“Ryan’s a firefighter.” She patted his arm in a proud, maternal way. Maybe I’ve been spending too much time here.
Faux-Hawk and Ryan both noticed Leila’s eyes widen slightly, but it was only Ryan who realized it wasn’t because she was impressed. He filed that away for later and looked around the semicircle at everyone. “I talked to the station and they’ve said to sit tight. They’ll come for us when they can.”
“When’s that going to be?” A pretty redhead crossed her arms. Faux-Hawk edged closer, and Ryan tried not to roll his eyes.
“I don’t know.”
A few people talked at once, but Leila held his gaze with her own. “Can we get out?”
He shook his head. “The bridge on Main is out.”
“Shit.” She twirled her fingers into the end of her ponytail—he remembered how that hair felt in his fist—and peered out the window again. “And it looks like more rain.” Her sentence was punctuated with a huge bolt of lightning. The loud crack of thunder followed a few seconds later.
The redhead jumped into Faux-Hawk’s arms like a weak stereotype. Ronna headed back behind the bar, clearly amused. “Who wants a drink? This round’s on me.”
Faux-Hawk and Red immediately went to the bar and pulled up a stool.
Leila shook her head; she’d brought her drink with her from the table, and moved farther down the bar to look out the window on the adjacent wall. Ryan took in the group. Ronna was a tough gal in her late fifties, had been manager of Glitters for twenty years, and seemed able to stay calm in a crisis. Faux-Hawk and Red were obviously out for themselves, and from the way Red kept shooting worried glances out the window, nervous. Ryan couldn’t depend on them, but at least they were already looking out for themselves—that meant they had some survival instincts. Wallace seemed like a strong older guy, white hair tucked under a ball cap. He moved over to Leila, bounced on his heels, and squinted out the window. Something he said made her smile.
A sense of humor was a sign of intelligence. Making a lady smile during a flood showed compassion. The fact he chose Leila meant he had good taste. Ryan trusted older guys more than men his own age for the simple fact that they usually weren’t trying to impress anyone with their strength or pretending to know everything. Ryan had had to rescue a few hotshots who’d rushed into burning buildings, or raging rivers, trying to be the hero then realizing they had no idea what they were doing.
He walked over to them. “Wallace, wasn’t it, sir?”
He nodded and held out his hand. “Yep. Though Sir was my Air Marshal. Wallace or Wally is fine. No need to stand on ceremony.” His handshake was firm.
“Ryan. Do you have any experience with floods?”
“I’ve lived in Silver Springs for the last fifty years. So I’d say that pretty much makes me an expert.” His blue eyes twinkled. “Your station said to hang tight?”
“Yes.”
“Makes sense if the bridge is out.” He fished a toothpick from his front pocket and clamped it between his teeth.
“I don’t think there’s any direction that’s good for getting to dry land.”
“I’d agree with you there.”
Leila cleared her throat. “What about going west? If we could get to Kooly’s field, then surely,” her voice trailed off when Ryan shook his head. “Why not?”
He remembered that bitchy look from high school. And the one-upsmanship. If he made an amazing play, she was guaranteed to pull some crazy gymnast move out of her ass and upstage him on the field. “Trust me, I’ve already thought about it and ruled it out.”
“But it’s our best shot.” She crossed her arms and squared off with him.
She was maddening. Always had been. A week after he’d joined the debate team, she was right there arguing circles around him. She couldn’t just let him have something, or defer to his expertise. “Getting there would be a problem, as well as where to go from there.”
She cocked a hip. “Yeah but—”
“The boy’s right,” Wallace said. Boy? “And if the river turned along there, too, that field might be under a foot or more of water anyway. It’s shaped like a bowl. Water gets in, it’s not leaving unless it’s pumped out.”
“And the water table’s high right now as it is from all the rain we’ve had.” Another boom of thunder added to Ryan’s statement.
