All or Nothing at All
Page 12
“Not if I deliver the five-layer chocolate cake,” she said with a sigh.
His brow shot up. They both knew about Dalton’s obsession with Hershey’s Kisses and any type of baked goods. “The one with the shavings and cherries in the middle?”
“That’s the one.”
“Damn, you are serious. Will you have time?”
“If I want the damn deck done, I’ll find the time.”
Their gazes met, and they shared a smile. For one second, pure understanding passed between them, bringing her back to the days when they’d meshed perfectly—both in and out of bed. She’d always appreciated his subtle sense of humor. He was more laid-back and reserved than his brothers. Too often it translated to him not being noticed amid his noisy, loud family. How many times had she gazed at him while he stood on the sidelines, wishing he realized how truly special he was?
Her smile faded, and she shoved away the memories. They no longer had a place here, and she needed to stick to work. “I have to do a quick check in the attic. Need to see whether it’s viable space that can be renovated or just enough for storage.”
“I’ll go with you.”
His phone rang. Glancing at the screen, he waved his hand in the air. “Give me a minute. I need to take this.”
He drifted away, talking to a client, and Sydney dropped her purse on the floor. Silly to wait for him when it would only take a minute. She headed down the hall, grabbing the step stool Brady had placed during his last visit, and climbed up. It took her a while to work the rusty lock the past family had installed, which made her wonder what they’d kept up here. A shiver worked down her spine. Creepy stuff.
The door was barely functional, so that would need replacement ASAP. Definitely a safety hazard.
With a quick jump, she managed to wiggle up the last foot, barely making it thanks to her lack of height, and got in. Grabbing a large stick nearby, she propped open the hatch. Damn, she’d forgotten a flashlight. She’d tell Tristan to bring up his cell phone when he was done.
She walked the attic with slow, careful steps, noting the rotted wood, low beams hanging with cobwebs, and the one dirty window. Hmm, definitely not worth restoring for an extra room. They’d need to replace the door and lock, clean it up, and call it a day.
What was that on the window?
She squinted, moving closer, then stopped. Her mouth fell open.
Bars.
Holy hell. Maybe someone had been locked up here!
Not usually spooked, she felt goose bumps pepper her arms. Nope, she was outta here. Enough recon done for now.
She turned, but a low scratching suddenly rose in the air.
What was that?
“Tristan?” she squeaked. His voice rumbled from outside. No, still on the phone. “Hello?”
Another movement. Was that red cloth thing moving? Frozen to the floor, she watched in horror as the bulge shook, and another scratch echoed.
Oh, my God.
She had just managed to unstick one of her feet to run for her life when the red cloth jumped. With a high-pitched squeak, a furry body shot out across the attic, heading right for her.
“Agh! Help!”
The scream exploded from her lips. She jumped up and down, still screaming, as the creature passed her and frantically scuttled around, bumping against the walls in a desperate attempt at escape.
Mouse.
“Sydney!” Her name split the air, and suddenly Tristan was diving upward through the space. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”
“Mouse! Mouse!” A whimper broke through her lips. “Get it!”
“You gave me a heart attack for a mouse? Woman, I thought you were in real trouble!”
She hissed through gritted teeth, “I am! Get the damn mouse or I’m going to lose it.”
Muttering under his breath, he turned toward the frantic creature and grabbed a wooden stick. “Come on, buddy, out this way.”
“You’re not going to kill it?”
“Do you want me to hurt an innocent creature of God?”
She shot him a withering look. “Fine, just get it. I have to get out of here!”
He took the stick, urging the mouse toward the open hole of the exit, and she watched in horror as the creature dove out of the attic, falling through the empty space, and disappeared.
She jumped up and down, rubbing her hands over her arms to rid herself of the chills. “Oh, my God, that was so gross. Now he’s in the house!”
Tristan shook his head. “I cannot believe you’re afraid of a mouse. I swear, Syd, don’t do that to me again.” He walked over to the attic door and turned, and the stick knocked out the flimsy support, swinging the hatch closed.
The loud crash made her jump, and she glared at him. “Nice work,” she gibed. “This place is creepy. I want out of here now.”
He glared with pure disgust. “Fine. I told you to wait for me in the first place, but no, not you. Miss Independent has to climb into the attic all by herself and disturb the poor mouse.”
Irritated and still jumpy, she pushed him aside and leaned over to pull open the door. “I’ll be sure not to call you if I ever need saving,” she shot out, yanking at the flimsy handle.
The door didn’t budge.
“It’s stuck.”
“I’ll get it.” He pulled. Nothing. Frowning, he knelt down and jerked the handle hard.
The metal ripped off the rotted wood.
Blinking in confusion, he stared at the handle in his hands. Then down at the door. “It broke.”
“Yeah, so just bust through it or something.”
He gave her a withering look. “I can’t just bust through it like in the movies. The damn handle came off. That’s how we get out.”
She stared at him, her heart beginning to pound. “What do you mean? Just get us out!”
“Give me a minute, okay?” He took his time trying to jiggle the door open, then examined the handle. When there seemed to be no movement, he took the stick and began crashing it against the wood.
The door held tight.
He rose to his knees. “I think we’re locked in.”
“No. We can’t be locked in here. It’s impossible.”
“Well, since the door isn’t opening and we’re stuck in the attic, I guess it is possible.”
She took the stick and began smashing it against the door, like a crazed person on a mission to break open a birthday piñata. “Whoa—slow down, slugger,” he said, grabbing her arms. Out of breath, she glared at him, then the door. “Are you afraid of small spaces or something? You never had those fears before.”
