Jo felt the tears on her cheeks. She reached for Tessa, pulled her forward into a tight hug. She couldn’t—wouldn’t—let Tessa go. Hand to the back of Tessa’s head, Jo said through trembling lips, “I love you, Tessa.” Jo slid from the chair, pulled Tessa closer until she settled snug against Jo’s body. “I can’t let you go.”
Tessa wrapped her arms around Jo, mimicked Jo’s fierce hug. “I love you, too, Josephine Cavanaugh. Please, don’t let me go.”
Jo had no idea how long they stayed in their position. Moments? Hours? The lights had gone out in the interim, and the apartment was lit only by the natural light of late afternoon as it filtered through the windows. She felt a shiver ripple through Tessa’s body. Jo became aware of how cold the bared skin was under her hands. She felt chilled herself. “You’re freezing, honey.”
“Well, you’re soaked through,” Tessa said, “and I am half-naked. Somehow, Pueblo has flooded, nearly taking us away with it. And we will probably waste away here on my apartment floor.”
Jo laughed. “Yeah, but together.” Tessa laughed as Jo squeezed the soft flesh beneath her palm. “We need to get you warmed up and dry. Then we need to see what’s going on outside.”
In Tessa’s bedroom, Jo went to the window while Tessa removed her remaining wet clothes and replace them with dry ones. The distraction would keep Jo from wanting to watch the display of flesh begging her to hold and caress, to assure herself that Tessa was truly well and unharmed.
Her head throbbed. The discomfort was quickly forgotten with the sight below.
Floodwaters raged and sucked anything not bolted down into its wake. The sight was startling enough. What proved more horrific was seeing people swept away in a powerful flow of water. Jo sent up a silent prayer that her family was safe and away from this tragic onslaught.
Jo heard the terrified scream of a child above the roar of the flooding water. She opened the bedroom window and stuck her head outside. On the fire escape of the building next door, a little girl of about eight stood crying from three steps above the water level, focused on a half-submerged man as he tried to pull another child from the current fighting them both. The man had nearly hauled the boy safely to the fire escape before they were slammed by debris. The man howled a cry as the boy was yanked away into the rushing water, and other screams were nearly drowned out by the flood’s deafening progression. Jo wasn’t aware she’d added her own voice to the thunderous cacophony until arms wrapped around her waist and dragged her away from the window. “Oh, dear God, what if my family is caught in this?”
“Calm down, Jo,” Tessa whispered in her ear. “There is nothing you can do. For them outside or for your family.” Jo spun in Tessa’s embrace, dropped her head onto Tessa’s shoulder, and cried. Jo didn’t know how much time had passed before Tessa spoke again. “You need to get into dry clothes, Jo.”
Jo leaned back and swiped at the residual tears. “I’m not wearing one of your dresses, honey. Won’t fit for one, and this isn’t church.” She nearly melted at the bright smile Tessa flashed her. “I’d rather catch pneumonia from wet overalls than put on a dress.” Jo brushed two fingers along Tessa’s jaw. “Dresses are for beautiful girls like you.”
Tessa blushed. “Thank you, but you’re the only beauty in this room.”
Jo cupped Tessa’s cheek, and said, “Not to me, Tessa. In my eyes, you’re exquisite in your loveliness. Anyone who can’t see this is a fool.” She shrugged. “Not that I’m unwilling to fight anyone who would consider taking you from me.”
“No chance of that happening.” Tessa unhooked the straps from the bib of Jo’s overalls. “I only have eyes and loving feelings for you. Now, take your clothes off.”
“Tessa?” Jo’s mouth went dry at the sensual tone that underlined her command. They’d been together intimately, touched nearly every part of one another, but Tessa seeing all of her in the light of day frightened her. Plus, there was a flood outside, which was an occurrence so unexpected in this part of southern Colorado.
And she just watched a man lose a child.
Was her own family safe? How would she survive without Fiona, Margaret, or little Adam?
“Hey Jo, look at me.” Tessa clasped Jo’s hands and squeezed, which brought her out of her sullen thoughts. “Your family will be fine, you’ll see. Cavanaugh’s are made of pretty sturdy stuff.” Tessa released one hand and flicked a finger to Jo’s nose.
