She inhaled sharply and then held her breath as she stared at him. He could see the wheels turning furiously in her mind. Her indecision was written all over her face, but he also saw the moment she capitulated and acceptance registered. He almost squeezed her hand, but held himself in check, not wanting to let his elation or sense of victory be broadcast. He’d do nothing to damage the first strings of trust that were starting to form. Much like a spider’s web taking shape. But nothing so sinister. No, the stirrings of the initial brush of her trust was a beautiful thing. Something he’d never forget and never take for granted because he knew what it cost her.
“I’m not sure you’ll believe me,” she said with helplessness he hated hearing.
“Try me,” he said, careful not to offer blind reassurance because then she wouldn’t believe him.
She sighed and closed her eyes, withdrawing her hand. He let it go, wanting her to be able to compose herself and gather the courage necessary to confide in him.
She slipped her hand into her lap, balling it with her other, and again, she took a deep, steadying breath.
“Would you feel more comfortable in the living room?” he asked.
He wanted her in a place and position where he could touch her. Offer encouragement. And so without waiting for her response, he stood and extended his hand to her.
She slid her soft fingers over his palm and then gripped his hand as he pulled her to a standing position. Perhaps she needed a few more moments to think of how she wanted to present her story. Donovan would wait as long as necessary and not pressure her to hurry.
She tugged self-consciously at his T-shirt, making sure it covered as much of her as possible as he led her into the living room. He seated her on the couch, taking the position next to her. He didn’t immediately crowd into her space. She was agitated enough without him adding more intimacy. At least not yet. That would come later. He’d hold her, do whatever was necessary to comfort and reassure her.
One of her hands fluttered to her forehead and for a moment she massaged absently, her nostrils flaring from the deep breaths puffing in and out. Then she closed her eyes again, as if bolstering her flagging courage, and when she reopened them, resolve shone brightly.
She turned toward him, pulling her leg up to tuck underneath the shirt she wore. For a moment she clasped her ankle, anxiety reflected in the furrowing of her brow.
“Cammie and Travis are my half brother and sister,” she began. “My mother married their father when I was young. At first I didn’t spend much time with them. I mean she didn’t have custody, and for a long time I wondered if she didn’t want me. It wasn’t until later that I realized she’d been protecting me.”
Donovan’s eyebrow went up, but he was careful to remain silent and not interrupt.
“She had Travis when I was nine and then Cammie several years later. I had thought . . . I had thought she wouldn’t have any more children. But Walt—my stepfather—wanted a daughter and he insisted that my mother give him one. I can remember their argument,” she said with a flinch, as if the memory still burned brightly in her mind.
“I was nineteen and I was visiting. I didn’t get to see my mom much. Especially after Travis was born.”
Donovan frowned and broke in to ask the question burning his tongue.
“I assume you were with your dad then since you weren’t living with your mom. So where was he and where is he now?”
Eve flushed and he regretted interrupting her, something he’d promised himself he wouldn’t do.
“My father left us when I was too young to remember him. My mother’s sister—my aunt—took me in when Walt refused to let me live with them.”