Baby, I’m Yours (4 page)

Emory pressed on and at the bottom of the tower, jumped up to grasp hold of the bottom rung of the metal ladder, then pul ed himself up. During the long climb up, the wind buffeted him, but he didn’t care. He was determined to get to the top no matter how much the weather conditions had worsened.

When he stepped onto the metal platform that surrounded the gigantic tank, the wind was blowing so hard, he had to grip the handrail to stay upright. Since the tower was the highest point in Sweetness, two radio antennae had been erected on the platform, along with a rusty metal box labeled “weather warning sirens.” For now the gigantic pump that refil ed the water tank was quiet.

No matter how many times he’d seen this view of the red clay mountains and the blue-green val ey beneath, it stil took his breath away. He felt a pang that such a beautiful place was both a blessing and a curse to the people who lived there—the matchless scenery also served as a natural barrier, effectively cutting off the residents from the rest of the world.

Emory stood in the howling wind, while the love and the resentment he felt for this place warred within him. He’d met the love of his life here, appreciated how this place had molded them both…but now this isolated mountain town wanted to hold on to the woman who meant more than anything else to him.

She’d said no.

Rage rose in his chest…at this town, at Shelby’s father, at Shelby…and at himself. He’d made such an ass out of himself, he didn’t blame her for saying no. He’d been so determined to prove to her father that Shelby would choose him over her own blood, he’d ambushed her. It must have broken her heart to have to say no in front of al those people. She was, no doubt, completely humiliated.

Worse, he’d proved to everyone present that he’d put his own needs before Shelby’s. He’d only given her father more ammunition to oppose their marriage.

Emory put his head back and unleashed a tortured cry into the swirling wind, then slammed his fist into the giant metal tank. The thick steel was so unyielding, his big hand bounced back, his knuckles bruised and bloody, with only a faint ping. And the momentum threw him off balance.

His brain processed the life-threatening predicament as the metal platform came up to meet him. He could easily slide off the edge beneath the handrail.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Now Shelby would be burying him instead of marrying him.

He flailed and landed bel y-down on the edge of the platform with an
oomph,
his face hanging over the edge. But miraculously, his outspread arms and legs kept him from going over. Emory lay there blinking, gasping for air as the sense of gaping emptiness beneath him made his stomach swing and his body seize in panic. The ground was far, far below him.

That had been close.

He closed his eyes until his body relaxed, then rol ed to his back and slowly pushed to his feet. He flexed his hand, grateful he hadn’t broken any bones, but relishing the physical release. The vibrant pain was a distraction from the emotional ache he didn’t know how to fix.

He gripped the handrail, feeling spent and pondering his next move. Should he show up at the Moons’ tonight in the hopes that Shelby would agree to see him? Try to intercept her before she left the store? Or just leave her alone?

That would be the cruelest punishment of al .

As if to add insult to injury, the sul en sky opened up and rain began to fal in sheets. Emory lifted his face to receive the big drops, and was soon drenched. The wind whipped around him and before long, his visibility had diminished to arm’s length. Stil , he stood there, welcoming the harsh elements.

Then, as suddenly as the rain had started, it stopped, along with the wind. The absence of air was so abrupt, it was as if someone had pul ed a plug on the power source. The calm before the storm? Emory, with water dripping from his hair and nose, scanned the greenish sky for lightning strikes in the distance. Instead, what he saw made his heart stand stil .

A funnel cloud.

So perfectly formed—the top of it bowl-wide and symmetrical before tapering to a graceful tip—it was almost cartoonish.

If it hadn’t been so completely, utterly horrifying.

His mind raced as he tripped back to the ladder on unstable legs. His cel phone didn’t get service here in Sweetness, so he couldn’t raise an alarm.

Alarm.

Remembering the box on the front of the tower, he turned and made his way back to it. As he felt along the side for a latch, hail began to fal with such force it felt as if it were being thrown from the sky. The icy bal s pelted him and fel to the platform, the size of golf bal s. He located a latch on the side of the box, but it was rusted closed. He pul ed with al of his strength, but the door didn’t budge. The sharp, jagged edges cut into his palms, further weakening the hand he’d so foolishly slammed into the tank.

