Heart of the Night. Lenora Worth

and I don’t want to fight with you,” Gena said as she tucked the cover back around him. “It’s bedtime whether you like it or not. Now try to rest.”

      Scotty turned to her with a cute pout. “But soon it’ll be winter break, remember?”

      “I do remember,” Gena replied, using her best stern mother tone. “But for now, it’s late and we had a big night practicing for the Christmas play. It’s already past your bedtime.” And your father is downstairs probably trying to figure out how to take you from me.

      “I don’t wanna,” Scotty said, his arms wrapped against his flannel action figure-inspired pajamas. “I’m not tired.”

      “Scotty, you’re going to stay in bed,” Gena retorted, thinking it was mighty hard to resist her son’s boyish charms. For just a fleeting moment, she wondered if Scotty got that from his real father. Eli’s face flashed through her mind, reminding her of the constant worries that never left her thoughts now that he knew about his son. Those worries had tripled over the last hour. What did Eli think about his son, now that he’d seen him? And when would he make his move? Because she was sure he was going to do just that.

      Based on what her brother Devon had told her, Eli, known as the Disciple, known to be a hot-headed Cajun, known to break all the rules, would show up here one day to not only see his son, but probably also to take him home to Louisiana. Now he was here; now that could happen. Gena closed her eyes, wondering how she’d react if Eli insisted on taking her son away. Scotty was her child now. He would always be hers. And she’d fight anyone who tried to dispute that. Even the mysterious, handsome man sitting in her kitchen. Especially that man.

      “Are you saying a prayer, Mommy?” Scotty asked as he tugged on Gena’s sweater. “Are you asking God to make me sleepy?”

      Gena opened her eyes, then shook her head. “No, but that’s not a bad idea. Do you feel sleepy yet?”

      “Kinda,” he said as he flopped back and then burrowed underneath the navy blue train-embellished comforter. “Will you read to me?”

      “Don’t I always?” Gena replied. She picked up several of his favorite books. “But only a couple of stories. I have to get some work done before I can go to bed myself, because unlike you, I am tired and sleepy.”

      She was far from sleepy, but she was very tired of always having to watch her back, of always wondering when the worse would come. Dear God, help me. Help me.

      Gena read to him for a few minutes, noticing that he’d finally settled back down. Glancing over at him, she said, “You have droopy eyes, little man.”

      Scotty sank back on his pillows. “Christmas will be here soon, won’t it?”

      Gena kissed the top of his head. “Sooner, if you go to sleep. Now say your prayers and you’ll wake up in a good mood.”

      She sat there, holding Scotty’s hand in hers as she watched the snow falling softly just outside his checkered flannel curtains, her serenity shattered, her loneliness as cold and solid as the winter frost that clutched at her soul. She couldn’t fall apart now. Scotty needed her to be strong. Eli needed her to be strong, too, whether he realized that or not.

      Dear God, help me. Help me to prepare for the worst.

      Gena’s late husband, Richard, and her brother, Devon, both members of the elite Christian organization known as CHAIM, had taught her to always follow her instincts, to listen, to watch, to wait. To expect the best, but prepare for the worst. And right now, her instincts were shouting at her. She felt uneasy and at odds as she stared out into the snow-blanketed woods. She repeated her prayers as she kissed Scotty’s forehead.

      Help me to expect the best, while I prepare for the worst. I know he’s hurting, Lord. Help me to help him. Please don’t let him take my son.

      Gena left her son only to find Eli waiting for her as she came back into the kitchen, that same fervent prayer racing through her mind.

      “Is he okay?”

      The quiet question left her even more confused. “He’s fine. I think he’s just excited about Christmas.”

      When Eli didn’t respond, she whirled to find him staring at her, his eyes dark with a sad longing that tugged at her heart.

      He sat like stone, his onyx eyes following her as she silently made him a sandwich. She didn’t know why she was making him a sandwich. It just seemed like the right thing to do. Then she almost giggled. The man who’d come thousands of miles to break into her house and take her son had requested a sandwich. Maybe she was entertaining an angel unaware.

      Then again, maybe not.

      

      “I hate this cold,” Eli said to break the static of the silence. He could hear her breathing, could hear the knife slicing across the bread and meat as she fixed things pretty on the plate. She was probably thinking about how to fix things pretty by jabbing that same knife in his heart.

      “I like the cold,” she said as she sat the plate in front of him, then brought him a fresh cup of coffee. “It makes me feel safe.”

      Eli grunted a retort as he inhaled the first bite of the big sandwich. The bread was hearty and homemade, the roast beef fresh and thinly sliced. But the cold only reminded him of his time in Ireland. Cold and damp, dark and desolate. He’d been in exile away from everything and everyone, an exile in his physical being and a deep, dark exile in his own mind. And that whole time, his son had been in exile, too, here in this remote little fishing village in Maine.

      “I can hear the ocean hitting the rocks,” he said between chews. “This water is different from my ocean.” That eternal pounding echoed the pounding of his heart as it crashed against his chest.

      “I’ve never been to Louisiana,” she replied as she finally sat down across from him with her own cup of coffee. “And why are we making small talk?”

      He took a long drink, the hot liquid burning his throat while her eyes burned him with an intense heat. But he made sure his next words were as soft and sweet as the marshmallows she’d left open on the table. “Oh, we’ve got plenty of time to talk about why I’m here, darlin’. ’Cause I’m not leaving until we have an understanding.”

      She slammed her cup down so hard that coffee sloshed out on the table. “What kind of understanding?”

      Eli polished off the last of the food, then leaned forward, his hands on the table, his smile patient and calm. “Like I told you earlier, chère—I’ve come for my son. And I’m not leaving here without him.”

      TWO

      “Why are you doing this, Eli? Why didn’t you just ring the doorbell like a normal human being?”

      Shadows colored his face as his voice went low and grainy. “Haven’t you heard? I’m not like other people.”

      Gena hid the mortal fear beating like a ship’s broken sail inside her heart. “What were you planning to do? Just grab him up in the middle of the night? Kidnap a little boy who doesn’t even know you exist?”

      His eyes went as black as a moonless night. “I should have done that, because your brother and you plotted the same thing when he was born. You didn’t give me a say in the matter back then, so why should I be so kind and understanding now?”

      Gena held to the warmth of her coffee cup, listening as the wind picked up outside. The tick-tock of the old grandfather clock in the hallway seemed to echo a warning through the still house, while the lights on the Christmas tree in the living room sparkled and twinkled right on cue. “Eli, we did what we had to do to protect Scotty. We didn’t know how you’d react. You were in bad shape.”

      His expression grew stony as he kept his eyes on her. “Let’s recap. Devon held up our mission in South America because he was worried about me, worried that I couldn’t finish the job after I went out on my