Jo could not help but smile. “I love you, Tessa.” She pulled Tessa into a tight hug.
“I love you, too, Jo. I don’t want to lose you, but I cannot change who my brother is either. I don’t know how to make this right.” Jo felt the trembling in Tessa’s body.
“We’ll figure it out, I promise. Even if we have to leave.” Jo leaned back and scrunched up her nose. “Even if I have to be nicer to Warren.”
Tessa laughed. “Let us not be extreme, Jo. He is my blood, even if I can’t make the promise of civility toward him.” Tessa pulled away completely, closed the curtains across the window enough to hide them from view, but keep some light in the room. She then headed for the armoire. “I was saving this for your birthday, which I don’t know the date of yet, or for Christmas.” She pulled out a brown paper package tied with a lavender ribbon. “I will just have to think of something else for you.”
“Tessa, you don’t have to give me things. Just seeing you happy—even if I haven’t helped with that lately—is all I want.”
“I feel the same, Jo,” Tessa said and held the package for Jo to take. “Right now, you need these.” Jo moved to the bed and placed the package on top of the duvet. She carefully untied the ribbon and pulled back the paper. Inside was a beautiful shirt of baby blue hue and a pair of pleated trousers in black. “Oh, Tessa, these are wonderful.” She brought her gaze to Tessa, who reddened and looked down at the floor.
“Not that I don’t adore you in tight T-shirts and coveralls, but I thought you might want something different to wear. I know it’s rude and presumptuous as if I’m ashamed of how you dress because I’m not. I kind of thought you’d consider this your courting outfit.”
Jo smiled and removed her wet clothes. She heard Tessa’s breath hitch when she was naked. She went to Tessa, lifted Tessa into her arms, and walked her to the bed. Jo carefully lay her down and settled alongside her. Tessa’s breathing quickened. “Let me properly thank you for my gift.”
Tessa groaned. “Jo, it’s the middle of the day.” Jo kissed the expanse of Tessa’s neck. “And there’s a crisis going on outside.”
Jo slowly removed Tessa’s clothing. “There’s a crisis inside me, too. I want you, Tessa.” She cupped one of Tessa’s breasts in her hand, skated her thumb across a nipple until it pebbled to a hard bud. “I need you. Let me show you just how much.”
“But—”
She replaced her thumb with her mouth. Tessa sucked in a ragged breath. Jo released the hardened bud with a soft, popping sound. Tessa moaned, and Jo grew more elated, wanted to see how many noises she could inspire Tessa to make. “No buts. If we’re meant to die in this flood, I can’t let it be without sharing our love. If we’re to die, let it be together.”
“If we are meant to live,” Tessa said breathlessly, “let it be forever.”
Chapter Thirty-one
Nicholas stayed close behind Fiona but far enough away so everyone in the room wouldn’t learn of his presence. He hoped Randall remained able to keep the two other bullies at bay.
He’d nearly jumped Thomas on the level below when he grabbed Fiona and again when Warren kicked her. Using every ounce of restraint, Nicholas waited and examined the area. One thing was apparent. He would never be able to enter the room completely without being seen. When Warren yanked Fiona from her family and dragged her to the center of the open storage room, Nicholas reached into his satchel and grasped his gun, scanning for a location better suited as an advantage point. The roar from outside unexpectedly flowed up the stairs and into the
room.
Margaret and Adam were huddled together beside the room’s only window, Warren stood beside them and blocked what little daylight seeped through the dirty panes of glass. Nicholas nearly snickered aloud when Thomas’s teasing attitude was dampened by solid blows from Fiona. He was proud of her fighting spirit and skill, recognized her determination to protect her loved ones.
Any plans Nicholas may have had for a stealthy rescue disintegrated when Warren lay his gun on a nearby crate and picked up a broken length of two-by-four. What pathetic animals preyed upon children and women, fighting a blind woman, too? He should have expected the action. Fiona had won the encounter. Warren was apparently a sore loser.
Nicholas released the hold on his gun, pulled his hand from the depths, and launched himself at Warren just as Warren slammed the board against Fiona from behind. Momentum had Warren drop the board when Nicholas hit him. Gravity carried Nicholas, unable to stop when his legs tangled with Warren’s, and they both broke through the glass and out of the window.
