Beyond the Storm: Quilts of Love Series (8 page)

“Can I help you?”

Abigail spun around again, startled. Suddenly he was standing right behind her.

His expression slowly morphed from business to surprise to pleasure. “Well, hi there! Hey, I didn’t think I’d . . . you know . . . see you so soon.”

“Yeah, I know! Me neither!” Her heart pulled out of its nosedive and soared. He was every bit as handsome as she’d remembered. And then some. In this light, his eyes were even bluer than they’d seemed last night.

“You’re looking for a hammer?” Arms over his chest, legs spread wide, he tilted his head and grinned at her.

“A hammer? Oh!” She glanced at the silly tool she still clutched. “No! No. I was just . . . you know . . . looking.”

“Ah. Because you know, we have a matching screwdriver. And a tape measure. I could get you outfitted with a tool belt, too, if you want?” He had perfect teeth and the best creases at the corners of his mouth.

Abigail laughed, her cheeks growing as pink as the brilliant clouds that streaked the horizon. “No, really, that’s sweet but I’m not all that . . . handy.”

Propping his elbow on a stack of boxes, he settled in for a conversation. “So how come you’re not out line dancing on a Saturday night?”

“Me? Oh, that was just a one-time thing.”

“Really?” There was approval in the question.

“It was a bachelorette party. I don’t—” some nervous twitters augmented her babblings, “—you know, generally hang out at bars . . . and stuff, like a lot of single people do.” It felt as if fire ants were racing up her neck. “Not that I’m saying
you
do! I mean, because I guess you do . . . Sometimes? For burgers with friends? Not that that’s b-bad or anything, I . . . should shut up now.”

“No! I . . . no. Don’t. I . . .” He palmed the back of his neck and seemed to be searching the ceiling for words. “I gotta be honest with you. I wasn’t going to go back to dance with you on Friday.”

“Oh.” Lips stretched into a bright smile she chirped, “me neither.” Oh, she wanted to curl up and die. The tips of her ears flamed and her stomach lurched.

His smile was relieved. “Really? Because I—”

“No, no.” She laughed breezily. “No need to explain. I get it. Trust me. I get it.”
What? What did she get? She didn’t get it. Not at all. Change the subject! Change it now
. “So! You work here?”

“No, not really. But listen, I just want to explain about the other night—”

“You don’t work here?” She did not want to hear about the other night. She was in no mood to be dumped by a guy she’d never even dated.

His brows furrowed at her abrupt change of subject. “I, uh . . . I have an office in the back. Danny and I work together on a lot of small building projects and handyman gigs locally.” He shrugged, “But, right now, I’m meeting some uptight booster club member about some awnings for a food cart charity deal. You?”

Abigail’s jaw sagged.
Him?
He was the guy she’d chewed out on the phone?
Ack! No!
“I’m—” she winced and her eyes slid closed, “—your uptight booster.” Could this day
get
any worse?

“Oh?” Confusion further diminished his smile as he processed. “You? You’re the one I talked to on the phone?” She nodded guiltily. Off in the distance a storm siren began to wail. She wanted to join in. His gaze flitted from her face and out the window.

“Doesn’t that sound mean we need to run for cover now? Last time it went off, Danny had us go across the street to the strip mall to get his wife . . .” his voice trailed off as he peered up into a sky that was beginning to look seriously angry.

“Actually, no. We get those all spring in Rawston. If you ran for cover every time one went off you’d be hiding in your bathtub for three solid months. Trust me. They’ll turn it off. They always do.” She didn’t want to be distracted by the stupid siren. She needed to make amends and then get out of here and never lay eyes on him again. No problem. She had a job offer in LA. She’d just go home and pack. Tonight.

“Yeah, but I heard the weatherman talking about a storm warning and they said—”

“I know. They say that every day.” The need to correct his bad impression of her was as urgent as the siren’s shrill howl. “Anyway, before we get started on this awning business, I really feel like I need to apologize. For the phone thing. And, you know, explain. It’s just that I’ve never been good with bureaucracy. I guess I just had to jump through too many hoops to get my puny little hair salon off the ground,” she said and smiled at him. Gracious. Tall, dark, and handsome. “Anyway, city hall wanted a new storefront. Then they wanted a cutesy porch. The chamber of commerce wanted flowers and special paint and all this charm and who got to pay for it?”

