Free King's Ransom by Sharon Sala Page A

dawdled
long enough. She'd unpacked, admired the flowers, taken a long, soaking bath,
done the prescribed exercises on her hands, brushed haphazardly at her hair,
and knew it was time. She was going to have to get in bed, turn out the lamp,
and try to sleep. Just the thought of closing her eyes made her sick. She
rubbed sweaty palms down the sides of her "Bo Knows" T-shirt and
silently cursed the helpless feeling that was threatening to overwhelm her.
Logically she knew she was safe. King was just across the hall. No one could
hurt her here. But logic was lost in the terror that took over her senses when
the lights went out and she was in bed . . . alone.
    "Damn
him," Jesse muttered aloud. "I won't let what that creep did—or tried
to do to me—ruin the rest of my life. I won't."
    She walked around
the familiar old four-poster bed, pulled back the lightweight coverlet and
crawled on her knees up into the middle of the mattress. The central air
conditioning made sleeping under a sheet quite comfortable, but Jesse couldn't
bring herself to lie down or turn out the lights. Finally, she allowed herself
the luxury of just leaning against the nest of pillows at her back. She was so
tired. She'd only close her eyes for a moment. She wouldn't turn out the light,
not just yet . . . not until she accustomed herself to her old room again . . .
and the shadows . . . and the night sounds in the country. She fell asleep
within minutes, curled into a tight little ball. And, in spite of all her
determination, she began to dream.
    It was always the
same—the instant knowledge that she wasn't alone, the awful smell of an
unwashed body, the odor of alcohol, the rough ugly words . . . and the knife.
Jesse moaned softly, tossing about as she lay uncovered in the middle of the
bed, kicking weakly in her sleep. The moans became a plea for mercy, the plea
became a cry, the cry a scream.
    King was on his
feet and inside her room before he fully realized he'd gotten out of bed. But
he knew v/hat was wrong with Jesse the instant her terrorized screams had
pierced his sleep.
    Hesitating no
longer than the time it took him to reach her bed, he scooped Jesse up into his
arms with a single motion and spoke her name aloud in a calm, soothing tone of voice.
She was awake almost instantly.
    It took another
moment before the tears came, but when they did, they were cleansing; washing
away the nightmare King had put to an abrupt end.
    "Is she all
right?" Maggie asked, trying to mask the panic she'd felt as she heard
Jesse's pitiful cry. She'd reached the room only seconds behind King and had
seen the natural way he'd handled the tense situation. Instinctively, he'd done
the right thing. She took in the sight of the scantily clad girl, the big,
half-dressed man holding her tightly, and squashed the thought that crept into
her heart.
    "She will be
now," King said, lowering Jesse to the floor, refusing to relinquish his
hold on her. "We've been through this before, haven't we, Jess?"
    Tilting her chin
back with the tip of his finger, he wiped away the last of her tears and
sighed. "It's okay, Maggie. Go back to bed. I'll stay with her for a
while. I should have anyway. She hasn't been alone since the attack and this
was just to be expected."
    "I'm
sorry," Jesse whispered, as she leaned weakly against King's strength. She
felt his heartbeat against the back of her head, and knew by the race of the
rhythm that she'd frightened him as much as she'd frightened herself. "I
seem to be saying that a lot lately, Maggie. You didn't know what you were
letting yourself in for when you and King wanted me here, did you?"
    The quiver in
Jesse's voice and the vulnerability in her brimming eyes was enough for Maggie.
Whatever it took to make her girl whole again was going to have to be all
right.
    "Don't be
silly," she answered. "You're not a bother. You're family. Now, King,
you go on and do whatever you've been doing to help our girl get through
this."
    She wiped at her