***
Leila shivered and glanced out the window as the skies opened up and the light rain turned into a downpour. What the hell was he doing here? Of all the dive bars in all the small towns … Then again, it wasn’t as if there was a huge variety of places to drink in town, maybe three bars, though there were about seven liquor stores serving the ten thousand people. Silver Springs’ population had to have strong livers to keep that many liquor stores in the black.
And Ryan was a firefighter now? That meant he must know Kyle. She felt marginally better knowing there was a first responder with them until she remembered this was the guy who’d streaked through the cafeteria after the football team had won state championship. And he was going to lead them to safety? Not freaking likely. Of course, last night’s nudity had revealed a man who could take control of a situation. Now that he was clothed, and in charge of the situation, she found it easier to resent him again. She looked out the window but watched Ryan’s reflection with her peripherals.
She’d hoped to avoid seeing anyone familiar when she came out seeking hair of the dog on the first day of her new life as “Leila.” Well. Maybe not anyone—hence the little jean skirt and tank top that made her look a little curvier than normal. She’d made an effort to look hot in case she ran into anyone she knew, but she was thinking high school, not last night’s one-night stand. Unfortunately, Ryan was both. Now she was stuck mid-flood in a short skirt and strappy sandals. What she wouldn’t give for a pair of pants, and shoes that protected her feet.
Stuck with Ryan Benton.
When he’d walked in, she’d grabbed her Bloody Mary and casually walked away from the bar and slid into a booth, careful to keep her back to him. She could still feel where he’d touched her shoulder to get her attention a moment ago. She wasn’t supposed to see him again! The one time she decided to give into raw, physical attraction, it came back to bite her in the ass.
A vision of Ryan’s teeth nipping her tender flesh sent shock waves across her skin, and she gulped at her drink, glad she’d brought it from the table. Her thighs tensed and she felt her face flame at the onslaught of hours-old memories that slammed through her. What did he think about the fact she’d kicked him out of her hotel room with a grin and no plan to get together again? Did he feel as distracted by her as she was by him right now? Was he remembering the way it had felt when he’d kissed her and slid inside her? Why do I feel so shy? He’s already seen me naked. I know how he looks, how he feels …
“Leila?”
“Hmm?” Shit. They were both staring at her expectantly.
Wallace’s light blue eyes crinkled. “He was wondering if you have a cell phone.”
“Oh! Sorry, I’d … Hang on.” She hightailed it back to her booth to grab her purse, relieved to put some distance between them. But physical distance didn’t block the memories that swept through her mind and blanketed her skin in goose bumps.
As soon as the door had shut, his lips were on hers, melting away her anxiety, making her stomach flutter for very different reasons. Leilani was shy and sensible. Leila saw what she wanted and went for it. Hard. No fear and no regrets. Even if it was the last person she should seek escape with. He’d tugged on her hair and kissed her, and her legs nearly gave out. She did it; became someone else and it turned her on almost as much as Ryan’s mouth and hands and body, and he’d lifted her like she was nothing, and for once, instead of feeling like a scrawny chick, it made her feel desired like she’d never been before.
The sharp point of her nail file speared her finger, bringing her back to the bar. God, the way he’d made her body hum, sing, scream, nearly made her lose her
mind. Ryan had done that to her. Even with her ex, most of her orgasms had been faked, but she thought it was her fault for taking too long to come, and it was fine if he got impatient because something must be wrong with her to take so long. Ryan brought her to soaring heights she’d only read about in her guilty pleasure romance novels. God as her witness, she’d never be Leilani again!
Enough! More thoughts like that, and he’d have to peel her off his leg. She shrugged into the thin, dove-gray cardigan she’d brought, and buttoned it. Feeling slightly less exposed, she slung her purse over her shoulder and went back to the window, smartphone in hand. God, she was so focused on Ryan, she hadn’t even thought to check her messages, or call anyone.
Sliding open the lock, she cringed at the missed texts and three voicemails. It was twelve-oh-four. Her feet had carried her back to the window, but she held up a finger and listened to her voicemail. The first from Dad, checking in before getting on the plane. The second from Kyle. “Lana, hope you’re somewhere safe. Call me as soon as you get this.” The third message was a click in her ear—Kyle hadn’t bothered leaving a message.
