The Passing Storm(11)

The revelation that Sally Harrow and Katherine Thomerson were joining the fundraising committee shook something loose inside Rae—an essential piece of her emotional makeup she’d unwittingly relied upon to hold herself together. Her breaths came fast and shallow. Pressure built in her chest, seeking release.

On autopilot, she went into the mudroom and put on her hiking boots. She was still buttoning her coat when she strode into the weak afternoon light and the relentless snowfall.

In defiance of the weather, birds flitted across the branches of the pine trees. Avoiding the wind’s fearsome gusts, they converged on clumps of sunflower seeds she’d thrown down earlier. Squirrels chattered in the bitter air, their tails flicking through the frosted undergrowth. Veering away from the barn, Rae followed their noisy complaints toward the forest. She needed to get far enough from the house to scream until her throat blistered. There was nothing rational about her rage, or reasonable. It spilled over in hot waves.

Walking blindly, she nearly walked into him.

Shock brought her to a standstill. With alarm, she took stock of her surroundings. The gentle incline led to a V-shaped wall of heavy brush. The forest lay beyond. Straying in this direction was a mistake.

Even in summer she avoided this section of the property, and the dreaded tree. Quinn Galecki huddled beneath the tree with his back pressed to the icy trunk. Deep in thought, he appeared deaf to her approach.

The snow was softly burying him. As it had buried her mother sixteen years ago.

The memory of the White Hurricane reared up with devastating clarity. The images came too fast, a vivid horror show. Rae groaned. Bile rose in her throat.

The sound of her distress pulled Quinn from his daydream. “Miz Langdon!” He leaped to his feet, the snow spilling from his shoulders.

Slipping and sliding, he moved in a frantic circle. Rae pressed a hand to her belly. The urge to vomit was strong.

Quinn darted closer, unsure of what to do. “Are you sick?” The wind flapped his coat open. “Did I scare you? Man, you’re turning green.”

Rae clasped her knees. “Dancing around like a scarecrow isn’t helping. Cut it out, okay?” Fending off vertigo, she planted her gaze on her boots. “And zip up your coat. Are you trying to catch pneumonia?”

Obeying, he zipped the parka to his neck. “Are you going to puke? That’s no fun.”

“Not if I can help it.”

“What can I do?”

“About the ulcer I’m brewing? Not much.”

“Miz Langdon, I didn’t mean to scare you. Honest.” He nodded at the forest. “I figured I wasn’t bothering anyone out here by myself.”

“Stop referring to me as Miz Langdon. We both know I’ve never been married.” A belch popped from her mouth, and she gripped her knees tighter. The wave of nausea passing, she added, “I’m just Rae.”

“Got it. Thanks.”

The snowfall decreased to a fine misting of white. The air held a faintly metallic scent. A cardinal flew past, a splash of red disappearing into the forest.

Rae straightened. She stiffened when Quinn rushed forward to help. He was tall and slender; strong too. With ease he clasped her arms. No doubt he expected her to drop at any second, and she was silently grateful for the assistance. His hands were large, his fingers gracefully tapered. The hint of a beard shadowed his long, nearly pointed chin.

His eyes seemed much younger. They carried a child’s vulnerability. As did his cheeks, blazing pink when he released her.

Rae swatted at the snow collecting on her hair. “What are you doing out here? Of all the stupid . . . are you trying to freeze to death?”

“I’m not cold.”

“You’re not? Why are your teeth chattering?”

A challenge, and his mouth quirked into a grin. “Okay. I’m cold. My feet are ice cubes.”

“I’m not surprised.” With dismay, she studied his boots. The leather toe of the left boot was peeling away from the sole. The silver band of duct tape used to repair the mess was coming loose. “You get an A for creativity, but that won’t last long,” she said, gesturing at the duct tape. “Tell your parents you need new boots.”

“Right. Like they’ll listen.”

“Are you wearing socks?”

“I left the house in a hurry.” Quinn lifted a wary hand. “Don’t make me explain.”

Rae stifled her protective instincts. “I won’t.” How he dressed for the frigid weather was none of her business. It was her business that he was on her property—again—but she let it slide.

Relief scuttled through his gaze. “How’s your stomach?”

“So-so.”

“Do you really have an ulcer?”

“I hope not.”

They fell silent, gauging each other like unwilling combatants. Tension raced across Rae’s skin, lifting the hairs on her neck. More threads twined their destinies together than Quinn could possibly imagine. The boy would never learn of their connection. Nor would anyone else.

Not a boy, Rae mused. Quinn was nearly a man. They’d never before engaged in a real conversation. A minor point—the painful questions demanded answers, even if she wasn’t prepared to hear the uncomfortable details. Now those questions refused to leave her lips.

Breaking the silence, Quinn patted his roomy parka. “Why did you almost puke when you saw me? I’m not exactly a threat.”