White Nights by Susan Edwards Page A

you again.” His voice deepened with emotion and there was no doubting him.
    While not much else might be clear to her, she trusted James and took a step toward him. When James shook his head, she hesitated. It was easy to acknowledge trust, much harder to prove it.
    With gentle fingers, James forced her son to look at him again. “You scared your ma and me something fierce, Ian. Leaning out of a moving wagon is very foolish and dangerous. You must never, ever do that again.”
    Rather than leave his rebuke at that, James pointed to the wagon wheels and went on to explain to Ian—and the two little girls watching and listening—what had nearly happened. When he finished, after making sure all three of her children understood the dangers, he stood, lifting Ian into the cradle of his strong arms.
    Ian’s bright blue eyes were wide, but not with fear as Eirica expected. In fact, her son stared at James with what looked to be awe on his face. Straddling the wagon tongue, James deposited Ian back inside with his sisters, then removed his hat and dropped it onto the little boy’s head. Ian giggled and pushed up the wide brim as the hat completely covered his eyes, nose and most of his mouth. Still grinning, Ian played peekaboo with Lara. Alison stood to one side, watching James intently.
    James wiped his forehead with his arm then reached out to draw her to him. The child threw her arms around his neck. Watching the two, Eirica felt her eyes tear up. Her daughter and this gentle giant of a man shared a deep bond, forged when Alison had been kidnapped and James had helped rescue her and his sister.
    He put Alison down and stroked her curls. “Ali, you’re the eldest. Your ma needs you to help her by watching Lara and Ian when she’s busy. Will you do this for me?”
    The little girl’s mouth dropped open, then she nodded solemnly. “I’ll help Ma, James, and I promise to be good. Maybe Lara and I can play with the beads Jessie got us at Fort Ke’rny.”
    James ran a hand down her pale cheek. “That’s a great idea, Alison.” He stepped away from the wagon.
    With her children settled, seemingly none the worse for the scare, Eirica was torn between gratitude for James’s quick reflexes and the lingering thread of resentment at his interference. But it was hard to be angry at a man whose very interference had saved her son’s life. On top of that, his handling of her children had been right. She’d have coddled Ian, too relieved to have him safe after his near brush with death to scold him. But not James. With no sugarcoating or anger, he’d made his point without lifting a hand against her children or causing them to obey out of fear. Her resentment died.
    She peered into the wagon, needing to reassure herself they were indeed all right. They were sitting quietly, watchful but not afraid. She walked around to the back of the wagon where James had unhitched his horse. Though he seemed calm, the tightness etched around his mouth and the lines around his narrowed eyes conveyed the anger residing within. Her knees shook. He had every right to lash out at her. Her hand fluttered to her throat. “I’m very grateful—”
    Her heart stopped when he lifted his hands. She couldn’t stop the automatic flinch from a blow that she knew wouldn’t come. A long pause fell between them, then James reached out slowly to grasp her shoulders. There was no force or pain in his grip. Only the gentle massaging of her tense muscles. The look in his eyes let her know he’d seen her instinctive reaction, but he didn’t acknowledge it verbally. Instead, he pulled her to him, held her tightly, his voice, taut with emotion, fanned her ear.
    “That was too damn close,” he whispered.
    Eirica felt some of her shakiness fade beneath the soothing warmth of his embrace. For a moment she allowed herself the luxury of accepting the comfort he offered.
    She needed his touch, his secure embrace and the brief moment to lean on someone. What