laugh.