Authors: Rochelle Alers
“I’d be a sorry something if at forty-one I didn’t know what I wanted.”
Dana closed her eyes. “I also have a plan, Tyler.”
“Include me in your plan,” he whispered passionately.
“I …”
His kiss stopped her mild protest. “Will you include me, darling?” He placed small nibbling kisses around her mouth, frustrating her.
She wanted him to stop teasing her and kiss her with passion—a passion she knew would be all-encompassing. “Yes,” she breathed out into his mouth as it moved over hers.
There was promise and resignation in the single word. Wrapping her arms around Tyler’s neck, she went pliant, giving into the desire that simmered just below the surface.
The man cradling her to his heart was offering her a second chance to love and to trust, and she was going to accept it as willingly as she accepted his healing kisses.
He reversed their positions, her legs sandwiched in
between his. They lay together on the dirt floor, unaware that their ancestors had done the same centuries before while they awaited freedom.
Closing her eyes, Dana rested her head on Tyler’s broad shoulder.
You’re home
, a voice whispered to her. Home wasn’t Hillsboro, Mississippi.
It was Tyler Cole.
Dana and Tyler became aware of the silence and stillness simultaneously. She scrambled off his body, coming to her feet.
“It’s gone.” Her dulcet voice was calm, thankful.
Tyler stood up and walked over to the wooden ladder. “I’m going up to take a look.”
Inhaling deeply, he mentally prepared himself for the worst, expecting property damage; what he was not prepared for was the loss of human life. As soon as he lifted the concrete slab he heard the sirens. They were a long way off, but they still could be heard in Hillsboro. It was apparent the tornado had touched down—where was the question.
Hands splayed on his hips, he surveyed his property, whispering a silent prayer of thanks. Except for a few downed tree limbs, everything was still intact. He’d been spared.
He returned to the tunnel, holding the lantern aloft while Dana climbed the ladder. Waiting until she reached the top, he turned off the lantern, left it near the entrance, and then retraced his steps, placing the covering over the opening.
Dana stared up at the heavens. The rain had stopped, the sky had brightened, and watery rays of sunlight peeked through fluffy white clouds. Large hailstones were melting quickly in the suffocating heat.
The sound of the wailing sirens chilled her, and she curbed the urge to place her hands over her ears as she’d done as a child.
The compact cellular phone clipped to Tyler’s waist rang. Vertical lines furrowed his forehead when he stared at the display. It was the county hospital. Depressing the TALK button, he said, “Dr. Cole.”
He listened to the authoritative voice coming through the tiny earpiece telling him the twister had hit Calico, and the governor had declared a county-wide emergency. Civilians were not permitted on any county roads, a six
P.M.
curfew was in effect, and all medical personnel were ordered to report to Calico to assist the injured. It was nearly five-thirty, and the curfew was scheduled to go into effect within half an hour.
“I’ll be there as soon as I can.” He ended the call, and then turned to Dana, taking her hand. “I have to go to Calico. But first I’m going to shower and change my clothes.” Taking long, determined strides, he headed toward the house, pulling her along with him. “I want you to stay here until I get back.”
Dana quickened her pace to keep up with him. She was practically running. “Can’t you drop me off home? I need to wash and change my clothes.”
“No. There’s a county emergency, which means civilians aren’t allowed on the roads. Besides, there’s also a six o’clock curfew.”
“But I’m going to stay indoors.”
“I’m not willing to risk you getting arrested, Dana. Give me the keys to your place, and if I can I’ll pick up something for you.” There was a thread of steel in his voice she’d never heard before.
Waiting for him to unlock the front door to his house, she stared at his profile. His mouth was set in a tight grim line, while a muscle quivered in his lean jaw. She’d challenged Tyler before, speaking her mind,
but something told her this was not the time to engage in a verbal confrontation. The telephone call had transformed him so that he’d become a complete stranger. Within seconds Tyler had disappeared, Dr. Cole taking his place.
Tyler unlocked the door, resetting the code on the alarm system on a panel in the entryway, handing Dana his keys. “I’m going to leave these with you in case you get cabin fever. However, I’ll need your keys.”
She stared up at his grim expression. “They’re in my purse. I left it in your truck.”
“I’ll get it before I leave.”
“What time do you expect to come back?”
“I don’t know,” he replied, pulling the hem of his shirt from the waistband to his slacks. Leaning over, he kissed her cheek. “I have to change.”
Dana nodded numbly, watching him mount the curving staircase. Her shoulders slumped as she stared down at the smudges and stains on her shoes and dress. She’d wait for Tyler to leave, then shower and wash her clothes.