The texts were all from Kyle as well and were increasingly short as his agitation grew, plain to see by the terseness and shouty caps in the last message. He went from calling her Lana—his nickname for her, to using her full name—something he never did. Better call him first. But when it went straight to voicemail, she hung up without leaving a message, and sent a text instead. It was easier to bend the truth via text—Kyle would hear a lie in her voice.
Leila: Hey I got your messages. I’m …
Should she say where she was? Ryan had said the department would get them when they could. If Kyle knew she was smack in the middle of a flooded area, he was likely to make her an unnecessary priority. That or he’d want to make her a priority but would have to wait, so he’d worry. Probably better to fudge the truth a bit. He’d find out she was at the bar when they came to help anyway.
Leila: I’m safe. You be careful! Love you.
She hit send and looked up at Ryan. “You needed my phone?”
Wallace shook his head. “We’re taking stock of assets. You have anything useful in that handbag?” His eyes twinkled.
“You mean some pants or real shoes?”
He grinned and she tucked her phone back in her bag. “I wasn’t packing for an emergency.”
“Well, as locations go, we’re sitting pretty.” He shifted the toothpick from one side of his mouth to the other. “We’re set back from the street a bit, and thankfully we’re on the higher side which buys us another foot or so, and we’re elevated what, four feet including the slab?”
Ryan nodded. “Plus we’ve got solid walls, provisions, and half of us have cell phones.”
“Not all?”
“Ronna, Wallace, and Faux … uh. The young guy with the redhead.”
One glance at the bar and she got why Ryan called him Faux. The guy’s faux-hawk hairdo was awful and looked crunchy with gel. She smiled. “I guess we’re in an okay place to hole up.”
Lightning flashed and the loudest thunder yet filled the air. But it didn’t end. Instead, the rolling booming got louder and seemed to come from down the street.
Leila bit her lip. “What’s that sound?”
They turned and looked out the window in time to see a nine-foot tall wall of water rushing toward them.
CHAPTER FOUR
“Get back!” Ryan shielded Leila and Wallace from the window with his body, and pushed them back to gather with the others—not that they needed much urging.
If the glass shatters … Murky water slammed into the windows on the left side of the bar, blocking out the weak daylight with a churning roar. Someone screamed and someone else started praying as the lights flickered like candlelight, but Ryan’s eyes were on the windows and glass door, tracking the crest of the wave as it tore down the street leaving elevated water levels in its wake.
What had been a few inches of fluid on the street was now four feet. If the door had opened in, there would be a foot or so of muddy water in the bar, forced in by the wave. But it opened out, and the glass was holding. So far. Water rushed past, thick and dark with silt, it seeped beneath the door, looking more like chocolate milk than river water.
Ryan raised his voice over the sound of the new river running down the street in front of them. “Ronna, what have you got for sandbags?”
She tore her gaze from the front door. “I don’t think we have anything. Not enough room in the back, and we haven’t flooded since ninety-five! No point keeping all those sandbags around for that long.”
Ryan and the others reached the bar. “Well, we’re not going to be able to get bags—they can’t get to us to rescue us, never mind drop off sandbags. We need to improvise. Do you have anything we could use to jam the doors?”
Ronna patted her pockets and tossed Ryan a set of keys. “You go look in the boiler room, next to the men’s room. Gold key. I’ll check the supply closet.” She looked at Leila. “You come with me.”
Leila walked around the counter and followed Ronna to the supply closet, through a door behind the bar. Ryan hated moving to where he couldn’t keep an eye on the river itself, especially when there were vulnerable people who were his responsibility, but Wallace caught his eye and nodded once. Feeling marginally better, Ryan turned and strode down the hall, confident the old war vet would shout for him if things worsened.
