Free The Widow of Saunders Creek by Tracey Bateman

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    I gathered a deep breath and walked to the door. I reached out, turned the knob, and pulled, but it didn’t budge. It must have slammed too hard and caused the old door to jam in the warped frame.
    At least I surely hoped that was all it was. I straightened up and took a deep breath, trying to force myself to stop allowing my imagination to run away with me.
    I pulled again, harder. But it still refused to move. The wind behind me was growing stronger, and outside a loud clap of thunder rattled the glass in the old panes.
    Okay, this was getting ridiculous. I had to get out of this room. I worked my hand, spreading out my fingers, then balling them into a fist. Twice, three times, as though warming up for a sports event. I grabbed the doorknob, determined that this was the time the darned thing would open. I was just about to yank for all I was worth when I heard Corrie calling.
    “Eli!”
    “In the master bedroom,” I called back. “The door’s stuck.”
    “What are you doing in my bedroom?”
    My face warmed. “I thought I heard you in here, but it was the wind.”
    “The door’s stuck?” Her voice was just on the other side of the door, and I felt ashamed at the relief flowing over me. How could I be such a coward?
    “Yeah,” I said. “I might need you to get the hammer and take the outside frame off if we can’t get it to open. The wood probably swelled from the moisture in the air.”
    “Yeah, it’s pretty humid. From the looks of the sky, we’re in for a pretty bad storm.”
    A sense of urgency welled up in my chest as I stared at the white door. Painting a wooden door probably didn’t help the sticking factor either.
    “Hang on,” Corrie said. “Maybe I can open it from this side without taking the trim off. Besides, I only have one hand available now.”
    My lips twitched at her words. A warped frame was a warped frame. “What do you mean by that?”
    “You’ll see.”
    The doorknob twisted. I didn’t even bother to step back. I was that sure she couldn’t open the door. “Okay,” she said. “I’m going to shove my shoulder into it, so be sure to stand back.”
    “Okay,” I replied, but stayed planted, grinning like an idiot. The next second I was seeing stars as the door flew open and connected with my face.
    “Oh my goodness! Eli!” Corrie gasped. “I told you to stand back. It wasn’t even stuck.”
    Blood flowed between my fingers. “Good Lord,” Corrie said. “I’ll be back in a second. Let me get a hand towel to catch that gusher.”
    My eyes watered. My nose was broken. It had to be. Corrie wasback in a flash with a wet towel. “Here, put this on your face and come downstairs to the kitchen so you don’t get blood all over the rugs in here. They were your grandmother’s, and I don’t want them ruined.”
    “Thanks for your concern,” I said, only it sounded like “Thaksfoyocudcerd.”
    “It’s probably not broken. I think it just popped a vessel.”
    “What do you have in your hand?” I asked, feeling like a fool for the absurd way my speech sounded.
    We reached the bottom of the stairs, and she turned, her face glowing. “Look what I found.”
    My head was beginning to pound, and I could feel my face starting to swell. I squinted as I glanced at the creature she held in her arms. “A kitten?”
    “Yep. I found him sitting all alone meowing at me as if he was asking me to take care of him.”
    “Where?”
    “By the barn.”
    I nodded. “The barn cats have been part of the family forever. They keep the rats and field mice away from the house.”
    She opened the freezer and pulled out the ice bin, then grabbed a plastic storage bag from a drawer and filled it. She took a thin dishtowel from the linen drawer and wrapped it around the bag of ice. “Voilà—instant ice pack! See how good I am—all that with one hand.”
    “Thank you.”
    “Here,” she said, her voice softened. She set the kitten on the counter and took my arm. “Sit down at the