was momentarily speechless. She looked over at a scowling Rachel, who practically had smoke blowing out her ears. “Funny. I was actually encouraged not to wear blue today. It kills bears in Chicago or something.”
Rachel pinched the bridge of her nose and shook her head. Travis’s brow furrowed. “The color blue kills bears? For real?”
“I think. Maybe not. I heard that somewhere, but that person was probably wrong because why in the world would blue have anything to do with bears? I mean, that makes no sense, right? I’m sure bears like blue,” Summer rambled. How she wished she’d remained speechless. Her nerves took over. “Did you know that even though Chicago is called the Windy City, it doesn’t even rank in the top ten windiest cities in the U.S.?”
“Really?”
“Really. Blue Hill, Massachusetts, is actually the windiest city.”
“Blue Hill?” Travis smiled. “Are you messin’ with me?”
“I never mess around about the weather.”
“Ten seconds,” the director called out. “Places, everyone.”
Summer shook her head, trying to clear it of all this nonsense brought on by the man who needed an extra thirty seconds. She closed her eyes and pictured an F5 tornado blowing through town and taking Richard, Ken, Rachel and Travis with it. Once all the troublemakers in her life were swept away by her imaginary tornado, Summer felt back in control. She opened her eyes just as the light above the camera turned on.
Summer cut the national outlook out of her segment and somehow managed to fit her entire forecast into the little time she’d been given.
“Everyone, including the National Weather Service, says we shouldn’t expect precipitation anytime soon. But, believe it or not, I say the rain will fall tonight across most of West Central Texas,” she said, ending her report over at the news desk.
“Well, if Summer Raines says we’re going to get some unexpected showers, I’ll be grabbing my umbrella on the way out tonight, for sure.” Rachel shot a big, fake smile into the camera. No one would believe she was staring daggers at Summer a few minutes ago.
“I do so appreciate your faith in me, Rachel,” Summer returned sweetly.
The control room switched to Camera 2 so Rachel and Brian could introduce Travis. Summer hung around to watch, something she’d never done when Bud was on the air. Travis was nervous and it showed. Sweat made his moppy hair stick to his forehead. He fluctuated between speaking too fast and not fast enough. Maybe he was one of those athletes who’d been pushed through school without having to actually learn things, like how to read. That or the words on the Teleprompter were written in Chinese. He saved himself a little when he bantered with Rachel and Brian. He was better unscripted.
By the ten o’clock newscast, someone must have given him a few pointers. He managed to maintain a stable rate of speech, though it was still too fast. He ad-libbed more and wiped the sweat off his forehead during the highlight clips.
The viewers—and their colleagues—would probably still love him. People cut guys like Travis more slack than they deserved. If he ever figured out how to read, Summer would have to kiss her thirty seconds goodbye for good. She hung out in the Stormwatch Room, avoiding being seen in the newsroom sulking. She checked up on the storm in the Atlantic that had picked up enough speed to be classified as a hurricane. It would die out at sea, though. This day in weather history, Hurricane Nadine raged and whipped across the water. It maxed out at wind speeds of eighty-five miles per hour. No one in Abilene would ever know about it because all they cared about were Travis Lockwood’s thoughts on the Dallas Cowboys’ preseason.
The lights were low in the newsroom when Summer finally dared to show her face. All the producers and writers had gone home for the night. Ken’s office was lit up behind drawn shades. He was likely congratulating himself with a glass of his secret whiskey he only broke out on special occasions. Still feeling defeated, Summer shut down her computer and picked up her bag and umbrella.
“You heading home?”
She jumped. Travis was leaning against the wall across from the elevators, somehow still managing to look as if he just stepped off the pages of GQ.
“It’s about that time, I guess.” She fiddled with her umbrella, spinning it on its pointy tip.
“You really can tell when it’s going to rain? Even when the computers say differently?”
“What do computers really know?” Summer shot back. “Sometimes I think people have forgotten how to trust those feelings we all get. That tickle on the back of your neck right before something bad happens. The knot in your gut when something’s not right. The way your heart tells you to stay or go.”
The elevator arrived and the doors opened. Travis pushed off the wall and followed Summer inside. “Hearts can be fickle. Hard to trust,” he said. His eyes stayed focused on the numbers above the door as they lit up.
“True.” Summer’s heart had played a trick or two on her before. “But usually we aren’t listening close enough.”
Travis nodded. That storm inside him had done some damage, that much was clear.
“So, was reporting about sports all you imagined it would be?” she asked as they reached the bottom floor. The doors opened and they made their way to the exit.
“I thought those who can’t play can at least talk about it. Turns out it’s harder than people like you make it look.”
“You did fine,” she said, to be polite.
“I was terrible.”
Summer couldn’t argue with his self-assessment. She almost felt bad for him until he held open the door for her and took note of the very dry parking lot.
“I don’t know, Weather Girl. I think you might be losing your touch.”
Summer couldn’t hold back her grin as the thunder rumbled overhead. She opened her big red umbrella and stepped outside. The skies let go, raindrops sending tiny dust clouds into the air where they hit the pavement. “What was that?” she asked. She cupped her ear with her free hand. “I can’t hear you over the rain and thunder.”
“Aren’t you going to offer to walk me to my car?” he shouted as she slowly backed away.
“I think you might be losing your touch, Lady-killer.” She picked up the pace. “Good night!”
It wasn’t a tornado, but watching Travis Lockwood get soaked to the bone as he ran to his fancy black sports car kind of made Summer’s day.
CHAPTER TWO
TRAVIS WAS HALFWAY out the door for his morning run when his phone rang. It was his mother, and he knew better than to ignore the call.
“Hey, Mom. Did you watch last night?”
“Did I watch last night? Of course I did! You were so great.” Her definition of “great” must have been skewed by motherly devotion. “Your aunt Kelly called me right away to say you looked so handsome. And I just got off the phone with your brother. He thought you did super. Well, except
