Fortune's Cinderella (5 page)

She molded herself to him once more, as though she belonged there. “I don’t want to die with regrets, wondering why I didn’t try to go after my dreams. And I have to say, if I did kick the bucket right now? Sure, I’d be pissed that I didn’t get there, but at least I have the satisfaction of knowing I was on my way.”

Scott’s heart constricted as he fought the urge to tell her that she’d made him think more, feel more, in the past few hours than he probably had in ten years. If ever. That, suddenly and inexplicably, the thought of never seeing her again bothered him far more than the possibility of not making it out alive.

But he didn’t dare say that.

Not in words, at least.

“Christina?” he whispered, waiting for her face to lift to his before cupping her cheek. “This is nuts, but I want—” He swallowed.

“Go for it, Bucko,” she whispered, then softly laughed, low in her throat. “Not like anybody’s gonna know but us.”

Or at least that’s what he thought she said over his pounding heart as he lowered his mouth to hers.

“Holy hell! Found ’em—!”

“They okay—?”

“Think so, although the gal looks like she’s stuck. Frank! Hernando! Get your butts over here, now!”

Jerked awake, Scott batted at the bright light searing his eyes…until it registered that was the sun shining in his face.

“Hey, buddy—how’re you doing?”

Scott shook the last remnants of sleep and disbelief from his brain as Christina stirred in his arms, then let out a little cry. Although whether from relief, surprise or pain, Scott couldn’t tell.

“I’m fine, but she’s—”

“Yeah, we can see that,” the rescuer said, his voice graveled with both age and what had undoubtedly been a very long night.

“It’s okay, sweetheart, we’re gonna get you outta there in two shakes.” Then, to Scott, “You did good, keeping her warm like that.

Can you walk?”

“Yes. At least,” he said as he tried to stretch out his cold, stiff muscles, “I could before I fell asleep—”

“Good,” the rescuer said as three or four other people appeared, bustling around Christina, “’Cause I need you outta the way so the paramedics can do their thing—”

“But—”

“Go check on your family,” Christina said, her voice rough, “they must be worried sick.” When he still hesitated, she shut her eyes and commanded, “Go.”

“I’ll be back. I swear,” he said, although he doubted she’d heard him.

Stooped over, he crawled through the tunnel the rescuers had made in the destruction, releasing a nauseous gasp when he emerged into what looked like the set from a disaster movie.

Momentarily paralyzed, Scott struggled to absorb the scene as dozens of rescuers, some in National Guard uniforms, swarmed around him—the odd wall, still inexplicably standing; the sunlight dancing across the glass-littered ground, glancing off twisted pieces of what Scott realized in horror was a small plane; rows of seats, the leather furniture from the lounge upended, mutilated, half-buried underneath what had been the second floor. And above it all, framing the destruction, the blue, cloudless sky, serene and still and contrite, as though denying the fury it had unleashed only hours before.

“Scott! Thank God!”

He wheeled around to see Blake and Mike striding toward him, dusty and muddy and scratched up, but otherwise okay, and his head snapped back to the present. Then his cousin, Victoria, her dark curls a tangled, filthy mess, appeared, squealing as she threw her arms around each one’s neck in turn, all of them talking at once.

“—ceiling caved in so we couldn’t get out—”

“—Javier’s in bad shape, they’ve already taken him to the hospital, Miguel’s with him—”

“—Dad’s in an ambulance, something about chest pains—”

“—Mom’s got a broken wrist—”

“—but they had to give her something to calm her down,” Victoria put in, tears brimming in her eyes. “Because, that flight attendant? She…she didn’t make it.” Scott swore as Mike laid a hand on Scott’s arm, the uncharacteristic gesture raising the hairs on the back of Scott’s neck. “They haven’t found Emily yet, either.”

For a moment, he couldn’t speak. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t, for the first time in his life, make a decision. Try to find his sister or go back for Christina? Honor a promise he’d only made a few minutes ago, or his duty to family?

Frowning, Scott glanced back over his shoulder, then sighed. Meeting his brothers’ gazes, he asked, “Where was Em when the storm hit?”

“Over there, talking to Aunt Virginia,” Victoria said, pointing to where the lounge had been, then shuddering. “But then, so was I, and I ended up way the heck over there.” Her arms folded across her ribs, she nodded toward the other side of the building, then started to cry. “Oh, God—what if Em’s…”

She burst into sobs as Blake wrapped one arm around her shoulders, a moment before a shout went up from about twenty feet away.

“We got her!”

Scott and the others picked their way through the wreckage as fast as they could, getting to Emily right as the rescuers pulled her free. Like the rest of them, she was dirty and debris-ravaged, but, other than a wonky ankle, she seemed none the worse for wear.

