“I’m as much of a plain Jane as you get,” she managed to answer in a strangled tone. “Ever since I can remember—through school and college—boys have avoided me. I’m not pretty, Wes. Not even close. I used to go to dances with my girlfriends because they forced me to. But I got tired of sitting against the wall waiting for someone—anyone—to ask me to dance. I got the message.”
Wes heard the raw hurt in Callie’s strained voice. It took everything he had not to reach out, brush her cheek and tell her that she was not plain at all. Just the way her lips pursed and she avoided his look told him plenty. Feeling her pain caught him off guard. There was no way Callie should have suffered like that. She was an incredible person, courageous and responsible.
“Well,” he rasped, “there’s the problem.”
Callie glanced at him. Wes seemed untouched by her opinion of her plain looks. He had placed his large, square hands on his narrow hips and was looking at the hotel. There was a slight hitch to one corner of his generous mouth.
“What problem?” she asked.
Cocking his head, Wes held her upraised gaze, which was riddled with shyness and hurt. “They were boys. What the hell did they know? Any man worth his salt would see you differently, believe me.” And how Wes wanted her to know that! He saw his compliment strike Callie like a bomb going off. Eyes widening and lips parting she turned away from him.
His heart thumped with regret. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt this brave, courageous woman. Damn.
“I’m as plain as that slab of concrete over there,” she told him emphatically, leaving no room for disagreement. She pointed at a huge portion of flooring sticking out of the flattened hotel.
“Not to me, you aren’t,” Wes said as lightly as he could. He bit back a lot of questions. Who had made Callie think she was unattractive? He wished they had time…lots of time, so that he could sit down and tell her how each inch of her was beautiful in his eyes. But time was not on their side. Already he saw more civilians making their way toward the Humvee.
“I’ll bet you think I’m giving you a line about how pretty you are. Don’t you?”
Frowning, Callie said, “Yeah, I do.”
“I’m not.” Frustrated, he stood there looking at her squared jaw and set lips. “Listen, we’re not done with this conversation,” Wes warned her in an intimate growl as he stood up and leaned over so that only she could hear him. “In my eyes, my heart, you’re an angel. Your care for others makes you beautiful to me. Okay? Okay. Good. I’m glad you agree. Now, I gotta do some more calling on the radio. Are you going up on grid two?”
Callie felt overwhelmed by his intensity. She nodded and watched as Wes picked up the radio that sat on the hood of the Humvee. “Yes…”
“Just be careful. Remember I want that first dance with you back at the O Club at Camp Reed when this disaster is over. And I’m already working on a picnic basket for that walk on the beach you suggested earlier. Promise?”
Chapter Four
January 2: 2100
Laura Trayhern forced herself not to panic. She lay in the dark, on her back, shivering. All she could hear was the grating, shifting sounds every time the earth trembled with aftershocks. The pain in her right leg was constant and in part, it helped her keep clarity of mind. All she could feel was rubble around her as she slowly swept her right arm outward in an arc. There was a tremendous rush of wind from her right that chilled her. Because she was unable to move, it was impossible to stay warm. She lay in the dark, the concrete cold and sucking away what heat she had.
How long had she lain here? The last thing she recalled was hearing a frightening, roaring sound, as if a jumbo jet was bearing down on the hotel and coming right through the window of their penthouse suite. And then the hotel had convulsed as if something as large as a plane had hit it. Laura closed her eyes and tried to lick her dry, chapped lips. Only bits and pieces of what came next were clear to her. She remembered that hellish roar. And being knocked off her feet and crashing to the floor of the bathroom where she had gone to put on her makeup. She was still in her plum-colored wool suit and had just started to unbutton it when the earthquake struck. Morgan had left minutes earlier to meet an old Marine Corps friend in the bar on the first floor for a quick drink before he came back to take her to the New Year’s Eve party in the Jungle Room.
