Page 6

"This is it." Wade reined in the team, tension palpable. "Manticore Manor. Or at least the front entrance."

Callista stared at the imposing wrought-iron gate.

Pillars of gray stone supported black metal bars that stretched eight feet high, each one topped with an arrow-shaped point that reinforced the idea of visitors not being welcome.

A fence mimicked the austere design. Black, spear-like iron rods slashing upward between unforgiving stone posts, stretching out from the sides of the gate as far as she could see in either direction.

This was the entrance to a fortress, not a home.

Her skin chilled. She told herself it was just the spring air cooling as night approached, but the resulting shivers that coursed through her limbs hinted at something more ominous. Perhaps The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde had not been the wisest literary selection for travel reading.

Was it her imagination, or were the shadows truly darker on the other side of the fence?

Wade set the wagon brake, and the click of the lever sliding into place jolted her out of her gothic musings.

"It's not too late to head back to town," he said, not for the first time. "I'm sure my ma would put you up for the night." His gaze darted to the gate, and his Adam's apple bobbed in an exaggerated swallow.

Callista pasted on a smile and manufactured some much-needed optimism. "That's sweet of you to offer, but I'm sure I'll be fine." She scooted to the edge of the bench and rose to her feet. "Come. I'll help you with the trunks."

Without waiting for his agreement, she slung the strap of her satchel over her head and arm and disembarked the wagon. Wade met her at the back of the wagon bed, and working together, they managed to drag the heavy trunks over to the gate.

Arms and back aching from the strain, Callista straightened after settling the second trunk by its counterpart at the base of the righthand pillar.

Spotting a wide smudge of dust from where the trunks had rubbed against her skirt, she gave the area a vigorous brushing until satisfied no one could find her appearance amiss.

After situating her satchel to hang along her hip, she gave each of her cuffs a tug then turned to face her escort. "Thank you, again, for the ride, Wade. I'm much obliged."

"It don't feel right leaving you here, Miss Rosenfeld." He cast a nervous glance over her shoulder, probably searching for signs of the massive canine he'd tangled with on his last visit.

Gaining some level of reassurance from the fact that the lad didn't seem to find what he sought among the trees on the other side of the fence, Callista tightened her grip on her resolve.

"Don't worry. Mr. Lightfoot is expecting me.

" Technically, he was expecting her father, but no need to split hairs.

Wade looked as if he planned to argue, so Callista did the only thing she could think of to clear his conscience.

She lifted the latch, pushed the gate inward, and slid inside the opening.

The bars rattled when she banged the gate closed, and the latch clanged in a way that reminded her far too much of shackles and chains.

She lifted a hand in parting. "Goodbye, Wade." Then before either of them could have second thoughts, she turned her back on the kind young man and strode down the dirt drive leading to Manticore Manor.

The path wound through gnarled trees and untamed vegetation, and every time the wind whistled through the leaves, her pulse accelerated another notch.

"'Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.

'" Callista murmured the words of the beloved psalm beneath her breath as she walked deeper into the unknown.

Her steps slowed of their own accord as thorned mesquite trees encroached the narrowing path.

Gray clouds gathered above, adding to the oppressive ambiance by casting eerie shadows and cutting her off from what little warmth emanated from a quickly sinking sun.

"'Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life.'"

She cast a glance behind her but saw no sign of either goodness or mercy in her wake.

Courage, Callista. Just because you can't see any evidence of his presence doesn't mean that God isn't with you. We look not at the things which are seen, but at the things which are not seen.

Even as that scriptural assurance moved through her mind, something unseen made its presence known. Something with a deep bass bark that rumbled over her like the thunder of an approaching storm.

Her head spun to the right. Her gaze scoured the shadows for the guard dog whose territory she'd invaded. She saw nothing.

Heart thumping, she rushed ahead, praying the manor would be around the next bend.

But before she could reach the bend in question, the barking shifted direction, now coming from in front of her.

She stumbled to a halt. Leaves rustled nearby.

The low-pitched barks grew closer. Nearly upon her.

She'd never be able to outrun the beast.

Callista squeezed her eyes shut, wrapped her arms around her middle, and prayed for a miracle.

Gruff barks echoed with a percussive depth so near, she could feel them like tremors in the earth.

Instinct urged her to flee, but reason glued her feet to the ground.

He hadn't attacked yet. She'd not give him reason to think of her as prey.

Perhaps if she imitated a tree long enough, he'd grow bored and search for entertainment elsewhere.

However, the barks grew increasingly insistent.

Apparently, her tree act wasn't as convincing as she'd hoped.

Or perhaps she was too convincing, for the beast decided to fell her.

