As Right As Rain

by J. M. Maurer

  With a gasp, I turn back to Eli and, inadvertently, give his firm thigh another squeeze. “There’s been an accident. We need to stop and make sure everyone’s okay.”

  Eli draws a hand down his face, his brows pulling in. “This isn’t where we’re supposed to report from. And Ed,” Eli shakes his head, “is a stickler about assignments. Besides, emergency crews are here, and I’m sure a team from the station is already in place. We might do more harm than good by getting in the way.”

  I pause and take a moment to think about what Eli said. Since I’m new, I figure Eli most likely knows better than I do. Even so, I’m not convinced we’d be getting in the way.

  Sitting forward, I cast my voice toward the front of the van. “Hey, Sam, what do you think?”

  Sam rolls the van to a complete stop and shifts into Park. “I don’t see another crew here, but the road is blocked. If you guys still want to get to where Ed wants us, we’re going to have to turn around.”

  We could turn back, but I’m not quite on board with that option. The thought of leaving the scene of an accident churns an uneasy feeling in my stomach. In my opinion, there’s only one choice to make.

  Resolved with my decision, I turn to Eli and shove my phone into my pocket. “Call this one in and grab your camera. Thundersnow or not, we’re getting out and, most likely, reporting from here.”

  Eli glances down at my hand, which is still clamped to his thigh. A smile curls across his lips as something wicked flashes in his eyes. Whatever is behind his expression isn’t my concern. Right now, I’m just glad Mr. Gorgeous isn’t arguing.

  Mom always told me it was futile to argue with a ginger.

  A master at arguing any point, she would know. She has red hair like me. But the logic that links my mom’s actions to her beliefs most likely doesn’t have anything to do with why Eli didn’t argue. And since I tucked my locks up inside my crocheted red winter hat, the chances of him knowing the color of my hair have to be slim.

  I put the thought aside as I nestle my earpiece into place, pull my hat back down over my ear, and leave before either Eli or Sam can have a say. Not twenty feet into my trek through several inches of fresh snow, I hear a loud voice jetting through the frigid air, heading my way.

  “Red, wait up!” Eli shouts, his tone no longer gentle but harsh and loud.

  Since he’s yelling into a brisk wind, I let it roll off my shoulders. But ugh. As much as I need to stop letting his good looks lasso my full attention, Eli really needs to stop calling me Red.

  Unsettled, I turn and wait for Eli to catch up, just as a harsh bite of wind pushes through my winter coat. I tug at my scarf, shivering, and make a mental note to discuss the nickname with him later.

  For now, I need to focus. I’ve trained hard for this day. Deep down, I know what to do. Nothing is going to stop me from delivering the perfect report back to the station. Nothing except Eli’s grin, the heated yet mischievous look that somehow defrosts my chilled exterior and warms every square inch of my skin.

  He lifts his fancy camera, showing it off as if I have no clue what it is. “Hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but you can’t do this without me, you know.”

  “Oh, I don’t know about that,” I counter, maintaining a serious expression. “People tell me I’m pretty good with a selfie stick and my phone.”

  “Does your phone happen to have the number to an unemployment agency?”

  It does, but I don’t want to tell him that. “Why do you need the number for an unemployment agency?”

  “Because if what you say is true, it sounds like I’m going to be out of a job real soon.” He leans forward and narrows his eyes. “But something tells me you don’t really want me out of a job.”

  I catch myself doing a slow, disbelieving shake of my head and immediately stiffen my posture.

  Eli grins, cocks a brow like he knows he’s right, and then gently palms my arm. “Stay here, my Queen-o-the-Camera. I’ll go assess the scene, make sure it’s safe for us to be here, and come back to discuss a plan.”

  Struck by his candid assessment, I manage a nod and watch as he walks away. I’m so worked up over meeting Eli that I’m forgetting the basics of on-scene arrival.

  Trying to pull myself together, I shake out a few nerves and scan the scene. A burst of adrenaline moves through me and pushes me closer to a group of teenage boys huddled together under a streetlamp, all off to the side, a safe distance from the frightful scene. One of the boys draws his wrist along his hairline, leaving a smear of blood across his forehead. He appears cold but otherwise okay.