Nicholas expected to land on the fire escape, but the metal landing hung about a foot away. He released his hold on Warren, self-preservation demanded he reach for the metal structure and let the sergeant fend for himself. Instead, Nicholas dangled from the side of the building by his satchel strap. He glanced up and noticed he was caught on a protruding bolt that once held the metal staircase to the side of the building. The strap tugged painfully as it strained to hold his weight.
The roar was louder now, nearly drowned out Warren’s scream as he fell three flights down and landed in the unexpected churning of floodwaters. Behind him, through the broken window, Margaret and Adam sat beside an unmoving Fiona. Warren’s gun was clutched in Margaret's hand as she aimed it at Thomas.
In his ear, Nicholas heard the rending of leather as the strap holding him tore free. He had an instant to decide between sliced fingers with an attempt to go back through the window. Or to propel himself toward the damaged stairwell of the fire escape.
The decision was made for him by the final separation of the strap holding him in place. He grasped onto the satchel, which held all his secrets and his livelihood. Nicholas closed his eyes as his body dropped.
Randall hadn’t taken more than two steps when the roaring sound from outside increased in volume. The stairwell’s overhead light flickered. He ran to the door and peered out the small frame of glass, noted the street and sidewalk quickly disappeared beneath a flow of water. His body became immobile, uncertain of what he should do. He needed to get upstairs, protect the Cavanaugh’s from Warren. Would Donald and Walter be safe where they were in the closet? Would the water get into the building? How much could he expect to result from the deluge? Even as the questions raced through his mind, the first tendrils of water seeped beneath the door and swirled around his booted feet. Randall couldn’t take the chance something drastic wasn’t about to happen. The increased pounding from his heart certainly beat a warning of dire portent. He pushed aside the obstacles he’d recently placed in front of the supply door, unlocked and pulled it open. Two startled faces stared back at him. Gun back in hand, Randall ordered, “Upstairs, now.” All three rushed toward the stairwell.
“What the—” Walter didn't finish his question.
A bicycle broke through the front window, propelled by the torrent of water gushing in its wake.
Donald and Walter didn’t even hesitate on the second-floor landing, confirming for Randall they knew exactly what was occurring upstairs and sought safety with the leader of this debacle.
A scream, followed by another, echoed down from the third floor. When the men ahead of him turned away from the sound, intent on running off, Randall pointed his gun in their direction. “I don’t think so, fellas. Up you go.”
The third floor was of an entirely open area. Numerous crates and other telephone-related items were piled high, creating barriers that prevented an immediate assessment of the room and its occupants. Above and strategically placed to support the roof were numerous concrete pillars. Randall heard Margaret’s worried voice then. “Fiona, honey, please wake up.” Randall shoved a hand hard into Walter’s and then Donald’s back to urge them to move forward. “Go.”
In the center of the room, Thomas stood over an unconscious Fiona, Adam at her side, Margaret next to him with a revolver pointed unsteadily at Thomas. He gave another nudge to each man until they stood next to Thomas.
“Where is Langford?” Randall asked.
Thomas responded. His shoulders slumped in silent acknowledgment of the unexpected changes in the situation. A situation he could no longer sneak out of. “Pushed out the window by the fancy fellow.”
Randall glanced toward Margaret for confirmation. She nodded dismally. He didn’t have to worry about Warren sneaking upon them. Also, Randall was now the ranking owner of this ghastly situation. “Mrs. Cavanaugh, if I could further demand your assistance in maintaining the weapon on these boys?” When she nodded, he directed the three men to walk to the wall. “Okay, boys, on your knees and face the wall.”
“You gonna shoot us?” Walter asked, his tone whiny with insecurity.
“Are you always going to be an idiot?” Randall heaved a sigh. “Stupid question. Of course, you are.” He glanced around to see if there was something to bind their hands but found nothing. Once the three men complied he said, “Cross your legs at the ankle, hands behind your head, and lean your forehead against the wall.” The position would be uncomfortable and awkward for them but would alert him if they tried to get up.