“You?”

Abigail could tell he was only listening with half an ear. The blasted, confounded, cursed siren was ruining everything. Unflappable, she told herself and took a deep breath. Project an attitude of being unflapped. Normal. “Yeah. Me.” Though she only had his partial attention, she plunged ahead. “So, when they go and slap this ridiculous permit thing on us,” she shot him a chummy glance, “and you
know
it’s going to cost a fortune in fees . . . I just freaked. Do you think you can forgive me?”

“Sure, sure,” he said, clearly agitated by the debris now blowing by and hitting the cars and trees. A recycling bin had tipped over and a blizzard of cans was tumbling and scraping across the parking lot. Newspapers blew past and lodged for a moment in trees and bushes before they broke free.

The siren had totally distracted him. “Sounds like you’re under a lot of pressure,” he muttered. “You’re sure we shouldn’t head to a shelter somewhere or something?”

The sound of a second siren joined the first, frustrating Abigail to no end. It was time to cut her losses and leave him with the impression that she was just the uptight booster he thought she was. “You know, you’re right. I really should get going. I’ll see you later, okay?” She tried to sound breezy. Unperturbed.

“No, wait.” He swung to look at her, his jaw muscles jumping. “I don’t feel good about you going out there. The sky is really looking like it’s getting ready to hurl some cats and dogs at the very least. Why don’t you wait here?”

“Oh, that’s really thoughtful and everything, but I’ve got to run. We can finish this up another time, when it’s not so . . . loud.” Or never.

Justin transferred his gaze back out the window, his expression pensive.

She jumped as a massive flash of lightning illuminated his profile. The entire room lit up and the building vibrated from the ensuing crash of thunder.

“Just another day here in paradise?” Justin turned and quirked a brow at her as it began to rain. Big, fat plops spattering the ground.

“Okay.” Abigail licked her lips and turned to look out the window with him. The sky had grown unnaturally dark. “That was a little radical. Yeah. I need to head home.”

“About that . . . I don’t . . .” He scratched his head and seemed to lose his thread as the sky opened up and rain fell sideways.

Abigail watched with dismay as the windows grew foggy. This was going to soak her to the skin. The sirens were giving her a headache.

“I’m beginning to think this isn’t your garden-variety tornado watch. Or is this,” he inclined his head at the row of trees that bowed like Japanese soldiers before a battle, “normal for you Rawstonians?”

“We do get the wind and thunderstorms out here and this is the fifth, maybe sixth, tornado watch in less than a month,” Abigail said and sighed. “Anyway, real quick before I let you get to a shelter, about the food cart? The red tape of the permits on the awning situation seems insurmountable to achieve by the Quilt Fair. So, just forget it, okay? I’m going to figure something else out. There is no money left to pay the food cart mafia for their ridiculous permits. I’ll just rent a couple of those tent canopy things, whatever you call them. One of those outdoor things . . . you know . . .” her laughter was stilted. “No problem. Maybe if I hurry, I can do it now. Problem solved, ta-da!”

As Abigail triggered the automatic doors, she could see the sun, low on the horizon, peeking through the clouds. The storm seemed to have passed. Time to bolt.

“Seriously. I don’t think you should go out there.”

“I know. And I thank you for your concern. But trust me. I grew up here. I’ll be fine. Thanks. Okay, bye-bye.”

Leaving her ridiculous umbrella on the counter where she’d left it, and before he could respond, she rushed outside. The wind and the rain felt wonderfully cool on her blazing cheeks as she darted across the parking lot to the street corner and beat on the walk button with her fist. Her car was just across the street. She’d never been so eager to climb inside and lock the doors. And have a good cry.

6:25 p.m.