  Beyond the boys and out in the middle of the intersection is the crushed shell of a vehicle that’s resting under the weight of the school bus. Several emergency response members scurry around the wreck, moving past a snowplow at the edge of the intersection that’s facing a building on the corner.

  To find out what happened, I squeeze into the huddle and let my sight roam in a circle around the boys. “Excuse me, I’m Makayla Reading with WVMZ news. Is everyone okay?”

  Several of the boys speak at the same time, their words a jumbled mess of incoherent babble that makes me want to scream. I didn’t see that one coming, and it takes some effort to calmly gain control of the group. When I have their attention, the tall boy with blood on his forehead steps forward and takes the lead.

  “We all got out through the back door. Coach is over there somewhere with the bus driver. Told us to stay put. Been here freezin’ ever since.”

  “And I told you to stay put,” Eli says, his loud tone blowing in with the wind from somewhere close behind me.

  I’m not sure how he managed to find all sixty-six inches of me hidden within the shadows of fourteen rather tall teenage boys, but he has, a wrinkle in his brow showing worry.

  “Sorry I took off.” I sidle closer to his side. “Let me ask a few more questions while you establish a feed. Set up where you think it's best, and let me know when you’re ready.”

  Eli points to his chest, appearing confused.

  “You know, where I can get in an interview with the accident in the background and you don’t have to worry too much about the snow ruining your camera.”

  “Okay.” He steps forward and begins fiddling with my hat. “But first we need to fix your—”

  “Thanks.” I cut him off, shooing his hand away. I don’t need him making me presentable for TV. The audience isn’t tuning in to watch me. “I appreciate whatever you’re doing, but it’s freezing out here. Let’s get what we need and then see what we can do to help.”

  A look of surprise moves across his face as he lowers his hands. “You really are going to put me out of a job,” he teases. “You’re different. I like you, Red.”

  Despite his comment, or maybe because of it, an incoming wave of calm relaxes my hormonally charged nerves. I embrace the tranquil feeling, which seems to happen each time I peer into his eyes.

  In a mesmerizing way, his eyes glint under the flashing lights. I lean forward, drawn in by an overwhelming and unexplained urge to explore their beauty. There is just something about them that leaves me at a loss—mostly for how to deal with the multitude of emotions that move through my body as I catch myself staring.

  I ease back a little and lift my lips into a slight smile. This soon in our relationship, I don’t want Eli catching on. He’s a guy, and one who already seems to have a penetrating ability to recognize some of my feelings. Plus, now that I’ve regained some control of my thoughts, my brain is requesting I address a couple of the things he’s said.

  “You know, Eli, I’m beginning to like you too. But my name is Makayla. Not Red.”

  “I know, Red.” He winks, then grins.

  My heart skips several beats, the rise in my body’s temperature solely a product of his playful expressions. I shake my head and turn to leave, using my departure to hide the cheesy grin I feel lifting on my face.

  As Eli establishes our connection with the network, I hurry through several quest
ions with the boys and piece together an opening. Somewhat out of my element, I figure I’ll wing it from there.

  “Makayla,” Eli says, his soft tone snaring my attention. “White card.”

  “Right.” I look around. “White card,” I unconsciously repeat under my breath.

  Short of throwing my palm to my forehead, I move past chastising myself for another forgotten step, and whip out my white card from my jeans pocket so Eli can adjust the lighting for our clip. Once ready, I pull one of the boys to my side, offer him some reassurance, and ask him to tell the story the way he saw it.

  “We’re live in three, two—” Eli lifts a finger, indicating one, then points to me, letting me know we’re now live on TV.

  I’m supposed to take over from here and deliver some incredible news, but how can I do that when the most exciting thing at this moment is the man standing right in front of me? My thoughts seem as frozen as the snow pelting my cheek, my mind and my sight locking in on nothing but Eli.