Defeated, Emory stopped to get his breath. The hail was blowing horizontal y now, and felt like knives stabbing his bare skin. Shielding his face, he looked over his shoulder and saw the mammoth tornado spinning closer, although it hadn’t yet touched down. The trailing tail hovered horizontal y to the ground, grotesquely beautiful in its teasing dance.

If it touched down, the val ey would channel the twister directly into Sweetness.

Directly to Shelby.

Emory turned back to the box and leveraged his shoulder under the edge of the door. He rammed it again and again until he felt the door begin to give. With one last rush of adrenaline, he thrust his body against it and heard the grate of metal against metal as it scraped open. Almost weak with relief, Emory shielded his eyes from the hail to scan the contents of the box—two loudspeakers, and a rusty lever. Whatever written directions were posted had been obliterated long ago. That, and the condition of the box itself gave Emory another scary thought—what if the alarm wasn’t operational? He couldn’t remember ever hearing the warning sirens in his lifetime, not even as a test.

Because everyone knew that tornadoes didn’t occur at this altitude, and in this terrain.

He put both hands on the lever and prayed.

Then he pul ed.

Shelby sat on a crate of paper towels in the bathroom, wiping her tears and trying to regain her composure. But how could she regroup after the life she’d dreamed about had disintegrated?

No, it hadn’t disintegrated…she’d thrown it away.

Emory loved her. He’d proven it a thousand times over. He’d tried to do the right thing by talking to her father before he proposed, and then had reacted out of frustration to her father’s refusal to grant his blessing.

And she’d made matters worse by letting her stubborn pride get in the way. She wanted Emory to acknowledge that she was giving up something in order to marry him, when in reality she wanted to leave with him, to go somewhere they could start their lives together, just the two of them.

She was blaming Emory because she was too afraid to confront her father about living her own life.

Shelby stood and blew her nose. She’d have plenty of time to cry later. For now they were stil scrambling to take care of customers in the midst of a power outage.

When she emerged, her father was standing nearby, pretending to sweep. He looked up and the expression on his face pul ed at her heart.

“You okay?”

She decided to be honest. “I don’t know. I love him, Daddy.”

His jaw hardened. “If he loves you, he’l want what’s best for you.”

“What is that, Daddy? What’s best for me?”

He gestured vaguely with one arm. “Not being an army wife, dragged al over the country, living alone if he gets deployed again, taking care of kids by yourself. You need to be close to your family.”

“Close to the store?” she asked softly.

“That, too,” he admitted. “This is going to be yours someday.”

She bit into her lip. “What if I don’t want it?”

As soon as she saw the stricken look on his face, she wished she could take the words back. But she couldn’t unring a bel .

“You don’t want my store?” he asked, his voice choked.

Her heart squeezed painful y. She walked up to him and put her arms around his neck. “Daddy, I love this place, you know I do—I practical y grew up here. But my future is with the man I love, with Emory. And he can’t make a living in this town. He has plans to go to col ege, and I’d like that for myself, too. Don’t you want me to be happy?”

He looked tortured. “But I can’t protect you if you aren’t nearby.”

Shelby blinked back tears, then had to laugh. His simple logic was so backwards. “Daddy, Emory wil protect me.”

“So he says,” her father grumbled. “Besides, what does it matter? You already said no.”

She sighed. “That was a mistake. I think I need to go find him. Can you do without me here for a while?”

Her father worked his mouth back and forth. She could tel by his hesitation that he was stil unconvinced that handing her over to Emory Maxwel was in her best interests.

Suddenly a loud wailing noise sounded in the distance, the tone swinging high, then low, like the sirens she’d heard in movies signaling a bomb raid. “What’s that?”

Her father’s brow creased, then his eyes widened. “It’s the tornado siren, from the water tower. I haven’t heard it since I was a boy.”

“Tornado?” she exclaimed. “On this mountain?”

“Let’s hope not.” He cupped his hands and yel ed, “Everyone, to the basement!” He made a shooing motion to her. “Go, Shelby!”