He made his way to Margaret, knelt beside her, and carefully removed the gun from her trembling grasp. She didn't resist him. When the gun was no longer in her hand, Margaret reached forward and pulled Fiona into her lap. “Can you tell me what happened?” She did. She began from when Thomas and friends abducted her and Adam until Nicholas and Warren fell through the window
Shards of glass littered the floor. Most apparently flung onto the ground outside with the momentum of the two men. A few jagged pieces remained in the frame. Randall cautiously avoided impalement as he stuck his head through the opening. He didn’t know if the weight of Warren and Nicholas had released the fire escape from the outside wall or the force of the water flooding the street. Either way, it hung about a foot from the building. Neither man occupied the metal structure.
Randall looked down at the rapidly flowing water. They must have fallen to their deaths. Death nearly assured with the force of water hastening through the street below. Good riddance Warren, Randall thought, not the least bit guilty about the loss of his life. He regretted the loss of Nicholas, friend of the Cavanaugh’s, whose life would be mourned. Only a miracle could save anyone caught in the murderous rage of the water below.
Margaret felt a moment of relief when Fiona regained consciousness. She’d torn a strip of material from her slip to use as a binding for Fiona’s head wound. The bleeding appeared to have stopped. Her poor beloved wife. Life seemed to oppose her at every chance. No, she corrected herself. Despite opposition, Fiona managed to retaliate with life. The handsome woman cradled in her lap was the impetus for life to so many. Without Fiona, Margaret may survive, but it would be as an empty shell. Once again, her beloved Fiona rallied against the weight of negativity, trying to entomb her.
Fiona’s eyelids fluttered open. Then a tremulous smile curved her lips. “Hey.”
“Hey yourself,” Margaret said, relief answered Fiona’s smile with a grin of her own.
“Guess I’m not dead,” Fiona said. “Think I’d be able to see again if I had died. Probably wouldn’t have the monster headache either.” Margaret gently applied pressure to Fiona’s chest when she attempted to sit up. “Guess Thomas kicked my ass.”
Margaret snorted. “Not hardly. He lost. Warren intervened by slamming the board to your head.” She smiled down at her wife even though she could not see Margaret’s response. Fiona would feel it from her. She lowered her voice and leaned closer
to maintain privacy. “Watch your language in front of our son, Fiona.” Margaret reprimanded gently. Tenderly, she added, “And know I love you.”
Fiona pulled her closer and gave Margaret a fierce hug. Margaret felt the tremor of the myriad of emotions coursing through Fiona, and released her when the trembling stopped. She tugged Adam into their embrace. Margaret hoped to convey both their love and support through their combined physical contact.
The intensity of their moment was dampened when Randall joined them. He sat down on the floor a foot from them. Close enough to protect. “Didn’t expect this,” he said.
“What is happening?” Margaret asked.
“Apparently Pueblo is flooding. Better relax, because we’ll be here a while.
He stretched his legs out in front of him, leaned back on his arms.
Margaret realized at that moment how much Randall had grown up. He would do all right for himself in his chosen profession. Jo had done well when she’d befriended this young man. Although she suspected the answer, fearful of Fiona’s reaction, she asked, “Nicholas?”
Fiona shot upward into a sitting position with a groan. “Where is he?” She tilted her head, Fiona’s way of focusing on the sounds surrounding her. Margaret looked to Randall. He shook his head. “I’m so sorry, Fiona.” Margaret held Fiona tightly while Fiona silently cried.
It was a hot June day, less than a week after the flood. Jo rose to answer the doorbell, left Fiona and Margaret at play with Adam on the parlor rug. Tessa watched with a broad smile while stitching in a corner chair. Her family. The Cavanaugh clan. She was a little surprised to see Randall, cap in hand. He, like most of the law enforcement in Pueblo, had been busy over the last couple of days with recovering those lost in the flooding, and everything that comes after such a catastrophe. He looked exhausted; his usual sharp appearance disheveled. Sweat stains and mud unusual for him under normal circumstances. Despite it all, Randall looked happy and in his element. She knew it would be a long time before Union Avenue, and other areas in the flood plain were returned to normal. Possibly years. The destruction had a positive outcome—two if you counted losing Warren, not that she’d say as much in front of Tessa. With the loss of the store and most of her inventory, no one questioned Tessa when she moved in with the Cavanaugh’s. A lot of people had opened their homes to help families and friends who lost everything.
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