"I know," Irene said softly.
Just then, the door creaked open, and Evans—appeared, his presence filling the entryway. The moment she saw him, all her restraint broke. Ivy rushed forward, burying herself against his chest.
He stroked her hair, big hand gentle against her skull, murmuring, "You're fine, love. You're fine."
"I can't do this! I'm sorry!"
"Anything you want, love," he said. "Just sleep on it, okay? You're going to be fine."
Irene came up beside them then. She reached out, her hand sliding down Ivy's arms in a reassuring squeeze. "Come on in," she urged gently. "I'll make you tea before we leave. Chamomile. with honey."
The three of them moved toward the house together.
Evans lingered at the doorway, his hands tucked into his pockets, watching them go. The faint hum of his phone vibrating in his pocket pulled him back into reality, and with it came the inevitable thought: Winn Kane. The man's temper was legend.
