He bowed his head over hers. What if he hadn’t been here? He shuddered. Perhaps she’d think it was only her own shakes reverberating through his body. The woolen coat she wore scratched at his bare chest. But it also provided a modicum of modesty. It wasn’t proper for him to be holding her when he was only half dressed, but he could no more release her than he could walk on the ceiling.
He knew the moment she calmed enough to realize she clung to him with the tenacity of a burr. A smile curved his lips. But with far less aggravation. Truth was, he kind of liked holding her close.
She eased back and looked into his eyes.
Before she could speak, he guided her to a chair. “Sit while I make you a cup of tea.” He started a fire in the cold stove, filled the kettle, and set it to boil. Then he went to the table and sat across the corner from her.
Her head hung down, and her hands twisted.
He cupped his hands over hers. “Tell me what happened.”
“I heard a noise downstairs. Skip was barking and growling. I grabbed my weapon—” She tipped her head toward a bat of wood in the middle of the floor. “I didn’t want anyone to go upstairs where Eddie was, so I came down.” Her face lifted to his. “I thought I could slip past him. I’d scream so loud it would wake you up.” Searching eyes held his, seeking his reassurance.
“I came as soon as I heard Skip.” The dog hovered at the doorway. “Good dog, you protected them.”
Skip lay down, his chin on his paws, and watched.
“Thank you.” The words were so soft he bent closer to hear, breathing in the hint of mothballs.
He traced his fingers along the scratchy collar. “You always wear this to bed?”
Her sniff was part protest and part teasing. “I didn’t want to confront an intruder in my dressing gown.”
“Very wise. Very wise, indeed. I’m sure he would have run away in horror at the sight.” He tugged at the collar to indicate what he meant.
“Didn’t seem to deter him. But a blow with that stick did.” Laughter rocketed from her, sudden and full-throated. She tipped her head back as the chuckles rolled on and on. Tears trickled down her cheeks.
His hands on his thighs, he watched and waited. Would the laughter hold or give way to—? Yup. She wailed and slumped over her knees.
“Dianne!” Agony flooded his being. He got to his feet meaning to tend to the boiling kettle. Instead, he pulled her back into his arms, her tears dampening his chest. “Shh. Shh. Everything is all right.” He rocked on his heels as he made what he hoped were comforting sounds.
Sobs grew to stutters. Then she rested quietly and placidly in his arms.
Afraid to startle her into a fresh spate of tears, he stood motionless as steam poured from the kettle.
A sigh puffed against his chest. “Was that the man you chased from the place?”
“I didn’t get a good look at him.” He reviewed what he’d seen—the size of the shadow, the sound of the yelling and grunting, and the shape of the horse. It led him to one conclusion. “I believe it was Al.”
Her fingers curled into his shoulders. “What’s to stop him from returning?”
Nothing, unfortunately, but all he said was, “We’re prepared.” He nodded toward the gun where he left it by the door, then shifted his gaze to the hunk of wood. “Besides, he discovered you were able to defend yourself.”
She left his embrace and folded her arms across her chest. “He guessed I’d be alone.”
“He had no way of knowing that.” Had he watched the placeand noted that Jace had gone to the bunkhouse? It was the only thing that made sense.
“He expected to have fun with me.” She sank to the chair as if her legs had lost strength.
“Al isn’t particularly bright. Who knows what was going through his alcohol-soaked brain?” The steaming kettle needed to be dealt with, and he moved it from the heat, found the tea, added a handful into the teapot, and poured in the water. He stood back and waited for it to steep.
The minutes ticked past, marked by the steady drum of the clock over the dining room door.
He chose the prettiest china cup and poured tea for her. Then, lest she protest, he filled a cup for himself and carried them both to the table.
The liquid splashed when he set the cups down. The chair creaked as he lowered himself to it. After that, the only sound was the fire crackling in the stove, the clock ticking, and the gentle slurp while they consumed their tea.
Her cup empty, she leaned back and yawned.
