Could he? Every muscle in his body screamed to hold on, to make sure this monster couldn’t rise again.
The chemical sweetness of whatever Rose had used still hung in the air, coating the back of his throat and mixing with the copper taste of blood in his mouth.
His broken leg had twisted beneath him at some point during the fight—he couldn’t remember when exactly, only that each breath sent fresh waves of fire shooting from knee to hip. The splint dug into his flesh through his torn trousers, and warmth trickled down his calf that could be either blood or sweat. He couldn’t tell anymore.
“Jamie.” Rose’s voice cracked on his name. “Please.”
Her words finally broke through the red haze clouding his vision. He forced his fingers to loosen, one by one.
Rose had laid the cloth over Vincent’s mouth and nose, and the man’s chest continued its shallow rise and fall beneath him—unconscious, not dead.
James finally rolled off Vincent’s chest, his broken leg screaming as he turned. The room spun, and he had to brace one hand against the grubby floor to keep from pitching sideways.
But Rose needed him. He had to keep his senses about him.
She knelt beside him, still bound to the splintered chair back, her hair wild from all the fighting. Bruises darkened her throat in the shape of Vincent’s fingers, and her face—her beautiful face—showed a purple bloom on her right cheek where that monster must have struck her.
She started to wiggle out of the ropes, and he helped work the chair out from behind her. Once she pushed the ropes down the length of her skirt and off her feet, she turned to him.
He didn’t wait. Couldn’t wait.
He pulled her into his arms, ignoring the way his leg twisted beneath him, ignoring the fire that shot through every nerve ending.
Nothing mattered except the solid weight of her in his arms, the proof that she was alive, that he’d reached her in time.
God had protected her. Protected them both.
She collapsed into him, her body shaking so fierce, he could feel it in his bones. Her fingers seized his coat, clutching the fabric like he might disappear if she loosened her grip.
Never. He would never leave her side again if he had any say-so in the matter.
The trembling in her body worked its way into his own chest, settling there alongside the terror that still hadn’t quite released its hold on his ribs.
“I’m sorry.” His throat still burned from Vincent’s chokehold, making his voice raw. “Rose, I’m so sorry. For the barn, for standing there useless when you needed me to tell you—” His words cracked, and he had to force the rest out past the tightness. “For letting you believe even for a second that I blamed you or your mother for what that monster did.”
“I know.” Tears spilled down her cheeks, cutting clean tracks through the grime coating her skin. “Jamie, I know. I should never have run. I should have trusted you.”
The way she said his name—the childhood nickname only she had ever used—broke something loose in his chest. He pulled her closer, burying his face in her hair and breathing in the scent of her.
She was real. Solid. Alive.
And safe.
CHAPTER 31
The rope burned against Rose’s fingers as she pulled it tight around Vincent’s wrists.
His body slumped against the cabin’s central support post, dead weight that would have toppled sideways if not for the beam at his back. The chloroform had done its work—his chest rose and fell in shallow breaths, his face slack from unconsciousness.
But Rose didn’t trust it. Didn’t trust him.
She wrapped another loop around his wrists, then another around his entire body. Her hands wouldn’t stop shaking, making the simple task so much harder. Every muscle in her body screamed for rest, but she couldn’t stop moving.
She couldn’t let herself think about what might have happened if James hadn’t found her. If he’d arrived even minutes later. Only God could bring rescue at that exact moment she’d needed it most.
The moment she’d finally trusted the fight into God’s hands.
“That’s good.” James’s voice came from somewhere behind her, rough and strained. “He’s not going anywhere.”
