Stranded with the Rancher. Janice Maynard
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