He checked his phone, but there were no messages. Christ, he’d never seen water like there was now, maybe on television, but not in real life. Warm, stale air washed over Ryan as he opened the boiler room door and flicked on the light. If the wave had hit in the middle of the night, people would have died. Maybe people had died. He grimaced at the thought. They wouldn’t know for sure until later. He quickly thumbed a text message to Kyle.
Ryan: Huge wave hit but we’re still safe. Insane amount of water down here. At least 4 feet deep.
Jamming his phone back into his pocket, he did a quick sweep of the small, cement-floored room. It was clean, uncluttered, not much on the floor. Hose, shovel, blue plastic tub full of extension cords. Mop and bucket—which, unless they could cast a Fantasia-style spell to turn the one mop into one million and soak up the entire flood—was useless. The room was infuriatingly clean of clutter and anything that could be of use.
Swearing under his breath, Ryan turned back to leave, and saw a couple of heavy-duty industrial brown rubber-backed floor mats. If the windows blew, they’d be good for laying over the ground, or over a windowsill so no one got cut. Maybe they could even use them to block a window or door. Either way, they were the only useful thing in the room, so he wrapped his arm around them, and carried the mats back to the main room.
“What are those for?”
Ryan tried not to roll his eyes at Faux-Hawk’s tone. “Not sure yet, but we’ll find a use for them.”
“What, you didn’t find anything?”
“I found the mats.” Ryan raised his eyebrows. Faux-Hawk rubbed him the wrong way, but he didn’t want to add to the already stressful situation. Best to suppress his irritation. He focused on Wallace instead.
“How’s the river?”
“Still rising, but not by much. I locked the door.”
“Good thinking.” Ryan nodded and walked over to the door. Wallace was right to secure it—it wasn’t much, but it was one of the few things they had control over at the moment. The water had risen since he’d gone, and now touched about an inch up the front of the bottom window of the glass and metal door. Despite the water level rising, the flow of the muddy water trickling into the bar hadn’t increased a lot. Looking out onto the street, Ryan shook his head.
Even though he’d seen it a moment ago, his mind had already tried to downsize the reality of the water’s destructive force. Maybe it wasn’t much deeper, but there was a definite current to it—a large tree trunk careened past Glitters at a faster rate than Ryan thought the water was flowing. A car parke
d at an angle down the street swung, its rear end moving until a tire must have hit the curb, leaving it parallel to the sidewalk. They definitely couldn’t go out in that. There was no way he could keep a hold on everyone, keep them safe for a journey to higher ground.
“Alright, we’ve got an idea,” Ronna announced, her return punctuated with a crinkling.
“Does it involve a secret upstairs or attic?” Ryan looked at the ceiling.
“Nope.” Ronna shook her head. Wallace led the way back to the bar, and they arrived at the same time as Leila. The ladies carried bags of plastic bags with them.
“Grocery bags?” FH sneered.
Leila nodded. “Yeah.”
“That’s not helpful. We need sandbags, not grocery bags! Are we supposed to put them over our heads and take the easy way out?” He snickered. No one else joined in.
Leila took a deep breath before answering. She was cute when she was annoyed. “We couldn’t find any sandbagging materials, and even if we found empty bags, good luck getting sand outside under four feet of water.”
Ronna set the bags down and added an armful of cloths beside them. “Leila figured we could stuff the bags full of towels, or even just stuff bags full of bags. Then we could jam them into places where the water’s coming in.”
It was a solid idea. Not ideal, but for the materials at hand, it was doable.
“It’s a great idea,” Wallace nodded, and Leila’s cheeks pinkened beneath the praise. “The bags are waterproof, and we can squish them so they fit into the smallest cracks.”
“That’s what she said!”
Fucking Faux-Hawk.
Ryan reached for a bag. “Let’s get going. Great idea, Leila.”
***
Ryan’s eager acceptance of her idea warmed Leila more than it should have. It was a great idea, but she didn’t need validation from him. The group sat and stood, stuffing bags and rolling them into vaguely tubular shapes. They jammed the cloths into them as well—if the bags did leak, the cloths would absorb some water, and weigh the bags down a bit.
Taken by Storm Page 3