And yet, she still embraced life with gusto. She hoped and trusted. Laughed. Smiled. And gave of herself freely.
What he’d done by going off on her was the equivalent of pulling the wings off a butterfly that’d just flown from its cocoon.
She deserved his words of remorse…and gratitude. She had made him smile. She’d made him live again—however briefly.
The problem was coming up with the right words to express it. The only people who knew his whole story were the ones who had witnessed it. Not once had he ever verbally shared the horrors of that day with another living soul. He didn’t know if he was capable of doing it now. Or ever.
How long he sat there trying to put together the right way to share the darkest, bleakest, most horrific day of his life, he wasn’t sure. But suddenly a crash of thunder shook the structure surrounding him and he lost the ability to breathe, to move, as he was thrown headlong back to the moments just before a ferocious mass of twisting air had annihilated his life.
Gayle folded her arms across her waist as she gazed out the window at the storm cloud darkening the sky. Lightning brightened the grayness, and another boom of thunder quaked the glass. Wind swayed the tops of the trees. The forecast had called for isolated storms today, and she was definitely in the mood for a storm. Rain dinged off the glass panes, then the skies opened up and deluged the window with water. Inhaling, she closed her eyes and let the soothing sound flow over her.
God, she loved a spring storm. A cleansing of the earth and the smell of freshness afterward. If only the storm thrashing inside her would cleanse and refresh her the same way.
Almost forty-five minutes had passed since she’d left Lance standing in the field by the barn. Twenty minutes ago, he’d dropped off Skylar and tried to “talk” again. She’d instantly shut him down. Mac no longer existed as far as Gayle was concerned, and she resented the tight, angry emotions she’d been left with because of that awful man.
It makes me sick.
Well, right back at you, asshole.
To hell with him. Yeah, she was unconventional. Did things the way she wanted to and didn’t apologize for it. She had her reasons. Damn good ones. She’d gambled on love too many times and lost. Forever didn’t exist.
Thunder cracked again, and a sniffle sounded behind her. Gayle twisted around. Skylar was sitting on the couch with her face buried in her hands.
Shoving aside her own problems, Gayle hurried to the child’s side and knelt in front of her. “Sweet pie, what’s the matter?”
The little girl lifted her head. Tears brightened her eyes. “I put Bacon down to hug Daddy, and then I left him there.”
Ah. Bacon was Skylar’s stuffed pig, and she was extremely attached to it. Most likely, Lance had hustled her right over here as soon as Piper dropped her off. “He’s in the house, right?”
The little girl nodded.
“Then he’s going to be fine.”
“What if he’s scared? I’ve never left him alone in a storm before.”
Meaning Skylar was a little fearful of this storm and wanted her comfort object.
Gayle swallowed. “M-Mac is there to take care of him.” God, it was hard to even say the man’s name.
“Nuh-uh. He’s still in the barn. Daddy said so.”
“But that was twenty minutes ago. I’m sure he went inside as soon as he realized a storm was coming.” She brushed the blond curls back. “Bacon will be fine.”
Skylar crossed her arms stubbornly. “What if he isn’t? What if Bacon is alone and scared because I left him?”
Never argue with an eight-year-old. There was only one solution…and she would only do it for Skylar. “Listen, sweetpie, this is just a regular thunderstorm. Not even close to one of those really bad ones we sometimes have. But there is still lightning and it’s pouring, so we can’t go out in it right this second. As soon as the worst passes, we’ll run over and get him, okay?”
Skeptical eyes watched her intently. “Promise?”
“Cross my heart,” she said, doing the finger motion over her chest.
“Okay. As soon as it stops raining.”
“Yes. Now let’s find something to do so the time passes quickly.”
After she ushered Skylar into the kitchen and settled her down at the table, Gayle made them each three ants on a log. As they ate the celery, peanut butter, and raisin snack, she watched the cloudburst through the open back door. Strong, but not severe. A nice torrential downpour with cracks of thunder and flashes of lightning. The wind gusted here and there, but it was more of a robust breeze than damaging squalls. The humid air had already cooled, leaving behind the fresh, clean smell she loved directly after a storm.