скачать книгу бесплатно
“The hinges,” he yelled. “They’re old. I don’t think they’re going to hold. Put your arms around my waist and hang on to my belt.” She stumbled toward him as he grabbed the handle on the base of the cellar doors and prepared to battle the mighty winds. The thought of Drew getting sucked away from her was more terrifying than the tornado itself. She flung herself against his back, circling his waist with her arms and wrapping her fingers around his belt.
She could actually feel the winds pulling at him. Closing her eyes, she prayed.
* * *
Drew was not going to let this son of a bitch win. He’d deal with whatever aftermath they had to sift through. But he and Beth were going to make it. The vicious noise was no longer merely above them. It raged and swelled and battered itself into their small shelter. Beth pressed against him, adding her weight to his.
His fingers were numb already. His grip on the handle weakened as his arms strained to hold on. The pain in his shoulders radiated through his torso into his gut, leaving him breathless. For a split second, one mighty gust ripped at the fragile barrier, actually lifting his feet a couple of inches off the ground.
Despair shredded his determination. His grip was slipping. Life couldn’t end like this. If the storm won they would be sucked into oblivion.
It was Beth who saved him, Beth who shored up his will. Even without speaking, she was with him. Fighting.
He focused on the sensation of her warm body wrapped around his. Blocking his mind to the pain, he concentrated on her and only her. She held him like a lover. A woman who never wanted to let go.
An enormous crash sent tiny bits of debris filtering through the cracks above them. He heard Beth cry out. The fury of the wind was terrifying. Like some apocalyptic beast locked in struggle with a foe, the tornado did its mad dance.
In a second wave of terror, hail pelted their hiding place. The sound echoed like a million gunshots. He couldn’t have heard Beth’s voice now even if she tried to speak. Pieces of ice big enough to make such a racket would decimate her crops and ruin roofs and property.
The storm crescendoed for long, agonizing minutes. Hail changed to the steadier, quieter deluge of rain. And then it was over. The pressure on the cellar door vanished abruptly, causing him to stagger.
Beth’s finger’s dug into his waist. In the growing silence as the storm moved away, he could hear her rapid breathing. His own pulse racketed at an alarming rate, helped along by the surge of adrenaline that had stayed with him when he needed it.
He flexed his fingers, forcing them to uncurl. Dropping his arms to his sides, he groaned. “Are you okay?”
He had to make her release him. Holding her shoulders, he shook her gently. “It’s over, Beth. We made it.”
For some reason, it was darker now. Virtually no light found its way into their bolt-hole. He could barely make out her face. “We have supplies,” she said, her voice shaky but clear. “I saw a metal box on the floor when we climbed down.”
Releasing her reluctantly, he felt around in the darkness until he found the chest. It wasn’t locked. Lifting the lid, he located flashlights and handed her one. The illumination they provided enabled him to see her expression. She appeared stunned, perhaps in shock. He didn’t feel too steady, himself, for that matter.
Grabbing a couple of water bottles, he pulled her toward the chairs and sat beside her. “Take a minute,” he said. “Breathe.”
“How do we know it’s safe to go out? What if there’s another one?”
“I’ll check the radar.” He pulled his phone from his pocket, touched a couple of icons, and cursed.
“What’s wrong?”
“The cell towers must be out. No service at all. We’ll give it a few minutes and then see what things are like up top. If we hear the sirens again, we can always come back down here.”
“What time is it?”
It was oddly surreal to be asked that question. He honestly had no idea how long they had been in the cellar. It felt like hours. When he checked the illuminated dial of his watch, he shook his head. “It’s only four thirty.”
“That can’t be right.”
“Drink some water. Let’s catch our breath.” Honest to God, he was in no real hurry to survey the damage. He’d seen enough news footage in the past to know what a monster tornado could do. Tuscaloosa, Alabama, Moore, Oklahoma, small towns in Tennessee. Hopefully, Royal’s storm hadn’t been that bad.
He wasn’t counting on it, though. The winds they had heard and felt carried the force of destruction. Which meant lots of structural damage, but hopefully, no loss of life.
Beth set her bottle on the floor. She had barely drained an inch. “I can’t stay down here anymore. I want to know what happened.”
“You realize this isn’t going to be a walk in the park.” They stood facing each other. He took her hands in his. “We’ll deal with whatever it is. We’re neighbors. Neighbors help each other.”
“Thank you, Drew.” She squeezed his fingers and released them. “I can handle it. But not knowing is worse.”
“Fair enough. Let’s get out of here.”
