by Kris Bryant
Table of Contents
Synopsis
By the Author
Acknowledgments
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
Chapter Twenty-eight
Chapter Twenty-nine
Chapter Thirty
Epilogue
About the Author
Books Available from Bold Strokes Books
Synopsis
For the past six seasons, Tristan Stark has been chasing storms throughout the Midwest for the University of Oklahoma. Teaching during the winters and hitting the road during the spring, Tristan has little time for herself, let alone time to have a solid relationship. Rival storm chaser Kate Brighten is just starting out and winds up riding along with Tristan for two weeks. It doesn’t take long for the two to begin a tumultuous love affair on the road. But the road can’t last forever and Kate isn’t everything she seems. Once trust is broken, it’s difficult to rebuild. Can Tristan accept Kate’s secrets? Or will their love be washed away in the spring storms?
Whirlwind Romance
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Whirlwind Romance
© 2016 By Kris Bryant. All Rights Reserved.
ISBN 13: 978-1-62639-582-4
This Electronic Book is published by
Bold Strokes Books, Inc.
P.O. Box 249
Valley Falls, New York 12185
First Edition: February 2016
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.
Credits
Editor: Ashley Tillman
Production Design: Susan Ramundo
Cover Design By Sheri ([email protected])
By the Author
Jolt
Whirlwind Romance
Acknowledgments
A special thank you to Radclyffe and Sandy Lowe for taking another chance on me. Being a part of BSB has changed my life and I will always be thankful for the opportunity to tell my stories. My fantastic editor Ashley only makes my stories ten thousand times better, and I am so happy and grateful she’s got my back. Thank you to Cathy Frizzell, MJ Williamz, Laydin Michaels, Heather Blackmore, and so many other BSB writers who took me under their wings and showed me the ropes. Thank you to Kathy Creedon for giving me the title when I completely drew a blank. A special shout out to KB Draper and Stacy Wilmes for finding me here in Kansas City and keeping me on task. Their encouraging words make me love them even more. As always, thank you Deb, Patty, Shelly L., all of my friends who realize writing is my true passion, and to my parents and my sister for your love and understanding.
Dedication
To Deb who always gives me the best ideas, fills my heart, and pushes me to finish what I start.
Chapter One
I can feel Hunter staring at me, but I ignore her and continue tapping my fingers against the steering wheel, my eyes focused on the swirling dark clouds in the distance. The sweet, wet heaviness of the storm filters into the SUV and I crack the window to catch a deeper breath. We have been waiting for this all day and my pulse quickens as I put the car into gear and swing onto the highway.
“I’m not answering you on purpose,” I say. I see her roll her eyes and exhale. “We’ve got bigger things going on.” I point to the dark wall cloud looming in front of us. Mother Nature has been teasing us all morning and we’ve finally caught a break and moved beside the storm, ready to engage when that wicked whip of a tornado twists from the cloud. I smile. This is what I live for. This is my excitement. Forget closing big corporate deals. Too structured for me. I would poke sharp objects in my eyes if I had to wear a suit to work every day and kiss the asses of Ivy League assholes. I like the unpredictable. I like bantering with Mother Nature.
“At some point we will have to talk about it,” Hunter says. She updates Doppler on the laptop, and hooks up the GPS. Somehow, some way, we will get from point A to point B, fields between the storm and us are fair game as long as our faithful Chevy Tahoe will get us there. Central Iowa is a maze of barbed wire, cornfields, and dirt roads. I’ve been known to push through a gate or two to get the perfect video and data. Somebody has to do it and University of Oklahoma is willing to give me the tools to get out here and get it done. Hunter and I are just a small part of the whole team, but I like to think we are the best. “I’d like to know if I have a job next year or if I have to start sending my resume out to other colleges. Or, God forbid, television news stations.” She’s sulking and I’m going to let her. We can talk about it later.
“Do you see that?” I point at a large white object, the size of a baseball, bouncing in the street before we drive over it. “There’s another one!” The excitement lasts about ten seconds only to be replaced by genuine fear when we realize we are under a barrage of hailstones. Man, this is going to be a whopper. I cringe as they pound the hood and roof and pray the windows stay intact. I have nowhere to go so I slow down and pull onto the shoulder. It’s so loud outside that I can barely hear Hunter muttering a mere two feet away. She’s hovering over the equipment as if protecting it from hailstones that might smash through the car. I’d smile at her commitment, but I’m too nervous for our safety right now. As much as I would like to open the door and pick a few stones up, I know I’d get about two feet before being bludgeoned to death by one.
Sometimes Mother Nature likes to toy with me. The good news is that most hailstorms don’t last very long. I hear whimpering and notice that Maddox, my sweet pit bull, has crawled from the very back and is now tucked behind my seat as low as he can go. Poor baby. I reach behind my seat and pet him, doing my best to soothe both of us. Hunter grabs my camera, ready to take photos of the giant stones as soon as it’s safe. I don’t even have to tell her, she just knows that we aren’t leaving until we get documentation. We really don’t have time, but these are the largest we’ve seen and we will regret it if we don’t.
