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At this point, it’s yet another chapter of mortification to add to the book that is my life story. It’s not even a chapter, it’s a tiny scene compared to the litany of embarrassing events that revolve around Carter Savage. Oops, just Savage. Can’t call him Carter, not even in my head, because, you know, he doesn't like that. We’re not close enough.
I get into my car and drive home, park out front then stop and peer down the side alley of the bakery.
Bagel’s is plenty busy today with a line stretching out the open doors—if Franklin is hiding out behind a dumpster, he won’t take me in front of these people. I like to think the Heatstrokers will step in.
I head upstairs, my heels clanking on the grated steps, and a gust of wind blasts me to the side. I catch myself on the wall. “What the heck?” I look up at the bruising sky.
It’s the middle of summer, but we get thunderstorms in Heatstroke. The kind that blow through town and tear things up before leaving as fast as they came. Great. This means we’ll likely be training indoors.
It’ll be fun. It’ll be great.
I’ll finally learn how to fight, which will be super fun. I don’t want to kick anyone’s ass, but having the capability to do so would be cool.
I think about that instead of Savage’s bare chest, rippling with muscles in the dark, with just the right amount of chest hair, while I pack my bag. And I purposefully don’t pack the lacy pink underwear.
Ten minutes later, I’m on my way, the radio blasting, my window rolled down. One of Cash’s songs is on the radio, and I sing along to it, tapping my fingers on the steering wheel. I’m mad at him, but damn, he’s a good songwriter.
“And that was Soaring Hearts by Cash Taylor, Heatstroke’s very own. Gotta love him, right Jill?”
“Right you are, Jack,” Jill says, in her best radio presenter voice. “Folks, this is Radio Heat, bringing you the hottest hits as we get ’em. It’s right about that time for the five-o-clock news update, and boy, do we have a doozy of a report today.”
Radio Heat’s “serious” news jingle plays, and Jack takes over. “This is the five-o-clock update, with Jack Barnes. Residents of Wait County have been encouraged to batten down the hatches and prepare for what climatologists are calling, ‘The Storm of the Century’.” Earlier today, we caught up with Davey Prink, Channel Nine’s meteorologist, and he had this to say.”
“Folks, y’all are going to want to lock up tight and stay indoors. We’re talking a Severe Thunderstorm Warning and a Flood Advisory. At this time, we are not expecting those winds to sweep in from farther up the coast, but be on the lookout for updates. The weather service will issue them as they come in, and here at Channel Nine, we’ll do our best to keep you updated on developments as they happen. This means you’re likely going to see a lot of rain that might take out roads in and around our county. So, as of six this evening, stay off the roads and stay indoors. Keep your devices charged, and ensure you have enough fresh drinking water and food for the next couple of days.”
A weather warning? Gosh, I’ve been so far up my own behind today, I didn’t check the weather. And I haven’t been listening to Irma most of the day.
“You heard it, folks,” Jack continues. “You stay safe out there. In other news, Sheriff Oakes has issued a?—”
I turn the radio down as I turn onto the dirt road that leads toward Savage’s ranch. It’s on the opposite side of town to Cash’s place, and the road is overgrown, trees hanging over on either side, their leaves and branches scratching the top of the car. I bump along, gritting my teeth, and slowing the car to a crawl.
This is not good. A weather warning?
I should turn back, go to the apartment while I still can, but a quick glance at the clock on my dash shows me that it’s ten minutes until six.
I lean forward and peer up at the sky. A lightning bolt splits it, almost as if on cue, and rain pelts down on the windshield.
“Crap!” I hurriedly close my windows.
I slow down even more and switch on my windshield wipers, watching as they sluice the water across the glass. This is bad. This is so bad.
I direct the car down the long road. I’ve never been out to Savage’s ranch, but Cash sent me directions that I scribbled down on a piece of paper. I keep the engine running but stop the car, grappling the directions out of my purse.
I smooth the paper and read them.
Drive straight until you see the sign for Lost Hope Ranch then take a right.
Seems pretty straightforward. I start driving again, squinting through the rain and hunched over the steering wheel. It’s twenty minutes before I see the sign on my right, and I let out a breath and take the turn off, praying that June’s already here.
I wouldn’t want her driving in this. It’s crazy! But knowing my brother, he made sure she got here right on time so she’d be safe.
The road that leads up to the ranch is a little more smooth, but it winds around a bend, between trees, and it’s only after another five minutes that the lights of the ranch house, blurred by the downpour, come into view.
I park the car in front of it, my heart pounding in my chest, partly because of the storm and also because I’m here. It’s getting dark fast, and the rain pelts down on the car’s roof, drumming furiously.
“You can do this. This is fine. It’s fine.” I scramble my purse off the passenger seat, then turn and try to grab my bag. My seatbelt jerks me back into place. “That’s fine. That’s just fine—” I unclip it and turn, then yelp.
A dark figure stands next to my door. Knuckles rap on the window.