* * *
Surviving a ferocious tornado was the most terrifying experience of Beth’s life. Right up until the moment she realized they were trapped in an eight by eight storm cellar. Her skin crawled at the thought of being buried alive.
Drew had managed to remove the piece of wood that served as a locking mechanism for the cellar doors, but they wouldn’t budge. Something heavy lay against them. Shining a beam of light on her cell mate, she saw the muscles in his arms and torso flex and strain as he tried to dislodge whatever was blocking their escape route.
She turned off the flashlight despite the false sense of security it afforded. Drew was balanced on a step, the awkward position making his job even harder. “Can I help push?” she asked, proud of the calm she projected. The fact that it was entirely false seemed immaterial.
“I don’t know if we can both fit on the step, but sure. It can’t hurt.”
He extended his arm and helped her balance beside him. Bracing themselves, they shoved in tandem against the unforgiving wood. Beth’s foot slipped, and she nearly tumbled backward. “Sorry,” she muttered.
Drew beat his fist against the doors. “Damn it, this is pointless. It won’t budge. Whatever is up there has us pinned down for good. I’m sorry, Beth.”
She could do one of two things—indulge in a full-blown panic attack...or convince Drew that she was a calm, rational, capable woman. “No apologies necessary. I’m sure someone will find us. Eventually.” When the roads are cleared and when at least one person remembers that Drew came to Green Acres this afternoon. She cleared her throat. “Did you happen to mention to anyone at the ranch that you were coming over here to read me the riot act?” Please say yes, please say yes, please say yes.
“No.” He helped her down to the floor and began to pace. It wasn’t much of an exercise since his long legs ate up the space in two strides. “Will your family check up on you?”
“We’re not close,” she said, choosing not to go into detail. No need for him to see the seedy underbelly of her upbringing. Despite Drew’s cell phone experience, she pulled hers out of the pocket of her shorts and tried to make a call. No bars...not even one.
Drew saw what she was doing. “Try a text,” he said. “Sometimes those will go through even with no signal.”
She stared at the screen glumly, holding up the phone so he could see. “It says not delivered.”
“Well, hell.”
Her sentiments exactly. “I wish I had eaten lunch.”
“Concentrate on something else,” he urged. “We don’t want to dig into the food supply unless it’s absolutely necessary.”
What he wasn’t saying was that they could be trapped for days.
Beth refused to contemplate the implications. The storm cellar was equipped with a small, portable hospital commode tucked in the far corner. Things would have to get pretty bad before she could imagine using the john in front of Drew Farrell. Oh, Lordy.
Now all she could think about was waterfalls and babbling brooks and the state of her bladder.
Drew sat down beside her. They had both extinguished their flashlights to save the batteries. She gazed at her phone, feeling its solid weight in her hand as a lifeline. “I suppose we should turn these off.”
“Yeah. We need to preserve as much charge as we can. We’ll check one or the other on the hour in case service is restored.”
“But you don’t think it’s likely.”
“No.”
In the semidarkness, soon to get even more inky black when the sun went down, she couldn’t see much of him at all. But their chairs were close. She was certain she could feel the heat radiating from his body. “I feel so helpless,” she said, unable to mask the quiver in her voice.
“So do I.” The tone in his voice was weary, but resigned. It must be unusual for a man who was the undisputed boss of his domain to be bested by an act of nature.
“At least we know someone at the ranch will realize you’re missing,” she said. “You’re an important man.”
“I don’t know about that, but my brother, Jed, is visiting from Dallas. He’ll be looking for me.”
She wanted to touch him, to feel that tangible reassurance that she was not alone. But she and Drew did not have that kind of relationship. Even without the filter of social convention, they were simply two people trapped in an untenable situation.
His voice rumbled in her ear. “Why don’t we call a truce? Until we get rescued. I’ve lost the urge to yell at you for the moment.”
“Please don’t be nice to me now,” she begged, her anxiety level rising.
“Why not?”
“Because it means you think we’re going to die entombed in the ground.”
He shifted on his chair, making the metal creak. “Of course we’re not going to die. At the very worst we might have to spend a week or more in here. In which case we’d run out of food and water. We’d be miserable, but we wouldn’t die.”
“Don’t sugarcoat it, Farrell.” His analytical summation of their predicament was in no way reassuring.
The dark began to close in on her. Even with Drew at her side, her stomach jumped and pitched with nerves. “I need a distraction,” she blurted out. “Tell me an embarrassing story about your past that no one knows.”
“That sounds dangerous.”
“Not at all. What happens in the storm cellar stays in the storm cellar. You can trust me.”
