Free The Haunting of Brier Rose by Patricia Simpson

nearest
neighbor was miles away, on the other side of the dense wood. She had never
seen Rottweilers in the vicinity and wondered if they were they a pack of wild
dogs.
    Roselyn, Roselyn, Roselyn ,
they growled, pacing in front of her. One padded closer and showed his teeth.
The other three tRotted up behind him, barking and
snarling.
    Desperate, Rose threw the rock at the leader. It hit the dog's
chest and thudded to the ground. He didn't even take notice of the impact and
lunged forward.
    Rose screamed and scrambled backward, over the soft bank of the
path. The earth gave way beneath her weight, and she toppled over, landing in
the briers.
    "Oh!" she cried, impaled by hundreds of little thorns
tearing at her shoulders, arms and legs. Tears sprang up, but she blinked them
back, too worried about the Rottweilers to indulge in crying. The dogs paced at
the top of the bank, glaring down at her, their jowls dripping froth on the
blackberry leaves. Apparently they knew better than to jump down into the
brambles. But how long would they stay there?
    Grimacing in pain, Rose tried to look behind her for an escape
route beyond the brambles, only to discover that her braid had come partially
undone and her hair was caught in the briers. The more she twisted and turned,
the more entangled she became, and she couldn't turn her head far enough to see
how to free herself. Like a rabbit caught in a snare, she panicked and nearly
pulled her hair out by the roots, until the pain in her scalp and in her arms
and palms made her fall back, exhausted and frightened. What would she do? How
long would the dogs stand guard over her? How would she ever get loose? Bea was
slightly deaf and would never hear her cries for help. The only person who
could help her was that awful Mr. Wolfe. And who knew if he was within earshot?
And if he did hear her and came to her aid, what would the dogs do to him?
    She glanced at the Rottweilers and noticed they had turned their
attention to something on the path. Their ears pricked forward as if they were
listening.
    "Ms. Quennel?" a familiar voice called.
    The dogs turned and loped off in the opposite direction. But for
the stickers in her back, Rose would have wilted in relief.
    "Mr. Wolfe!" she shouted. "I'm over here!"

CHAPTER FOUR
    Taylor leaned on his cane and wiped the sweat from his brow with
the back of his hand. That was Rose calling him, and she sounded as if she were
in trouble. Regardless, he had to pause for a moment and catch his breath. He
hadn't realized how tired he would get after such a short walk, or how hot it
was outside in the afternoon. Even though the garden and grounds looked cool
and inviting from the house, they offered little relief from the close air. His
leg throbbed and his breath came hard as he continued to hurry down the trail,
following Rose's raven, who soared ahead of him.
    "Help! Mr. Wolfe!"
    "Coming!" He was certain now that the plaintive voice
must belong to Rose Quennel. She didn't appear to be the type who would beg for
anyone's help, yet who else would be here in this remote place? Taylor limped
along the sun-dappled trail until he came to a clearing, where the path forked
off toward a small pond.
    "Mr. Wolfe!"
    He caught sight of a white figure lying spread-eagled in a
thicket of blackberries at the edge of the trail. He limped closer.
    "Rose?" he gasped in disbelief.
    "Watch out for the dogs, Mr. Wolfe!"
    "What dogs?" He glanced around. "I don't see any
dogs."
    "There were four Rottweilers. They attacked me."
    "I don't see them."
    "You don't? Maybe you scared them off."
    He nodded and looked down at her. "You look as if you've
gotten yourself in quite a spot there."
    "My hair is caught. And I'm in a great deal of discomfort."
    Taylor surveyed the situation, wincing when he noticed the bright
red scratches on her fair skin. Dressed in denim cutoffs and a T-shirt, he
didn't relish the idea of wading in after her, but he couldn't leave her and go
back for an ax to chop her