Authors: Alexa Grace
Lane adjusted the rearview mirror to see the twister cutting a swath through the farmland behind them, leveling the farmhouse they’d passed just minutes ago. It was following the highway and was now directly in back of them pounding the miles between. He couldn't out drive it and there was nowhere to turn. He saw a farmhouse in the distance. If they could make it there, the house may have a basement or storm cellar.
He looked in the rearview mirror again. The twister was closer. Its black funnel dangled crazily from a thick storm cloud, the narrow end whipping back and forth like a tail. It was getting too close. He had to do something.
A sheet of metal came out of nowhere, slamming against the windshield, and holding on like it was super-glued to the glass. He slammed on the brakes too hard, making the car hydroplane until it hit a ditch and flipped on its side. The airbags deployed and Frankie was screaming. He yanked off his seat belt, slid toward the middle console, and pushed on the driver's side door with his feet as hard as he could but it wouldn't budge. He frantically searched the floor and found his large Maglite flashlight and struck the driver's side window again and again until it shattered. He used his coat to remove the most deadly of the glass still stuck to the frame then turned to Frankie. He unlocked her seatbelt. She looked dazed, maybe in shock, but he had no time to examine her. He dragged her out from under the airbag and out of her seat. He pulled her to him and hugged her hard, calling her name.
"I need your help, Frankie. Focus. We have to climb out that window and find shelter. Do you hear me?"
He shook her slightly and she moved, focusing her eyes on his face. He took that as a good sign and pushed her butt to help her climb through the window. Once she was through, he followed, landing on his arms on the hard pavement. He grabbed Frankie's arm and started running as quickly as the strong wind and hail would allow. Once they were a safe distance from car, he looked toward the farmhouse again. It was too far away. They wouldn't make it there in time. He looked back as a stretch of wire fencing, complete with the heavy wooden posts, swept across the highway just feet away from them.
He thrust Frankie into a deep ditch at the side of the road and threw himself on top of her to protect her from the flying debris. She struggled beneath him until he shouted at her to hold still. Instead, she squirmed until she moved in a position to wrap her arms around his head to shield him from the flying projectiles that assailed them from every direction.
A blinding bolt of lightning sliced the oak tree across the road from them as expertly as a surgeon. The amputated section of tree slammed to the ground, its upper branches atop Lane, ripping his shirt and raking deep scratches across his back. He gritted his teeth to keep from crying out and gripped Frankie. He feared she would disappear in the swift wave of dirt and debris sandblasting their bodies.
Lane heard the rush of water and realized the drainage ditch was filling, and if he didn't find another place for shelter, Frankie could drown. They had to reach the farmhouse. There was no other place to go. He pulled Frankie up and ran as he half-dragged her down the road. The savage wind and golf ball size-hail assaulted them as they ran. Power poles were snapped in two like match sticks, but they dared not stop to watch.
They were on the gravel lane leading to the house when Frankie twisted her ankle and fell. He yanked her to her feet then scooped her up in his arms and kept running until he reached the back door. It was locked, so he kicked it in. He heard glass shattering inside and realized the powerful winds had blown out the front windows of the house. He set Frankie down.
"Is your ankle broken?"
"No, I can walk on it.”
It was dark, but a bolt of lightning lit the room enough so he knew they were in a kitchen. There was a closed door at the end of the room and he prayed it led to a basement. He jerked the door open as another flash of lightning revealed a staircase. He pulled Frankie to him and held her arm as they both felt their way down the steps to a dim basement illuminated only by a row of small windows that faced the backyard.
He waited for his eyes to adjust to the dimness of the room and soon he could make out an old washing machine, dryer, and an ancient sofa. The rest of the basement was filled with boxes.
"Is anyone here?" he called out, wondering where the people who lived here were.
"Frankie, help me look for a lantern, candles, or a flashlight."
They searched every inch of the basement, many places by touch because it was so dark. There was nothing. They'd have to rely on the small windows that lined the far wall for light. Frankie found a couple of blankets near the dryer.
Another rumble of thunder let them know another storm was moving in. Lane raced to the area beneath the staircase and moved the boxes stored there. Frankie brought the blankets she'd found and laid them inside. She bent down and got inside, lining her body up against a cement blocked wall. Lane followed her and sat pressed against her. He felt the top of her head, looking for injuries.
"What are you doing?"
"You have a bump on your head the size of an egg." He ran his thumb lightly over the area then moved on until he covered her entire head.
"It's okay. I hit my head when the SUV turned over. No biggie."
"How many fingers am I holding up?"
"Are you crazy, Lane? It's dark in here. How am I supposed to see your fingers?"
Lane smiled and hugged her against him, feeling her body stiffen as a deafening clap of thunder roared through the house. The wind picked up and something hard hit the basement windows. His ears started popping so he yawned for some relief.