His muffled snort of laughter comforted her in some odd way. She enjoyed this softer side of him. When he stood to pace again, she missed his closeness. His scent clung to the shirt he had given her, so she pulled it more tightly around her in the absence of its owner and waited for him to speak.
* * *
Drew was worried. Really worried. Not about his and Beth’s situation. He’d leveled with her on that score. But what had his stomach in knots was the bigger picture. He should be out there helping with recovery efforts. To sit idly by—while who knows what tragedy unfolded in Royal and the surrounding environs—made him antsy. He was not a man accustomed to waiting.
He made things happen. He controlled his destiny. It was humbling to realize that one random roll of the dice, weather-wise, had completely upended his natural behavior. All he could do at the moment was to reassure Beth and to make sure she was okay. Not that he regarded such responsibility as insignificant. He felt a visceral need to protect her. But he also realized that Beth was a strong woman. If they ever got out of here, she would be right by his side helping where she could. He knew her at least that well.
Her random request was not a bad way to pass the time. He cast back through his memories, knowing there was at least one painful spot worth sharing. The anonymity of the dark made it seem easier.
“I was engaged once,” he said.
“Good grief, Drew. I know that. Everyone knows that.”
“Okay. Then how about the time I took my dad’s car out for a joyride when I was ten years old, smoked a cigar and got sick all over his cream leather upholstery?”
“And you lived to tell the tale?”
“Nobody ever knew. My brother helped me clean up the mess, and I put the car back in its spot before Mom and Dad woke up.”
“Are your parents still living?”
“Yes. Why?” he asked, suddenly suspicious. “Are you going to complain to them about their hard-assed son?”
“Don’t tempt me. And for the record, my secret is not nearly as colorful. One day when I was nine years old I took money out of my mother’s billfold and bought a loaf of bread so I could fix lunch to take to school.”
“Seriously?” he asked, wondering if she was deliberately trying to tug at his heartstrings.
Without answering, she stood and went to the ladder, peering up at their prison door. “I don’t hear anything at all,” she said. “What if we have to spend the night here? I don’t want to sleep on the concrete floor. And I’m hungry, dammit.”
He heard the moment she cracked. Her quiet sobs raked him with guilt. He’d upset her with his snide comment, and now he had to fix things. Jumping to his feet, he took her in his arms and shushed her. “I’m sorry. I was being a jerk. Tell me the rest.”
“No. I don’t want to. All I want is to get out of this stupid hole in the ground.” Residual fear and tension made her implode.
He let her cry it out, surmising that the tears were healthy. This afternoon had been scary as hell, and to make things worse, they had no clue if help was on the way and no means of communication.
Beth felt good in his arms. Though he usually had the urge to argue with her, this was better. Her hair was still wet, the natural curls alive and thick with vitality. Though he had felt the pull of sexual attraction between them before, he had never acted on it. Now, trapped in the dark with nothing to do, he wondered what would happen if he kissed her.
Wondering led to fantasizing which led to action. Tangling his fingers in the hair at her nape, he tugged back her head and looked at her, wishing he could see her expression. “Better now?” The crying was over except for the occasional hitching breath.
“Yes.” He felt her nod.
“I want to kiss you, Beth. But you can say no.”
She lifted her shoulders and let them fall. “You saved my life. I suppose a kiss is in order.”
He frowned. “We saved each other’s lives,” he said firmly. “I’m not interested in kisses as legal tender.”
“Oh, just do it,” she said, the words sharp instead of romantic. “We’ve both thought about this over the last two years. Don’t deny it.”
He brushed the pad of his thumb over her lower lip. “I wasn’t planning to.”
When their lips touched, something spectacular happened. Not the pageantry and flourish of fireworks, but something sweeter, softer, infinitely more beautiful. Time stood still. Not as it had in the frantic fury of the storm, but with a hushed anticipation that made him hard as his heart bounced in his chest.
Beth put her arms around his neck and kissed him back. Never in his wildest dreams had he imagined connecting with her at this level in the midst of a dark, dismal, cellar. Women deserved soft sheets and candlelight and sophisticated wooing.
There was, however, something to be said for primeval bonding in life-and-death situations. He was so damned glad he had been with her. In truth, he didn’t know if she could have managed to lock herself in the cellar on her own. And if the hinges hadn’t held.... It made him ill to think of what might have happened to her.
“Beth?”
“Hmm?” The tone in her voice made him hungry for something that was definitely not on the menu at this moment.
“We need to stop.”
“Why? I enjoy kissing you. Who knew?”
He swallowed against a tight throat. “You’re doing something to me that won’t be entirely comfortable given our situation.” Gently pushing his hips against hers, he let her feel the extent of his arousal.
