She cast him a curious glance; then one side of her pretty mouth cocked up. “Milly sure loves it.”
He wasn’t interested in what her sister thought, although the news would make Brian happy. His brother had fallen hard for Milly. If the women left at some point, Brian would have a rough time of it. For that matter, he would, too. He liked Mattie far more than he was sure she did him. Everything about her intrigued him—except the thought of her one day riding out of his life.
A strong gust of humid wind blew in the open door like an unwanted visitor. He stepped to the doorway and looked out. The sky had darkened. Ugly grayishgreen clouds overhead caused his heart to lurch. He’d only seen those twice before, and the first time had resulted in a cyclone. He grabbed the lantern and clutched Mattie’s hand, tugging her outside. “Come on. We need to get to the cabin.”
The warm, clammy wind pummeled them, threatening to yank Mattie’s hand from his. Her concerned gaze shot upward, and he knew she understood the need to hurry. “Look how fast those clouds are moving. They’re the kind you see before a tornado hits. We saw one once in Kansas.”
Conall wished they could run, but he didn’t want to risk breaking the lantern. Still, he quickened his pace. “From what I’ve heard from neighbors who have some Indian friends, this warm weather is not common for December.” As they neared the barn, he handed the lantern to Mattie. “I’ll get the horses inside and lock up.”
“No! They’ll have a better chance if they’re outside.”
“I don’t have time to argue. They’re protected inside.”
Mattie shook her head. “Put yours in but leave mine out. They’ll find their way to safety.”
Conall scowled. “Fine. It will save me time.”
As he ran toward the pasture, he argued with himself. Maybe he should just put her horses in the barn, too. Mattie had been in charge so long that she always had to have a say in things. Even his horses had the sense to get inside because they waited at the gate, but Mattie’s two bays were nowhere to be seen. He threw open the gate, grabbed the halters of his horse and their big draft horse and all but let them pull him to the barn. He locked them in their stalls, closed the barn windows, and then the double doors.
His gaze lifted toward the heavens. From the looks of things, they didn’t have much time.
Mattie burst through the cabin’s door, drawing Milly’s and Glynna’s surprised gazes. She set the lantern on the table.
“Where’s the fire?” Glynna grinned and set down a silver bowl she’d been polishing.
“No fire. A tornado!”
Both women gasped and glanced toward the front door.
“I’ll secure the shutters. Get Jess and bring her in here.”
“No!” Milly and Mattie shouted in unison.
Mattie glanced at her sister and nudged her chin toward the bedroom. “We need to get outside. Tornadoes destroy buildings.”
Glynna clutched her bodice. “We can’t go out there. We could get swept up in the storm or hit by debris.”
“The dugout is safer.” Mattie didn’t have time to argue—didn’t have time to tell Glynna about the memories she had of seeing much of the town of Irving, Kansas, destroyed after a tornado hit it ten years ago. She had to get her sisters to safety.
Milly had spread a quilt on the floor and set Jess in the middle. Mattie grabbed two corners and then walked her hands up the sides and got a good hold on it. Milly did the same then looked at Mattie. She nodded, and they both lifted the quilt and their sister.
“I’m scared.” Jess hugged her doll, eyes wide. Her lower lip trembled.
“We’ll be fine, but we must hurry.” Shuffling their feet, they hauled her into the great room.
Glynna rushed out of her room, looking frightened. “Where’s Conall? Oh, I do hope Brian will have the sense to stay in town until the storm passes.”
“It may not even go toward Guthrie. Don’t think the worst. Grab the lantern, and come with us.”
“No, I can’t go.” Glynna shook her head and clutched the door frame.
Conall charged in the front door. His brows shot up to his hairline when he looked at Mattie. “Where are you going?”
“The dugout. Buildings are unsafe during a tornado.”
He shut the door. “You can’t go out there. This cabin is solid. Safe.”
Mattie glared at him. “Move out of the way. I thank you for your hospitality, but you can’t order us around just because we’re in your debt.”
He crossed his arms across his chest, as if saying, “Make me.”
