When It's Right(10)

Gillian kept her distance from the porch, sucked in a deep breath, and mustered up her courage. A flash of pure rage lit the younger man’s eyes when she stepped closer, making them narrow on her. A split second later, his eyes went soft with something she didn’t recognize but made her want to take a closer look into his tawny eyes. She’d never seen someone look at her that way. Difficult to read, she’d keep her guard up around this man.

The guy and her grandfather shared a look, then turned back to stare at her. Her grandfather wasn’t smiling. He seemed to expect her to come to him.

Beyond tired, she hurt everywhere. Driving for three days had really taken the life out of her. The doctor had warned her that she needed plenty of rest and time to heal. What she needed was a fresh start.

This is your chance, Gillian. Don’t mess it up. “Hello.”

“Gillian, where have you been?” The question came out gruff and filled with rage, tinged with sympathy. She didn’t know how to decipher the opposing emotions, which increased her anxiety.

Gillian opened her mouth to answer her grandfather, but for the life of her, she didn’t know what to call him. She didn’t know this man. She didn’t remember ever meeting him. “Grandfather” seemed appropriate, because he seemed to be larger than life and had an air of confidence that could wear a title like that. Still, not her style. “Grandpa” seemed too familiar. At a complete loss, she kept her mouth shut.

Since she wasn’t inclined to speak, he took the lead.

“Why didn’t you fly? I told the doctor I’d pick you up at the airport. Didn’t you get the money I sent?”

She raised her chin defiantly. “I got it. I can work here at the ranch, or in town. I’ll make the money back and pay you as soon as I can.”

“I don’t want you to pay me back. I want to know where you’ve been for the last six days.”

She didn’t like the gruff tone and took a step back, putting more distance between them. It only made him frown more. “Um, I had to get my things from the apartment building. The money you sent . . .” She took a deep breath. Tell the truth and get it over with. “The money you sent, plus what I had saved, I used to pay the back rent on the apartment. The apartment that the, ah, incident happened in had some damage, and I had to pay that person for the repairs. The rest I used for gas and food to get here.”

“Do you have any left?”

“Eighty-­seven dollars and nineteen cents. It’s in my purse in the truck. I’ll get it for you.” She turned to fetch her purse but stopped at his command.

“No!”

She turned back and cocked her head, trying to figure out the reason for his hostility. If this is how he spoke and acted all the time, she’d leave. She couldn’t spend another minute of her life constantly on guard, watching every word she said and everything she did.

“Sorry. You don’t need to give me the money. I sent it for you to get here. I guess you managed that and taking care of your business back home.

“I have to say, I’m at a complete loss at your appearance. I mean, I knew he hurt you, but I never expected it to be this bad. Are you okay?”

“No,” she answered honestly.

“Why’d you kill him?” her grandfather asked.

Might as well get everything out in the open. Maybe then they could move on.

Gillian thought about the answer to that loaded question. She could give him the simple answer. Her father had been a bastard. He’d hit her. He’d come at her with a gun, crazed on methamphetamines. Instead of going with the simple, she gave him the cold, hard truth.

“When I was five, I used to think he’d come into my room and kill me one night in a drunken, doped-­up rage. By the time I was ten, there were a lot of days and nights that I thought if he hit my mother or me one more time I might just kill him. When I was fourteen, I knew I’d lay down my life if he ever crossed the line.

“He knew the line, and he crossed it. He brought the gun, not me. I did what I had to do. He had a choice. He didn’t give me one.

“That man needed killing.”

She watched his face as she spoke the harsh truth. His healthy glow withered, and he aged at least twenty years in the blink of an eye. Stress and fatigue took over his features, and his eyes and jaw softened. Looking closer, dark circles marred the underside of his eyes. He hadn’t been sleeping well. Worry and concern filled his eyes, but she wasn’t sure why.

Did he hate her for what she’d done?

Her words rang in Bud’s mind. The way she said them surprised him. No anger or fury. Just a cold, honest truth that shot through him. He hadn’t known what to expect. This woman standing in front of him with strength of mind and pride enough for ten ­people surprised him even more. She wasn’t just any girl. She was a survivor and wouldn’t suffer fools or bullies. She wasn’t the little girl he’d expected. Maybe somewhere under the bravado was the soft and sweet child he’d hoped to see. On second thought, anything soft and sweet in her had probably been squashed and decimated by Ron’s harsh words and mighty fists.