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Chase gazed into the troubled eyes of the woman he loved. "We can work things out, chère, because I'm willing to wait for you. For as long as it takes."

"And what if I...never can...give myself to you?"

"I think you will, because what we both want is stronger than your fear. But I'm not going to make demands. I told you that."

She gave him a tiny nod.

"If I leave you, will you be all right? Will the nightmares come back?"

"I don't know," she answered. "But we'd both better try to get some sleep."

"Okay."

In fact he lay awake long into the night — aroused and angry with the bastards who had torn Julienne's life to shreds.

Downstairs the next morning, he assessed the extent of the damage to the hall floor. Someone had made tiny cuts in the old wood — cuts that had allowed the boards to give way under Julienne's weight. He was pretty sure her lowlife brothers had been in the house.

Last night she'd been worried that he'd think she was involved. No way! At least he could thank the Lord it hadn't happened when she was here alone, he thought as he got out a hammer, chisel, and crowbar and began removing rotten wood.

He had pulled up most of the damaged boards when he heard her footsteps above him — moving around the upper part of the house.

His breath stilled as he silently acknowledged that he'd been listening for her all along.

It seemed to take forever for her to reach the hall. Then, looking up he saw her coming down the stairs. Her hair fell around her shoulders in a golden cloud. And she'd changed from jeans and a shirt into a soft pink and green shift that flowed around her legs, accenting her slender beauty. In the morning light she looked different. More relaxed. Younger. Freer.

As he stared at her, he saw color come into her cheeks.

"Hi," she said, her voice low and throaty. Then, "The nightmare didn't come back, and this morning...I woke up feeling...better."

"I'm glad."

"I mean better than I have in weeks. You make me feel strong," she added. "Strong enough to fight for what I want."

He thought he understood what she was telling him, and joy leaped inside him. He might have gone to her then and folded her into his arms, but he didn't want her to think he was pushing to satisfy his own needs.

Before he could respond, she gestured toward the pile of boards and went on quickly, "You must have been up early."

"I wanted to get this fixed as soon as possible."

"Have you eaten breakfast?"

"Just coffee." He picked up some wood and loaded it into the wheelbarrow that he'd brought into the hall. "It's pretty dark in here. I should put a barrier up so nobody falls into this hole."

"Not on my account. I'm not going to forget it's there."

"I guess not."

"Can I help you?"

"I'm fine."

"Then I'll fix you something to eat. How does old-fashioned Cajun-style French toast sound?"

"Pan-perdue? Wonderful."

He wheeled the load of refuse down the hall, through the kitchen and out onto the back porch, where he dumped it into a canvas carrier.

From the top of the steps he stood looking out at the overgrown foliage in back of the house — the water oaks draped with Spanish moss. The thicket of cane that had grown to twice the size he remembered. Here in the bayou country, plants grew quickly, and in the time that the property had been neglected, unruly nature had invaded the once manicured garden.

Back beyond the cane thicket was an area that his father had used as a dumping ground. He could stow the wood there — along with the other debris that he hauled out of the house.

The path to the place was almost obliterated, but he could just make it out from his vantage point on the porch. Slinging the carrier over his shoulder, he started into greenery — then froze as he heard the sound of steel jaws snapping shut.…

To be continued...



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