How was Morgan? Was he dead? A sob escaped Laura. She gripped a piece of what she thought might be concrete, the sharp, jagged edges biting into her palm. No! He couldn’t be! He just couldn’t! She loved him too much. Too much. The years hadn’t dulled what she felt for him only heightened what they had together, made it even more exquisite and beautiful.
The Hoyt Hotel had been one of Morgan’s favorite haunts early in his career as a Marine Corps officer, and he’d come to this hotel to party often. He’d been stationed at Camp Reed for three months before shipping out for Vietnam, and this hotel had been a refuge for him. And now…Once again the ground trembled around her. Laura held her breath. Every time there was an aftershock, panic seized her. She could hear the grating and grinding as steel and concrete shifted around her. Would it slide enough to crush her? When she’d regained consciousness, Laura had tried to pull her right leg free, but discovered it was trapped. Her left leg was hitched up on top of the rubble that had her right one pinned, but she could at least move it. And her arms were free. But she couldn’t sit up. No, the space she was trapped in seemed to be the size and shape of a coffin, judging from the exploration she’d done with her hands. There was lots of room to her right. She’d rolled as far that way as she could, but the pain in her right ankle when she shifted prevented her from doing much exploring in her dark cave.
Dust sprinkled down constantly from above. Coughing violently, Laura pressed her cut and bloodied hands against her chest. Oh, how she needed a drink of water! Her mouth felt like cardboard.
Her heart veered to Morgan. Was he dead? Had he died in the elevator on the way down to the bar to meet his friend? Or had he died in the bar itself? No! She couldn’t allow her mind to go there. She just couldn’t.
Somehow, Laura knew she had to escape. But there was so much rubble around her. She’d picked up a lot of the broken concrete and moved it to one side. The roof of her cave was low, yet she could roll from her back to her side. If there was wind, that meant there might be an escape route to the outside. Her mind spun with ideas and ways to get free. But every time she tried to pull her right leg in any direction, pain shot up it, making her lose consciousness for minutes at a time. She had no idea if she was bleeding from her leg injury. There was no way to lean down to touch it. The whole lower leg was numb below her knee, so she had no idea of the extent of damage.
Laura thought of their children, and pain of a different sort blazed through her. She couldn’t die! They needed her! What must they be going through? She knew an earthquake had struck. Did their children know she and Morgan were involved? That she was trapped? Did they think their parents were dead? Laura’s heart thrashed with such agony she began to sob. Despite her anguish, no tears came, because she was so dehydrated.
Did Jason know? Had the authorities contacted their oldest son at the naval academy in Annapolis? Oh, dear God, why had Morgan argued with Jason before they’d left town? Jason had stormed back to the academy after his short visit home, angry and upset. Closing her eyes, Laura’s hands curled into fists against her breast. That was the last meeting between her husband and her son, a hot and angry one. Morgan was worried that his firstborn was throwing away his burgeoning military career, refusing to study hard and make the good grades he needed in order to stand out at the academy and groom favor from the higher-ups.
Jason had accused his father of constantly expecting him to shoulder the load of Morgan’s own past—the accusation of treason that had plagued him when he’d returned to the States after Vietnam. It was as if Jason felt the burden of dispelling lingering doubts about the family name and upholding the long history of honor. Wel
l, Jason was tired of Morgan pressuring him and tired of his classmates expecting heroic things from him because he was the son of a living hero. At Annapolis, Morgan Trayhern was a legend. He was held up as a model of what a true marine was all about. Most marine officers went through the naval academy. Morgan had. And now Jason was expected to, also. Only Jason was tired of trying to live up to his father’s illustrious legacy. He could never be his father, never live up to the expectations Morgan had of him. Laura tried to get Morgan to understand that, but Morgan’s determination where his son was concerned was fueled by a two-hundred-year family legacy in which the first born son went into military service. Laura had seen the identity crisis building in her son. Intuitively, she knew he didn’t want a military career and he was going through all the motions to appease his father. All Laura could do was helplessly watch as neither father nor son could truly separate themselves from the Trayhern family heritage. She felt Jason was at a breaking point but she couldn’t do anything about it. She wasn’t sure what the pressure was going to do to Jason. Worse, what actions he’d take to rid himself of his father’s expectations. Though Morgan loved Jason, he refused to see his son as an individual. That was the crux of the problem.
