“Maybe I’ll fail,” she said, her tone as dispassionate as she could make it. “And maybe I won’t. But I’m like Scarlett O’Hara in Gone With the Wind. I read the book when I was thirteen. Even then, I understood what her father told her. Land is what’s important. Land is the only thing that lasts.”
Drew rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands, probably to keep from strangling her. “That makes perfect sense,” he said quietly, “if this had been in your family’s possession for generations. But it’s not Andrews land. And I freely admit that it’s not Farrell land either. It does, however, adjoin my property, Beth.”
“If you were so hell bent on having it, you should have outbid me.” They squabbled frequently about her supposed infractions of the “neighbor” code, but this was the first time he’d been so visibly angry. She knew that at the heart of the matter was his desire to buy her out, though he hadn’t mentioned it today. The last time he’d tried, she’d accused him of harassment.
“I’m merely asking you to see reason.”
His implication that she was unreasonable made her grind her teeth. “I think we’ll have to agree to disagree on this one.”
“Will you at least consider selling your produce somewhere in town? If you think about it, the central location could increase your customer base and it would keep the traffic off this road.”
Darn him, he had a point. But she wasn’t willing to cede the field yet. Her involuntary mental pun might have made her laugh if she hadn’t been in the midst of a heated argument with her macho, gorgeous neighbor. “Part of the experience of coming to Green Acres is for tourists and locals to see the pumpkins in the field. They can take pictures to their heart’s content and post them on Facebook. If they want to, they can traipse around the lot and choose their own prize. The ambience would be totally different in town.”
* * *
Drew knew when to back off strategically. He had given her something to think about. For the moment. But he wasn’t going to give up. Horse breeding was a long-term venture. Patience and planning and persistence made the difference. Of course, a little dollop of luck now and then didn’t hurt either.
Beth was stubborn and passionate. He could respect that. “I tell you what,” he said. “If you think about my suggestion and decide you could sell in bigger quantities in town, my guys will help you get set up, including all the logistics of hauling your stuff. Does that sound fair?” He paused. “You can have as much time as you need to think about it.”
She tugged at a strand of hair the wind had whipped into her mouth. He couldn’t help noticing her lips. They were pink and perfect. Eminently kissable. He wondered if her lip gloss was flavored. The random thought caught him off guard. He was in the midst of a serious conflict, not an intimate proposition. Though the latter had definite appeal.
Beth stared at him, her expression hard to fathom. “Do you always get what you want?” she asked quietly.
Guilt pinched hard. His life had been golden up until this point. He had a hunch Beth’s had not. “It’s not a sin to go after what you want,” he muttered.
“Exactly,” she said. “And that’s what I did when I bought my home. You had a chance, but you made a poor business decision. You can’t blame me for that.”
Drew noticed in some unoccupied corner of his mind that the wind was no longer as wild. The air was thick and moist. Sweat trickled down his back. Beth, however, looked cool and comfortable in a navy tank top that hugged her breasts and khaki shorts that showcased her stunning legs.
What stuck in his craw was that she was right on one point. It was his fault that he had lost this property. If he had wanted it so badly, he should have made a generous offer and sealed the deal. Unfortunately, Drew had been in Dubai at the moment the land came on the market. His business manager, a smart, well-intentioned employee, had taken the initiative and made an offer on Drew’s behalf.
No one had imagined that the small farm would attract any buyers, hence the lowball offer. Drew had been as surprised as anyone to hear he’d been outbid.
Beth touched his arm. “Look at that,” she said, pointing.
He tried to ignore the spark of heat where her fingers made contact with his skin. But it was immediately replaced by a chilling sensation as he glanced upward. The clouds had settled into an ominous pattern. It looked as if someone had taken a black marker and drawn a line across the sky—parallel to the ground—about halfway between heaven and earth. Below the line everything seemed normal. But in that unusual formation above, menace lurked.
“It’s a wall cloud,” he said, feeling the hair on his arms stand up. “I saw one as a kid. We have to take shelter. All hell is about to break loose.”
As the words left his mouth, two things happened almost simultaneously. Warning sirens far in the distance sounded their eerie wail. And a dark, perfectly-shaped funnel dropped out of the cloud.
Beth gasped. “Oh, God, Drew.”
He grabbed her arm. “The storm cellar. Hurry.” He didn’t bother asking where it was. Everyone in this part of the country had a shelter as close as possible to an exit from their home, so that if things happened in the middle of the night, everyone could make it to safety.
They ran as if all the hounds of hell were after them. He thought about picking her up, but Beth was in great shape, and her long legs ate up the distance. Her house was a quarter of a mile away. If necessary, they could hit the ground and cover their heads, but he had a bad feeling about this storm.
Beth panted, her face red from exertion. “Are we going to make it?”
He glanced over his shoulder, nearly tripping over a root. “It’s headed our way...but at an angle. We have to make it. Run, Beth. Faster.”
The rain hit when they were still a hundred yards from the house. They were drenched to the bone instantly. It was as if some unseen hand had opened a zipper and emptied the sky. Unfortunately, the rain was the least of their worries. A roar in the distance grew louder, the sound chilling in volume.
They vaulted across the remaining distance, their feet barely touching the ground.
In tandem, they yanked at the cellar doors. The furious wind snatched Beth’s side out of her hand, flinging it outward.
“Inside,” Drew yelled.
Beth took one last look at the monster bearing down on them, her wide-eyed gaze panicked. But she ducked into the cellar immediately. Drew wrestled one door shut, slid partway down the ladder, and dragged the final side with him, ramming home the board that served as an anchor, threading it through two metal plates.
On the bottom was a large handle. He knew what it was for and wished he didn’t. If the winds of the tornado were strong enough, the simple cellar doors would be put to the test.
The dark was menacing for a moment, but gradually his eyes adjusted. Tiny cracks let in slivers of daylight. He turned and found Beth huddled against a cinder block wall. “Come sit down,” he said, taking one of her hands in his and drawing her toward the two metal folding chairs. Her fingers were icy as she resisted him.
“I don’t want to sit. What are we going to do?”
The storm’s fury grew louder minute by minute. He had a sick feeling that Beth’s property was going to take a direct hit. Given the angle of the storm’s path, it was possible that his place was in danger, too. The most he could do was pray. His crew was trained for emergencies. They would protect human life first, but they would also do everything they could to save the horses.
He ran his hands up and down Beth’s arms. She was wet and cold and terrified. Not that she voiced the latter. “Take my shirt, Beth. Here.” When he wrapped it around her and she didn’t protest, he knew she was seriously rattled. “I’m scared, too,” he said, with blunt honesty. “But we’ll be okay.”
The violent tornado mocked him. Debris began hitting the cellar doors. Beth cried out at one particularly loud blow. She stuffed her fist against her mouth. He put his arms around her and tucked her head against his shoulder.
How ironic that he was trapped with the one woman who evoked such a confusing mix of emotions. Though he knew her to be tough and independent, in his arms she felt fragile and in need of his protection. He held her tightly, drawing comfort from the human contact.
Regrets choked him as he inhaled the scent of her hair. If they were going to die, he should have kissed her first.
Copyright © 2014 by Harlequin Books S.A.
ISBN-13: 9781459256460
The Untameable Texan
Copyright © 2014 by Harlequin Books S.A.
Special thanks and acknowledgment are given to Janice Maynard for her contribution to the Texas Cattleman’s Club: After the Storm miniseries.
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