  How can they not be? He’s got his long legs spread apart and hidden within tight jeans, his coat barely reaching the edge of the V, and his camera within his grip—where I so want to be. On top of that, he licks his lips. They glisten like the falling snow.

  “Makayla?” a voice echoes through my earpiece, startling me.

  Did someone say my name?

  I blink to clear my vision, and note Eli is moving his lips as if he were silently saying my name.

  “Makayla,” the voice in my earpiece repeats a little harsher this time around.

  I force my gaze off Eli and stare unseeing into the camera. Then, as if through some intervention from the storm clouds above, both anchors’ names pop into my head. “Good evening, Tom and Marilyn,” I finally squeak out with a smile. Here goes nothing. “And helloo, Cleveland!”

  Eli turns up his thumb, giving me a signal that all has started well. But damn, even his naked thumb sticking out from his fingerless glove is as sexy as hell.

  Come on, Makayla, stay focused.

  “I’m standing at the corner of Lakeside and West Third Street with sixteen members of the Eastside High School boys’ basketball team. Approximately forty minutes ago, their bus was involved in a horrific collision with a city snowplow. Upon impact, the school bus rolled, unfortunately crushing a vehicle under it.”

  To increase the camera’s view of the scene, I twist and step to the side. Eli follows my lead, which also helps me ensure a seamless transition from the scene behind me to the boy I’m about to interview.

  “I’ve been told the female driver in the vehicle is alert, but as you can see behind me, emergency crews are continuing to work hard to extricate her from the vehicle.” I nod and the boy moves to my side, almost on cue. “Standing beside me is Isaiah Fulton, senior captain of the team.” I draw the mic closer so he can answer in turn. “Isaiah, please tell us, is everyone okay?”

  He nods. “We’re good. Shook, but good.”

  “Can you tell us what happened?”

  “We was heading home from our win over Prep when out of nowhere, BAM!” Isaiah slaps his palm with his fist, and then continues gesturing as he talks. “Plow took out the front end. Next I know we was holdin’ on for life. It happened so fast. I ’most shit my pants.”

  Isaiah pauses, most likely because of the look of surprise I’m certain is on my face. I quickly replace it with one of sympathy and follow with a one-arm hug of support. This isn’t his fault. I’m the one who forgot to mention the no-curse-word rule before the interview.

  As if trying to make up for his choice of words, he gestures frantically once again. “I’m sorry, Miss Reading. I didn’t mean no harm.”

  “It’s okay, Isaiah.” My voice softens. For a moment, I’m not a reporter; I’m a human being. “This has been quite an evening for all of you. We all have our moments.” I palm the side of his arm. “I’m just glad everyone’s okay.”

  Wrapping up the interview, I squint against a downpour of snow, move away from the scene of the accident, and set the stage for the segment I feel most comfortable with.

  “As crews continue to work behind me, let me explain what’s going on with the weather. Folks, winter storm Hal has stalled just off to our east.”

  My brain goes on autopilot, explaining the weather, but in the back of my mind, I’m thinking of Eli.

  “This system is swirling counterclockwise almost at a standstill and isn’t expected to go anywhere, anytime soon.”

  Like the swirl in Eli’s eyes. What is it about them that captivates me so?

  “With cold air moving over the warmer water of Lake Erie, incredible amounts of lake effect snow will fall across metro Cleveland.”

  And snow isn’t the only thing these days that seems to be falling.

  I shake off the thought, telling myself this isn’t the time, and continue with the weather forecast. But as my gaze roams back and forth between Eli and the camera, I can’t seem to do much about shutting off my thoughts.

  Those eyes. That hair. My fingers would be nice and warm playing with that hair.

  I dig in deep to finish the segment, hoping I haven’t outwardly shown my inner thoughts to Eli or, for that matter, all of Cleveland.

  “It’s treacherous out here. My advice—stay home. For now, while emergency crews continue to work on the scene behind me, I’m going to help get these boys to some place safe and warm. Reporting live for WVMZ, I’m Makayla Reading with Eli Barringer and the entire Eastside High School basketball team. Back to you, Tom and Marilyn.”

