“And my mother’s misery was a pretty big clue that he was a-huntin’ and a-fishin’ for something outside the animal kingdom.”
Underneath the bitterness he heard sadness and the echo of a little girl who’d lost her innocence at far too young an age.
“I thought the world of him, loved him dearly and a part of me still does. But the grown-up me doesn’t like him much and, after a lifetime of lies, I can’t believe a word he says. I question everything he does. As a result, trust is a difficult concept for me and has always been in short supply.” Rory dredged up a smile.
Mac swallowed his rage and stopped himself from voicing his opinion about her father. Telling Rory that he thought her father was a waste of skin wouldn’t make her feel better. Rory was bright and loving and giving and her father’s selfishness had caused her to shrink in on herself, to limit herself to standing on the outside of love and life, looking in. She deserved to be loved and cherished and protected—by someone, not by Mac but by someone who would make her happy.
God, he wanted to thump the man for ripping that away from her.
“Tell me about your childhood, Mac,” Rory softly asked, dropping her head to rest it against the back of the couch. “Dear God, that wind sounds like a banshee on crack.”
“Ignore it. We’re safe,” Mac told her, slipping his hand between her knees. He never spoke about his blue-collar upbringing in that industrial, cold town at the back end of the world. It was firmly in his past.
But there was something about sitting in the semidark with Rory, safe from the wind and rain, that made him want to open up. “Low income, young, uneducated single mother. She had few of her own resources, either financial or emotional. She relied on a steady stream of men to provide both.”
He waited to see disgust on Rory’s face or, worse, pity. There was neither, she just looked at him and waited. Her lack of reaction gave him the courage to continue. “I was encouraged not to go to school, not to go to practice, not to aim for anything higher than a dead-end job at the canning factory or on one of the fishing boats. When I achieved anything, I was punished. And badly.”
Rory sat up, and in the faint glow of the lamp, he could see her horrified expression. “What?”
Mac shrugged. “Crabs in a bucket.”
“What are you talking about?” Rory demanded.
“You put a bunch of crabs in a bucket, one will try to climb out. The other crabs won’t let that happen. They pull at the crab who’s trying to escape until he falls back down. My mother was the perfect example of crab mentality. She refused to allow me to achieve anything more than what she achieved, which was pretty much nothing.”
“How did you escape?”
“Stubbornness and orneriness...and my skill with a stick. I waited her out and as soon as I finished school I left. I simply refused to live her life. There was only one person in life I could rely on and that was myself. I was the only one who could make my dreams come true...”
“And you did.”
Mac looked at her. Yeah, he had. The wind emitted a high, sustained shriek and Rory grabbed his hand and squeezed. He couldn’t blame her; it sounded like a woman screaming for her life, and the house responded with creaks and groans.
Through the screaming wind he heard the thump of something large and he looked into the impenetrable darkness to see what had landed on the veranda. A tree branch? A plastic chair his guys had left behind? Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to stay in the living room next to the floor-to-ceiling windows, even though they were covered with boards. He stood up and hauled Rory to her feet.
It was also the perfect time to end this conversation... Looking back changed nothing and there was nothing there he wanted to remember.
“Where are we going?” she asked as he picked up the lamp.
“Bathroom.”
“Why?”
“It’s enclosed and probably the safest place to wait out the storm,” Mac said, pulling her down the passage.
“Are we in danger?” Rory squeaked, gripping his uninjured biceps with both hands as they walked into the solidly dark house.
“No.” At least, he didn’t think so, but while he was prepared to take his chances with the storm, he wasn’t prepared to risk Rory. Mac pulled a heavy comforter from the top shelf in the walk-in closet and handed Rory the pillows from the bed. In the bathroom, Rory helped him put a makeshift bed between the bathtub and the sink. He sat with his back to the tiled wall and Rory lay down, her head on his thigh. Touching her hair, he listened to the sounds of the storm.
Rory yawned and tipped her head back to look at him. “I’m so tired.”