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“I hope it’s better than what Laurent would have us eat,” she commented lightly. Her gaze remained locked with his. A quiet yearning shone in the depths of his eyes, and she sensed he wanted to say something. Instead, he pulled his hand away, and the hint of a smile vanished. Evelyn swallowed to hide her disappointment. Why couldn’t he simply talk to her?
“Let me know when it’s ready. There’s something I need to do before it gets dark.” With those words he turned and walked away. Evelyn expelled a loud exasperated breath of air through her half-open mouth. Even with his sullen demeanor, she couldn’t stop the warm feelings and sensations that flooded her.
Laurent walked up beside her, and his gaze followed Evelyn’s as she observed Alex rummaging through one of his packs. Moments later, he strode off in the direction of the woods.
The Frenchman’s hand touched her shoulder, and Evelyn turned her head to look up at him.
“He needs time, Madame Evie,” Laurent said, offering an encouraging smile. His eyes shone with a warmth she hadn’t noticed before.
“Time for what?” Evelyn’s cheeks heated. Was she that transparent that Laurent could read her thoughts so easily?
“You have known Alex for a long time, no?” the Frenchman asked.
“He was my brother’s best friend. He spent a lot of time with our family,” Evelyn answered quietly.
“You cannot truly believe he murdered your maman and papa.”
Evelyn sucked in a deep breath. She shook her head, then peered to where Alex had disappeared into the woods. “No,” she whispered, finally voicing the thoughts in her mind over the last week out loud. “I don’t believe he killed my parents. Is that why he is so angry? Because he thinks I still hold him responsible?”
Laurent chuckled, and shook his own head. His hand wrapped around her upper arm, and he turned her to face him squarely. “Alex Walker is not angry with you, petite amie.” He offered an indulgent smile.
“Then why won’t he talk to me?” Evelyn leaned toward Laurent, hoping to understand.
“Do you know that he has faced the mighty grizzly bear with a bravery that is rare to see, and he has no fear when in battle against the Blackfeet. But,” Laurent hesitated and raised his index finger in front of him. “There is one thing that terrifies him above all else.”
Evelyn waited, and when Laurent remained silent, she asked the question that begged an answer. “And what is that?”
“You, mon cher.” His eyes widened expectantly, holding her gaze.
Evelyn’s forehead wrinkled. She took a step back and tilted her head, wondering if she’d understood correctly. She expelled a nervous laugh. “That’s ridiculous. Why would Alexander Walker be afraid of me?”
“He would rather face a hundred Blackfeet and ten grizzly bears put together than lay a finger on you.”
“Lay a finger on me? Mr. Berard, what are you talking about?”
“You are aware of his father, are you not?” Laurent clasped his hands behind his back. He glanced toward the fire, and leaned over the pot. He raised the lid and inhaled a long drawn-out breath, sighing contently.
“I know his father was a drunkard, and rumor has it he killed his wife. The whole town knew he beat her a lot. Even Alex had bruises on his face on many occasions.” Evelyn still didn’t understand where this conversation was leading.
Laurent reached for her hand, and held it between his two large, calloused ones. His chest heaved before he spoke. “Madame Evelyn, your husband is afraid that he will become his father.”
Evelyn blinked. She hadn’t seen Alex indulge in drink. She searched her memory, trying to recall Silas Walker in her mind. She’d seen him on very few occasions, and what she remembered of him was a loud and boisterous man who enjoyed provoking a fight. Alex was the exact opposite. Always quiet. Always reserved.
“Madame Evelyn,” Laurent said, squeezing her hand. Evelyn’s gaze dropped to where he still clasped her hand between his larger ones. He waited for her to look up at him again. “You can show your husband he is not the man he thinks he is. He has been my friend for four years, and has saved my life on many occasions. I wish for him to find the happiness that has eluded him. He can find that with you, mon cher.”
He patted her hand once more, then released her. Smiling broadly again, as if the subject was now closed, he stared at the kettle over the fire, and slapped his stomach. “It is time to eat. Now where is that good-for-nothing jeunot and that stubborn man you have the misfortune to call your husband?” He stepped around her, heading toward the woods.