F
ingers entwined, Brooke Nakamura and Nick Gleason stepped out of the blast furnace that was the RHS gymnasium and into the cooler air near the propped-open back doors. The temperature was changing quickly outside, and Brooke reveled in the fresh air that dried her neck and face. The music was alive and pumping and jumped outside after them, giving Brooke the blissful feeling that she and Nick were still at the party, but alone, too.

Across the parking lot, the high school’s tennis courts and batting cages loomed in the distance. Scoreboards towered at both ends of the football field, proclaiming this land to be the Home of the Rawston Raiders. Next week, a handful of food carts would be set up on the fifty-yard line, as the area would be transformed for the Rawston Taste portion of the Quilt Fair. Brook knew her dad, mom, and Aunt Zuzu would work their tails off to make a ton of sushi to donate to the school’s fundraiser. It would be fun.

Brooke breathed deeply. Life was good, here in Rawston. Beautiful. The sun was setting and the sky was moody and glorious; swirling and billowing with excitement, just like her dress. The wind felt good after the stuffiness of the crowded gym. It was wall-to-wall people in there.

“Can you hear me?” Nick shouted at her and she laughed at his dopey expression.

“No! Can you hear me?” she hollered back. The bass had throbbed so long and so loud that her ears were ringing.

“No!” His grin mischievous, Nick tugged her past the doors and around the corner into the shadows of the basketball shed. The covered area was little more than a tall lean-to, jutting from the gym. It was mainly used for one-on-one and intramural games when the gym was occupied. He leaned against the brick wall, and held her so they stood facing each other. She tucked the netting of her skirt between her legs, to keep the wind from whipping it and snagging it on the bricks.

“Having fun?” he shouted.

“Yes.” Brooke nodded and wrapped both of her hands around his forearms and could see her nails twinkling in the waning sunlight. She felt beautiful when she was with Nick. Abigail had done amazing things with her hair, and her dress was perfect. This night was perfect. Nick was perfect. “It’s magic.”

“Yeah. It is.” The song changed and the tempo slowed and thrummed pleasantly in Brooke’s chest. Nick pulled her arms up, around his neck and he locked his hands at the small of her back. Leaning in, he brought his mouth to her ear. “Dance?”

“Out here? Just the two of us? Now? ”

His nod was broad and playful. “Yes! Why?
Can’t hear the music?”

“What?”
she hollered back and rested her head against his shoulder as they began to sway to the beat. This was so fantastic. To be young and free and wrapped in the arms of someone who was not her brother and not yelling at her for missing a cue. Tyler, in fact, was still in the gym, tearing up the dance floor with at least a dozen different partners. Hopefully, he wasn’t trying to spin or toss them or chastise them for not hitting their mark. She grinned at the images that flitted through her head. All the girls wanted a turn with the Olympic hopeful, and Tyler basked in the attention.

“You look awesome tonight, Brooke. Beautiful.” Nick’s words were like helium. They made her so giddy she clutched him tighter, just so she wouldn’t float away. “And you are the best dancer out there.”

“No, you are!” She protested, giggling.

“Bull. Your brother is ten times better than me.”

“No way. Besides, he’s my brother, which means he’ll never be as good a partner as you.” She could feel him inhale, his chest expanding against hers.

“Brooke . . . I’ve wanted to talk to you about something for a really long time, but,” he said and laughed, “I guess I haven’t had the nerve.” His face was pressed against the side of her head now and his voice tickled her ear.

She nodded because the way he was holding her, she got the feeling he didn’t want her staring at him as he spoke.

“I know we’ve been best friends for a couple of years . . . but . . . I . . . I think it’s more than just . . . you know . . . friendship now, Brooke.”

She knew. And she agreed. Bubbles, like those in a freshly poured goblet of sparkling water rose in her belly and crowded her throat. She pulled back just enough so that he could hear her. “Me, too!”

His arms tightened around her waist, and she responded by locking her fingers more firmly at the nape of his neck. Above the beat of the music and the pounding of their own hearts, neither of them could hear the hail begin to drum on the shed’s roof.

Nor could they hear the sirens screaming back in town.

6:26 p.m.

