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Charlie backed up. His eyes widened in panic, and he swallowed repeatedly. Sweat beaded his forehead. He shook his head vigorously from side to side.
“She’s—”
Alex grabbed Charlie by the shirt, and slammed his fist against the man’s jaw, sending him to the ground. He rushed toward the house, kicked the door open, and held his knife out in front of him. Quickly, he scanned the large central room. A fire blazed in the hearth, and everything looked neat and tidy. Muffled voices and strange sounds came from a room down the narrow hallway to the left.
“Evie?” Alex roared. He sprang in the direction of the sound, his heart pounding in his chest.
A woman wearing a bloodstained apron and holding a thick bundle of white cloth in her arms emerged from the room that Alex vaguely remembered had been Evie’s childhood bedroom. She stared at him, her mouth set in a firm line, her eyes shooting daggers at him.
“What is the meaning of this?” she demanded. “Who are you? Where’s Mr. Richardson?”
Alex glowered at the woman, his focus on the door behind her. He stepped closer when she didn’t move aside, guarding the entrance to the bedroom with the fierceness of a mother grizzly.
“Where’s Evelyn?” he demanded.
“She’s resting at the moment. You can’t go in there.”
“Alex?”
Evie’s weak and muted voice jolted him to the core. An arrow to the chest from a Blackfoot warrior couldn’t have made a greater impact.
“Like hell I can’t,” Alex growled, and pushed past the woman. He ripped the door open amid her adamant protests. The sight before him stopped him in his tracks. The pounding of his heart in his ears seemed to drown out all sound, and the air rushed from his lungs. A quick scan of the room revealed bloody linens tossed on the ground. A washbasin stood near the foot of the bed. It looked as if something had been butchered in this room.
Chapter 22
Alex’s eyes fell to the figure on the bed along the wall in the center of the room. His heart lurched in his chest.
“Alex? Oh my God, Alex?” Evelyn cried, struggling to lift herself up from the bed.
Dressed in a long white cotton nightgown, Evelyn sat half-reclined on the mattress. She braced her hands on either side of her to slide her body to a more upright position. Her eyes grew wide, and tears rolled down her cheeks. Her face looked ashen and matched the color of the sheets. Sweat-soaked hair clung to her forehead. She held her arm out toward him, beckoning him to her. He didn’t need any further encouragement.
In two strides, Alex reached her side and dropped to his knees beside the bed. His palm cupped her clammy cheek, and he swiped away the damp strands of hair. Something was terribly wrong. She looked ill and exhausted, but a quick scan down the length of her revealed that she seemed otherwise unharmed. Where had all the blood come from?
“You came. You really came,” Evie sobbed. “I hoped and prayed that you would come.” She reached for him, and he leaned forward. Her body shook as she wrapped her arms around his neck, and weakly pulled him toward her. Alex cautiously gathered her to him, unsure where she was hurt and afraid to do more harm. Slowly, he moved from the floor and sat at the edge of the bed.
“Evie,” he whispered against her neck, stroking her back. “I thought I’d lost you.” His voice cracked, and he could do no more but hold her in his embrace. The long months of misery, of thinking that she was dead vanished, and happiness replaced the anguish in his heart. He inhaled long and slow, savoring her sweet feminine scent. His arms trembled, and her upper body quivered in his embrace. She continued to sob.
“What did Charlie do to you?” her murmured, cradling the back of her head.
He kissed her forehead, then brushed his lips against her mouth. His muscles tensed, anger at Henry and Charlie exploding inside him. They would pay for what they had done to her. A loud wail pierced the stillness of the room, followed by the harsh words of the woman he had encountered in the hall.
“What is the meaning of this?”
Alex ground his teeth at the stern voice of the irritating woman behind him. The shrill cries of what sounded like a newly born mountain goat nearly drowned out her words. Reluctantly, he pulled away from Evie, and turned his upper body to stare at the woman standing in the middle of the room. His eyes dropped to the bundle in her arms that he had mistaken for a wad of linen material a few moments ago. A tiny human hand poked from between the layers of cloth, bunched in a tight little fist. The baby’s wails grew in intensity with each second that passed.
Comprehension failed him. Why was this annoying woman bringing her child into Evie’s room? He needed to be alone with her. His irritation with her grew, and he stood from the bed to face her.
