Winning Love (12 page)

His wife
. Mac had lost the woman he loved. Stunned, Gayle sank into the chair across from him, unable to form words.

Mac shook his head, and she knew he was seeing the agony of the moment all over again. God, how she wished she could ease his pain. But how could she, when her own still felt just as fresh?

“She was ten weeks pregnant.” He stared straight ahead, but the anger was gone from his voice. Instead it was filled with detachment. Monotone. She wasn’t sure which was worse.

God, a wife
and
a child.
Fuck
. That was worse. A lot worse.

Gayle took a shuddered breath as a tear slipped down her cheek. She quickly dashed it away. “Jesus. I’m so sorry, Mac.” And she was. More than he could know.

Needing to touch him, comfort him in some way, she cautiously took his hand in hers, grateful when he didn’t yank away.

“I left Kansas a month later and haven’t looked back once. Not until Lance called. How the hell do you say no to a man who saved your life?” Mac stared off across the room. “He didn’t do me any favors by pulling me out that day.”

She understood that train of thought, though she was long past her own death wish. But in the beginning there had been many, many months when she’d struggled with her grief, and she’d also wondered if she would be better off dead. Not knowing how to move forward, with a future so uncertain.

He took a deep breath, tugged his hand from hers, and scrubbed his face. A moment of hurt pinged her chest, but she let it go. People wanted comfort in their own way. Mac didn’t seem to want any. The fact he let her hold his hand, even briefly, was a small miracle.

“The first crash of thunder today brought every damn memory raging back. It’s being back in the fucking place. It’s just one miserable reminder after another of the worst day of my life.” He suddenly glared at her, and there was an accusation in his eyes she didn’t understand. “And you
go after
those things. How can you deliberately get close to a tornado? Be so damn excited about the possibility of one forming? Don’t you understand the pure devastation those things bring to people’s lives?”

Ah. So that was his issue with her.

Not her unconventional lifestyle but that she chased tornadoes. Okay, not the first time her job had gotten a bad reaction…though never quite to this degree before.

But how would he react when he found out
why
she did what she did?

“Oh, I understand.” She gave a sad smile. “All too well.”

He frowned, his anger and accusation slowly giving way to uncertainty. “What?”

“Seven years ago, I lost my parents, my sister, and the man I’d been dating since my senior year in high school to an EF-5 tornado.”

She didn’t bother with the details. Now wasn’t the time. This was about him. She just wanted him to know she truly did understand.

Mac sat up, staring at her. “Lost them…to a
tornado
?”

“I was finishing up my master’s in atmospheric science at the University of Alabama in Huntsville when it happened. Weather has always fascinated me, but I had never chased until the year after they died.” She sighed, and at his silent query, she explained, “I needed to know…how tornadoes worked. Why they happened. I wanted to further tornado research so others didn’t have to die the same way as the people I loved. I’ve dedicated the last six seasons to doing that. Facing them head-on helped me a lot in dealing with what had happened. Maybe you should try it.”

He jerked back. “Fuck, no. I have no desire ever to experience one of those bastards again. No way would I deliberately seek one out.”

Lifting her palms, she said, “Just a suggestion. I get it. But if you change your mind, the invitation is there.”

“I won’t be taking you up on it. What you do is fucking crazy.”

He’s seen even more than you have.
The reminder calmed her and kept her from responding to the insult. “What I do has helped a lot of people, Mac. You may not understand it, but don’t belittle the research I’ve invested the last six years of my life in, simply because of your past.”

He stared at her for a moment, then swallowed and gave a jerky nod. “Fair enough.”

Her feelings still smarted from his attack earlier that afternoon, but knowing the events that drove him had pretty much wiped away her anger.

“So, can we call a truce?” she ventured.

A long pause followed, then he said, “This…this thing between us…it’s not happening. It can’t. Not like the other night.”

The renewed hurt that pierced her chest surprised her. “Because I’m a risk taker?”

He exhaled. “I can’t start caring about you, Gayle. I can’t go through that horror again. And you’ve got to admit, with your job, the chances are pretty good.”

Caring about her? She frowned. She really hadn’t considered that night as anything more than she’d enjoyed with other men. She simply liked sex. But the implication of Mac’s words tweaked her chest in an odd way. The understanding smile she offered him felt fake, strained. “Fair enough,” she parroted his words. “But can we be friends?”

“We can try.”

