Through The Storm. Rula Sinara

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       CHAPTER TWO

      MAC HAD AVOIDED touching his Scotch again last night. With Tessa around, he needed to keep his head on straight. But finding her in his office, bracing her—not embracing, he reminded himself—against his chest... The memories the evening had stirred up were worthy of a full-bottle hangover. The way she’d fallen into his arms at Maria and Allan’s funeral. How she’d sobbed against his chest and he’d buried his own tears in the crook of her neck. She’d never liked him much back in their school days, and he’d never cared for her lifestyle after marriage, but at that moment, no one else in the room—other than perhaps Nick...and Tessa’s parents—had understood what she and Mac were going through. In that moment, he’d imagined a connection...an understanding between them that had never been there before.

      Then she’d begun pounding his chest and screaming about how much she hated him for encouraging Allan to propose to her sister. That her sister would still be alive if they weren’t related. She’d buckled to her knees after that.

      Half of him had wanted to take off and the other half had wanted to wrap his arms around her and pick her up. But Brice had beaten him to it. He was the one she needed to lean on, anyway. He was her husband. Her safety net. Mac... Mac apparently wasn’t even a friend. He was nothing but a coguardian. A brother-in-law she didn’t like. He still remembered the crushing pressure in his chest when he’d watched Brice rush over and take her in his arms. Mac had lost his brother. Opening up and sharing his pain with Tessa hadn’t been easy. He’d let himself be vulnerable. Then she’d turned on him. He’d never forget that.

      Mac’s trip back home to South Africa had been rife with raw emotions. There’d been a lot to take care of and the need to focus on Nick had helped him ignore the punch to his gut every time Tessa’s eyes met his as the lawyers sorted their siblings’ wills out. He wasn’t sure why she’d always hated him so much. At the time, he wasn’t sure he’d ever get over losing Allan, but thinking of Nick put his pain in perspective. The poor boy was orphaned. Allan and Maria’s funeral had been hell for all of them on so many levels.

      This visit was different, though. They were on Mac’s turf this time.

      Nonetheless, this week was going to be hell, too.

      Mac washed down a couple of aspirin to dull the throbbing in his temples and turned his computer on for a quick email check. Prior to the arrival of his surprise visitors, he’d planned to lie low and work on some marketing niche ideas or a new design for the brochures he’d last updated six years ago. He needed an edge before the lodge owners let some big shot come in and take his customers. He didn’t normally care what others thought of him, but Tessa was the last person he wanted knowing that he was just getting by. She’d always acted standoffish and better than him in school. After marrying Brice, she really was better off—socially and financially.

      But what was bothering him more was that he’d bought into her holiday excuses for being here. It wasn’t until she’d gone back to her room, leaving her scent behind to taunt him, that he realized she must have ulterior motives. She was up to something...or that husband of hers had put her up to something. Like trying to convince him to take over raising Nick. Or perhaps Big Business Brice had sent his trophy wife to convince him to sell out to his latest investment idea. He’d never liked Brice Henning. The guy was too polished. Too perfect and careful. As far as Mac was concerned, shiny surfaces hid things...like polished diamonds hid defects and rough pasts, or like a calm sea glistening in the moonlight hid sharks. He simply wasn’t the kind of guy Mac cared to share a beer with, not that Brice would stoop to drinking beer and socializing with a small-beans pilot.

      Still, Mac sincerely felt Brice and Tessa had the better setup for raising a kid: being close to Nick’s school, material comforts and all. Plus, Nick had needed access to good counseling after his parents’ deaths. He’d needed to stay close to the friends he had for peer support. No one wanted the tragedy to send Nick veering along a downhill path. Mac had been doing his share, sending as much money as possible to support his nephew because Walkers took care of Walkers. Regardless of wills.

      The money Nick had inherited had been put in a trust for him, but after paying off the debts his parents had, he and Tessa had agreed that the majority of the amount left needed to be saved for his college education. It had been the only thing he and Tessa had ever agreed on.

      He hovered his finger over his mouse, then gave into his lack of focus and logged out.

      Mac locked his window, grabbed his AWS cap and headed out the door, this time making sure to lock his quarters behind him.

      “Morning,” Mac said, taking the mug of hot coffee Sue Bekker held out. He leaned an elbow against the low counter that divided the front desk from the rest of the office. “Sweetheart, you’re spoiling me.”

      Sue blushed and patted his arm.

      She was the mother of his old friend, Dr. Anna Bekker, who ran the Busara research and rescue camp for orphaned baby elephants. Sue was a skilled, albeit sometimes forgetful, woman who’d battled depression. But ever since she’d reconnected with her daughter and moved from America to live in the Serengeti and work for him, she seemed to embrace life. Something about the region did that to a person. Life here was simple, raw and beautiful. He loved it.

      “Well, I figured you’d need it this morning,” she said. “They came in asking for you. The brunette said they were family,” she said, nodding through their glass office doors toward the pretty woman and lanky kid who stood facing one of the lodge’s attractions: a floor-to-ceiling wooden wall carved with images of wildlife, including a herd of elephants the park was so famous for.

      Man. Nick had shot up in six months. He had definitely inherited the Walker gene for height. Couldn’t tell much about his face from where he stood. Not with all that hair hanging over it. The boy made a final crease on a flyer-turned-paper-airplane and shot it at the wall. His aunt mouthed something, but he ignored her, walked over to a stand of safari brochures and reversed the stacks in their holders. Mac couldn’t claim fame as having been the world’s easiest teenager. He’d been hell with wings. His gut told him СКАЧАТЬ