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Julienne looked stunned. "Someone cut the floorboards?" she asked. "But who?"

"Three guesses. Or rather two," Chase answered, his voice coming out more sharply than he intended.

"You think my brothers were here?" She gulped. "Doing things?"

"Yeah, that's exactly what I think."

Her head jerked up. "I didn't see them."

"Maybe they came for a visit before you arrived."

"Maybe? You think I saw them here, and I didn't say anything about it?"

"No. Of course not," he answered quickly, wondering exactly what he had been thinking.

Picking up the flashlight, she started for the hall.

When he grabbed her arm, she went rigid.

He let his own hand drop back to his side. "Wait. I don't want you getting hurt again. Stay on the left side of the hall, away from the hole."

"I was planning to do that," she clipped out.

As he watched her walk rapidly up the stairs, he cursed softly under his breath. He hadn't meant to accuse her of anything. But it seemed she'd taken it that way.

He squeezed his hands into fists, wishing he could close them around the neck of the man who had raped her — and then do the same with her damn brothers. The Julienne he remembered had been so confident, so sure of herself. The rapist had made her afraid of men. It seemed her brothers had done their best to pound her self-esteem into the ground.

With a sigh, he waited until he heard her door close. Then he went back for the oil lamp and started up the stairs to the room where he'd put his luggage.

Chase kicked off his shoes and socks and lay down on the bed in his jeans and T-shirt. It seemed to take eons for him to fall asleep. Then it felt like only moments later when suddenly a sound jerked him awake. Grabbing the gun he'd shoved under his pillow, he leaped out of bed and stood listening intently.

The sound came again. A moan. From Julienne's room.

The gun at the ready, he ran down the hall and threw open her door.

He had expected to find someone in the room with her, but she was alone, her head thrashing on the pillow.

"No," she whimpered in her sleep.

She was dressed in a long T-shirt that would have skimmed her thighs, if it hadn't ridden up, revealing the silky fabric of the panties she wore underneath, and her long, lovely legs.

The gun was still in his hand as he crossed the room.

Then her eyes snapped open and focused on him — focused on the weapon. The scream that tore from her throat made his whole body go rigid. She sprang back, her shoulders hitting the wall.

"Chère, no! It's all right. I didn't mean to frighten you. I thought someone was attacking you. But you were having a bad dream." As he spoke, he set the gun down on the dresser.

She stared at him, her back still wedged against the wall as though she needed the support to hold herself upright.

"I'm sorry I scared you," he repeated. "I'll leave if you want," he added, waiting for her answer with his breath frozen in his lungs.

To be continued...



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