Try
. At least the warning was there this time, right? She wouldn’t be blindsided. She’d make sure not to get too attached. Make that, at all. With the emotions his struggles had stirred in her, she was at risk of starting to care about
him
. She had such a damn soft heart, wanting nothing more than to support and comfort when something bad was going on with the people she called friends.

But men tended to trample all over women like her. Thankfully she had learned her lesson, had learned to keep her distance and reserve her compassion for those who truly appreciated it.

He’d warned her, and she planned to heed the warning. The man may have gone through hell, but if he couldn’t get past her job to see who she really was beneath all that, then they had no possibility of any kind of real friendship.

Oh, yeah. She would tread very carefully around Mac Hannon.

Chapter Seven

S
tanding with his feet spread in front of the screen door in the kitchen three days later, Mac scowled as he watched Gayle and a dark-haired guy stuff plastic containers in the back of a souped-up Nissan Xterra. The black SUV was wrapped in the WKKS News weather team logo with a radar image in the background. The bumper on the front was not a stock bumper, but the kind of sturdy grill that protected the headlights, usually seen on vehicles for off-roading. An assortment of antennas protruded from the roof along with a whole bunch of odd-looking equipment.

Her tornado hunting vehicle. The guy had backed it out of the barn behind her house about thirty minutes ago.

A storm system must be brewing somewhere. Fucking fantastic.

Shaking his head, Mac turned away, closed the inside door, and strode through the kitchen to collapse on the living room couch. He threw his arm over his eyes, blocking out the late evening sun. In the days that had passed since Gayle had found him in the barn, they hadn’t really had much interaction with each other. Friends was definitely not the path they were on. It was more like they tolerated each other’s presence. For him, he didn’t care for the raw and exposed consciousness he had when he was around her. She had seen him lose control. Every time he saw her, he was reminded of that.

“Hey, man,” Lance asked, shaking Mac’s foot. “You awake?”

“Yep,” he responded without removing his arm.

“I just got a lead on a repo I’ve been hunting for a few weeks. I’ll probably be gone most of the night.”

“K.” Lance’s presence loomed over Mac and he heaved a sigh. “What?”

“You want to come with? I invited you down here, and I just keep leaving you by yourself.”

“Nope. And you invited me here to help you
train
, which we did this morning and for the past three days. I’m fulfilling my end of things. I don’t need company. Go earn your money, Lance.”

“But after—”

“
Go.
”

Lance hovered for a while longer, but eventually his footsteps faded down the hall. Seconds later, the front door closed. His friend had been acting like a fucking helicopter mom since Mac had told him about the other night. This was exactly why he never confided his personal shit to people. They got all weird afterward.

Even the damn training sessions with Lance had been tense, as though his friend thought Mac was fragile or something and wasn’t putting all his strength into it. How was the jackass going to prepare for a fucking fight if he didn’t go at training 100 percent? It took Mac laying one on him hard for Lance to finally snap out of his kid-glove approach.

Why didn’t people understand Mac didn’t need anyone? He was totally fine being alone.

He shifted to his side and stared at the coffee table. Tires crunched on gravel as the SUV drove around the house toward the front. So they were off on their exciting, action-packed tornado adventure. Worry for Gayle built in his chest. No. He didn’t care…
he didn’t.

What he cared about was getting some sleep, which had eluded him since the barn. He closed his eyes again.

A low rumble of thunder sounded in the distance, and his eyes snapped open. His entire body stiffened. The windows were now dark instead of bright from the afternoon sun. Well, at least he had successfully escaped into the oblivion of sleep for a while. The lack of nightmares was just a testament to how exhausted he was.

Slinging his legs over the side of the couch, he sat up blinking. What had woken him up, anyway? A brilliant blue flash lit the room. His breath seized in his lungs. Another streak of lightning brightened the darkened area.

Trapped. Heavy. Couldn’t breathe. Complete darkness except for the strobe of lightning. Screams. So many goddamn screams.

Fuck! He flicked on the lamp on the end table so the bursts of light weren’t as palpable. He worked his neck from side to side, trying to rid his body of its increasing tension. Just a storm. That was all. He would not let his mind fuck with him.

A deafening crack rattled the walls.

The scrape of the car as the bumper slipped closer to his head. Desperation to free himself. Lance suddenly there.

Cold sweat beaded on the clammy skin of his upper lip. Trembles quaked his hands as the airway in his throat seemed to shrink. He sucked in a whistling inhale and jerked to his feet.

