Danger in a Small Town. Ginny Aiken

lost her footing and landed on her right foot. Pain sliced up her leg. “Oh…oh…”

      Gritting her teeth, Tess reached down and gingerly pulled a shard of glass from the sole of her foot. The ooze of blood told her she was in trouble. And without her phone, she’d have to crawl her way up the basement stairs, careful not to touch the wound to the dirty floor. She needed to call for help.

      Inch by inch she made her bloody way across the basement. She climbed the stairs rear end first, step by step by step. Once she pushed her behind up over the last step, she breathed a sigh of relief. Now what?

      Now she had to apply pressure to the wound. The bleeding was heavy. Then…?

      Did she call an ambulance and scare Uncle Gordon with the siren and all the commotion? Or did she call Miss Tabitha on her private line, drag the poor dear out of bed in the middle of the night and scare the stuffing out of her?

      She’d been gone from town for so long, she wasn’t sure any of her former friends were still around or would remember her if they were. She’d find no help there.

      The phone rang, sending a shot of relief right through her. Potential help. Then it hit her. Who would be calling in the middle of the night?

      The phone rang again. Tess hopped across the room on her good foot, her bad foot dripping on the white-painted wood floor. “Hello?”

      She could hear the caller’s breathing on the other end, but she got no response. “I’ve had enough of your calls. This is a lousy time for another prank—”

      “It’s no prank,” a harsh voice rasped. “It’s a warning. I want it back.”

      Tess froze. Her heart pounded. The caller was clearly disguising his voice.

      Lord, help! She dredged up all her courage. “What? What do you want?”

      “You know.” Then he hung up.

      Tess stood in the brightly lit kitchen, the phone clutched to her chest. Chills ran through her. Her stomach knotted, and everything felt surreal.

      She remembered the shadow and the broken window. Tess leaned sideways, and with a glance, checked the kitchen door. She breathed a relieved sigh when she saw the dead bolt in the locked position. When she straightened again, pain stabbed up her leg, and she gasped at the sight of the pool of blood from her cut foot. She needed medical attention, and soon. Should she go ahead and call 911? Was the person still outside? Had he been the one on the phone?

      If she called an ambulance and the trespasser was still there, would the ambulance make him look for a place to hide until they came and took her away? Uncle Gordon would be left alone.

      If instead she called Miss Tabitha for help, would the intruder overpower them both? And then…? Then what?

      “Stop it!” She wasn’t thinking clearly. The shadow had to have been the branches from the tree. And the caller? He must have made a mistake, dialed the wrong number, and in the dead of night, thought she was his intended target.

      That was it. Nothing else made sense.

      Another stab of pain shot up her leg, worse than before. She needed help. But who could she call?

      Then it struck her. She knew one competent, capable person who she hoped wouldn’t mind helping. Ethan would know what to do.

      Relieved, but now keenly aware of the foot pain, she speed-dialed Miss Tabitha’s boarding-house number and hoped whoever she woke up would forgive her.

      “Hello?” Ethan asked, his voice rough, as though he hadn’t used it in hours.

      Thank you, Father. “Ethan? I’m sorry to wake you up, but I’m so glad you picked up the phone. It’s Tess Graver. I need your help. One of our basement windows broke, probably during the storm, and when I went to cover it to block out the rain, I stepped on broken glass and hurt my foot. It’s bleeding pretty badly, and I need to get to the E.R. Could you please help?”

      “I’ll get going as soon as we hang up.”

      His deep voice reassured her, and Tess pushed the memory of the shadow and the phone call out of her thoughts. “I…I think a neighbor’s dog might have broken the window. Uncle Gordon says Rupert Anthony, three doors down and across the street, got himself this monster of a dog. It looks like the animal broke loose, trashed our rosebed, and crashed into the window, too.” She hoped.

      “Some dog, that Rupert Anthony’s pet.”

      His skepticism echoed her unease. For a moment, panic threatened, and Tess couldn’t stand the thought of hanging up, of losing the connection, even if it existed only over the phone. Then she took a settling breath, closed her eyes and prayed another silent plea.

      A tree branch and a wrong number, Tess. Remember?

      “Fine,” she said, marginally calmer. “Just hurry, please. I called because I don’t want an ambulance to wake up Uncle Gordon, and I’m making a bloody mess in the kitchen.”

      “I’ll be right there.”

      After a quick goodbye Tess hung up then hopped to the sink, biting down against the pain. She leaned to the right and unlocked the dead bolt. As the panic rose, she prayed. Lord, it was the oak tree, right?

      Then, determined not to give in to the fear, Tess took a clean towel from the drawer to the left of the sink. She folded and dropped it on the floor, right by her foot. With teeth gritted, she pressed down, gasping from the pain, but aware she needed pressure to stanch the flow of blood.

      Less than five minutes later, Ethan let himself in. When he saw the bloody trails across the floor, he sucked in a sharp breath. “You didn’t tell me it was this bad.”

      “I did! I told you there was a lot of blood and I needed to get to the E.R.”

      “I didn’t expect—” he waved toward her foot “—that.”

      A wave of dizziness struck her. Her good leg threatened to buckle, and Tess began to shiver. She waved toward the drawer. “You’ll find more clean towels there. Help me out. We need to get going.”

      He crossed to the cupboard and returned, towel in hand. “That duct tape you’re holding will help. Give me a minute, and I’ll have you ready for our ride to the E.R.”

      Moments later, foot bundled up and no longer bleeding at an alarming rate, Ethan took her elbow and helped her stand. But then he stopped. “Wait!” he said. “How about your uncle? We can’t leave him here alone. Let me get a friend to stay with him. Joe lives at Miss Tabitha’s, too.”

      As they went out into the—thankfully—slowing rain, Ethan called and gave his friend directions. Then he eased Tess into his SUV. She again noticed his strength, but this time it came tempered with gentleness and care.

      Tess sank into the leather seat. “Thanks for coming,” she said when he sat behind the wheel.

      He gave her a wry smile. “It’s better than pacing the halls all night. I…have trouble sleeping sometimes.”

      “I’m sorry.” A muscle tightened in his cheek. “Don’t worry,” she added. “I won’t pry.”

      This time his look conveyed more than gratitude. Tess thought she saw admiration there, too. Warmth filled her, and for the first time since the bolt of lightning woke her up, she began to relax.

      “We’ll give Joe another minute or two,” Ethan said.

      “Then it won’t take us long to make it to the E.R.”

      The friend arrived. He and Ethan spoke briefly. As the man rounded the corner of the house, Tess glanced at Ethan. “Are you sure Uncle Gordon will be safe?”

      “As sure as I can be. I’ve known Joe…oh, about six months now. He hasn’t given me a reason to doubt him.”

      For the space of a second Tess thought how wonderful it would have been