“Conall. Let them go.” Glynna’s soft entreaty surprised Mattie after her vehement refusal to leave the house.
Conall pleaded with his eyes for her to stay, but Mattie couldn’t let him sway her. She—not him—was responsible for her sisters.
She padded toward him, carrying Jess. “I’m sorry. Please move, Conall.”
His eyes blinked several times, but he stepped aside and pulled the door open.
Mattie hated going against his wishes, but she couldn’t explain that everything within her was telling her to get out of that cabin. “Come with us. Please.”
He shook his head, a sad look in his eyes.
They stepped outside, and Mattie felt sure she had just broken whatever it was that had been growing between them. Already grieving his loss, she glanced up at the clouds then over to Milly.
“Hurry!”
The door to the dugout rattled on its wooden frame. Only the facade of the dirt house was made of wood, and she prayed that it held up under the fierce winds. Debris thumped and thudded against the front of the house, like a bully flinging rocks—a bully angered because it couldn’t reach them. Mattie pressed her back against the cool dirt walls, thankful for the protection of the earthen cave. How were Conall and Glynna faring? Should she have listened and stayed with them?
“That wind sounds like the train that passed us in Nebraska, remember?” Jess said, her voice sounding only a little nervous.
“It does.” Milly bumped Mattie’s shoulder as she hugged Jess, who sat between them. “That train was so big and loud—like a ferocious beast.”
“And it was smelly.”
Mattie chuckled at Jess’s comment, glad for some humor in a tense situation. “It liked to have scared the horses to death.”
“And Pa had to chase one down.” Milly cleared her throat.
After a long moment when no one talked, Jess said, “What do you think happened to Pa?”
Something whacked hard against the dugout’s facade, and they all jumped. The log wall creaked and groaned. If it caved in, they’d be facing the storm with no protection. Mattie closed her eyes in spite of the darkness. Please, God. Keep the Donegans and us safe.
“It’s almost Christmas,” Jess whispered. She sniffled. “I miss Pa.”
Mattie groped in the dark for her sister’s hand. “We all do, chickadee. Pa will come back to us—if he can.”
Jess leaned her head against Mattie’s arm. “Do you think he’s dead?”
“I don’t know.” Mattie thought of her hearty father. He’d taught her all she knew about living off the land, and she found it difficult to believe he was dead.
Milly sniffled, and Jess did, too.
“Don’t fall apart on me now. Listen, I believe the wind is dying down.”
Milly coughed. “So you think the cyclone has passed us?”
The angry black twister Mattie had seen on the horizon as they raced for the dugout had been unlike anything she’d ever encountered. A fat, swirling black beast bent on devouring them. But it hadn’t—and it was gone. Mattie sucked in a strengthening breath and stood. She lifted off the wooden brace that had been the only thing keeping the storm out, set it down, then pushed open the door. Sunlight poured in, and only a remnant of clouds remained. Limbs ripped from trees hundreds of feet away, wooden shakes, clothing, and debris of all kinds littered the land. A pitchfork had lodged itself in the dugout’s facade, its handl
e sticking straight out into the air. Something white—one of Glynna’s shirt waists—hung from the end of the handle, like a flag of surrender. Only she wasn’t sure if it was the pitchfork or the storm that had surrendered. Just past the dugout, she recognized two of the long poles from her tipi lying on the ground. She swallowed hard, thankful they hadn’t taken shelter there.
Pulling her gaze away, she looked across the field for the cabin—but it wasn’t there. Mattie gasped. A knifelike pain pierced her heart, and she started walking then broke into a run.
“Mattie, what’s wrong?” Milly shouted behind her.
Only one thought etched her mind—had Conall and Glynna survived?
Chapter 8
Conall coughed. The darkness faded, and he lifted an arm over his eyes as a brilliant shaft of sunlight bore through the cloud of dust that had enveloped him. Where was he? Why were his clothes wet? Why was Glynna shouting at him?