“Look at this. This core is huge,” Hunter says. I lean over to see the screen and shriek as a softball size hailstone bounces right on the hood of the car in front of us. Practically in Hunter’s lap now, I sheepishly grin at her and crawl back to my seat. She shakes her head. “You’re such a girl sometimes.” She’s never scared of anything. Last season we saw about two dozen tornadoes up close and personal, some of them F2 and F3 on the Fujita scale, and I’m sure her heartbeat never got above sixty beats per minute. Sometimes i
n this SUV, I feel like a trapped rabbit and when I see scary shit like a tornado in our path, I’m sure my heart is going to burst. I’m glad she’s with me. She’s my rock.
“It’s so weird that hail just quits,” I say. Taking my camera from Hunter’s hands, I jump out and start snapping photos. Hunter grabs the cooler and starts picking up some of the larger stones in the grass in front of the car.
“This is probably the one that hit the hood right in front of us.” She palms a stone that she can barely hold in her hand. It’s as large as a softball. I take a few photos of her holding it before she tucks it in the cooler. “We should get going. We’re missing a lot of the action.” We’ve only been out of the car two minutes, but in the world of storm chasing, two minutes can seem like a lifetime. I glance over the car as we climb back into it and cringe. Thankfully, the windows aren’t cracked, but the hood and doors are beat to hell. Dr. Williams isn’t going to be happy. Our insurance is sky high with good reason. Hunter grabs the laptop and studies it before she points us east. “We need to head east if we are going to catch anything. I don’t see any rotation yet, but there is a tiny hook forming in this cell southeast of us. If we turn left down Highway 33, we might just cut it off.” I hear and feel hailstones crunching under the tires and try my best to maneuver back onto the highway. Most sane people are home. Not us. I tell myself that we are gathering important information about storms and tornadoes and trying to make the world safer, but deep down, I know it’s really just for the thrill of the chase.
Chapter Two
So that didn’t work out the way we planned. We couldn’t intercept the tornado because atmosphere instability and wind shear gave it a different path than we predicted. That happens out here a lot. Science can only get you so far. The rest is up to Mother Nature and luck. It’s five in the afternoon and we need gas and energy. I’m sure Maddox needs a break, too. The Mobile Truck Stop is a regular stop for us. I pull up to a gas pump and gingerly step out of the SUV, stretching my body, frowning at the snaps and pops I hear. I’m only twenty-eight, but I sometimes feel like I have the body of an eighty-year-old after being hunched over a steering wheel for eight hours. Hunter jumps out and opens the door for Maddox who wastes no time in running off toward the corn field beside the truck stop.
“Well, he’s pretty excited to be free,” Hunter says. We smile and watch him as he sniffs and marks every budding plant he sees. After a few minutes, I whistle for him and he bolts back to me, his tongue hanging out. I swear he’s smiling. I keep him close because in small towns in the middle of Nowhere, Iowa, if the locals don’t recognize your dog, they shoot first, then ask questions. And pit bulls aren’t considered cute and cuddly dogs. Maddox wouldn’t hurt a flea, but I understand people’s hesitation around him. He looks like he’s killed a few people in his life. I got him when he was still a puppy, but not before he was wrapped in barbed wire and left for the coyotes in the hills behind the university. His body still shows the scars, but I believe he’s forgotten about that and has happily moved on as our traveling mascot. He jumps back into the car and I pump gas while Hunter visits the ladies’ room.
“Tris, what in the hell happened to you guys?” I hear yelled from somewhere behind me. I turn to find Adam and Brian headed toward me, their eyes huge, staring at the SUV. I shrug like it was no big deal. Our two teams left OU a few days ago, both of our vehicles smooth and free of blemishes.
“Did you not see the hailstorm a few hours ago?” I ask. I want to reach over and close their mouths because now I’m starting to feel bad. I turn around and stare with them. Yep. It’s bad. I remember the cooler and open the door to show them the enemy in the form of ice balls. I smile because they haven’t melted much. “Look at this baby.” I hold up the large hailstone and they ‘oooh’ and ‘ahhh’ collectively.
“That’s incredible. I’m surprised you didn’t lose any windows.” I nod in agreement. I can’t imagine being out of commission for days or a week waiting on new glass.
“Hi, guys,” Hunter says. She slides back up next to me, her hand digging around in a bag of Fritos. So the crappy eating has begun. “Pretty amazing, huh?”