  Eli lowers the camera, a slight curl forming at the corners of his lips.

  “What?” I ask, certain he has something he wants to say.

  I’m not sure if it has to do with my impromptu reporting skills or the two times I didn’t follow his kind requests. Maybe it has something to do with my sign-off and my obsessive need to thank those behind the scenes. Whatever it is, I don’t much care. I’ve done enough talking. Quite frankly, I miss the tenderhearted sound of his voice. I’m ready for Eli to speak.

  He moves forward, quickly erases the gap between us, and stops within inches of my body, using his tall form to shield me from the snow. “That was,” he says, his arresting eyes searching mine, “just perfect. I think you nailed it.”

  Without thinking, I smile and impulsively fling my arms around his waist. All those thoughts I had while reporting did quite a number on my senses. How could I not celebrate the moment with Eli through a friendly hug?

  Holding his camera, he closes both arms around me for a long embrace. His heartbeat is fast, pounding hard through both his puffy coat and my snow-soaked winter hat. I close my eyes, unable to stop myself from indulging in his hug. As if knowing I want more, he slowly tightens his hold. Not long after that, he bends his tall frame, rests his face against my scarf, and nuzzles his cheek against my neck.

  I could stay right here—wrapped within his strong arms and lulled by the cadence of his beating heart—forever. But knowing my actions are out of character, and not necessarily normal between two coworkers who just met, I step back and float my hands to his sides, since I’m not quite ready to fully let go.

  “Not too shabby for my first live shot.” I smile. “As a meteorologist.”

  Eli returns the smile and shakes his head. “Meteorologist Makayla Reading, you really know how to shine.”

  “Nah. I’m nothing without a good cameraman at my side. And you, Eli Barringer,” I lovingly poke his chest, “are officially mine.”

  Eli growls, a throaty, pleasing sound. “That’s good to hear. Except I was kinda looking forward to obsessing over how I was going to go about stealing both your selfie stick and your phone.”

  I laugh.

  Eli winks, then nods toward the boys. “Come on. Let’s get these boys someplace safe and warm.”

  As the newest meteorologist at WVMZ, I work odd hours, usually Thursday through Sunday afternoons and evenings. By the time Eli and I arrive back at the station, I’m still wound up like
an eight-day clock that’s forgotten to take its evening dose of Ritalin.

  At well past one in the morning, containing my exuberance just isn’t happening. I haven’t felt this excited since the day I made the biggest mistake of my life and moved away with Caleb to Cleveland.

  Thankfully, while I’m standing at my computer, moving the cursor to click Shut Down, Eli mentions going to a twenty-four-hour Italian café across the street. I practically leap through the upper stratosphere at his suggestion. I’d probably go to Mars with him if he asked.

  As quickly as I can, I stash graphs and maps I printed earlier in the day away in my drawer. “Why didn’t you say something about the café when Sam was parking the van?”

  Eli looks away, but only for the short time it takes my screens to power down. “I didn’t want Sam to come.”

  His comment half surprises me. I hope it has more to do with wanting some quiet time with me than not liking Sam. From what little I know of Sam, I don’t have any reason not to like him. In fact, I take great comfort in the idea of having both a cameraman and a driver at my side, especially in a city I have yet to call my home. Though it does surprise me that the station can afford an extra body just to drive us around. The thought crosses my mind that “The Bank of Mom” is most likely paying Sam’s salary.

  It wouldn’t surprise me if she were cutting his checks. That’s Mom’s MO. As far away as I am from her, she has a way of still making her presence known.

  Pushing aside all thoughts of my mom, I snatch my purse from my drawer and head out with Eli to catch an open elevator. This late at night, our trip down is quick.

  I turn to face him. “You know, I feel safe having you and Sam. If anything ever goes terribly wrong, I’ve got you to drag me out and Sam to deliver me to a hospital.”

  Eli raises a brow, escorting me out of the elevator after the doors fully open. “So you are a troublemaker. Was that your overnight bag you had thrown over your shoulder?”