Free Aubrielle's Call by C. Marie Bowen Page A

She’d been shoved into the dirt and attacked, and now her savior, her knight, called her stubborn.
    Tante Mae opened the door at the top of the stairs. “Saints, what’s happened to the lass?”
    Her neighbor’s voice, so familiar and filled with concern, brought Aubrielle’s head up and she pressed her lips to stop them from quivering.
    John carried Aubrielle through the door and into the front parlor.
    Mae followed them into the room.
    “Aubrielle was attacked at the park.” He sat her in a well-worn green armchair and pulled the footstool close. “The police arrested the man, but Aubrielle still needs care.”
    “I don’t need your care.” Aubrielle’s voice splintered. She covered her face and gave in to the tears.
    John rose from his crouch beside Aubrielle and held out his hand to the older woman. “John Larson.”
    “Mae Moroney.” Tante Mae grasped his fingers for a moment. “Please, call me Mae.” She released John and ran her hand along the back of Aubrielle’s head. “Where are you hurt, child?”
    “I’m not.” Aubrielle turned away and gulped into the handkerchief.
    “Her hands and knees are skinned. They need to be cleaned and bandaged. Her nose and chin look scraped as well.” John removed his overcoat and tossed it onto the couch. “She twisted her ankle just now, and I thought I saw a scratch on her right thigh.”
    Aubrielle’s watery look jumped to John as he spoke. “What?” she whispered, and pulled up her skirt. The three long inflamed scratches from thigh to panty shocked her. Her mouth fell open as she glared at the proof of her violation. “ Non. Non. Non. ” The room spun, and her heart fluttered.
    Warm hands captured her face. Dark kind eyes, filled with sadness and understanding stared into hers. “Breathe, Aubrielle,” his voice, soft and low. Intimate. “Mrs. Moroney will clean your scrapes and bandage your leg.” His thumb brushed a tear from her cheekbone. “You are home. You are safe.”
    Pots clanked in the kitchen as Tante Mae filled a pan with water and set it on the stove to heat.
    Aubrielle exhaled. She placed her hands over his, relishing the warmth and nodded. “ Oui . You are right.”
    “I will stand between you and every terror in the world, but I can’t when the terror is inside your mind.” He brushed the hair from her forehead. “There is a warrior in you. I’ve seen her. She’s strong and stubborn.”
    Aubrielle shook her head. “Warriors don’t cry.”
    “That’s not true, my dear. Warriors do cry, and they know fear.” He offered her a smile as he moved back to let Mae take his place. “But they don’t let fear win.”
    Tante Mae set the tub of soapy water beside the footstool, then helped Aubrielle out of her coat. “Here ye’ go, darlin’. Let’s clean you up a bit.”
    The hot water both stung and felt divine on her cold hands. Goosebumps marched up her arms, and she shivered. Whatever magic John's words held had helped. The tight knot of panic inside had loosened. Her gaze caught his just as Tante Mae took hold of her chin to clean her face.
    “What’s this? What’s happened?” Aubrielle’s father tottered into the room. His trousers hung on his thin frame by narrow black suspenders. His sleeveless undershirt stained from breakfast. Her Papa stopped short and stared at John. His mouth fell open, and his eyes widened.
    Tante Mae handed Aubrielle the washcloth and stepped around the footstool. “All is well, Lou. Your girl took a tumble in the park, and we’re cleaning her up.”
    “Marguerite?” He blinked red-rimmed eyes at Aubrielle, then lifted his shaking veined hand and pointed at John. “I remember you.”
    “Papa isn’t well,” Aubrielle told John.
    Tante Mae gripped Lou’s shoulders. “Lou, this is Aubrielle’s friend, John Larson. He’s over from America.” She nodded at John. “John, this is Aubrielle’s father, Lou Cohen. He isn’t feeling his best right now.” Mae guided Papa toward the