trembled. A sense of urgency unlike anything he’d ever
felt rushed over him. Slinging the covers off, he crawled toward her, ignoring
the ache in his knee.
Blake positioned
himself in front of her. “Eunice,” he said delicately, “what’s wrong?” He
hesitated touching her, but when he did, she flinched. “Talk to me, Eunice. Are
you sick? Please, say something.”
Swollen, blood-shot
eyes greeted him when Eunice finally lifted her head. His heart pound against
his ribcage and his stomach knotted. Without giving it any thought, he ran the
pad of his thumb across her tear-stained cheek. Her face was warm to the touch,
but the rest of her body was ice cold. He snatched a quilt from the bed and
draped it around her, then used another remote to increase the flames in the
fireplace.
“Tell me what’s wrong,”
he said.
“I hate thunderstorms.”
Judging by her response
to the turmoil outside their window, there was clearly a story behind her
hatred. Instead of inquiring, Blake eased down next to her and draped his arm
around her. She rested her head onto his shoulder.
A short time later,
Eunice’s trembling subdued. Silent minutes passed and so did the storm, until
only faint rumbles could be heard in the distance.
“My mother didn’t die
in an accident, Blake. She was murdered. The day before Thanksgiving.”
Blake froze, then
relaxed. Murdered ?
“When I was twelve, my
mother rushed into my bedroom and locked the door. I was half asleep and had no
idea what was going on.”
When Eunice’s body
started to tremble again, he glided his hand up and down her arm.
“I could hear him
coming up the stairs.”
Him ? Did that
mean she knew her mother’s killer? Then something far more awful occurred to
him. Had she witnessed her mother’s murder?
“I asked my mother what
was happening, but she shushed me. Then she led me into my closet and tossed a
bunch of clothes on top of me.” She dragged her hand across her cheek. “Even
scared out of my mind, I thought how nice the clothes smelled. Like lavender.
God, how I hate the smell of lavender.”
Blake made a mental
note. He would have been okay if she’d ended the story there, but she didn’t.
“My bedroom door
splintered just as my mom closed my closet door. When she told him he was
violating a restraining order, I knew it was my stepfather she was talking to.
He said nothing, simply laughed at my mother’s words as if she’d told the best
joke in the world. Then started calling her awful names. I remember thinking…he
would fill the swear jar we kept on top of the refrigerator. Ridiculous, huh?
At a time like that to have such a silly thought.”
Blake could only
imagine how difficult it was for Eunice to relive this moment. “No, it wasn’t.
You had the thought of a twelve-year-old.”
“I was used to hearing
her cry. Especially when we still lived with my stepfather. But this time was
different. This time I knew something was really wrong.”
Eunice lifted and
pulled away from him. Reluctantly, Blake allowed his hand to fall away from her
shoulders. He’d never in his life felt the desire to protect someone as much as
he felt it now.
More tears streamed
down her face. “My mother begged for her life, but the heartless bastard shot
her anyway. The sound… It was like a cannon.” She shook her head. “I didn’t… I
couldn’t…”
Blake stood and held
out his hand for Eunice to take. “Come on.” Once her hand was in his, he led
her to the bed. She didn’t protest when he tucked her in, nor when he nestled
close behind her. With her tightly cloaked in his arms, he whispered in her ear,
“We all have demons that haunt us. But tonight, you don’t have to fear yours.”
Because tonight—and every moment they
were together—he’d protect her.
Chapter 7
Eunice eyed Blake as he
lay asleep beside her. How was it possible that the man was even handsome when
he slept? She wasn’t sure what time he’d fallen asleep, but
felt rushed over him. Slinging the covers off, he crawled toward her, ignoring
the ache in his knee.
Blake positioned
himself in front of her. “Eunice,” he said delicately, “what’s wrong?” He
hesitated touching her, but when he did, she flinched. “Talk to me, Eunice. Are
you sick? Please, say something.”
Swollen, blood-shot
eyes greeted him when Eunice finally lifted her head. His heart pound against
his ribcage and his stomach knotted. Without giving it any thought, he ran the
pad of his thumb across her tear-stained cheek. Her face was warm to the touch,
but the rest of her body was ice cold. He snatched a quilt from the bed and
draped it around her, then used another remote to increase the flames in the
fireplace.
“Tell me what’s wrong,”
he said.
“I hate thunderstorms.”
Judging by her response
to the turmoil outside their window, there was clearly a story behind her
hatred. Instead of inquiring, Blake eased down next to her and draped his arm
around her. She rested her head onto his shoulder.
A short time later,
Eunice’s trembling subdued. Silent minutes passed and so did the storm, until
only faint rumbles could be heard in the distance.
“My mother didn’t die
in an accident, Blake. She was murdered. The day before Thanksgiving.”
Blake froze, then
relaxed. Murdered ?
“When I was twelve, my
mother rushed into my bedroom and locked the door. I was half asleep and had no
idea what was going on.”
When Eunice’s body
started to tremble again, he glided his hand up and down her arm.
“I could hear him
coming up the stairs.”
Him ? Did that
mean she knew her mother’s killer? Then something far more awful occurred to
him. Had she witnessed her mother’s murder?
“I asked my mother what
was happening, but she shushed me. Then she led me into my closet and tossed a
bunch of clothes on top of me.” She dragged her hand across her cheek. “Even
scared out of my mind, I thought how nice the clothes smelled. Like lavender.
God, how I hate the smell of lavender.”
Blake made a mental
note. He would have been okay if she’d ended the story there, but she didn’t.
“My bedroom door
splintered just as my mom closed my closet door. When she told him he was
violating a restraining order, I knew it was my stepfather she was talking to.
He said nothing, simply laughed at my mother’s words as if she’d told the best
joke in the world. Then started calling her awful names. I remember thinking…he
would fill the swear jar we kept on top of the refrigerator. Ridiculous, huh?
At a time like that to have such a silly thought.”
Blake could only
imagine how difficult it was for Eunice to relive this moment. “No, it wasn’t.
You had the thought of a twelve-year-old.”
“I was used to hearing
her cry. Especially when we still lived with my stepfather. But this time was
different. This time I knew something was really wrong.”
Eunice lifted and
pulled away from him. Reluctantly, Blake allowed his hand to fall away from her
shoulders. He’d never in his life felt the desire to protect someone as much as
he felt it now.
More tears streamed
down her face. “My mother begged for her life, but the heartless bastard shot
her anyway. The sound… It was like a cannon.” She shook her head. “I didn’t… I
couldn’t…”
Blake stood and held
out his hand for Eunice to take. “Come on.” Once her hand was in his, he led
her to the bed. She didn’t protest when he tucked her in, nor when he nestled
close behind her. With her tightly cloaked in his arms, he whispered in her ear,
“We all have demons that haunt us. But tonight, you don’t have to fear yours.”
Because tonight—and every moment they
were together—he’d protect her.
Chapter 7
Eunice eyed Blake as he
lay asleep beside her. How was it possible that the man was even handsome when
he slept? She wasn’t sure what time he’d fallen asleep, but
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