Suddenly what sounded like a freight train roared toward the house. Another tornado! It had to be. Lane grabbed one of the blankets and threw it over the two of them. He hugged Frankie to his chest.
Simultaneously, the three basement windows blew out, launching tiny fragments of glass like missiles. The blanket whipped about them as the wind tore through the basement and propelled objects about the room. A stuffed storage box slammed against Lane's back. The rest of the boxes tumbled like dominos, sending their contents airborne and deadly.
The basement door at the top of the steps crashed down to the landing. A deafening explosion pierced their ears as the house collapsed above them sending splintered pieces of wood, glass, and metal hurtling down the stairs.
An unholy pressure pulled at Lane and Frankie as if trying to separate them. Lane threw his arm over an exposed staircase beam and held on tight, at the same time crushing Frankie to his chest as flying pieces of debris peppered them. He refused to let her go.
As suddenly as it arrived, the storm left, leaving behind a clear, sunlit sky exposed through the gaping window frames. Lane let go of the wooden beam to cradle Frankie on the floor.
"Frankie, are you okay?"
When she didn't answer him, he panicked and began rocking her back and forth. "You've got to be okay, honey," he whispered. "I can't lose you. I love you too much. Please be okay."
Lane carried Frankie over to the sunlit section of the basement, stepping over debris as he went. Laying her on the floor, he lifted her wrist to check her pulse. Blood tricked down her forehead from a cut near her hairline and bruises were forming on her cheekbones and neck. He then checked for broken bones and found none. Putting his ear to her mouth, he could hear her soft breathing. He pulled her up to a sitting position and shook her slightly.
He held her until she opened her eyes to look at him. "This is a good example of why I'm not a big fan of storms."
Later, a State Trooper picked them up as they walked alongside the highway and gave them a ride home. They entered their house in Bloomington.
"Take off your jacket. I want to see your injuries." Lane was already pulling at her jacket when she stopped him.
"I'm okay."
"Take it off, Frankie. I'm not kidding." She pulled the jacket off as he turned her around. There was a scattering of bruises, cuts, and scratches on her back trailing down her spine. "Damn it. You should've let that trooper take you to the hospital."
"I don't need a hospital. I need a bath."
Without saying a word, he scooped her up in his arms and took her up the stairs to her room. He set her down on the bed as he ran hot water in the garden tub in her bathroom.
She was too exhausted to protest. When she heard him turn the water off, she crept to the bathroom, her muscles so sore it was hard to walk. When she entered the bathroom, he pulled at her tank top.
"Lane, I can take my own clothes off. Now get out of here."
When he quietly left the room, she turned off the lighting and lit two rose-scented candles that were on the far end of the tub. She quickly shed her clothes and got into the tub. The water was steamy hot and just right. She gritted her teeth so she wouldn't cry out as the water stung her cuts and scratches. She laid her head back against a towel Lane had rolled for a soft pillow and sighed with pleasure.
She must have fallen asleep, because the sound of running water and the sweet rose scent of her shower gel awoke her. Lane hovered over her and was squeezing shower gel onto a washcloth. She started to cover herself with her hands but he would have none of it.
"I've already seen you naked, so stop being embarrassed. Let me take care of you."
She slowly dropped her hands away and closed her eyes as he gently made circular motions with the gel until it turned into frothy suds he smoothed over her body. He washed each of her long legs, and then pressed her forward to do her back. She nearly moaned with both pain and pleasure as he washed her back. He shampooed and rinsed her hair. When he finished, she pulled at the shirt that he still wore.
"Take these off and get in." She ran more hot water and as he tossed his open shirt to the floor then unzipped his jeans and pushed them down. Next his boxer shorts came off. She couldn't help staring at him. Christ, the man was ripped and truly gorgeous. How had she managed to keep her hands off of him?
He slipped into the water and sat with between her legs with his back to her. She pulled a wash cloth from a basket nearby.
"You're not going to make me smell girly, are you?"
She laughed and grabbed a bottle of a musky scented shower gel that she squeezed onto the cloth. She gently washed his back, working carefully around the cuts and deep scratches he'd gotten while protecting her from the storm. She then slipped her arms around his waist, holding him close as she washed his chest and neck. She gave the cloth to him to wash the rest as she squeezed shampoo into the palm of her hand to lather in his hair. She used a cup to rinse.
Frankie got out of the tub first and wrapped a thick, large white towel around her then tossed one to Lane. She grabbed another towel to wrap around her head then walked into her bedroom and slipped into a gauzy light blue nightgown. She sat on the end of the bed as she rubbed her hair with the towel.
Lane appeared in the frame of the door, wearing only the towel as he leaned against the doorframe. A vague sensual light passed between them.