Beau looked around. “That’s because there’s nowhere to sit.”
“Try the greenhouse. We grow a lot of our produce.”
And a greenhouse there was. With the bonus of a bench and a fire to keep the place hot and steamy, an oasis of greenery in an otherwise sterile place. Beau pushed his way in and along the path to the single white wrought Iron bench. And there he sat down, Pip still tucked close in his lap.
“I’m not so sure this is a good idea right now,” she protested, hating that her voice was suddenly trembling. That her arms and legs were as well. St Bede’s bed, she was about to have a reaction. “I can take care of myself, you know.”
“I know you can,” Beau responded gently, bending his head over hers so that she was completely surrounded. Completely nurtured and protected. “But just for this once, try to be a delicate flower and let me be the strong one.”
She could never in her life remember a moment when she felt so safe, so whole. So cherished, blast it.
It wouldn’t last. She knew that.
“I had no other choice, Beau,” she said, her voice thickening uncomfortably, the sound of that gun loud again in her ears. “I had to do it.”
And oddly, she trusted Beau to know what she meant.
He tightened his hold on her. “You saved my life, you unruly brat. Who taught you how to shoot like that?!”
Her laugh sounded a bit frantic. “You did, you clunch.”
He pulled back. “Never. I cannot imagine encouraging such behavior.”
She felt as if she were suddenly one giant smile. “It was the year we were all to become pirates.”
“Ah.” He nodded. “Yellowbeard and company.”
“I even knitted a beard from yellow yarn.” The trembling was worse, and she was afraid her stomach would disappoint her. “This, however, is not how I anticipated feeling after an action.”
He wrapped even more tightly around her. “Like you’ll fly apart? Like your breakfast will make an abrupt return? Like you want to cry and laugh and curl into a ball and disappear?”
She pulled back a bit, making certain he wasn’t easing his grip. “Exactly. Does this happen every time?”
He looked down at her and his eyes were fathomless and dark. “I’m afraid so.”
She nodded and tucked herself back in, her tears beginning to soak Beau’s coat. “Does this have something to do with why so many old soldiers drink?”
He tightened his hold again. “I imagine it does.”
She nodded against the bulwark of his chest. “Have you felt it?”
For a moment, all she heard was silence. But when she lifted her head, it was to see the price of his service in his gentle brown eyes. “Yes, Pip. I have.”
She tucked herself back into his embrace. “I don’t like it, Beau. I don’t like it at all.”
His breath hitched. “I know, sweetheart. I’m sorry.”
She just kept nodding, sad that he understood. “I am sorry for the state your coat after all this.”
“Cry all you want. You earned it.”
She shook her head. “I don’t want to,” she protested, crying. “It gives me a headache.”
“We never did practice what to do for those when we were pirates, did we?”
She shook her head, burrowed deep into his coat as she sobbed. “We did not.”
Beau was good enough to let her wear herself out a bit, tucked safely in his arm, his hand against her hair.