Tyler forced himself to remain upright. It was past midnight, and he’d been on his feet for more than six hours, refusing to acknowledge fatigue. The F3-category tornado had touched down on Calico, leveling most of the town. The only building left intact had been the bottling factory.
The county hospital’s emergency room resembled a MASH unit. The injured lay on beds, stretchers, and gurneys; the numbers swelled until they filled every room and corridor in the three-story medical facility. After running of out space inside the hospital, they laid patients on makeshift cots on the lawn, where powerful flood lamps and a generator had been rigged up
to provide light for the hospital staff to treat the injured. Tyler had been assigned to triage, along with a cardiologist and an internist. He’d diagnosed broken arms, legs, concussions, fractured skulls, jaws, and ruptured spleens and kidneys.
An area behind the parking lot had been set aside as a morgue for those who hadn’t survived the deadly storm. Many had been found trapped under fallen debris, others in vehicles that had been hurled hundreds of feet from their original location.
Tyler had forced himself not to glance at the sheet-covered corpses. Despite the antiseptic smell wafting in the warm night air, the odor of death prevailed.
“Dr. Cole, you’re needed over here!” A nurse with a blood-covered uniform gestured wildly to him.
Skirting a dazed man sitting on the grass cradling an injured arm to his chest, Tyler rushed over to the nurse. Leaning over, he peered at a young woman holding her distended stomach as she moaned softly. Her light-colored slacks were soaked with her own blood. He recognized her immediately. She was Miranda Connelly.
He ripped off his latex gloves. “Nurse, get me a clean pair of gloves, undress this patient from the waist down, and cover her with a sheet.” He had to discover how far along she was in her labor.
The nurse moved to a nearby cart, grabbing the items he’d requested; she covered the lower portion of Miranda’s body with the sheet and removed her slacks and blood-soaked underpants.
Reaching under the sheet, Tyler parted his patient’s knees, inserting a finger into her vagina. His heart sank. She’d dilated four centimeters. He had to deliver her baby despite the risks. Miranda was only twenty-six weeks into her confinement, her unborn son weighing about two pounds.
“Mrs. Connelly?”
Miranda opened her pain-filled eyes, staring up at the familiar face looming above her. “Dr. Cole.” His name had come out in a breathless sigh.
“I’m going to have to take your baby.”
Tears stained her pale cheeks as she shook her head. “It’s too soon.”
“He’s not full-term, but we have to give him a chance to survive.” She tried to sit up, but Tyler placed a hand on her shoulder, easing her back to the cot. “You can’t get up.”
“I need to see Chuck. I want him with me.”
“Where is he?”
“Someone took him to get stitched up. He took a large piece of glass to the side of his neck. He’s lucky it didn’t cut an artery.”
“We’ll try to find your husband,” Tyler said, hoping to put her at ease. Removing his gloves, he motioned to the nurse. “Tell Dr. McCann I need an operating room for a C-section. I’ll also need a neonatal team standing by. And please have someone page a Charles Connelly.”
The nurse nodded. “Yes, Doctor.”
Dana lay in bed, struggling to stay awake. A clock on the bedside read twelve-ten. Clad in a white T-shirt belonging to Tyler, she inhaled the fragrance of his cologne clinging to the pillow under her head, closed her eyes, and fell asleep, her right arm resting on the open pages of the book she’d been reading.
She’d tried amusing herself during his absence, hoping to remain awake long enough to ask him about the damage from the tornado. She took a leisurely tour of his home while awaiting his return, totally awed by its magnificence.
She searched through the drawers in a massive walk-in closet for something to cover her nakedness, took a shower, put her clothes in the washing machine in the laundry room off the kitchen, and then prepared a light snack for herself. She cleaned up the kitchen, and then wandered throughout the large structure, beginning with the first floor.
At the rear of the house, an unfurnished space with glass walls would eventually become a conservatory. Another room facing east had been set up as a library/music room. Built-in floor-to-ceiling cherry-wood bookcases with sliding ladders were crowded with volumes ranging from anthropology to zoology. One wall held hundreds of DVDs, CDs, videotapes and audiocassettes, the latest state-of-the art stereo component system, and a large flat-screen television.
Dana found herself transfixed by a large, handcrafted, gemstone globe inlaid all around with semiprecious gems. She spent three quarters of an hour tracing each country, which was represented by a gem. Canada was mother of pearl, India green aventurine, and Paraguay red jasper. The oceans and seas were depicted in black onyx, and the meridians by silvery wires. A leather-bound unabridged dictionary from the nineteenth century lay atop a mahogany library stand. There was no doubt the antique library stand was as old as the book it cradled.