Don’t think. Don’t think. Do something. Anything.

The TV.

Lightning flashed twice as a clap of thunder immediately followed.

His destroyed home. Nothing left. Bellowing her name. Frantic. Terrified.

Roaring his fury, Mac grabbed a throw pillow and hurled it into the hall. Cursing, he strode to the large flat screen, his strides stiff, awkward. Another bright strobe made him stumble away from the windows.

A pile of debris. A bloodied hand. The white gold wedding band and encrusted engagement ring sparkling in the sunlight.

He knotted his hands in his hair, squeezing his eyelids closed. No.
No! Don’t remember
.

The bushes outside began to scrape against the glass as the winds picked up. He snapped his head up, and his breath strangled as he stared at the branches flattened against the windowpanes by the howling wind.

The slim fingers remaining motionless. Not even a twitch. He paralyzed with fear. The realization dawning. The refusal to believe.

White dots danced before his eyes. He sucked oxygen into his lungs, then hurried to turn on the television.

The growing violence of the weather outside beckoned him into oblivion—into the past—and,
goddamn it
, one trip back into hell this week had been enough.

He forced himself into the kitchen, yanked open the fridge, and grabbed a beer. Another violent crack shook everything around him.

Flinging rubble off her. Lifeless blue eyes. Fence post jutting from her chest.

He jerked and dropped the bottle on the floor. Glass and beer exploded all over the hardwood floor. Motherfucker! He fucking hated this.

He grabbed a kitchen towel and dropped it on the spilled beer, then snatched a new bottle from the fridge, twisted off the top, and took a long guzzle as he watched white lightning splinter across the sky.

Dead. His wife. His child. Dead.

His throat closed, the brew getting stuck on its way down. Choking, he cupped his mouth as the beer spewed out and over his fingers. Some wet his shirt, the rest plopped onto the floor.

Fury took over and he launched the bottle against the wall. The loud crash of the glass shattering, the beer gushing, gave him a momentary sense of relief. He heaved deep inhales, fists clenched tight at his sides.

The heavens opened up and torrential rain smacked against the windows, rattling the panes. The wind howled. The limbs beat the glass.

He failed. Failed to protect her. Failed to protect his child. He failed them both.

Just as he lifted his arm to hurl another bottle, a loud pounding had him shuddering out of the memories. The noise came again, and his gaze snapped to the door. He flung it open to find Gayle standing on the top step. Drenched hair clung to her face and droplets of water dripped off the tip of her nose and chin. A sage-green tank top molded wetly to her skin, while her khaki shorts dripped water down her legs to her muddy bare feet. A shiver racked through her, knocking him out of his stunned stupor.

“Gayle!” He moved out of the way to let her by. “What the hell are you doing running around in a storm like this?”

Another shiver went through her as she stepped inside and held up a cup, also dripping water. But she smiled. “I was making cookies and realized I was out of sugar.”

What the fuck? He glanced at the monsoon outside. “And it couldn’t wait? What the hell are you doing here anyway? I thought you left.”

“No, not yet. As for the sugar, thought I’d be able to make it here and back before the sky opened. Guess I was wrong.” She sent him another smile. “So. Sugar?”

He stared at her and realization dawned. “I don’t need babysitting, Gayle.”

“What are you talking about?
I
need sugar.”

He lifted an incredulous brow at her, which she returned in spades, then shook the cup at him. “Sugar, Mac.
Please
.”

He’d give her mad props, she was damn convincing, but no matter how much she wanted to deny it, he didn’t believe her trek through a downpour and crazy wind was because she wanted to bake any damn cookies. He took the cup from her and went to the cabinet. After he dried it out and filled it with sugar, he turned back to find her with her arms wrapped around her body, shivering.

He put the cup on the counter. “You’re going to be stuck here for a while. Let me get you something dry to put on.”

The fact she didn’t argue was just more proof she’d come over here for him. What was she worried about? He’d tear up Lance’s house? His eyes cut over to the pool of beer and shards of glass on the floor. Meh. Maybe she had a reason to be concerned.

After he tugged a T-shirt off a hanger, he snatched a pair of jogging shorts out of the drawer. The shorts probably wouldn’t fit her, but he took them anyway and handed them to her. Mumbling thanks, she disappeared into the downstairs bathroom. The storm was still raging outside, but just having her here seemed to calm the horrific images that had tortured him.

