down to—
Rosie screamed and grabbed his arm. “Tornado,” she yelled, and headed for the front door.
Stephen frowned. He tugged free of his nurse’s insistent grip. “What are you talking about?”
“We have to get into a storm cellar,” she said frantically. “Oh, supplies. There’ll be injuries.” She glanced out of the window again and shrieked. “It’s nearly here.”
As she spoke, Stephen realized that the wind had picked up around them and that there was a peculiar heaviness in the air. Tornado? He’d heard about them, of course, but he was from the East Coast where phenomena like that occurred on the evening news, not in real life.
But Rosie’s panic was real enough. His normally unflappable nurse ran for the front desk and jerked the emergency first aid kit from its rack on the wall. Stephen took it from her as she grabbed his arm again and headed out the front door.
As they stepped into the street, he could hear the approaching sound of a train. Except there weren’t any train tracks in Lone Star Canyon. His gaze was drawn across the street. Not toward the very tempting Ms. Nora Darby, but to her elderly clientele, all of whom were going to have trouble making it to shelter in time. He shifted course and headed toward the Snip ’n Clip.
“I love this song,” Mrs. Gelson said as she admired herself in the mirror.
Nora tuned in to the sentimental song coming from the small stereo in the back of the shop.
Mrs. Gelson sighed and patted her helmet of white hair. “Makes me miss my Bill. He used to sing this to me.”
Right, Nora thought as she pasted a smile on her face. This would be the same Bill who left his wife and three kids to play poker two nights a week, regardless of whether or not there was enough food in the house. The fact that the money he lost might be needed for the phone bill or shoes for the kids had never occurred to him. And Mrs. Gelson hadn’t said a word in protest. The old couple had been married forty years when Bill had “gone to his reward,” as Mrs. Gelson had put it. At least the bastard hadn’t borrowed against his life insurance, Nora thought grimly. So although she was far from well off, his widow’s last days would be better than her years with him.
But Mrs. Gelson wouldn’t see it that way. Now that Bill was gone, he was a saint and Mrs. Gelson lived to tell stories about his greatness.
“You always said your husband was a romantic,” Nora said warmly, telling the lie that her client wanted to hear. Because it was kind and the right thing to do. Because most women seemed to have convenient memories where men were concerned. Not that Nora had that problem. She had an excellent memory and she never made the same mistake twice.
Mrs. Gelson handed her a ten dollar bill and waited for her two dollars change. Then she dropped one of the bills onto Nora’s station, gave a wave and started for the front door.
Nora stared at the single dollar. She was never going to make any money if she didn’t start raising her prices. Actually she had…several times over the past ten years. However, there were certain customers who couldn’t afford more, so she didn’t charge them more. There were the seniors on limited incomes. Debbie Watson, whose husband had run off, leaving her with four kids and a pile of bills. And nearly a half dozen others in similar circumstances.
“It’s only money,” Nora murmured philosophically as she pocketed the tip and turned to help her elderly client to the door.
Just then the front door flew open. A tall, sandy-haired man in a white jacket stalked inside. Nora recognized Stephen Remington, the town’s new doctor. Successful, single, yeah, yeah, folks had been singing his praises since he’d first arrived. She was deeply unimpressed and continued to drive sixty miles to a different town with a female doctor.
She looked at him now and was pleased that despite his wide hazel eyes and lean good looks, she was immune. As always.
“We don’t do men’s hair here,” she said sweetly. “You’ll have to go to the barber shop down the street.”
“What?”
She sighed. Men could be so incredibly slow, she thought, wondering how he’d made it through medical school. “I said—”
He cut her off with a quick shake of his head. “I don’t care. There’s a tornado coming. Everyone into the shelter.”
Before Nora or anyone could react, the warning siren went off. Sound exploded through the small salon. She swore under her breath as she glanced around at the full chairs. Except for herself and the other three stylists, no one was under sixty-five. They were not a wildly mobile group and the shelter was nearly half a block away, next to the bank.
“Jill, you take Mrs. McDirmity,” Nora said as she ran to the dryers and quickly raised the hoods. “Come on, we have to hurry. Tornado’s coming.”
As she spoke, the noise outside increased. She realized it wasn’t all from the wind and the sirens. Instead there was a loud roaring, punctuated by ripping, tearing and banging, as if the world around them was being torn apart. In less than two minutes all her elderly patrons were moving toward the shelter. Dr. Remington had an arm around two ladies, one with tightly wound curlers in her hair. Dust and debris battered them, but they weren’t hit by anything worse than a few small branches.
Up ahead Nurse Rosie stood at the entrance to the cellar. She hustled people down into the safety underground as quickly as possible. Jill raced by, pushing Mrs. McDirmity in her wheelchair. The doctor lowered his two ladies into the cellar, then called down for help. Together he and one of the guys from the diner across the street carried the elderly woman to safety. The wheelchair was folded up and pulled inside.
“Come on, Mrs. Gelson,” Nora said as she steadied her customer. The widow took cautious steps into the underground shelter.
Nora was the last one on the street. She took a quick look around, searching for stragglers, but didn’t see anyone. Her gaze lingered on familiar buildings and businesses. How much would survive the storm?
She sent up a quick prayer that there wouldn’t be any deaths, then stepped into the cellar. Even as she reached for the door to pull it closed, she couldn’t help pausing and looking back as the tornado swept close enough to take the roof off an abandoned building at the end of the street.
Long, tall, swirling darkness circled up to the sky. The sound was so loud as to be a vibration. The ground shook, the heavens moaned. She had once heard a tornado described as the finger of God, writing across a landscape, destroying without thought or plan. But she’d never witnessed the raw power before. It was amazing. It was—
“What the hell are you doing?” a male voice asked, just as two arms came around her midsection and jerked her into the semidarkness of the cellar.
Nora instinctively released the door. It banged shut. She sensed more than saw movement as someone reached up to bolt it securely. But what really captured her attention was the heat of the man holding her so close.
He held her in an awkward embrace—her back to his front. But that didn’t stop her from feeling the warmth of his body, or his strength. She was tall, nearly five-nine but he was taller. The arms around her nestled just below her breasts. When one of his hands moved, his fingers brushed against the bare skin of her tummy. She shivered. Not from cold or fear of the approaching storm but because…well…because—