He rammed his head into her ribcage and threw her backwards.

Callista let out a startled yelp as she stumbled and landed on her backside.

Eyes wide open now, she stared into the face of the massive beast who stood over her.

Even her imagination could not have conjured a dog like this.

On all fours, he towered over her, his fur the tawny gold of a lion, contrasting with the dark brown of his face and eyes.

He barked again, and she flinched, bringing up an arm to fend him off.

"Spartacus. Heel!"

The dog's countenance cleared as he turned toward the voice. A heartbeat later, he loped off the path and into the mesquite.

Callista scrambled to her feet, dusted off her rump, and turned in the direction the dog had gone. "Thank you, sir." She lifted her voice to be sure the man could hear her. She strained for a glimpse of him but saw nothing. "My name is—"

"I don't care what your name is. You're not welcome here." The harshness of the man's tone took her aback. "I want you off my property. Now!"

Callista fisted her hands. She had not come all this way to be bullied into leaving before she'd made it to the front door. "I have an appointment with Mr. Lightfoot."

"Mr. Lightfoot takes his orders from me, and I want you gone. End of discussion."

End of discussion? Not likely. This boorish excuse of a human being needed a lesson in manners.

Swallowing her mounting frustration, Callista called forth the conciliatory tone she used on the rare occasion she had to deal with a difficult client.

"I'm sorry if there has been some miscommunication.

" She stepped off the path and began wending her way through the mesquite, hoping to have a civilized discussion face-to-face instead of yelling at one another across the vegetation. "I've been hired—"

"Stop right there!"

Did she detect a note of fear beneath the dominating anger? She took another step.

"Come any closer and I'll sic Spartacus on you."

She didn't believe him. He might be rude and overbearing, but he'd called off his dog earlier. Intuition told her he wasn't the type to harm an innocent woman. Scare her, yes. But not harm her.

Callista dared another step. "Please, sir. If you'll just listen to what I have to say. . ."

"I'm done listening. Be gone!"

Hurried footsteps echoed from within the brush, and a moment later Callista caught a glimpse of the back of a man clad in a reddish-brown greatcoat darting between the trees, a giant dog at his side.

He had fled from her . Interesting.

With the threat of the Mastiff no longer looming, renewed determination bolstered Callista's courage. She returned to the path and marched forward with purpose. The master of Manticore Manor would soon learn that she did not surrender so easily.

Why couldn't the woman just do as she was told?

Everett bit back a growl as he spied the brunette stride down the path in the wrong direction.

She'd be knocking on his front door in minutes.

Cursed female. She might be incapable of doing as instructed, but his staff knew better than to defy his orders.

Everett reached the side of the house, braced his hand on the railing, and launched himself over the side and onto the wrap-around porch. He wrenched open the French doors of the parlor and ran inside.

"Lightfoot! Timens!" His boots pounded against the polished wood floors as he rushed into the front hall.

Timens, his dour-faced butler, met him in the entryway, his thin mustache twitching in disapproval. "You bellowed, sir?"

"Where's Lightfoot?"

"I'm here, Griff."

Everett spun to his right, the dratted patch he wore stealing his peripheral vision and making it frustratingly easy for his valet to sneak up on him.

Shifting his position so he could see both of his staff at the same time, Everett gave his orders, ignoring the throbbing in his head that signaled the onset of a migraine.

"There's a woman about to knock on that door." He jabbed a pointed finger toward the offending portal. "She is not to be let in under any condition. Do I make myself clear?"

"A girl?" Timens's eyes widened, a rather amazing sight, seeing as how nothing in Everett's experience had ever shaken the man's unflappable demeanor.

Lightfoot crossed to the narrow window that flanked the door and inched the curtain back just enough to peek outside. "A girl," he confirmed. "And quite a lovely one at that."

Lovely ones were the most dangerous variety.

"Get rid of her," Everett growled.

"But, sir . . ." Lightfoot began to protest, but Everett was in no mood to listen.

He slashed his hand through the air, cutting off his valet's sentence. "Get rid of her. That's an order."

The sound of small shoes on stone steps pounded through him like railroad spikes. Everett spun away from the entrance and ran for the stairwell. He took the stairs two at a time until he reached the second-floor landing, then pressed his back against the wall and slid into the shadows.

Head throbbing, he closed his eyes and concentrated on slowing his breathing. He needed a cold compress and a dark room to sleep off the pain before knives started piercing his skull, but he couldn't rest until he was assured the woman was gone.

He'd not allow another female intent on pursuing her own agenda to destroy the peace he'd painstakingly carved out for himself over the past five years. One life had already been stolen from him. He wasn't willing to forfeit another.