Page 74 of Hard Rain Coming
“What?” She shot a look at Dallas, surprised.
“He’s been spending time with Taz Pullman’s mom, Martha.”
“Oh.” Shit. Yes, she’d heard rumblings of the same thing. “Great.” Panic began to gnaw at her. In all the scenarios that had run through her mind, not once did a stranger factor in. “I don’t know if I should…if I can…I mean, maybe I should come back.”
Her thoughts faded away as the door opened, and a woman stepped onto the porch. Attractive. Slim build. Silvery-blonde hair that fell around her shoulders. She peered out at them and then said something over her shoulder just as her father appeared.
“We can leave right now if that’s what you want,” Dallas said, his quiet strength flooding her with much-needed warmth.
Her world narrowed then. It contracted into something small. Something manageable.
“I can do this,” she whispered, reaching for her seat belt and then the door handle.
“Do you want me to come inside with you?”
“No.” Vivian turned to Dallas, her heart so damn big, it hurt. “Knowing you’re out here is enough. But I need to do this on my own.” She held his gaze for a heartbeat and then slid from the truck. She didn’t feel the shock of cold or the brisk wind on her face. She walked up to the cabin and stood on the first step.
“Mrs. Pullman,” she said, clearing her throat. “I need to speak to Manley.”
Her father was dressed casually in jeans and a gray sweatshirt with her brother Cal’s name and a bunch of tour dates across his chest. She’d seen him at her sister’s wedding, so the fact that he looked healthy and well shouldn’t be a surprise, and yet it was. In her mind, he was still the rail-thin, mean drunk with dark-ringed eyes and words that cut like broken glass.
“Vivian.” Martha Pullman slowly nodded. “Let me get my coat and purse.”
Her father remained silent, his face half-hidden in the evening twilight. When Martha appeared again, she was swaddled in a large red-and-beige checkered coat and winter boots, with a weekender bag tossed over her shoulder. She kissed Manley on the cheek, made her way down the stairs, then paused. Her gaze was direct, yet Vivian couldn’t get a handle on her.
“I’m glad you’ve come. Your father has been ready for this for a long time.” Martha Pullman took another step, but stopped once more. She looked at Vivian. “He’s not as strong as he appears.”
A flame of anger woke inside her, but Vivian managed to keep it small. This woman cared about her father—that much was clear. And she from little she knew about her, she was a nice lady. Martha didn’t deserve all the things that sat inside Vivian, waiting for their chance to be free. Dark things. Mean things.
So, she said nothing, and when Martha finally moved toward her jeep, Vivian turned back to her father. He stood aside to give her space to get inside the house. So polite.
It’s now or never.
Vivian squared her shoulders and climbed the rest of the stairs. She kept her eyes straight ahead and walked inside. The first thing she noticed was that the cabin was no longer the bare-bones structure from her past, with holes in the roof, broken windows, and crap scattered everywhere. It was a home with nice furniture and art on the walls, and there, in front of the fireplace, was the biggest dog she’d ever seen. She took a closer look, realizing it wasn’t a dog after all, but a wolf.
“Penny can be strange with people she doesn’t know. Don’t take it too personal.”
The sound of her father’s voice made her feel like she was underwater. He sounded the same, but without the hard edge of anger and denial that used to coat his words.
Vivian slowly removed her jacket and folded it. After a few seconds, she raised her head and met Manley’s gaze. His life was lived across his face. It was in every crevice and wrinkle and line. It told a tale of hard living. His eyes, however, were clear and direct.
“I knew there’d come a day when you needed to say some things.”
“And you don’t?” she replied.
“I do.” Manley Bridgestone was nervous. Off-kilter. His hands were fisted at his sides and his body was ramrod straight. “But you deserve the chance to say what you need to say first. And after, if you’ll let me, I’ll have my piece.”
Vivian studied him for a few seconds. This wasn’t a version of Manley Bridgestone that she was familiar with.
“That’s very accommodating of you.” Her words were sarcasm-heavy, but her father only nodded in return.
Nervous herself, her mind moving pieces so fast she needed to take a moment, Vivian walked past her father and stood in the middle of the cabin, gaze moving over every inch of a home that looked like it housed love. Family. She noticed a small table near the fireplace, and, wary of the large animal who watched from her perch on a giant bed, she moved toward it and stopped, heart in her mouth as she looked down at the photos displayed there.
One in particular caught her eye, and she blinked away tears as she grabbed it for a closer look, her fingers trailing over the image of a little girl in pigtails astride a white pony, with a smiling man at her back.
“You can do this, sweetling. I’ve got you.” His voice echoed in her mind.
“I remember this day.” Her words were wooden, full of memory.