His brow shot up. They both knew about Dalton’s obsession with Hershey’s Kisses and any type of baked goods. “The one with the shavings and cherries in the middle?”
“That’s the one.”
“Damn, you are serious. Will you have time?”
“If I want the damn deck done, I’ll find the time.”
Their gazes met, and they shared a smile. For one second, pure understanding passed between them, bringing her back to the days when they’d meshed perfectly—both in and out of bed. She’d always appreciated his subtle sense of humor. He was more laid-back and reserved than his brothers. Too often it translated to him not being noticed amid his noisy, loud family. How many times had she gazed at him while he stood on the sidelines, wishing he realized how truly special he was?
Her smile faded, and she shoved away the memories. They no longer had a place here, and she needed to stick to work. “I have to do a quick check in the attic. Need to see whether it’s viable space that can be renovated or just enough for storage.”
“I’ll go with you.”
His phone rang. Glancing at the screen, he waved his hand in the air. “Give me a minute. I need to take this.”
He drifted away, talking to a client, and Sydney dropped her purse on the floor. Silly to wait for him when it would only take a minute. She headed down the hall, grabbing the step stool Brady had placed during his last visit, and climbed up. It took her a while to work the rusty lock the past family had installed, which made her wonder what they’d kept up here. A shiver worked down her spine. Creepy stuff.
The door was barely functional, so that would need replacement ASAP. Definitely a safety hazard.
With a quick jump, she managed to wiggle up the last foot, barely making it thanks to her lack of height, and got in. Grabbing a large stick nearby, she propped open the hatch. Damn, she’d forgotten a flashlight. She’d tell Tristan to bring up his cell phone when he was done.
She walked the attic with slow, careful steps, noting the rotted wood, low beams hanging with cobwebs, and the one dirty window. Hmm, definitely not worth restoring for an extra room. They’d need to replace the door and lock, clean it up, and call it a day.
What was that on the window?
She squinted, moving closer, then stopped. Her mouth fell open.
Bars.
Holy hell. Maybe someone had been locked up here!
Not usually spooked, she felt goose bumps pepper her arms. Nope, she was outta here. Enough recon done for now.
She turned, but a low scratching suddenly rose in the air.
What was that?
“Tristan?” she squeaked. His voice rumbled from outside. No, still on the phone. “Hello?”
Another movement. Was that red cloth thing moving? Frozen to the floor, she watched in horror as the bulge shook, and another scratch echoed.
Oh, my God.
She had just managed to unstick one of her feet to run for her life when the red cloth jumped. With a high-pitched squeak, a furry body shot out across the attic, heading right for her.
“Agh! Help!”
The scream exploded from her lips. She jumped up and down, still screaming, as the creature passed her and frantically scuttled around, bumping against the walls in a desperate attempt at escape.
Mouse.
“Sydney!” Her name split the air, and suddenly Tristan was diving upward through the space. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”
“Mouse! Mouse!” A whimper broke through her lips. “Get it!”
“You gave me a heart attack for a mouse? Woman, I thought you were in real trouble!”
She hissed through gritted teeth, “I am! Get the damn mouse or I’m going to lose it.”
Muttering under his breath, he turned toward the frantic creature and grabbed a wooden stick. “Come on, buddy, out this way.”
“You’re not going to kill it?”
“Do you want me to hurt an innocent creature of God?”
She shot him a withering look. “Fine, just get it. I have to get out of here!”
He took the stick, urging the mouse toward the open hole of the exit, and she watched in horror as the creature dove out of the attic, falling through the empty space, and disappeared.
She jumped up and down, rubbing her hands over her arms to rid herself of the chills. “Oh, my God, that was so gross. Now he’s in the house!”
Tristan shook his head. “I cannot believe you’re afraid of a mouse. I swear, Syd, don’t do that to me again.” He walked over to the attic door and turned, and the stick knocked out the flimsy support, swinging the hatch closed.
The loud crash made her jump, and she glared at him. “Nice work,” she gibed. “This place is creepy. I want out of here now.”
He glared with pure disgust. “Fine. I told you to wait for me in the first place, but no, not you. Miss Independent has to climb into the attic all by herself and disturb the poor mouse.”
Irritated and still jumpy, she pushed him aside and leaned over to pull open the door. “I’ll be sure not to call you if I ever need saving,” she shot out, yanking at the flimsy handle.
The door didn’t budge.
“It’s stuck.”
“I’ll get it.” He pulled. Nothing. Frowning, he knelt down and jerked the handle hard.
The metal ripped off the rotted wood.
Blinking in confusion, he stared at the handle in his hands. Then down at the door. “It broke.”
“Yeah, so just bust through it or something.”
He gave her a withering look. “I can’t just bust through it like in the movies. The damn handle came off. That’s how we get out.”
She stared at him, her heart beginning to pound. “What do you mean? Just get us out!”
“Give me a minute, okay?” He took his time trying to jiggle the door open, then examined the handle. When there seemed to be no movement, he took the stick and began crashing it against the wood.
The door held tight.
He rose to his knees. “I think we’re locked in.”
“No. We can’t be locked in here. It’s impossible.”
“Well, since the door isn’t opening and we’re stuck in the attic, I guess it is possible.”
She took the stick and began smashing it against the door, like a crazed person on a mission to break open a birthday piñata. “Whoa—slow down, slugger,” he said, grabbing her arms. Out of breath, she glared at him, then the door. “Are you afraid of small spaces or something? You never had those fears before.”