When she returned, a weird sensation crackled under his ribs. His black Zac Brown Band concert T-shirt was huge on her. Pretty much swallowed her whole. The hem reached right above her knees, while the sleeves were below her elbows.

She was the most gorgeous sight he’d laid eyes on in a long time.

She held his shorts in her hands. “Um. Yeah. These came to my shins. And as much as I’d like to look like Kid ‘n Play, it’s not really the time of year for costumes.”

Taking them back, he chuckled. It felt good. Real good. The last time—
Wow, holy shit
. The last time he’d laughed was the night they’d slept together. “Somehow, I didn’t think they’d fit.”

A crash of thunder shook the house and he went rigid.

“Why don’t we find something to occupy ourselves?” Gayle suggested.

“How long is this storm supposed to last?”

She studied him for a moment, then sighed. “There’s a long line of them coming in. Could be hours.”

“Is there a chance—Is that why you were packing your SUV earlier?”

“I don’t chase at night, Mac. It’s dangerous. Rick and I are watching developments, preparing just in case. But this system… One can never be certain, but conditions are not really favorable for tornado formation. Doesn’t mean we won’t see a few crazy intense storms come through, though.”

“Great.”

She moved around him into the kitchen, then stopped abruptly. “Wow. Somebody had a party in here.” She glanced at him over her shoulder, a look of mock disappointment twisting her face. “I’m hurt I wasn’t invited.”

Even though she was making light of it, embarrassment burned his skin. He’d lost control. Again.

She seemed to sense his discomfort because she turned to face him. “Mac!” she said in a commanding tone that compelled his head up instantly. The intense way she regarded him took him aback.

“It’s
okay
to be angry. Do
not
feel bad about it.” She held his gaze for a moment, then returned to the broken glass and beer. “I’m going to get this cleaned up.”

“I’ll get it.”

Without comment, she handed him the broom, and he got to sweeping.

She left the room for a few moments and returned with an armful of towels. “I’ll put these in the wash after we wipe all the glorious beer you wasted off the wall and floor.”

Mac felt the first tugs of a smile. Ten minutes later, she walked out of the laundry room next to the kitchen, folded her arms, and said, “Now what do we do?”

Tapping a finger to her lips, she surveyed the room. “You know what?” she muttered, then squatted and opened a cabinet door. “Aha! Yeah.”

She held up a bottle of vodka. “What do you say, handsome? Want to get smashed?”

His eyebrows flew to his scalp. “Seriously?”

“Hell, why not?”

When was the last time he’d gotten a really good drunk on? It
had
been a damn hell of a week. “I believe in the fridge Lance has lemonade he made for Skylar.”

Her eyes rounded. “Was it homemade?”

“I…think so.”

She started glancing around like a madwoman. What was she looking for?

“Hell, yes!” she exclaimed as she put the Vodka bottle down and came back with a lemon in each hand. “Ever had a lemon drop?”

Shots? She wanted to do shots? “Years ago. Like, culinary school years ago.”

“Ever played Never Have I Ever?”

A drinking game? “Again, years ago.”

“Wanna?” A playful twinkle lit up her eyes that he couldn’t resist.

“Shit,” he muttered with a defeated laugh. He was going to fucking regret this.

“Awesome!”

She went to work gathering everything, and within a few minutes she had two shot glasses, a plate of lemon wedges coated in sugar, and the bottle of vodka sitting out on the counter. She’d also put her iPhone on the deck, and fun, upbeat dance music drowned out the noises from outside.

She poured the glasses full of the liquor, and asked, “Do you remember the rules?”

“Refresh my memory.”

“I say something I’ve never done, and if
you’ve
never done it you don’t have to drink, but I do. If you
have
…bottoms up.”

“Ladies first.”

She leaned forward, a mischievous look coming to her face. “Never have I ever fought in a cage.”

A shocked laugh burst out of him. He shook his head and reached for the shot, eying her over the rim. “You play dirty.”

She leaned back, smiling with pleasure. “Thank you.”

He tossed the drink back, then bit into a lemon wedge. “Never have I ever gone to a traditional university.”

Giving a nod of reluctant approval, she took her shot. “Now that we have the gimmes out of the way, let’s make this interesting.” She leaned forward again. Resting her elbows on the counter, she laced her fingers together and studied him. “
Hmm
. Never have I ever…gone streaking.”