A quartet of hand-cast bronze-layered plaques was positioned on a wall, two inscribed in English, the other two in Latin. Reading the plaques revealed a lot about Tyler Cole.
Be still then, and know that I am God
. The inscription inspired by Psalm 46:10, this simple phrase invoked silence, mindfulness, contemplation, and prayer.
Another, with a quote from Michelangelo, read:
I am still learning
.
She read the Latin, making a mental note to ask Tyler to translate
Vocatvs atquenon, Vocatvs Deusaderit
, and the palindrome:
Sator arepo tenet opera rotas
.
After perusing the room, she had selected a movie, settled down on a comfortable club chair, and watched it in its entirety.
A clock on the fireplace mantel had chimed eleven-thirty when she finally retreated to the upstairs bedroom with a hardcover mystery novel tucked under her arm.
The master bedroom suite on the second floor was the only one of the four completely furnished. The king-sized mahogany sleigh bed and exquisite bed dressing were the room’s focal point. A blue-gray knotted silk quilt, hand stitched with intricate diamond shapes, each surrounding a circle that mimicked a small knot, and matching pillow shams created a pearly luster and an antique appearance. Pale gray silk panels covered floor-to-ceiling mullioned windows. A mahogany desk and matching chair were nestled in a sitting area along with twin club chairs and ottomans in a black, white, and gray velvet and silk striping. The effect was sophisticated masculinity.
She had been intrigued by a spiral staircase, which led from the bedroom to the seating area. Climbing the staircase, she discovered a private little dormered loft with a scenic view of the Mississippi River in the distance. The reproduction of a sixteenth-century Dutch colonial bench was only object in the space. She sat for a few minutes, staring at the darkened landscape, her mind drifting back to another era.
Each of the four bedrooms had adjoining baths, utilizing varying shades of the color scheme selected for the bedrooms. The walls of the smaller bedrooms were covered with Smithsonian patterned wallpaper, reminiscent of a bygone era. Two of the smaller bedrooms
were partially furnished with tables, chairs, and lamps, while the last one stood completely empty. She remembered Tyler saying the house was only partially furnished and that he awaited the arrival of furniture for more than half the rooms.
Sunrise was still an hour away by the time Tyler maneuvered his SUV into its bay in the garage. He was beyond being tired—he was exhausted. He’d left the hospital when a team of doctors arrived from several hospitals in the state’s capital. All of them had had to be airlifted in because only one road leading into Calico had been cleared, and only for official emergency vehicular traffic.
He’d delivered the Connelly baby, but had remained in the hospital’s tiny neonatal unit watching the machines monitoring the two-pound, six-ounce infant’s fight for survival. Someone had located Charles Connelly in time for him to witness his son’s birth. Tyler reassured the new father that each day his son remained alive was looked upon as a miracle, quoting a favorite line from Willa Cather’s
Death Comes for the Archbishop. Where there is great love there are always miracles
.
He craved a hot shower, at least four hours of uninterrupted sleep, and Dana Nichols. He hadn’t remembered he had to stop at her house to pick up clothes for her until he was halfway home. Reversing his direction, he made it to her house, and after searching two bedrooms, found hers. He shoved a pair of sandals and running shoes into a canvas bag he’d found in a closet. He opened dresser drawers, pulling out panties, bras, T-shirts, jeans, and shorts, adding them to the bag. Lastly, he picked up several bottles of perfume, creams, and personal hygiene products, put them in the bag, zipping it.
Hillsboro was ominously quiet. Tyler hadn’t encountered anyone on the road, except for several police cars parked along the shoulder, their lights flashing in the dark. Every house he passed was unlit. It was as if everyone quietly mourned the loss of life and property in the town several miles away. If the twister had turned north rather than south, then it would’ve been Hillsboro residents who would be found picking through the remains of what would’ve been their life possessions for something to salvage, or making arrangements to bury their loved ones.
Tyler’s step was slow and heavy as he walked the short distance from the garage to the house. It wasn’t until he unlocked the door and pushed it open, flicked a switch turning on the overhead chandelier, that he felt a rush of gratitude sweep over him. It was times such as this when he was grateful for his profession. He’d always thought of his ability to aid in healing as a special gift from God. And tonight his gift had been manifested over and over as he tended the injured, while helping to bring another life, albeit fragile, into the world.