Reaves's stride faltered when he heard Alara call his name. He spun around, looking for her on the front steps. He felt foolish when she wasn't there. He might be tired, but there was no need for him to start imagining things.
"Up here."
He looked up at her bedroom window—of course he knew which one it was. He'd suggested his dad offer her and Zia those rooms, and he and Ollie had spent a long few days clearing out years' worth of accumulated clutter and dust before he'd brought her and Zia back here from Fort Bragg.
He raised his hand and grinned. "Is everything okay?"
She didn't smile, didn't nod, simply stared at him. His feet were carrying him back to the house before he knew the decision was made.
"Want to come down?" he called.
She nodded and closed the window.
He ran up the steps and forced himself to wait for her in the entrance hall. His dad had said he was going to bed when Reaves left him a little while ago, but the last thing he needed was Charles finding him dashing upstairs in search of Alara.
She appeared at the top of the staircase a moment later, wearing a simple, colorful, sarong-type thing that he figured must be a nightgown. He grasped the banister and waited.
"Want to come down and talk?"
She nodded, and with every step she took, his grip tightened. She looked pale. God, he hoped whatever was wrong with her hadn't taken a turn for the worse. But no—this pallor was different from the times he'd seen her dizzy and faint.
This was something else. He started up the steps when he finally understood. He couldn't help it.
She was terrified.
She hesitated on the stair above him, putting them eye to eye. He reached for her hand. "What's wrong, Alara? Tell me what's going on. Please?"
She nodded and looked back up the stairs. "I will. But not here. Where's your dad?"
"He was on his way to bed. I imagine he'll be settled by now."
She hesitated. "Can we go and sit in your Land Cruiser?"
"Sure. If you want to." He looked down at her bare feet. "Need a piggyback?"
She looked thoroughly confused.
"You don't have any shoes on."
"Oh. You're right. I…"
"I'm not letting you walk barefoot on gravel, Alara. I'll give you a piggyback, or…"
He went to the coat closet under the stairs and passed out an old pair of his slippers. She slipped her feet into them and headed for the front door.
He caught up with her on the front steps and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. He didn't hesitate, didn't overthink it. And rather than flinch or shake him off, she leaned into his side.
He'd hoped and hoped that one day she'd lean into him like this. Now that the moment was finally here, it filled him with dread instead of joy. Because he knew—whatever it took to make Alara Brighton lean on someone, it had to be bad.
By the time she reached the passenger door, she was shivering. As she climbed inside, Reaves grabbed a jacket from the back seat and wrapped it around her shoulders, even though he didn't think cold was the issue.
"Wait there," he said, before closing the door and hurrying around to get in.
She met him with a tight smile. "I wasn't planning on going anywhere."
"I know. That was a dumb thing to say. Sorry, Alara. I'm just… I'm panicking here. Please tell me what's going on."
When she didn't say anything, he rested his hand on the center console, palm up, and was relieved when she placed hers in it without hesitation.
