Safe In The Rancher's Arms - Catherine Mann Mills & Boon By Request

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rain hit when they were still a hundred yards from the house. They were drenched to the bone instantly. It was as if some unseen hand had opened a zipper and emptied the sky. Unfortunately, the rain was the least of their worries. A roar in the distance grew louder, the sound chilling in volume.

      They vaulted across the remaining distance, their feet barely touching the ground.

      In tandem, they yanked at the cellar doors. The furious wind snatched Beth’s side out of her hand, flinging it outward.

      “Inside,” Drew yelled.

      Beth took one last look at the monster bearing down on them, her wide-eyed gaze panicked. But she ducked into the cellar immediately. Drew wrestled one door shut, slid partway down the ladder, and dragged the final side with him, ramming home the board that served as an anchor, threading it through two metal plates.

      On the bottom was a large handle. He knew what it was for and wished he didn’t. If the winds of the tornado were strong enough, the simple cellar doors would be put to the test.

      The dark was menacing for a moment, but gradually his eyes adjusted. Tiny cracks let in slivers of daylight. He turned and found Beth huddled against a cinder block wall. “Come sit down,” he said, taking one of her hands in his and drawing her toward the two metal folding chairs. Her fingers were icy as she resisted him.

      “I don’t want to sit. What are we going to do?”

      The storm’s fury grew louder minute by minute. He had a sick feeling that Beth’s property was going to take a direct hit. Given the angle of the storm’s path, it was possible that his place was in danger, too. The most he could do was pray. His crew was trained for emergencies. They would protect human life first, but they would also do everything they could to save the horses.

      He ran his hands up and down Beth’s arms. She was wet and cold and terrified. Not that she voiced the latter. “Take my shirt, Beth. Here.” When he wrapped it around her and she didn’t protest, he knew she was seriously rattled. “I’m scared, too,” he said, with blunt honesty. “But we’ll be okay.”

      The violent tornado mocked him. Debris began hitting the cellar doors. Beth cried out at one particularly loud blow. She stuffed her fist against her mouth. He put his arms around her and tucked her head against his shoulder.

      For the first time, he understood the old life-flashing-before-your-eyes thing. It couldn’t end like this. But he had no illusions about the security of their shelter. It was old and not very well built.

      How ironic that he was trapped with the one woman who evoked such a confusing mix of emotions. Though he knew her to be tough and independent, in his arms she felt fragile and in need of his protection. He held her tightly, drawing comfort from the human contact.

      Regrets choked him as he inhaled the scent of her hair. If they were going to die, he should have kissed her first.

       Two

      Beth clung to Drew unashamedly. He was her anchor in the storm. The very arrogance that irritated her on an almost daily basis was a plus in this situation. Drew said they were going to be okay. She chose to believe him.

      Beneath her cheek she felt the steady, reassuring beat of his heart. His bare skin, lightly dusted with hair, was as warm as hers was cool. If anyone had told her twenty-four hours before that she would be standing in a dark room wrapped in Drew Farrell’s arms, she would have laughed her head off. Now, she couldn’t imagine letting go.

      Above their heads, the winds howled and shrieked like banshees delivering a portent of doom. Time slowed down. Perhaps she should have been making contingency plans for what came next, but the only thing that seemed at all real in this horrifying nightmare was Drew’s big warm body sheltering hers.

      The small space was claustrophobic. It was dank and dark and smelled of raw dirt. But no matter how lacking in ambience, it felt more like a haven than a grave. At least as long as she had Drew. She couldn’t bear to think about what it would have been like to survive this storm alone. For one thing, she wasn’t sure she could have closed the cellar doors by herself given the strength of the winds.

      How long did a tornado last?

      The sound began to fill her head. Just when she thought it couldn’t get any louder, it did. She was stunned when Drew released her. He shouted something at her. It took him three tries to make her understand.

      “The hinges,” he yelled. “They’re old. I don’t think they’re going to hold. Put your arms around my waist and hang on to my belt.” She stumbled toward him as he grabbed the handle on the base of the cellar doors and prepared to battle the mighty winds. The thought of Drew getting sucked away from her was more terrifying than the tornado itself. She flung herself against his back, circling his waist with her arms and wrapping her fingers around his belt.

      She could actually feel the winds pulling at him. Closing her eyes, she prayed.

      * * *

      Drew was not going to let this son of a bitch win. He’d deal with whatever aftermath they had to sift through. But he and Beth were going to make it. The vicious noise was no longer merely above them. It raged and swelled and battered itself into their small shelter. Beth pressed against him, adding her weight to his.

      His fingers were numb already. His grip on the handle weakened as his arms strained to hold on. The pain in his shoulders radiated through his torso into his gut, leaving him breathless. For a split second, one mighty gust ripped at the fragile barrier, actually lifting his feet a couple of inches off the ground.

      Despair shredded his determination. His grip was slipping. Life couldn’t end like this. If the storm won they would be sucked into oblivion.

      It was Beth who saved him, Beth who shored up his will. Even without speaking, she was with him. Fighting.

      He focused on the sensation of her warm body wrapped around his. Blocking his mind to the pain, he concentrated on her and only her. She held him like a lover. A woman who never wanted to let go.

      An enormous crash sent tiny bits of debris filtering through the cracks above them. He heard Beth cry out. The fury of the wind was terrifying. Like some apocalyptic beast locked in struggle with a foe, the tornado did its mad dance.

      In a second wave of terror, hail pelted their hiding place. The sound echoed like a million gunshots. He couldn’t have heard Beth’s voice now even if she tried to speak. Pieces of ice big enough to make such a racket would decimate her crops and ruin roofs and property.

      The storm crescendoed for long, agonizing minutes. Hail changed to the steadier, quieter deluge of rain. And then it was over. The pressure on the cellar door vanished abruptly, causing him to stagger.

      Beth’s finger’s dug into his waist. In the growing silence as the storm moved away, he could hear her rapid breathing. His own pulse racketed at an alarming rate, helped along by the surge of adrenaline that had stayed with him when he needed it.

      He flexed his fingers, forcing them to uncurl. Dropping his arms to his sides, he groaned. “Are you okay?”

      He had to make her release him. Holding her shoulders, he shook her gently. “It’s over, Beth. We made it.”

      For some reason, it was darker now. Virtually no light found its way into their bolt-hole. He could barely make out her face. “We have supplies,” she said, her voice shaky but clear. “I saw a metal box on the floor when we climbed down.”

      Releasing her reluctantly, he felt around in the darkness until he found the chest. It wasn’t locked. Lifting the lid, he located flashlights and handed her one. The illumination they provided enabled him to see her expression. She appeared stunned, perhaps in shock. He didn’t feel too steady, himself, for that matter.

      Grabbing a couple of water bottles, he pulled her toward the chairs and sat beside her. “Take a minute,” he said. “Breathe.”

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