Rules of Protection (Tangled in Texas #1)(95)

After ten minutes, my guilt and shame were replaced with an intense feeling of dread. Floss made us sit at the table and served us dinner. I pushed the stew around in my bowl and barely picked at the cornbread. Cowboy had no problem eating his, though.

An hour passed. Fret lines on my forehead deepened. Where were they? Surely, they had found out something by now. In the bathroom, I’d just recovered from another bout of mental anguish and was washing my face.

That’s when the lights went off.



Chapter Twenty-one

I couldn’t see my face in the mirror, but I imagined it looked twisted with fright. My heart banged against the walls of my chest as if it would burst any moment.

“Emily,” Cowboy whispered, “open the door.”

I groped for the doorknob in the darkness and unlocked it, shoving it open. Cowboy grabbed my arm and yanked me into the hall. My eyes adjusted to the moonlit room as he shoved a handgun into my palm.

“It’s loaded. I hope you remember how to use it,” he said, shoving his own handgun into his waistband.

“What the hell’s going on?” I said, keeping my voice low like he did, though I didn’t know why. “What happened to the lights?”

“Someone killed the power and phone lines from outside.”

“And I left my darn cell phone in Hank’s truck again,” Floss added, standing next to Cowboy with a shotgun in her hands that was as big as her.

The blood drained from my face, and my body trembled. Another surge of fear ran through me. If anything happened to either of them, Jake would never forgive me. Hell, I’d never forgive myself.

“W-who’s out there?” I asked.

“I’m not sure,” Cowboy said. “I saw at least two men, but there might be more. We need to get out of here.”

“Aren’t we safer staying here?”

“Not if they set the house on fire, we aren’t,” Cowboy said, glancing at me to judge my reaction. “If they’re trying to kill you, it’d be the easiest way. We’d be safer in the woods. But I’m sure they’re watching the doors, and we’re too high off the ground to go out any other way.”

“Not necessarily,” Floss said, making her way to her bedroom.

We followed her into the dark walk-in closet, where she clicked on one of those stick-it-anywhere dome lights, powered by batteries. We watched as she moved a large tote and threw some shoes out of the way. I wasn’t sure what she was doing until she pulled back the carpet underneath, revealing a trap door in the floor.

“Hank put this in here when we moved in. He didn’t like the idea of being caught unprepared in an emergency,” she said, grinning.

With his gun readied, Cowboy pulled the door open with a good hard tug. A narrow wooden ladder led into a dark area somewhere under the house. He leaned down, gun in hand, and peered inside the hole. Everything must’ve checked out because he shoved his gun in his waistband and began climbing down.

“Once I’m on the ground, toss me the shotgun,” he muttered to Floss. “Then you two come down one at a time as fast as you can.”

He ducked into the hole, practically sliding the rest of the way down the ladder and landing in a crouch on the ground. Cowboy peered around again to make sure he was alone. I doubted he saw much more than I could, which was nothing. He motioned, and I carefully dropped the shotgun to him. Then he waved for us to follow.

I made Floss go first and helped her into the hole. She climbed down slowly, taking one small step at a time until she stood safely on the ground beside Cowboy. Not wasting any time, I stuck the handgun Cowboy gave me in my waistband. The cold metal irritated my skin as I descended the creaky ladder.

It was uncomfortably dark, with a small amount of moonlight seeping through the slats of a gate leading to the outside. With guns drawn, we maneuvered toward it silently.

Cowboy checked to make sure we were clear. “Okay, we need to stay on the edge of the woods. Work our way to the back of the property as quietly as possible. Once we get on the trail, the footing will be easier,” he promised. “Stay low, but keep moving.”

At his signal, we made a run for the woods with Cowboy ushering us through the darkness. We weren’t sure where the two men Cowboy had seen were, and we weren’t waiting to find out.

We stumbled along the edge of the property toward the back fence, staying low to conceal our movements, guided by what little moonlight passed through the thick canopy of trees. The terrain was rough and uneven, which made running more difficult, but we went as fast as we could.

About halfway there, Floss stepped into a hole and fell to the ground, one leg sprawled behind her and the other bent under her in an agonizing shape. She cried out, but then stifled it immediately. It was the first time I’d ever heard a filthy word pass her lips. Her eyes watered as her hands shakily gripped her hurt ankle.

Cowboy tried to lift her, but any small manipulation of her ankle had Floss wailing in pain. It was the equivalent of us wearing flashing, neon signs that had “Yoo-hoo, over here!” written on them.

A man’s voice yelled out, “They’re not in the house! Search the property!”

“Darn thing’s snapped like a twig,” Floss said, her voice trembling with pain. “I’ll just slow you down. You two go on without me.”

“We’re not leaving you here. Tell her, Cowboy.” When he didn’t say anything, I realized he didn’t agree. We traded a quick glance. “You aren’t serious,” I said, the shock apparent in my voice. “She can’t stay out here alone.”