As his head and vision cleared, he remembered. The storm! He leaned up on one elbow, gazing around. The roof of his house was gone, and the walls had collapsed. A pain stabbed his head, matching the one in his leg. He blinked several times as his vision blurred. He finally focused on the roof ’s crossbeam, which had broken in half with one section lying across his thighs. Pushing hard, he was unable to move it. He lay back, praying the swirling fog would leave.
“Conall.”
“Glynna!” He attempted to sit, instantly sorry for the sudden movement, but his legs were held immobile by the log lying across them. They were sore, but he could tell nothing was broken. Brushing at a tickle on his forehead, he searched for his sister. When he pulled back his hand, it was covered in blood and dirt.
“Here. Under the table.”
Slowly, he turned his head, searching the rubble that had been his family’s home—a home they’d only lived in for six months. Nothing looked the same except for the black iron stove that stood up from the rubble, looking proud and untouched. The table had collapsed, but one corner was propped up on a chair, and his sister’s skirt stuck out from under it. She moved her leg, but he couldn’t see the top half of her body. A jumble of chairs and a large tree branch blocked his view. “Are you hurt?”
“Only a little, I think. But I’m stuck.”
Conall tried tugging his legs free, but the beam refused to move. “I am, too. We’ll have to wait for help. Try to keep still.” He lay back, looking at the amazingly blue sky, which was so different than the angry gray one he’d seen only minutes before. He shivered, probably more from his wet clothing than the temperature. Sure, it had dropped after the storm, but it still remained warmer than the first weeks of early December. That was something he could be thankful for. If the weather was frigid, he and Glynna might freeze before help came. “Help us, Lord. Keep Brian safe. And Mattie.”
Mattie! He pushed up again and looked toward the dugout, but his view was blocked by the mound of logs that had been the walls of the cabin. Please, God, let Mattie and her sisters be safe. Lying back again, he wondered if he shouldn’t have listened to her. She’d been so insistent that the cabin wasn’t safe—and she had been correct.
“Conall!”
Mattie’s cry brought a flood of joy, warming his chest, and in that moment, he knew he loved her. He’d never dreamed he’d fall for a woman so quickly, but he had, and the splash of her feet brought her closer each second. “Mattie, be careful of nails—broken glass. They can pierce your moccasins.”
The footsteps stopped, but then Mattie’s face appeared to the side of the heap of logs. “Where are you? Where’s Glynna?”
He pushed up onto his elbows and welcomed the relief in her gaze when she saw him. He smiled, hoping to alleviate some of her concern. “As luck would have it, I’m pinned down, and so is Glynna.”
“How bad are you hurt? There’s blood on your face.”
“Not bad.” He shook his head, and though it pained him, the ache was less severe. “Can you get to Glynna? She’s by the table.”
Mattie rose up on her tiptoes, he surmised, and gazed around the rubble. “I think I could get to you easier. Let me fetch one of the horses to haul away some of this rubble.”
“How did your sisters fare?”
“They’re fine. Still in the dugout.”
Her gaze caught his and held. There was no I-told-you-so. Only genuine concern and—dare he hope—something more. Then she was gone.
As he lay listening to the uncommon silence, he gazed upward again. Why did this have to happen? What lesson would You have me learn from this, Lord?
Mattie rushed to the barn, tossed open the doors, then found the harness for Conall’s stock horse, thankful that the structure had withstood the rigors of the storm. Patches of sky shone overhead where the shakes had been blow off and in several cracks in the walls, but the structure was still standing and in good condition. As she harnessed the large horse, she thought again of the relief that flooded her when she saw Conall in the collapsed cabin. The blood on his face scared her, but he was alive. She didn’t have time to analyze her feelings for the man, but she would need to face them soon. Thoughts of him being crushed and dead had scared the wits out of her as she ran toward the house.
Milly rushed into the barn, obviously distraught. “The house is gone. Are Glynna and Conall—”
“They’re alive, but they need our help. Where’s Jess?” Mattie backed the horse out of his stall.
“I moved her over to the doorway of the dugout so she could look out. She was worried about the Donegans.”
“Grab those ropes on the wall and c’mon.” Mattie jogged back to the cabin’s remains, glad to have her sister’s help. She handed the horse’s reins to Milly then carefully crawled through the debris, watching for nails and sharp objects.