Just as the light finally changed to walk and Abigail stepped onto Homestead Avenue, it began to hail in earnest. But this was not the innocent marble-sized hail that would build up like so much slush and then quickly melt away. Oh, no. This was snowball-sized hail and looked as if it had been packed together from marble-sized hail. By monster fists. And hurled by those same fists in some macabre game of dodgeball. Behind her—and over the wail of yet another storm siren—she could hear it bouncing off the few cars that were still parked at Danny’s Hardware. It slammed her shoulders and back, and it hurt worse than paintballs shot point-blank.

Head down, purse up, she wobbled and slid toward the Quick In Go. Luckily, she favored large purses because hers was now pulling double duty as a hard hat. What had seemed like such a brilliant parking plan at the time was a major inconvenience now. It was nearly impossible to walk on these slippery golf- and grapefruit-sized balls of ice. And dodging them was even trickier. The mere block to her car seemed suddenly endless. And merciless.

Just as she was considering diving into a hedgerow and hoping for the best, she heard a pickup truck pull up beside her and a familiar voice shout, “Get in!” The driver’s side door swung open and Justin reached for her arm. Abigail felt herself being propelled over his lap and into the safety of the seat beside him. He turned his flashers on as all around them they were suddenly assaulted by icy shrapnel. The drumming on the roof and windows was ear splitting and terrifying.

“Good grief,” Abigail cried, clutching her purse to her chest and squinting at the onslaught. “This is insane! All this ice? In all this heat? What on earth? ”

“You’ve never seen anything like this before?” Justin asked.

Eyes wide, she blinked at him. “Not like this, no way.”

“Where are you parked?” His mouth was set in a grim line.

Abigail pointed across the street to the next driveway. “At the Quick In Go.” The noise on his roof sounded like the drums Abigail had heard at the Samoan dance showcase at last year’s Quilt Fair. Bongos. Tattooing out some sort of crazed anti-rhythm.

“I’ll drive you to your car, but I really think we’d be better off inside somewhere. I don’t know how long a windshield can stand up to this kind of battering.” Slowly, Justin accelerated, slipping a bit before he gained traction and began to move.

“Thank you.” Gnawing her lower lip, Abigail peered up at the black clouds that were circling like buzzards over a carcass. “This is not normal.”

“This huge hail?”

“And that. Up there. What is happening in the sky,” she explained and pointed to a swirling mass of black thunderclouds.

“Whoa. Looks like the mother ship is trying to land.”

“Yeah,” she breathed. It really did. “Oh, you missed the turnoff.”

“Sorry. I’ll turn around up here in the factory lot.” The hail had turned the parking area white in a bizarre hailstorm that had steam rising from the hot asphalt. In the rearview mirror, she could see that the truck’s tires left a huge black circle in their wake.

Abigail’s gaze jerked back to the awesome activity in the sky. The atmosphere had an almost otherworldly feel. Blessedly, the hail had slowed and finally stopped, but the rain started again. And this time, the downpour was even more torrential than the last. Justin had the one windshield wiper that still worked—his, thankfully—on high speed.

As he pulled back into the street he frowned, staring straight ahead. “What’s . . . that?” There was something in his voice. Something that made her blood run cold.

“Where?”

He tapped the windshield, but Abigail could tell that he was looking into the horizon. “Over Walterville way.”

Since the hail had broken the windshield wiper on her side, she scooted over, next to him and peered into the twilight. Vision was dodgy because of the rain and the streaks the wiper left, but when a bolt of lightning lit the sky, it illuminated two distinct, boiling, heart-stopping, black masses of air that seemed to be on a collision course.

Abigail watched as the clouds collided in a spectacular burst of lightning. Then, three funnels, one after the other, like the long, bony fingers of the grim reaper, dropped out of this unholy union and beckoned them just before they touched the earth and began a ghoulish dance.

Justin snapped the radio on.

