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“I’m only four years older than you,” he snapped.
His knowledge surprised her. “Be reasonable, Drew. I have as much right to be here as you do. True, I may be David to your Goliath. But if you remember your Sunday school lessons, that didn’t end well for the giant.”
“Now who’s threatening whom?”
For the first time, a nuance of humor lightened his expression. But it was gone so quickly it was possible she imagined it. He was definitely spoiling for a fight. If it weren’t for her splitting headache caused by the change in weather, she would be more inclined to oblige him.
She really did understand his frustration. As a horse breeder, Drew’s reputation was world-renowned. He sold beautiful, competitive animals to movie stars, sheikhs, and many other eccentric wealthy patrons. Her modest organic farming operation must drive him berserk.
But why should she have to suffer? Her small house and a few acres of land were all she had in the world. She’d worked hard to get them.
“Plant some trees,” she said. “Fast-growing ones. You really should quit harassing me. I might have to get a restraining order or something.”
She was kidding, of course. But her humor fell flat. Drew was not amused. “I don’t think you understand how serious I am about this. There’s a road on the far side of your place. Why can’t customers come to the produce stand that way?”
Hands on hips, she glared at him. “It’s a cattle path, not a road. It would take thousands of dollars to improve it, and in case you haven’t noticed, I’m not the one with the silver spoon in my mouth.”
His gaze was stormy. “Why did you want this particular piece of land anyway?”
She shrugged, unable to fully explain the emotions that had overtaken her when she realized she could finally afford a place of her own. “It was the right size and the right price. And I fell in love with it.”
“You can’t run a serious business based on feelings.”
“Wanna bet?” His patronizing attitude began to get on her nerves. “Why don’t you tell your elite clients that I’m a sharecropper, and you’re doing your good deed for the year?”
“That’s not funny.”
Earlier, she had picked up an inkling of humor from him. Now he looked like he would sooner murder her in her sleep than make a joke.
“I have two whole fields of pumpkins ready to sell,” she said. “And a third bunch not far behind. I’ll make enough money this month to keep my books in the black during the winter. Lucky for you, a horse is still a horse in the middle of January. But my farm will be cold and dead until spring.”
“You’re fighting a losing battle. In this economy, you can’t hope to survive long term. And in the meantime, you’re creating enormous problems for me.”
Fury tightened her throat. She had struggled her entire life to make something of herself, against pretty long odds. To have Drew dismiss the fruits of her labor with such careless male superiority told her he had no clue who she really was.
“Maybe I’ll fail,” she said, her tone as dispassionate as she could make it. “And maybe I won’t. But I’m like Scarlett O’Hara in Gone with the Wind. I read the book when I was thirteen. Even then, I understood what her father told her. Land is what’s important. Land is the only thing that lasts.”
Drew rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands, probably to keep from strangling her. “That makes perfect sense,” he said quietly, “if this had been in your family’s possession for generations. But it’s not Andrews land. And I freely admit that it’s not Farrell land either. It does, however, adjoin my property, Beth.”
“If you were so hell bent on having it, you should have outbid me.” They squabbled frequently about her supposed infractions of the “neighbor” code, but this was the first time he’d been so visibly angry. She knew that at the heart of the matter was his desire to buy her out, though he hadn’t mentioned it today. The last time he’d tried, she’d accused him of harassment.
“I’m merely asking you to see reason.”
His implication that she was unreasonable made her grind her teeth. “I think we’ll have to agree to disagree on this one.”
“Will you at least consider selling your produce somewhere in town? If you think about it, the central location could increase your customer base and it would keep the traffic off this road.”
Darn him, he had a point. But she wasn’t willing to cede the field yet. Her involuntary mental pun might have made her laugh if she hadn’t been in the midst of a heated argument with her macho, gorgeous neighbor. “Part of the experience of coming to Green Acres is for tourists and locals to see the pumpkins in the field. They can take pictures to their heart’s content and post them on Facebook. If they want to, they can traipse around the lot and choose their own prize. The ambience would be totally different in town.”
* * *
Drew knew when to back off strategically. He had given her something to think about. For the moment. But he wasn’t going to give up. Horse breeding was a long-term venture. Patience and planning and persistence made the difference. Of course, a little dollop of luck now and then didn’t hurt either.
Beth was stubborn and passionate. He could respect that. “I tell you what,” he said. “If you think about my suggestion and decide you could sell in bigger quantities in town, my guys will help you get set up, including all the logistics of hauling your stuff. Does that sound fair?” He paused. “You can have as much time as you need to think about it.”
She tugged at a strand of hair the wind had whipped into her mouth. He couldn’t help noticing her lips. They were pink and perfect. Eminently kissable. He wondered if her lip gloss was flavored. The random thought caught him off guard. He was in the midst of a serious conflict, not an intimate proposition. Though the latter had definite appeal.
Beth stared at him, her expression hard to fathom. “Do you always get what you want?” she asked quietly.
Guilt pinched hard. His life had been golden up until this point. He had a hunch Beth’s had not. “It’s not a sin to go after what you want,” he muttered.
“Exactly,” she said. “And that’s what I did when I bought my home. You had a chance, but you made a poor business decision. You can’t blame me for that.”
Drew noticed in some unoccupied corner of his mind that the wind was no longer as wild. The air was thick and moist. Sweat trickled down his back. Beth, however, looked cool and comfortable in a navy tank top that hugged her breasts and khaki shorts that showcased her stunning legs.