“Come with me.”

“I’m right behind you. Go!”

But he went in the opposite direction, his head swinging as he looked for customers. He was shouting directions as he went, over the wail of the siren. Shelby was torn, but headed for the basement door and held it open, directing customers to hurry, but to stay calm. “Watch your step…head for the columns…pack in as tightly as you can…watch your step.”

She counted as people filed past her, hoping the number would be inconsequential, but aware of the seriousness of the situation. Ten…twenty…thirty…forty…

They were more crowded than usual because their registers had gone down. She was tormented by the thought that some people might’ve been home safe by now if she’d just closed the store when the power had gone out.

Then her heart jumped to her throat.
Emory.
Where was he?

She maintained a forced smile as customers continued to descend into the basement, some helping others. Mitch stopped and told her to go ahead of him, but Shelby shook her head. “I’m waiting for my father.”

Apparently he heard the resolve in her voice because he went ahead. When the last customer was inside, Shelby’s heart beat faster. “Daddy?” she shouted. The sirens were stil screeching—it was the most terrifying sound she’d ever heard.

Until she heard the other noise that threatened to drown out the sirens—a horrific roaring noise, like the sound of a locomotive. It was a sound she’d heard described so many times by tornado survivors.

“Daddy!” she screamed. “Daddy, hurry!” She nearly buckled in relief to see him running around the corner toward her.

“That’s everyone!” he said. “Go, go!”

She scrambled down the stairs and he was behind her, then slammed the door. The crowd was sitting huddled together on the floor, circled around beams that held up the ceiling. Mitch passed out flashlights, which il uminated the fear on the faces of every man and woman. Some were openly crying, praying aloud for their loved ones and the safety of the town.

Shelby sat down next to her father, who put his arm around her. But she was beside herself with worry about Emory. If she hadn’t been so selfish and unkind, he might be here with them now.

The roaring noise grew louder and the ceiling began to shake. The twister, it seemed, was upon them. Screams fil ed the air. The basement lights went out, leaving only the points of flashlights. Overhead, the building groaned, fol owed by the wrenching, crunching noises of wood splintering and glass breaking. The wal s of the basement shook, sending items from shelves crashing to the floor. Shelby couldn’t hear her own heartbeat. She could feel her father’s mouth moving against her forehead, knew he was praying. She’d never been so petrified in her life.

A terrible creaking noise sounded, then an explosion, and the stairwel fil ed with debris. Rubble rained down on them. If the beams gave way, they’d be buried alive.

Shelby wondered if she would die…and thought how terrible it would be to perish before she could tel Emory that she’d made a big mistake. He would never know how much she’d loved him.

Emory lay near the base of the water tower, facedown in a ditch with his arms over his head. He’d never been so scared in his life. The relief of hearing the aged sirens sound was quickly replaced by his need to get to lower ground. He’d scrambled down the ladder as fast as he could, then dove into a shal ow dip in the ground. Hearing the twister coming like a train bearing down was horrific because he didn’t know what would happen next. The ground shook and debris rained down on him. He could hear trees being ripped out of the ground, and waited for one to fal on him.

Al he could think about was his dad and Shelby. Had his father headed home before the storm hit? And if he had, was that safer, or more dangerous? Shelby was probably stil at the grocery. Had she had time and the judgment to retreat to the supply basement? He felt utterly helpless, and crazy with worry.

The Armstrongs had a root cel ar. If Porter had seen the funnel cloud or heard the sirens in time, he and his mother had a chance.

The wind stil roared around him, worse than any sandstorm he’d ever experienced in Afghanistan. The force of it pressed him into the ground, squeezing his ribcage. He struggled to breathe and to keep his mouth and eyes closed.

The most gut-wrenching part was envisioning what might be happening in the town below him. The buildings were old and not built to withstand a storm of this magnitude. Ditto for outlying homes, barns, and outbuildings.

It was summer, so at least the school would be empty, and many businesses closed early. He kept trying to think of reasons to be hopeful that lives would be spared.