Page 66 of Surly Sheriff
Even though it was outdated — no dolphins, but the clusters of roses were a bit much — it was spacious and had loads of potential. And—
“Of course, the balcony,” Rae exclaimed, rushing across the floor. She unlatched the French doors, pushed them open, and stepped outside. Kismet joined her, barking his excitement when she turned in a circle, arms out wide.
“Figured you’d like it, baby,” he said, coming up behind her, “but not quite so much.”
Nate had grumbled about the plumbing and interior walls and cramped crawlspace, but Beau reckoned seeing the wonder on her face would be worth the headache.
She turned a smiling face to him. “You don’t understand.”
“Tell me,” he whispered, tracing a finger down her cheek, quietly rejoicing at the happy glow brightening her features.
“We used to sit on the balcony with Mama. All squished together in her arms, watching the stars appear one by one, the sweet scent of flowers filling the air.” Rae lifted her face and inhaled deeply. “And she’d tell us stories. Of brave princesses escaping—”
Rae stopped mid-sentence and looked at him, stunned. “The bastard abused her, too,” she ground out. She spun and rushed back through the bathroom, down the stairs, skidding to a stop in front of the closed doors. Squaring her shoulders, she shoved them open and stepped inside.
Beau held his breath, watchful.
But her voice was strong when she spoke. “Can we gut this room? Get rid of the bookcase and desk? Remove the doors.”
“Whatever you want.”
“And I’ll burn some sage, ring a gong, or whatever else to get rid of the bad vibes.”
Burn sage. Ring a gong.
His heart contracted in pain. It was clear that Raegan suffered from PTSD. It was hermindthat needed to heal. She could burn a field of sage and ring a gong until her arms ached, and it would not make an iota of difference. Until she dealt with the traumatic memories, they would continue to plague her.
One step at a time, Stirling.
“You’re keeping this house, Beau,” she stated.
He tilted his head. “Will you move in with me? Help me take care of the avocado nightmare and abysmal light fixtures?”
Rae smiled. A real smile. She leaned up and kissed his cheek. “I have two words. Bathroom balcony.”
*
Beau’s eyes snapped open. Something was wrong.
“Mama! Come back.” Rae tugged at the blanket, pulling it from his body. “Don’t go. Please. I’m scared,” she called out in a thin, high-pitched voice. A child’s voice.
He eased upright and looked at Rae. She lay curled into a fetal position right on the edge of the bed.
“Mama? Where’re you, Mama? It’s dark. I can’t find you.” The broken cries pierced his soul.
Rising, Beau rounded the bed and crouched before her, glad of the light filtering in from the hallway. He brushed the messy hair from her face, disturbed to find it damp. “Rae. Baby. Wake up.”
Kismet padded into the room and gave a soft bark. Rae started weeping. Soft, desolate sobs that brought tears to Beau’s eyes. The dog whined. Before Beau could stop him, Kismet leaped onto the bed and sidled up against her back, pushing his muzzle right into Rae’s neck. Her crying eased.
“Sweetheart,” he tried again. “You’re dreaming. Wake up.” He skimmed the back of his fingers over the dampness on her cheeks.
“Beau,” she mumbled.
He leaned his forehead to hers. “Here, baby.”
“Hold me.”
“Of course.”
