him.
He tucked the screaming boy securely under one arm and staggered toward her, his features twisted with pain and pale with the fright her son had given them both. He passed her without a word, grabbed the trailing reins and in a harsh voice, halted the oxen.
Eirica shook with lingering fear and heart-thumping relief. The sight of Ian’s body falling into the path of the wagon wheel, creaking and groaning beneath close to two-thousand-plus pounds, would forever haunt her. If her son had hit the ground, the wheel would have rolled over him, crushing his head. Bile rose and burned the back of her throat. “James—”
Her voice faltered when James came toward her, his chest heaving, hot emotion shimmering in eyes gone dark as a forest on a stormy day.
“Want—to tell me again—you don’t—need—help?” The words came out clipped, stark and harsh, as if he’d just run a mile at full tilt.
Around them, wagons, animals and people filed past, eyes averted, none stopping to see if they needed help. A vein near his temple beat in time to the clenching of his jaw. His quiet anger engulfed her. She tried to speak but her heart thudded painfully in her chest, leaving her short of breath. Long familiarity with angry men made her take an involuntary step away from this man who’d saved her son’s life. Moments ago she’d felt safe with James, but the raw emotion swirling between them was too much for her.
Long seconds passed as they stared at each other. Harsh gasps of air mingled with Ian’s continued cries. Her gaze slid to James’s hands, measuring his state of mind. No fists. No clenching and unclenching, no bulging of muscles in his arm and his face hadn’t turned red and ugly, all signs that with Birk warned of some sort of physical attack, either with hands or feet—or both, depending on the extent of his rage.
Eirica remained still, afraid to move or speak. But beneath her frozen fear, warmth and a sense of renewed amazement curled from her toes to her heart. Though James was angry, he was in complete control of himself. His hands, still holding her son gently yet firmly, didn’t seem quite so frightening anymore. As earlier, his anger didn’t terrify her or make her duck for cover. There was no urge to brace herself for a blow or turn and run.
For the first time in her life, Eirica felt no fear and could even acknowledge that James had every right to be upset, angry even. Her own foolish pride had nearly cost her son his life. She owed much to this man whose quick actions had saved her baby.
James had saved her son’s life.
Ian was alive. Safe.
A deep shudder tore through her and she forced from her mind the memory of Ian’s near death. She desperately needed to feel her son’s soft body cradled close to hers. “Thank you, James,” she whispered, holding out her arms for Ian.
James ignored her and set the crying two-year-old down on the ground, keeping him from running to Eirica. Kneeling on one knee, he forced Ian to look at him. “Ian.” The deep, no-nonsense tone silenced the boy. With wide eyes, Ian stared at James, his lower lip trembling.
Eirica stepped forward, ready to protect her child. “James, he’s just a—”
“Don’t hit him.” From the back of the wagon, Alison’s shrill voice drew the attention of both adults. “He’s just little.” Alison and Lara watched the adults with trepidation.
The combination of fear and agitation in her daughter’s voice brought tears to Eirica’s eyes. Her Ali had tried so hard to protect her younger siblings from their father’s wrath, sometimes by hiding them when he was in one of his drunken moods. Once she’d even suffered a beating in their stead until Eirica arrived to stop Birk.
Alison’s frightened plea seemed to affect James as well. He glanced from the girls to Ian, then to Eirica. Four pairs of blue eyes framed by various shades of red hair watched him warily. His gaze lingered on Eirica. “No one will ever hit any of
He tucked the screaming boy securely under one arm and staggered toward her, his features twisted with pain and pale with the fright her son had given them both. He passed her without a word, grabbed the trailing reins and in a harsh voice, halted the oxen.
Eirica shook with lingering fear and heart-thumping relief. The sight of Ian’s body falling into the path of the wagon wheel, creaking and groaning beneath close to two-thousand-plus pounds, would forever haunt her. If her son had hit the ground, the wheel would have rolled over him, crushing his head. Bile rose and burned the back of her throat. “James—”
Her voice faltered when James came toward her, his chest heaving, hot emotion shimmering in eyes gone dark as a forest on a stormy day.
“Want—to tell me again—you don’t—need—help?” The words came out clipped, stark and harsh, as if he’d just run a mile at full tilt.
Around them, wagons, animals and people filed past, eyes averted, none stopping to see if they needed help. A vein near his temple beat in time to the clenching of his jaw. His quiet anger engulfed her. She tried to speak but her heart thudded painfully in her chest, leaving her short of breath. Long familiarity with angry men made her take an involuntary step away from this man who’d saved her son’s life. Moments ago she’d felt safe with James, but the raw emotion swirling between them was too much for her.
Long seconds passed as they stared at each other. Harsh gasps of air mingled with Ian’s continued cries. Her gaze slid to James’s hands, measuring his state of mind. No fists. No clenching and unclenching, no bulging of muscles in his arm and his face hadn’t turned red and ugly, all signs that with Birk warned of some sort of physical attack, either with hands or feet—or both, depending on the extent of his rage.
Eirica remained still, afraid to move or speak. But beneath her frozen fear, warmth and a sense of renewed amazement curled from her toes to her heart. Though James was angry, he was in complete control of himself. His hands, still holding her son gently yet firmly, didn’t seem quite so frightening anymore. As earlier, his anger didn’t terrify her or make her duck for cover. There was no urge to brace herself for a blow or turn and run.
For the first time in her life, Eirica felt no fear and could even acknowledge that James had every right to be upset, angry even. Her own foolish pride had nearly cost her son his life. She owed much to this man whose quick actions had saved her baby.
James had saved her son’s life.
Ian was alive. Safe.
A deep shudder tore through her and she forced from her mind the memory of Ian’s near death. She desperately needed to feel her son’s soft body cradled close to hers. “Thank you, James,” she whispered, holding out her arms for Ian.
James ignored her and set the crying two-year-old down on the ground, keeping him from running to Eirica. Kneeling on one knee, he forced Ian to look at him. “Ian.” The deep, no-nonsense tone silenced the boy. With wide eyes, Ian stared at James, his lower lip trembling.
Eirica stepped forward, ready to protect her child. “James, he’s just a—”
“Don’t hit him.” From the back of the wagon, Alison’s shrill voice drew the attention of both adults. “He’s just little.” Alison and Lara watched the adults with trepidation.
The combination of fear and agitation in her daughter’s voice brought tears to Eirica’s eyes. Her Ali had tried so hard to protect her younger siblings from their father’s wrath, sometimes by hiding them when he was in one of his drunken moods. Once she’d even suffered a beating in their stead until Eirica arrived to stop Birk.
Alison’s frightened plea seemed to affect James as well. He glanced from the girls to Ian, then to Eirica. Four pairs of blue eyes framed by various shades of red hair watched him warily. His gaze lingered on Eirica. “No one will ever hit any of
Similar Books