“ ’Twas kind of you to return with such haste, lachóigín. I’d stand, considering I’m a gentleman, but as you can see, my legs are encumbered.”
Mattie smiled at Conall’s exaggerated accent, even though she had no idea what lack-o-geen meant. She was so thankful he wasn’t seriously hurt, but on second thought… “Sounds like that bump on the head knocked you silly.”
He chuckled, his eyes twinkling, and Mattie found breathing difficult. She sucked some oxygen back into her lungs and surveyed the scene. A large log, which had split in half, lay across Conall’s thighs, but thankfully the overturned settee had broken its fall. She swallowed hard, not wanting to think of what would have happened to Conall’s legs if not for the settee. But how could she free him without hurting him?
“I’ve been studying the situation, and I think if you could wedge something else under the end of the log where the couch is, and if we can lift this other side, I could slide free.”
Mattie studied the scene, not wanting to be rushed yet knowing she needed to free both siblings quickly. She crawled farther into the debris and found the trunk she was looking for, only inches from where it had been before the storm. Kicking and tossing things out of her way, she dragged it over to the log and wedged it underneath. Then she worked her way the few more feet to Conall’s side and stooped down. He lifted his dirty hand and clasped hers, gazing into her eyes, sending an unspoken message straight to her heart. He cared for her—and she did him. She didn’t know what could become of their attraction, but she knew that something had changed between them. She leaned across the beam, taking care not to put her weight on it, and brushed his hair back so she could look at his wound.
“ ’Tis not all that bad, so stop your worryin’. Just get me out of here.”
Mattie shot him a glance that said she’d worry if she wanted to then turned to Milly. “Toss one end of the rope to me, then tie the two ropes together—good and tight.”
She stepped past Conall, kicking away pieces of her life and the Donegans’—a tattered shirt she recognized as Brian’s, a tin cup someone had used for coffee just that morning, and a man’s shoe she didn’t remember seeing before. The pillow Jess had made for Glynna lay a foot away. Mattie
picked it up and brushed it off, no worse for wear in spite of the storm.
“Let me have that—and Brian’s shirt.”
She handed the items to Conall, and he shoved them under the beam and against his side. He held out his hand, and Mattie passed the rope, watching as he secured it around the beam.
“Is there a board or something strong you can give me to use as a lever and something I can wedge under the log when you lift it?”
Mattie unearthed a muddy bucket and a four-foot-long tree branch, casting a glance in Glynna’s direction. She’d not heard a word from her and prayed that she was not badly hurt. With the items in place, she moved to the side of the house and lifted the rope over the mound of logs. She could only pray they held long enough to free Conall. Mattie checked that Milly had secured the other end of the rope to the horse’s harness and prayed that it, too, held. Please, God, help us get them out of here.
She motioned for Milly to back up the horse and hurried to Conall’s side. The rope creaked, the logs groaned, and the beam across Conall’s legs slowly lifted. “A little more,” she shouted to her sister. The beam rose, and Mattie shoved the bucket under it as Conall slid backward.
“I’m free!”
Tension released and the rope relaxed with the log resting on top of the bucket.
Mattie squatted next to Conall and watched him rub his legs. His gaze, filled with gratitude, lifted to hers. “Thank you, lachóigín.”
She smiled and caressed his dirty cheek. “What does that mean?”
“Pretty girl.”
Heat warmed her face. No one other than her pa had called her pretty. Embarrassed down to her damp toes, she chose to ignore it. “Can you stand?”
“I think so.” He pushed up and wobbled a bit, and then he grasped Mattie’s shoulder and tugged her closer. “I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you.”
Mattie smiled against his wet shirt. “You were right about the barn though. It’s still standing.”
“Is it now?” His finger lifted her chin, and she gazed into those brilliant blue eyes she adored. Conall leaned down, his breath warm on her face, and kissed her—sweet and chaste. Mattie didn’t have time to consider how her insides were spinning faster than that tornado before he stepped back.
A Pioneer Christmas Collection Page 48