Page 26 of Snowed In on Valentine's Day

A dark look passed over his face then, but he hid it quickly by turning back to the sink. “Probably. Most of them do.”

I wanted to ask what he meant by “most of them,” but his tone suggested that the conversation was over, so I scurried away. With a sigh, I walked back to the sitting room. I’d give him a break from my awkward probing for now. Given the dismal weather forecast, I’d have plenty of time for intrusive questions later.

*****

My lashes fluttered as my lids opened just a fraction. As I slowly opened my eyes, the intricate design on the carved wooden ceiling came into view. As I studied it, the pattern almost seemed to come alive, with roses and stems swirling through one another. I shook my head and squeezed my eyes shut. I must still be half-asleep.

But a few minutes later, I was fully alert. I sprung up from the couch, my back feeling a bit achy from the position I’d slept in. I hadn’t consciously decided on a nap, but reading one of the dull books found in Peter’s library had lulled me to sleep. In fairness, they probably weren’t Peter’s books—they looked like they’d been here for at least a hundred years—and surely notallthe books in here were dull. I loved to read and wouldn’t be giving up after trying just one book.

After stretching my aching body, I looked around the room. I hadn’t seen him since our late breakfast, which was fine by me, but as the clock on the mantel read almost 5 p.m., my stomach would probably start growling soon enough.

I should probably go find him.

I cringed at the thought, knowing another cutting remark and flat expression on his face would lead to another argument between us. I hated tension, and I was usually masterful at defusing it. He was just so difficult, more maddening than anyone I’d ever met. I wasn’t even sure why, but there was just something about him. He rattled me.

It would probably be rude to help myself to things from his kitchen without asking, so I set out on a search. After all, it might be fun to wander about in an old home like this. I grabbed a flashlight from a basket he’d placed in the hallway.

Before I’d gone very far, I noticed a photo hanging on the wall leading to the kitchen. It was notable for being small but also being theonlything I’d seen hanging on the walls of this hall, other than some antique sconces. I peered at the photoclosely but couldn’t make out who was in the photo or what the inscription at the bottom said. It was a young boy with a middle-aged man, both smiling as the boy held up what looked like a trophy of some sort.

Could that be Peter? Possibly with his dad? The photo was too small and somewhat blurry, so I couldn’t tell—plus, I had no idea what Peter looked like as a child, obviously. It must be important though if it was theonlyphoto he’d hung up anywhere.

By the time I reached the kitchen, I’d found little more to examine apart from a large painting between two closed doors. The painting was a generic landscape with a plain stone path between wide, green fields bordered by old, uneven stone fences. It reminded me of the English countryside, and I could imagine Jane Austen walking merrily down the path with her sister, Cassandra.

Stepping into the kitchen at the end of the corridor, I found it empty, so I turned back and plodded down the same hallway. I’d have to try the other hallway, where he said his bedroom was and another room I couldn’t remember.

This hall was similar to the other in that its only decoration was a series of ornately fashioned sconces. I paused at a few doors, unsure which was Peter’s. When I’d passed four doors and still hadn’t reached the end of the hall, I stopped and called out, “Hey, Peter?” After a beat, I knocked on one of the doors and then the next, adding loudly, “Are you in there?”

The silence was unsettling when I reached a stairway at the end of the hall. I didn’t feel brave enough to wander farther in this dark, dusty, eerily quiet house by myself, so I turned around to head back.

But just as I turned, I screamed while slamming into a large, solid surface before I could raise my flashlight to see it. Hands grabbed my upper arms as I fought to shrink awayand screamed again. When I’d finally wriggled to the floor and took off running after dropping the flashlight, I heard footsteps coming ever faster behind me.

My heart raced as I tried to run faster while being unable to see anything except the light from the sitting room down the hallway. “Peter!Peter! Help, please—”

“Hazel, what’s gotten into you?” he growled, his voice seeming to come out of nowhere, and then suddenly he was beside me, his arm coming around my shoulders as we neared the soft light ahead.

I panted while glancing over at Peter, who wore an expression of concern, of fear even.

“Di-did you see it too? There was s-s-something back there. I … Peter, we have to—” I stammered while gripping his forearm, trying to pull him faster with me.

“Hazel, please. Calm down.”

“Calm down?” I looked at him incredulously. “There’s someone—”

He swung his hand around to grip my other shoulder and turned me to face him just outside the sitting room. “Hazel, breathe. Just try to breathe. Back there in the hallway, you ran into me.Me. We’re the only two people in the house, I swear.”

I blinked rapidly, trying to digest his words. “What?” With my mind racing, I shook my head. “No, I ran into something, and it grabbed me—”

“It was me,” he repeated.

“But … they were really strong, with hands that—” My mind swirled, and I became aware of the gentle strength of his hands on my shoulders. “That wasyou?”

He nodded. “I told you, there’s no one else in the house.”

I swallowed. “But … why didn’t you say anything? You scared the crap out of me!” I shrunk away from him, pushing back against his arms as my anger rose.

“You didn’t exactly give me a chance. You were screaming and running before I could even utter a word.”

I peered at his face, which spoke of exasperation but also relief, somehow. I swallowed again with some effort.

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