“…twenty minutes ago! In fact, three individual tornados converged into what we believe to be an EF4, possibly EF5 tornado coming Rawston’s way, and it’s one of several spawned by a super-cell that has been growing and wreaking havoc for miles. Reports are coming in from the Walterville area now that indicate large-scale devastation of the northeastern quadrant of that town. The number of fatalities continues to grow from the already unthinkable dozens, and wind speeds reach between two and three hundred miles per hour. If you can hear this broadcast and live in the Rawston area, take cover now! We are getting reports of debris in the air! It’s already leveled much of Walterville and shows no signs of letting up as it travels toward the Rawston, Southshire areas. Again, if you are just joining us, an extremely dangerous and deadly tornado touched down in Broadacre twenty minutes ago, traveled through Walterville, and is heading toward Rawston. If you have a basement or crawlspace, get down there and take cover immediately! If not, go to the room in the center-most windowless section
of your house, bathroom, closet, under the stairs! If you can cover yourself with a mattress, do it!

6:52 p.m.

Someone was screaming. More than one someone. Bob Ray groaned and shot an irritated glance at the ceiling. A brawl? Now? This was going to ruin his fun. He pushed off the spot where he’d been lounging against the bar and enjoying a very deep, very sexy conversation with his new friend, Renee. On tiptoe, he backed up and looked around.

Finally, he located the source of the noise and frowned. It was a couple. Looked like they were dressed in motorcycle leathers. They looked pretty bedraggled. Reaching into a cabinet on the wall behind the bar, he turned off the sound systems and everyone stopped talking at once. As Bob Ray came out front to where Renee stood, he could finally understand what these two were screaming.

“Tornado on the ground! And it’s headed right at us!”
the man shrieked as he barreled into the center of the room. “We’re in its path and there is no time to escape!”

The woman who hurried along at his side was trembling and clutching his arm and crying. “It’s
huge!”

“Probably a mile wide! Maybe more. It’s got to be a killer! Take cover!
Now!
We’re outta time!” Panic ensued. Women screamed, men shouted and cursed, and dozens dove under the pool tables. Other people began to unload one of the two supply closets. Renee’s eyes were huge with terror as she turned them on Bob Ray.

“Do something!”
she shrieked, her fear bordering on hysteria. She clawed at his arms with her nails, both pushing and pulling him into action.
“Help me!”
Her feet were as leaden as his and they both stood—the frozen core of a frenzied mob.

Bob Ray’s heart was pounding so hard he was scared it was going to explode. Thousands of thoughts rushed through his brain, just like they used to out on the football field when a giant linebacker would come soaring through the air at him, and he had to get rid of the ball. Fast. As he tried to locate and gather his senses, people jostled and thrashed and shoved him out of the way. Some even ran outside. Maybe to see how close the twister was. Maybe to try and out run it in their cars. Should he be doing that, too? Immediately, the single and multi-occupant restrooms were filled and locked. The first closet was crowded and the door pulled shut and blockaded.

Finally springing into action after what seemed like a lifetime of indecision, Bob Ray and a couple of men who hadn’t yet taken cover feverishly tossed equipment out of the second closet. Renee stood by, pupils dilated, and screamed along with the thunder just beyond the ceiling. While Bob Ray was pushing several heavy boxes out of the way, the men jumped inside and pulled the hysterical Renee in with them. The building was vibrating now, and the wind was shrieking like a teakettle boiling over. Before Bob Ray could get back across the room, Renee had slammed the door shut. He jiggled the handle, his heart choking him with fear.
“Open up!”
he shrieked, and swore and beat on the door. “I’m still out here!”

Renee screamed at the men who cowered inside with her. “No! There is no time left! Don’t open it!
Don’t!”

Fury had him savagely kicking the door. Inside, Renee screamed curses at him, and the men hiding with her held the knob tight and shouted for him to stop. Something huge crashed into the side of the building, and Bob Ray finally accepted the fact that they had no intention of taking a chance to save his sorry hide.

On instinct now, he sprinted back behind the bar. Yanking open the industrial, half-sized refrigerator that was built into its underbelly, he flung out jars of maraschino cherries, lemon and lime wedges and everything else they kept in there. This refrigerator had been special order—made to handle a thriving business, yet stay compact and out of the way. Had to be at least a cubic yard of space in there, probably more. He’d fit. Barely. He ripped out the racks, squeezed inside, and using the little shelves on the door as a handle, pulled it shut.