Sighing raggedly, Laura opened her eyes. No tears came, but her heart was breaking. Rightly or wrongly, Morgan had pressured their son to be all that any young man could be expected to live up to. Jason couldn’t be his father. He couldn’t be a legend, something even his classmates seemed to expect of him. No child could possibly carry that kind of weight on his shoulders and survive. Laura knew that Morgan had only dimly begun to realize that their son had to be his own person, not a replica of Morgan.
Jason had stormed out of their house, caught a bus to Anaconda and then a flight back to Annapolis five days earlier than his leave dictated because he couldn’t stand the fights he and his father had gotten into during his stay.
“Oh, Jason…my poor little boy…” she whispered tremulously. What must Jason be feeling now? He’d known that they were going out to Southern California for New Year’s. He knew they’d be at the Hoyt Hotel. How was he handling this awful news? Laura pressed her hands against her closed eyes, her elbows brushing against the ceiling of her coffin. Somehow, she had to get out of here. Somehow, she must survive—for their children’s sake. But how?
January 2: 2100
Callie staggered with exhaustion as she carefully climbed down off the heap of debris. It was completely dark, except for the thousands of fires dotting the landscape as far as the eye could see. Dusty hopped down to the ground, his tail wagging. She followed, leaping the last couple of feet, flashlight in hand, and then patted his head gently.
“Good boy. Let’s go see if Wes got those MREs in. I’m starving and you must be, too.” They walked around the perimeter of the ruined hotel. Callie tried to keep her emotions at bay. They’d searched five grids today and had found no sign of life. They’d discovered twenty dead bodies so far. As she walked tiredly down Palm Boulevard, she saw that much had changed with their H.Q. since noon today. She’d been working the backside of the massive hotel, so hadn’t seen what was going on with Wes and his group until now.
There were lights—bright lights—standing on steel stilts and powered by a gasoline-fed generator nearby. She saw Wes bending over a blueprint on the hood of the Humvee, talking with two of his men. Instantly, her step became lighter. Her heart hammered briefly. Just seeing Wes infused her with a happiness that drove away the sadness she carried. Nearby, she saw the two bulldozers and buckets. A number of civilians, people who had lived in the area, most likely, were also huddled around the Humvee, talking animatedly to Wes. Callie’s heart expanded with such wonderful emotions that she felt suffused by a warmth that loosened the cold knot in her stomach. Finding dead people might be a part of her job, but it was the worst part of it, and over time, Callie had begun to feel like a wrung-out dishcloth. She felt so depressed by the fact that Dusty had found no one alive that now she clung to anything that looked halfway uplifting or positive. And seeing Wes was a huge high for her.
As she got closer, she recognized Morgan Trayhern. Someone had given him a marine cammo jacket. It was cool tonight, in the fifties. The sky was turning cloudy, and Callie wondered if it would rain. That wouldn’t be good; it would only make what they had to do more miserable to endure. Right now, there were few places to hide from the rain, few homes standing. Everything had been flattened in the quake. There was no shelter for anyone except for tents that had been helicoptered in during the day. Now tents doted the lawns of nearby homes, forming a small tent city around the destroyed Hoyt Hotel. No, they didn’t need rain on top of all of this.
