heed the storm’s wrath. She planned to outrun it.
And she almost did. But it seemed as if the storm wanted her and her alone. She watched in her rearview mirror as the twister followed her out of town, hurling and hissing like a giant snake as it chased her down the county road.
“Dear God, help me,” she prayed out loud, her heart beating so hard she knew she’d surely die of a heart attack if the storm didn’t kill her first. She knew she should stop the truck and dive for the nearest ditch, but she had to get back to Stephen. Mrs. Bailey was great in helping to homeschool the boy, but the aging senior citizen was a nervous wreck in any little storm. She’d go into a tizzy and be useless, especially with a storm as powerful as this twister headed right toward the farm.
Dana rounded the dirt drive to the farmhouse, her foot pushing the gas pedal beyond its endurance, the truck’s sturdy tires squealing their displeasure at being forced to turn so quickly.
She didn’t make the turn. The truck careened out of control and did a fishhook, spewing mud and rocks toward the tornado like a runt fighting off a bully. Dana screamed and tried to hold on to the swirling steering wheel, but without power-steering the truck got the best of her. The last thing she remembered was the door flying open, then her whole world went black.
She was dreaming, of course. That had to be it. She felt strong arms pulling her down, down into the wet bluestems; she heard a soothing male voice close to her ear, telling her to hold on, hold on. Then a powerful body covered hers, warming her, comforting her, protecting her as the storm swirled around her. Dana kept her eyes tightly shut, afraid to open them and find out if this was really happening.
The storm hit. She could feel the wind sucking at her skin, could feel the debris cutting against her hair and her exposed hands and arms, could taste the dust and rain and power, but somehow she knew she was safe. That strange, lilting voice, that warm, clinging body—who was he and why was he holding her so close she could hear the echo of his heartbeat over the dangerous rush of the storm?
It was all over in a matter of minutes. Nothing seemed real. It was as if Dana was dreaming a bad dream where she’d woken abruptly only to find that she hadn’t been dreaming at all.
She was alive and this was very real. That much Dana knew as she groggily tried to open her eyes. Her head hurt with all the roaring of a tractor-pull. But over the roaring of pain, she heard another more ominous noise. Silence.
Seconds passed, as she listened to the quiet that was even more deadly than the storm’s rumbling rage. Dana didn’t like silence.
“Stephen?” she called, trying to pry herself out of the stranger’s iron grip. “Stephen, where are you?”
She looked up at the brooding, foaming dark sky. This storm wasn’t finished yet. “Stephen?” she called again, trying to raise herself up. A bump on the side of her head throbbed in protest, but she tried again until she realized that the grip on her arms was caused by a set of strong hands holding her down. A man’s hands.
She was flat on the ground, with a big man holding her there. Then Dana remembered how the man had thrown himself on top of her to shield her from the tornado.
“Stephen?” she asked again, hoping the man would tell her something about her brother.
The man lifted his head and looked straight into her eyes. The first thing Dana noticed was that his eyes were as blue-black and cloudy as the storm’s lingering coattails. The second thing she noticed was that he wore all black, from his button-down shirt to his Levi’s and boots. His long dark hair was pulled away from his face in a ponytail, but the wind coming through the open field where they lay was doing its best to unleash his thick mane.
“Who…who are you?” she asked, her voice shaking. “Where’s my brother? Where’s Stephen?”
The big man looked down at Dana. “It’s all right, lass. You’re safe.”
He had a lilting accent that immediately flowed like a fine melody over Dana’s shot nerve endings. Scottish? Irish, maybe? What in the world was he doing holding her down in the middle of a field in Prairie Heart, Kansas?
“Who are you?” she asked again, thinking of looters and dangerous criminals and the fully loaded .38 she had in the glove compartment of her truck.
He shifted closer, giving her a black stare that left her both breathless and wondering. With one hand he touched the tender, bruised spot just over her right temple. “You’ve bumped your head. How does it feel?”
Dana swallowed back the knot of fear forming in her throat. “It’s aching, but I can handle it.” The knot came back, causing her next words to sound raw and husky. “My brother—he’s only twelve and, well, he’s a very special boy.” She inclined her head toward the farmhouse. “He’s all alone with my neighbor. She’s eighty and afraid of storms. I have to get to him.”
The stranger’s inky eyes softened as a look of concern tightened his face. “We’ll go find him.” At the apparent worry on her face, he added, “You have nothing to fear from me. I was pulled over on the road, watching the storm. I saw you wreck your truck. You were thrown out, and by the time I got to you the storm hit.”
So he’d thrown himself over her to protect her. She hadn’t been dreaming, after all. And he was still holding her, his big, powerful body still warming hers, from her hurting head down to her shaking toes. Needing to distance herself from the memory of her strange dream, she tried to wiggle away. “I’ve got to find my brother.”
The man rolled to sit up, then helped her to her feet, holding her against the remnants of the wind. “I’ll go with you.”
Shocked, Dana stepped back. “No, you don’t have to do that. I’m fine, really. I just need to find my brother.”
The man looked around at the flat countryside, then back to Dana. “We’re wasting time. I’ll not let you go up to the house alone. You might not like what you find.”
Never in her life had anyone said that to Dana. He didn’t want her to go there alone. He wanted to be there with her if she found the worst. Well, she’d been through the worst. And in spite of the whole town’s support and warm, loving concern, she’d always had to face the nightmares when she was alone at night in her bed…wishing…wishing.
She looked up at the intriguing man standing before her and told herself to run, run as fast as she could. He could be a serial killer; he could be a bank robber on the run; he could be a million horrible things. But she knew instinctively that he wasn’t. She didn’t know how she knew. She just knew.
Dana said a silent prayer. Lord, I haven’t talked to You for a very long time, and You know the reasons. But I’m asking You now to protect my brother. And while You’re at it, could You give me a hint as to why this handsome, mysterious stranger is reaching out to help me?
When she turned to see the house, or what was left of the house, she understood why this man had offered to stay with her. Her home, the only home she’d ever known, was in shambles. Half the roof was gone, exposing her own bedroom to the wind and the rain. Shingles lay across the expanse of the field, and twisted ribbons of tin hung from jagged, split tree limbs all around the house. She saw her pink nightgown flying in the wind, unfurling itself like a pretty spring flag from the tip of what was left of a giant cottonwood tree.
Swallowing, she turned back to the stranger, thankful for the hand he offered her. “I’d appreciate
