Out Rider. Lindsay McKenna
hand stroking him like it was stroking Bella. Whatever sizzled and popped between him and Dev was not only alive but more intense every time he found himself around her. And Sloan had never felt this kind of connection with a woman before. It reminded him of a pot on a stove, getting ready to boil at any given moment. Something was bubbling between them.
Dev turned. “It’s a story light and dark,” she said with a shrug. “My parents met in the Air Force. My mom was a captain and a pilot of C-130 transports. My father was a captain in the maintenance section on those types of aircraft. They fell in love and stayed in the military for seven years. When my mom, Lily, got pregnant with me, she got out. She was thirty when she had me.” Dev smiled fondly. Then, her brows drew down a little and her voice lowered. “My father, Pete, had a problem with alcohol. While he was in the military, it was a hidden secret from my mom. She was always flying and not at home that much.” She plucked a couple strands of grass, moving them between her fingers as she spoke. “My mother was more than ready to get out of the military. Once she had me, she was hired by a regional airline and she flies with them to this day. My father, however, didn’t adjust well to civilian life.”
“What happened?” Sloan asked.
“Well, as a kid growing up, I didn’t understand he was an alcoholic. My mother didn’t get it until I was a year old. She found him hiding whiskey bottles all over their house, stashing them away. I think, looking back on it, my father needed the rigidity and boundaries that the military naturally provided in order to keep his drinking halfway under control, and to still be able to fully do the work he did.”
“Did your father come from parents who were alcoholics?” Sloan wondered.
“Yes. But my mother didn’t find out until she discovered his secret. I remember growing up with them yelling and screaming at one another. My father refused to stop drinking. My mother, because of her airline shifts, wasn’t at home to raise me. I had a lot of babysitters and maybe that was a good thing.” Dev allowed the torn, twisted strands of grass to drop from her fingers and fall to the nearby rocks.
“Why do you say that?”
“My father resented me being in their lives.” She gave Sloan a sad smile. “I didn’t know why my father didn’t like me...or love me... I just felt as a child he didn’t want me underfoot or around. He had a job with a metal manufacturer in Casper and had shift work. When he had a night shift, he had to babysit me during the day and he really hated that.”
Sloan frowned. “How do you know that?”
Dev picked more strands of grass because it soothed her. She twisted the long lengths between her fingers, staring down at them because she didn’t have the courage to see the look that was probably in Sloan’s eyes. Why was she telling him this? She’d never told anyone about it before. No one knew. Why him? Compressing her lips, Dev said, “I remember him telling me to stay in my room, not to dare going outside. At that time, I was seven years old, and I loved being outdoors. I used to sneak out through my bedroom window and run in the fields while he was drinking. When he drank, he’d fall sleep on the couch, and that’s when I’d get out of the house and escape outdoors.”
“You were seven?”
Dev heard the growl in Sloan’s voice and looked over at him. His eyes were banked with censure and anger. She knew it wasn’t aimed at her but at her irresponsible father. “Yes.” Hitching one shoulder upward she said, “Don’t worry, I grew up fast. My mother would be gone three or four days at a time, depending upon where she was flying. My father would sleep six or eight hours when drunk. We had a dog, Ghost, and I’d go out with her. She was a white husky with blue eyes. She was so beautiful. She was like my teddy bear growing up, and always protective and caring of me. We’d go out into the meadow and just go explore for hours. When I got hungry, I’d walk home and go to the kitchen and make myself a sandwich.”
“Did your father know you did this?” Sloan tried to remove the anger from his voice.
“No. I never told him. I had his drunk schedule down pat and knew when I could do it and get away with it. I never told my mother, either, because if I did, they’d start screaming and yelling at one another. I couldn’t stand their anger. Whenever they’d fight, I’d run to my room and Ghost would come and lie on my bed with me and give me a doggy hug.”
Shaking his head, Sloan said, “I’m really sorry you had to live through that. Did your father ever hurt your mother or you?”
Dev felt a powerful sense of protection wash over her and understood now that it was coming from him. Maybe she could equate it to the doggy hugs that Ghost always gave her when she was feeling isolated and alone. “He never laid a hand on me or Mom, thank God. When I was old enough to realize he was an alcoholic, I ruthlessly researched the disease and what it meant. I wanted to understand why he was the way he was. Why—” and Dev choked up a little, avoiding Sloan’s intense stare “—he couldn’t love me. He never hugged me or kissed me or told me he loved me. He just didn’t have it in him. Frankly, after I grew up and matured a little, I saw why he couldn’t. My father couldn’t even love himself. So how could he reach out to love me?”
“But your parents are still together?”
“Yeah. Figure it out. I can’t. I don’t know why my mom never left my father.”
“Do you go home at all?” Sloan asked.
“No. I talk to my mom on Skype and we send emails back and forth, but I won’t go home. I know my father doesn’t like me around. And I don’t want to be around someone like that.” Dev gave him a wry look. “Life’s hard enough without going out and walking into the lion’s den to get bitten again.”
Shaking his head, Sloan said quietly, “I’m sorry, Dev. You deserve a helluva lot better than that.”
“I don’t know many people who have completely happy families, Sloan. Mine is completely dysfunctional. But so are a lot of other families. There are no happy endings from what I can see, for most people. We’re all wounded. It’s just a question of whether the wounds run our lives or not.” She dropped the shredded grass by her side, pushing her hands down her Levi’s. “I refuse to let the wounds my parents gave me run my life. I’m working through them, one at a time. I’m slowly winning my freedom...”
Sloan stretched out on the grass, an elbow propping him up as he studied her. “I’m pretty lucky,” he told her. “My parents gave me a happy childhood in comparison to yours. I was an only child, by the way.”
“Tell me about it?” Because Dev found herself starved to know more about Sloan, how he had become the man he was today. She saw amusement linger in his blue eyes as he pondered her question. “I could use some good news,” she added with a slight grin.
“We didn’t have much money,” he told her. “My pa, Custus, is a farrier, plus a leather, saddle and harness maker. Between these skills, he had a nice business and was able to support our family. My ma, Wilma, stayed at home, gardened, canned, cooked and kept us in clean clothes and a clean house. She loves cooking, baking especially. She was also a seamstress, and often other Hill people would come to her to make special clothing, like a wedding dress for a daughter that was getting married, things like that. She also makes school-age clothes for the Hill children whose mothers didn’t have the talent my ma has.”
“I love to sew, too,” Dev said wistfully. “Your mother sounds like she’s incredibly skilled at it. I don’t know anyone else who could make a wedding dress.” She saw Sloan’s dark features begin to relax as he shared the story of his parents. She was glad that someone had parents who loved them. She was beginning to understand why he was so calm and at ease and confident with himself.
“She also does tatting, crocheting, knitting and needlework,” he offered. “There’re some beautiful doilies made by my grandmother that my mother uses to this day.”
“Those things should be cherished forever and handed down from one generation to another,” Dev agreed. “She sounds wonderful.”
“She