Through the Darkness: Of Love and Loss Series Book One

18

Elyria stepped from the poorly sprung truck with help from the driver. Covertly rubbing her bruised and sore backside, she waited for him to unload her only bag.

She hadn't wanted to send the wrong message by packing too much, but neither did she want to assume the worst and pack too little. This bag, Daphne had assured her, allowed her to remain in the middle of the two.

A soft thud and gentle vibration on the ground announced its arrival near her right foot. Murmuring her thanks, she waited and listened as the driver grunted and sped off, kicking up a choking cloud of dirt and pebbles that pelted her shoes.

She turned her face away and coughed. Then, once the dust settled, she bent demurely at the knee and reached down until she found the handle.

Straightening with her bag clenched in her right fist, Elyria gripped her walking stick firmly in her left and began the nerve-wracking trek to what she hoped would be the correct home. Because if it wasn't, she didn't know what she'd do. Other than wandering aimlessly around town until she found Everett. Or died of thirst and starvation. Whichever came first.

Elyria scoffed at her foolish thoughts and took a calming breath to help her focus. The last thing she needed was to fall flat on her face from not paying attention to where she walked.

The tiny bits of gravel crunched with each step she took, growing louder the closer she got until the noise melded with the mad rush of blood in her ears and blocked out the birds chirping overhead.

Her heart raced with excitement. Or possibly fear? She frowned and forced a swallow down her suddenly parched throat. Dear heavens, it was both, and now she faced the real danger it would make her throw up.

She'd never been so nervous in her life—other than the day he kissed her, she silently corrected. And it that moment turned out rather well if she said so herself.

But such thoughts did nothing to alleviate her sweaty palms, making it difficult to hold onto her bag with any degree of confidence. And to top it all off, her legs wobbled like over-cooked noodles. Yes, she was most definitely in a state of full-fledged panic.

In the time it took to traverse the dirt drive, what had seemed like a pleasant summer day mere moments ago had metamorphosed into sweltering heat. Sweating like a saint in a whorehouse was not how she wanted Everett to see her for the first—

Her walking stick thunked against what she assumed to be the bottom step of the front porch, proclaiming her arrival and bringing her up short.

Oh, dear. Was she really doing this? What right did she have, showing up unannounced with only a glimmer of hope he would be thrilled to see her there?

He could be sitting on the porch, staring at her this very minute, wondering who she might be and why she was intruding on his life.

She muttered an expletive, one of the Captain's favorites, and sighed. She should have asked herself this long before journeying over two days to get here.

It proved only one thing. Well, two things, now that she thought of it. One, she remained, without a doubt, a poor planner and strategist; and two, there was a genuine chance her unannounced arrival showed beyond a doubt what Daphne had long suspected—she'd lost her mind.

"May I help you?" A man—most definitely not her Everett—asked to the left of her.

Elyria turned, fearing she had been dropped off at the wrong address after all. "Does Everett Montrose live here?"

"Yes," the man said, his tone suspicious.

"Oh good," she sighed in relief. At least she'd sorted out that issue. "I've come to surprise him."