What stuck in his craw was that she was right on one point. It was his fault that he had lost this property. If he had wanted it so badly, he should have made a generous offer and sealed the deal. Unfortunately, Drew had been in Dubai at the moment the land came on the market. His business manager, a smart, well-intentioned employee, had taken the initiative and made an offer on Drew’s behalf.
No one had imagined that the small farm would attract any buyers, hence the lowball offer. Drew had been as surprised as anyone to hear he’d been outbid.
Beth touched his arm. “Look at that,” she said, pointing.
He tried to ignore the spark of heat where her fingers made contact with his skin. But it was immediately replaced by a chilling sensation as he glanced upward. The clouds had settled into an ominous pattern. It looked as if someone had taken a black marker and drawn a line across the sky—parallel to the ground—about halfway between heaven and earth. Below the line everything seemed normal. But in that unusual formation above, menace lurked.
“It’s a wall cloud,” he said, feeling the hair on his arms stand up. “I saw one as a kid. We have to take shelter. All hell is about to break loose.”
As the words left his mouth, two things happened almost simultaneously. Warning sirens far in the distance sounded their eerie wail. And a dark, perfectly-shaped funnel dropped out of the cloud.
Beth gasped. “Oh, God, Drew.”
He grabbed her arm. “The storm cellar. Hurry.” He didn’t bother asking where it was. Everyone in this part of the country had a shelter as close as possible to an exit from their home, so that if things happened in the middle of the night, everyone could make it to safety.
They ran as if all the hounds of hell were after them. He thought about picking her up, but Beth was in great shape, and her long legs ate up the distance. Her house was a quarter of a mile away. If necessary, they could hit the ground and cover their heads, but he had a bad feeling about this storm.
Beth panted, her face red from exertion. “Are we going to make it?”
He glanced over his shoulder, nearly tripping over a root. “It’s headed our way...but at an angle. We have to make it. Run, Beth. Faster.”
The rain hit when they were still a hundred yards from the house. They were drenched to the bone instantly. It was as if some unseen hand had opened a zipper and emptied the sky. Unfortunately, the rain was the least of their worries. A roar in the distance grew louder, the sound chilling in volume.
They vaulted across the remaining distance, their feet barely touching the ground.
In tandem, they yanked at the cellar doors. The furious wind snatched Beth’s side out of her hand, flinging it outward.
“Inside,” Drew yelled.
Beth took one last look at the monster bearing down on them, her wide-eyed gaze panicked. But she ducked into the cellar immediately. Drew wrestled one door shut, slid partway down the ladder, and dragged the final side with him, ramming home the board that served as an anchor, threading it through two metal plates.
On the bottom was a large handle. He knew what it was for and wished he didn’t. If the winds of the tornado were strong enough, the simple cellar doors would be put to the test.
The dark was menacing for a moment, but gradually his eyes adjusted. Tiny cracks let in slivers of daylight. He turned and found Beth huddled against a cinder block wall. “Come sit down,” he said, taking one of her hands in his and drawing her toward the two metal folding chairs. Her fingers were icy as she resisted him.
“I don’t want to sit. What are we going to do?”
The storm’s fury grew louder minute by minute. He had a sick feeling that Beth’s property was going to take a direct hit. Given the angle of the storm’s path, it was possible that his place was in danger, too. The most he could do was pray. His crew was trained for emergencies. They would protect human life first, but they would also do everything they could to save the horses.
He ran his hands up and down Beth’s arms. She was wet and cold and terrified. Not that she voiced the latter. “Take my shirt, Beth. Here.” When he wrapped it around her and she didn’t protest, he knew she was seriously rattled. “I’m scared, too,” he said, with blunt honesty. “But we’ll be okay.”
The violent tornado mocked him. Debris began hitting the cellar doors. Beth cried out at one particularly loud blow. She stuffed her fist against her mouth. He put his arms around her and tucked her head against his shoulder.
For the first time, he understood the old life-flashing-before-your-eyes thing. It couldn’t end like this. But he had no illusions about the security of their shelter. It was old and not very well built.
How ironic that he was trapped with the one woman who evoked such a confusing mix of emotions. Though he knew her to be tough and independent, in his arms she felt fragile and in need of his protection. He held her tightly, drawing comfort from the human contact.
Regrets choked him as he inhaled the scent of her hair. If they were going to die, he should have kissed her first.
Two (#ulink_0b9d4c40-7ce3-5ce3-8b12-b9898bcc47ed)
Beth clung to Drew unashamedly. He was her anchor in the storm. The very arrogance that irritated her on an almost daily basis was a plus in this situation. Drew said they were going to be okay. She chose to believe him.
Beneath her cheek she felt the steady, reassuring beat of his heart. His bare skin, lightly dusted with hair, was as warm as hers was cool. If anyone had told her twenty-four hours before that she would be standing in a dark room wrapped in Drew Farrell’s arms, she would have laughed her head off. Now, she couldn’t imagine letting go.
Above their heads, the winds howled and shrieked like banshees delivering a portent of doom. Time slowed down. Perhaps she should have been making contingency plans for what came next, but the only thing that seemed at all real in this horrifying nightmare was Drew’s big warm body sheltering hers.
The small space was claustrophobic. It was dank and dark and smelled of raw dirt. But no matter how lacking in ambience, it felt more like a haven than a grave. At least as long as she had Drew. She couldn’t bear to think about what it would have been like to survive this storm alone. For one thing, she wasn’t sure she could have closed the cellar doors by herself given the strength of the winds.
How long did a tornado last?
The sound began to fill her head. Just when she thought it couldn’t get any louder, it did. She was stunned when Drew released her. He shouted something at her. It took him three tries to make her understand.
“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.”