“Williams is going to shit when he sees the car,” Brian says. Secretly I know he’s happy that this happened to us, but I don’t care. Dr. Williams respects me and my work. This isn’t the first time I’ve been somewhat responsible for destroying school property and I doubt it will be the last. Storm chasing is dangerous and we all know what we are getting into every season. Spring in the Midwest boils up large and wicked thunderstorms that produce vortexes of swirling, destructive cyclonic winds. It’s our job to record as much information about them, while trying our best to keep people safe. We record wind speeds, plot paths in relation to the storms, and video what we see. It’s not glamorous, but it’s fascinating.
“Did you guys get any footage?” I ask.
“We were too far away, but I heard on the CB that some new chasers scored video,” Adam says. That piques my interest. I hope it wasn’t some college frat boys looking for a cheap thrill. It seems like every time new chasers post videos to the Internet, twenty more teams of amateur photographers hit the road hoping to get lucky, too. Only they end up getting in the way of the professionals or worse, end up getting hurt.
“Probably some stupid kids somewhere,” Hunter says. She’s more vocal than I am at all of the new chasers every season. Most go away after one or two seasons. We are a tight knit community. With the CBs and only a few truck stops with high-speed internet work stations sprinkled throughout the Midwest, we really get to know one another on the road because we all gravitate to the same places. It’s as if we are a traveling convention three months out of the year.
“Are you guys moving on or staying put until morning?” I don’t want to ask which direction they are headed. Professional courtesy. There is a front passing the Rockies tomorrow and looks to split in Kansas and head north to Nebraska and south to Oklahoma. Hunter and I decided to head northwest. The front is supposed to stall for a bit around Lincoln and with the unstable spring air, a tornado sighting seems more plausible.
“We are going to drive for a few more hours tonight then call it a day,” Brian says. I nod in agreement. I really want a healthy meal, a hot shower, and I want to sprawl out on a big bed, but if we stop now, we might miss the action in the morning.
“We are going to stretch for a bit and then head out, too.” I wave good-bye and head into the truck stop. It’s one of the nicer ones we’ve found, with fast internet access, hot showers, and you can even rent a cot for a few hours or overnight. As I head toward the restrooms, I see a man and a woman hunched over a computer in the rustic media center and I almost stumble from stopping too quickly. I sort of recognize the man, but I’ve never seen the woman before. She’s stunning. She has long, straight strawberry blonde hair that she is twisting in her right hand. She is pointing at the screen with her left hand and her pursed mouth splits into a beautiful smile at whatever she is watching. I realize I’m blatantly staring so I pick up my pace and head to the bathroom. I want to make sure I look presentable before I introduce myself to her. Maybe by then I’ll remember how I know the guy she is sitting with and it won’t be so awkward when I butt into their conversation. I stand at the sink, stare at myself in the mirror, and try to figure out how I can make myself look better with absolutely nothing but a rubber band. I’m not MacGyver. My hair is just long enough to throw up, but leaves me with a short, stubby tail that Hunter grabs from time to time to piss me off. I decide to leave my hair down. It’s dark brown, almost black, thanks to my Cherokee heritage. My eyes are dark brown, too, and I have the Native American high cheekbones. I’ve been called attractive many times, but right now, I’m not seeing it. I see frumpy, wrinkly, exhausted Tristan staring back at me. Maybe today isn’t the best day to hit on an attractive woman. I straighten out my clothes the best I can and give myself a last minute look over before I nod confidently and walk out. They are both still sitting
there, staring at their computer so I take a moment to concentrate on him. How do I know him?
“Tristan. Hi. It’s me, Gage,” he says. Gage! I only know one Gage and he works for Oklahoma State, our rivals. Boom. His face matches up with a few functions I attended last year off season including two fundraisers and a job fair. I breathe a sigh of relief. Now engaging them in conversation isn’t going to be awkward.
“How are you?” I ask. I’m respectfully maintaining eye contact with him, but my peripheral vision is devouring his partner. I can tell she is staring at me, and even though I know it’s to be polite, I’m hoping she feels that little tingle of excitement, too. Without waiting for an introduction, I reach my hand out to her and introduce myself. “Hi, I’m Tristan. Tristan Stark.” When we make eye contact, her eyes narrow and her right brow lifts ever so slightly. Up close, she’s even more beautiful than I thought. I expect freckles across the bridge of her nose, but her skin is smooth and fair. Her eyes dart all over my face and for a brief moment, I’m actually self-conscious.
“Tris works for OU. She’s one of the top meteorologists there. Watch out for her,” Gage says.
“Thanks, Gage. It’s good to see you again. Are you guys just getting started this season?”
“We’ve been out for a few days,” he says.
“Hi. I’m Kate.” She doesn’t offer me her last name and that surprises me. She looks me over again. I can’t tell if she’s interested or just curious. When she finally smiles, I relax. I want to sit down and get to know her, but after she shoots me that beautiful smile, she returns to her laptop and I’m forgotten. She’s completely engrossed in a video and suddenly I’m feeling like the third wheel. Awkward.