His Family by Muriel Jensen

Author:Muriel Jensen
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2013-10-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eight

China awoke to velvety darkness and the warm comfort of her bed at Shepherd’s Knoll. The last thing she remembered was being in Campbell’s car and feeling sleepy, a sense of rightness and security cocooning her.

He must have carried her in from the car and up the stairs. She felt deprived at not remembering that.

Wide-awake now, she pulled on a blue-and-white cotton robe over her white slip-nightie and went down to the kitchen to make a cup of tea. She turned on only the small lamp at a desk in the corner, which Kezia used to prepare menus. She filled the kettle at the sink and was about to put it on the stove when she spotted a flicker of light in the part of the orchard where the vintage trees were.

What on earth…? As she watched, the flicker grew to a glow and quickly to visible flame.

She put the kettle down and stared, unable to believe her eyes. Then her heart sank. The Duchess!

“Campbell!” she shouted even as she snatched the flashlight from its charger on a hook by the back door and raced out into the night. The security lights lit her path part of the way, but as she ran beyond them and the shadows swallowed her, she turned on the flashlight and kept running. To her left was the burning tree, and to her right, scurrying movements in the other trees and the sounds of urgent conversation.

She was torn between running for the water hose and trying to stop whoever had done this. Anger superseded common sense, and she flashed her light toward the movement, shouting promises of retribution.

“What do you think you’re doing!” she demanded, realizing, as she heard her own words, how stupid a question that was. They thought they were setting fire to the vintage section of the Abbotts’ orchard. And they were.

Why didn’t really matter at the moment, except that it was so cruel and reprehensible an act, and she’d so grown to love this orchard, particularly the old trees, that she operated on emotion rather than caution.

She heard a rustling to her right and ran into the trees in pursuit of it. Something struck the trunk of a tree right beside her, then ricocheted sharply off the side of her head. “Ow!” she wailed, as awareness fell away and she sank into blurring darkness.

CAMPBELL HEARD the crack of sound, followed by an expression of pain. He was certain it was China’s voice.

He’d been awakened by her shout of his name, looked out his window and seen the fire. Then he’d caught sight of her running form picked out by a spotlight. He’d raised the window and called her name, telling her to come back, but she didn’t hear him. Or, knowing her, she’d heard him and ignored him.

He yanked on his jeans over the briefs and T-shirt he wore to bed and ran down the stairs and out the back door, shouting for Winfield. He heard him behind him now, thumping over the ground.

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