Callie saw the grim look on Morgan’s face as he stood next to Wes. The older man’s hands were swathed in white dressings. In one hand, Morgan held the pair of leather gloves he’d worn. All day he’d been digging and searching for his wife, Laura. From time to time, Callie had heard him calling for her. It was all so sad. Callie knew from experience that few people would survive this hotel collapse. The man’s eyes burned with a look of anguish that made her wince. How much he loved his wife! Callie wished that she might someday meet a man who loved her as fiercely as Morgan loved Laura. That kind of love, she knew, was in short supply nowadays. People didn’t know how to make a relationship work; at the first sign of trouble, they usually bailed out and divorced. That’s not what she wanted. She wanted something like Morgan Trayhern had with his Laura, a marriage where love deepened over time. Callie had no doubt that Morgan and Laura had their ups and downs. But they loved one another enough to persevere, work through the bad spots and keep growing as individuals within the framework of their marriage.
As Callie approached, the group broke up and went back to their assigned jobs. She saw Wes twist to look in her direction. Unaccountably, her heart thumped once, hard, in her breast. She smiled at him tentatively, noting how the garish lights emphasized the strong lines of his face. As she met his gaze, his officer’s facade melted and a smile shone through. A smile for her. It lifted Callie’s flagging spirits even higher.
“Any luck?” Wes asked, rolling up the plans. Callie looked disheveled and exhausted. Her face was covered with smudges of dust and dirt. Yet it was so good to see her again. There wasn’t an hour that went by when Wes didn’t stop what he was doing and look at the hotel, wondering how she was. When she was working on the opposite side, he couldn’t see her, and that ate at him. They’d suffered several aftershocks, and she was the last person he wanted to see hurt.
His pulse bounded as she smiled softly up at him. Callie reached up just then, unsnapped the helmet she wore and took it off. Because she still had her thick gloves on, the chin strap slipped between her fingers and her helmet bounced a couple of times on the ground near her boot. Wes leaned down and retrieved it for her.
“No luck,” Callie said quietly, taking the helmet from him. “Thanks…”
“You look tuckered out.” For two days now, Callie had worked relentlessly, in nearly eighteen-hour shifts, in her search efforts on the Hoyt. The only time she came down off the rubble was to feed herself and Dusty. Those were precious, stolen moments to him. But even then, Wes was usually inundated by civilians wanting help or asking questions.
He reached into the opened driver’s side door of the Humvee. “We just got a fresh supply of MREs in this afternoon.” He grabbed one and handed it to her. The packaged meals could be eaten after hot water was added, making them highly practical in such chaotic times. The food was better than nothing, but a long way from a gloriously hot, homemade meal. But that probably wasn’t going to happen for them in the coming days.
Callie took the package. “Great. Lotsa MREs mean more choices. I’m tired of macaroni and cheese.” She grinned as he smiled.
“How are you doing?”
“I’m beat. How’s it going down here? I see the civilians starting to create their own tent city?” she asked as she carefully placed her helmet on the
hood so it wouldn’t roll off. Callie knew that Camp Reed H.Q. was trying to create a constant stream of incoming supplies to the grid areas in the Los Angeles basin. That meant the helicopter crews were flying long hours to keep food, water, medicine and other supplies funneling slowly but surely into these devastated communities. Without the chopper supply lines, people would already be rioting, starving, dying from lack of water. It wasn’t the best of all worlds, but it was better than nothing. She knew from talking to Wes this morning that there was a huge effort underway to create dirt roads into the basin with bulldozers from the Marine Corps facility. Once roads were in place, huge diesel trucks filled with a lot more supplies could reach those who needed them the most.
“Good, under the circumstances,” Wes murmured. “We’re lucky because we’ve got construction equipment. I talked to the owner of the outfit down the street and he’s got a small crane. We’re going to put it into operation later tonight. Our main problem is gasoline, but the owner, Bob Dorffman, has a huge underground tank with ten thousand gallons, so we’re set that way. Somehow, it survived the quake. Don’t ask me how, but it did. That gasoline is going to be like gold in the future.”
Callie smiled a little. “That’s great. And yes, I’ve seen people kill for a gallon of gasoline over in Turkey. Do you have a sentry guarding it yet?”
“No…not yet. I’m getting more personnel in tomorrow. I’ve requested two sentries, and they’ll do twelve-hour shifts over in that gas storage area.”
The Heart Beneath Page 7