Isabelle climbed into the bed willingly enough, but then immediately reached for Adrienne’s hand again. “Don’t leave yet.”
To rest her ankle, Adrienne lowered herself to the side of the bed. “I’ll stay for a little while.”
She smoothed tangled, baby-fine, blond tresses away from the child’s warm little face. “Do you want to talk about your bad dream?”
Isabelle didn’t immediately answer. And then she shook her head. “I don’t think so.”
“Okay. Then how about if I read you a story?”
“Could you read me one of Gideon’s stories?”
Adrienne laughed softly. “Well, no. Gideon’s books are rather long for bedtime, and they aren’t written for children.”
Isabelle looked disappointed. “Oh.”
“I suppose I could tell you one of Gideon’s stories,” Adrienne said on a sudden inspiration.
“You could?”
“Yes. I know his books very well. I’m sure I can condense one of them into a bedtime story.”
Isabelle pulled the covers to her chin and settled more comfortably into the pillows. “Okay.”
In a quiet, soothing voice, Adrienne launched into a tale of two ancient, magical races who lived among humans, hiding their true identities while waging war with each other. She left out the gorier parts, of course. And in her version of the story, brave, noble Alanya remained alive, and she and her heroic lover, Jackson, lived happily ever after. By the time she reached that cheery resolution, Isabelle was sound asleep.
Tucking the covers more snugly around the little body, Adrienne leaned over to brush a soft kiss against Isabelle’s cheek. She stood very carefully to keep from jostling the bed, then turned toward the doorway. She hadn’t expected to find Gideon standing there, his long, lean body propped against the door frame, his arms crossed over his chest.
After a momentary hesitation, she stepped quietly out into the hallway. He followed her several feet away from the bedroom before he spoke. “I told you, I don’t write romances.”
She smiled a bit self-consciously. “I had to adjust it somewhat to make it a suitable bedtime story for a little girl.”
“So you just happened to tell it the way you want it to end.”
She shrugged. “I thought she would like it best that way, too.”
“Did she tell you what the bad dream was about?”
&nbs
p; “No. She didn’t want to talk about it.”
Frowning, he squeezed the back of his neck with one hand. “Why do I have the feeling she’s not going to want to go to school again tomorrow?”
“I’m afraid you’re right. This bad dream must have something to do with whatever happened at school.”
“Man, I wish Mom or Nathan would get back. This thing with Isabelle is starting to worry me.”
“Me, too,” she admitted.
“If it’s still going on tomorrow, I’m calling Mom. I hate to add to her worries, but I’m out of my league here.”
“So am I.”
He nodded. “We’ll call her tomorrow, then.”
“If we don’t solve the problem on our own first,” she amended, clinging to a shred of optimism.
They paused beside the door to his bedroom. In a nervous gesture, Adrienne laced her fingers in front of her. “I might as well turn in. I didn’t sleep much last night, and we both need to be well rested when we face the morning.”