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No answer.
She was fine. She had to be. He was overreacting. The security system hadn’t sounded. He turned back to his bedroom, stopping short at the sound of another shout, this one accompanied by a loud thud.
He opened the door, and turned on the light, keeping the gun ready, but down at his side. She was flopped on the floor along with half the bedding. The sight of her twisted up in the sheets might have been funny under other circumstances. Just now, his body responded predictably to the sheer white tank top and camouflage boxers while his brain tried to overpower hormones with sympathy.
Looked like a pretty bad nightmare.
“Eva!”
“Bart!” Her own voice seemed to wake her. She blinked rapidly. “Carson?”
“Got it in two.” He knelt beside her. “Let me help.”
She wrestled a hand free and waved him off. “I can do it.” She swore softly as she extricated herself from the mess.
“Sorry to wake you.”
“No problem. I wasn’t asleep.”
She eyed him closely. “Is there another problem?”
“Only in here,” he countered. “Nightmare?”
“No.” She scooped the bedding up and he crossed to the opposite side of the bed to help her restore order.
They both knew she was lying, but he didn’t want to push. The day had been bad enough without him harping on her for facts she might not be able to provide and feelings she didn’t care to acknowledge.
He wasn’t all that sure he could form complete sentences and he seized on the task of re-making the bed as a much-needed distraction from the way the soft cotton of her top and shorts clung to her curves. Knowing what type of pajamas she wore wouldn’t make sleep any easier.
The woman epitomized sexy with her strong, feminine silhouette. His palms itched to touch her and learn the feel of her golden skin. His thoughts nearly beyond recovery, he might have tucked the sheets and blankets a little tighter than necessary on his side. Better to keep her in and him out.
“Fine. It was a nightmare,” she confessed as they smoothed the bedspread into place.
“Uh-huh.”
She slid under the covers, propping her back against the headboard and drawing her knees to her chest.
He hadn’t known her long, but he’d never seen her look so young. Or sad. She’d been worried for Bart in the office, but plenty of temper had been mixed in with it.
Same at the hospital and, well, everywhere else. Whatever the day held—good or bad—it seemed like Eva greeted everything with her temper primed and ready.
It was an odd personal philosophy, he thought now, because she didn’t come across as unhappy, negative, or even angry. But that willingness to do battle always gleamed in her eyes.
“My mother insists that talking about it helps.”
He smiled. “Mine too.”
“Well, settle in, if you’re willing,” she said, patting the space beside her. “It’s a long story.”
Knowing his limits, he pulled up the rocking chair and propped his feet at the end of the bed. Any closer and he’d find a different way to help her forget her nightmare.
She raised an eyebrow, but didn’t comment. “You’ve probably figured it has to do with Abe’s son.”
He shrugged. “Stands to reason.”
“Yeah.” She gave a gusty sigh. “And I’m stalling.”
He waited. When she didn’t say anything more, he got up and turned off the overhead light.
