stairs nearest him.
The weak cries of a tiny animal sounded again, only louder.
Chance descended the stairs, the pitiful amount of light diminished by the time he reached the bottom. In the gloom, he almost tripped over a pile of rags. When his toe connected with them, the rags moved and a low moan rose from the floor.
Chance dropped to his haunches, his vision adjusting to the darkness. A figure dressed in jeans and a faded plaid flannel shirt rolled over and light blue eyes stared up at him.
“Who are you?”
“Chance McCall. Molly and Nova sent me over. You must be Jillian Taylor.” He scooped his hands beneath her, lifted her into his arms and rose with his burden.
She blinked and stared around the basement, her pale blond hair tousled, strands falling across her forehead. “What happened?”
“I’d like to know that myself. But first, let’s get you out of here.” Chance started up the stairs.
“I can walk,” she protested.
“Yeah, but if it’s all right by you, I’d like to get you into the light without worrying about someone pushing you down the stairs again.”
She shook her head, her silken hair brushing against his arm. “I wasn’t pushed.”
“No?”
Her frown deepened. “Why would you think that?”
At the top of the stairs, Chance set her on the dingy linoleum floor, keeping an arm around her waist to steady her. “If you weren’t pushed, why was the hook engaged at the top of the door?” He tipped his head toward the hook.
Leaning against him, she glanced up at the door, her eyes widening. “Why would the hook be engaged? I was the only one in the house. All the workers left.”
“That was my question.”
“Maybe it fell into place when the door closed.”
“Let’s see...the door was closed, the hook engaged, and when I opened the door, the light was off. Are you telling me you turned off the light, as well? And if you weren’t pushed down the stairs, you must have fallen.”
“I didn’t fall down the stairs.” She pinched the bridge of her nose.
“Then why were you lying on the ground?”
She stared up at him. “I don’t know.”
“Well, one thing’s for sure.”
“What’s that?”
“You can’t stay here alone.”
Jillian stiffened. “This is my house.”
“Yeah, but something’s not right here.”
She glanced around as if still getting her bearings. “Some say it’s haunted.”
“And you?”
She shrugged. “I think it needs work, but it’s my home.”
“Lady, you’re crazy. The best thing that could happen to this dump is to run a bulldozer over it.”
Jillian’s chin lifted. “That is not going to happen. I have workers scheduled to restore the house to its former glory. You wait. It’s going to be beautiful.”
Chance snorted. “It’s your funeral.”
“The only way I’m going to die in this house is from old age.” She pushed away from him and headed back to the front of the house. “You can go back to the B and B. I don’t need your help.”
“Can a ghost help you unload that couch off the trailer?”
“No. But I’d dump the damned thing on the ground before I let you touch it.”
Anger forced back the last vestiges of the fuzzy gray mist that had clouded Jillian’s head when Chance had found her lying on the basement floor. “Don’t you have a bachelor party to plan?”
“I’m told you have everything to do with the wedding completely planned.”
“I do.”
“Good, because I came to help. Now stop being stubborn.”
“I might be stubborn, but you are a jerk.” She stepped through the open front door and marched down the steps. On the last one, the rotted board gave way. She pitched forward and would have landed on her face had Chance not been right behind her and caught her, pulling her back against his front. He wrapped his arms around her middle and held on.
Her pulse pounding, Jillian inhaled a long, steadying breath. Then she pried the arms from around her. “Thank you,” she said grudgingly. “But I still don’t need your help.”
“Maybe you don’t, but I’m not leaving without you. So while I’m here, you might as well let me help you carry that couch.”
She’d had two high school boys help her load the couch from her apartment into the trailer. The best she could do by herself would be to scoot it to the edge of the trailer and dump in on the ground. Alone, she’d never get it up the porch stairs and into the house. Even with a hand truck, she wouldn’t be able to get it through the door. God, she hated letting Chance help. After he’d called her stubborn and said those awful things about her house, she really disliked the man.
“Okay. But just the couch,” she muttered.
Together, they lifted the couch out of the trailer and carried it up the porch steps.
Jillian lost her grip twice on the heavy piece of furniture and had to stop. By the time they had it in the house, her back hurt. When they finally got it to the back of the house, Jillian was questioning the couch’s very existence. Why hadn’t she sold it in a yard sale rather than move it?
With the couch shoved up against a wall in the room at the back of the house Jillian had designated to store all her boxes and furniture, she straightened, pressing a hand to the small of her aching back.
Chance stared across the sofa at her. “Why were you in the basement?”
Jillian closed her eyes, trying to remember why she’d gone down there in the first place. When it came to her, she opened her eyes wide. “I heard a kitten.” She spun on her heels and hurried to the kitchen.
“No way.” Chance caught up with her before she reached the basement door. “You’re not going down there.”
“But I heard a kitten. It might have been separated from its mother. I couldn’t leave it down there.”
“Then let me look for it.” Chance stepped in front of her, blocking her path. “You don’t need