Physically, at least. Because Scott wondered what sort of psychological toll the last fifteen, sixteen hours would have on all of them, none of whom had ever been through anything even remotely life-threatening before. Certainly he would never be the same, he thought as he made his way back to where he and Christina had spent that long, cold, miserable night, only to find that she, too, was already gone.

“Where?” he asked a state trooper on the scene.

“Same place they took everybody else. San Antonio Memorial.” The trooper looked over at his brothers and cousin. “Y’all need a ride?”

“I…I don’t know.” Forking a hand through his hair, Scott scanned the surreal landscape. “The cars—”

“All totaled,” the trooper said gently. “Except for that Escalade over there. Some dings and scrapes, but otherwise intact. Probably drives okay. Strange, how these things happen. I’ve seen entire blocks wiped out, except for one house left standing, untouched.”

Away from the mangled building by now, the officer nodded toward the SUV, which did indeed look virtually unscathed. “A rental, I’m guessing from the license plate.”

Scott nodded, his throat constricting. Around them, lights flashed, radios squawked from assorted emergency vehicles. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Mike climbing into one of the ambulances, its siren bloop-blooping as it started away. “Yeah. Ours,” he finally got out as he took in the crushed Explorer lying on its side.

“Then you’ll be wanting these,” the trooper said, digging in his pocket and handing over the keys. “They were in the ignition, so I figured I’d better take ’em. Not that I expect anybody to come out here looking for trouble, but you never know.”

Scott nodded his thanks, then said, “My brothers, they said…” His stomach turned. “Javier Mendoza? Do you have any idea where he is?”

The grave, compassionate expression in the man’s gray eyes said far more than Scott wanted to hear. “That must be the guy they got to first, lying right past the doorway. He’s probably already at the hospital by now, they can tell you more when you get there.”

The man rested a hand on Scott’s shoulder. “You okay, son? That bruise on the side of your head bothering you any—?”

“I’m fine. Or will be, soon enough. Thank you.”

The trooper’s radio crackled; with a wave he walked away, the same moment a reedy, but surprisingly strong, voice called out.

“Oh, Scotty—thank God you’re all right!”

Forcing a smile for his mother, Scott made his way through the angled vehicles toward her, the warm sun again giving the lie to the wicked, bizarre weather from the day before. Wrapped in a silver Mylar blanket and propped up on a gurney, her arm strapped to her chest, his mother accepted his kiss, then asked, with anxious eyes, if they’d found Emily.

“Yes. A few minutes ago—”

“Is she…is she all right?”

“She’s fine. Her ankle’s a little messed up, but you know our Em—can’t keep a good girl down—”

“And Jordana?”

Figuring whatever they’d given her, combined with the trauma, was playing tricks with their mother’s head, Scott said quietly,

“Jordana didn’t come, remember? She stayed at the resort—”

“No, no—she called me on my cell about ten minutes before the tornado hit, said she’d changed her mind and was getting a ride to the airport with that Tanner person.” She grasped Scott’s wrist with her good hand, her eyes wide with fear. “Oh, God, Scott—if she was on the road—”

“I’m sure she’s fine, Mom,” Scott said evenly, even if his stomach didn’t agree.

“All righty, Mrs. Fortune, we need to get going,” the attendant said, adding, as another pair of EMTs wheeled Emily toward them,

“Your daughter’s going to ride with you, how’s that?”

“Emily, sweetheart…!”

As the last ambulance finally pulled away with his mother and sister inside, Scott stood with his hands in his pants pockets, a light, chilly breeze ruffling his hair as he surveyed the decimated landscape—fences gone, trees uprooted or snapped in two, entire windbreaks felled like bowling pins. Oddly, the storm seemed to have inflicted far less damage to the flight school building behind him—it was still standing, at least—but Scott had overheard some of the rescuers saying that this tornado was only one of a series.

That others—although not as devastating, thankfully—had also touched down in Red Rock itself, causing even more damage.

Blake came up beside him, one hand on his hip, the other cuffing the back of his neck. “Holy crap.”

“That about sums it up.”

“Think this is what’s known as one of those life-altering events.”

A lot more than you know, Scott mused, his thoughts drifting back to Christina—the heat of her hand gripping his, her trusting weight against his chest…the lingering buzz from that sweetly electric kiss. Still. Even in the clear light of day.

Crazy.

But damn if he didn’t feel as though somebody’d flipped a switch in his brain…a switch he hadn’t even known had been in the

“off” position.

He looked back over Blake’s shoulder to see their cousin picking through the debris, wobbling on her high-heeled boots like a tipsy mountain goat. “What on earth is Victoria doing?”

“Looking for her luggage, she said. I suppose it’s giving her something to focus on so she won’t freak out.” Blake met Scott’s gaze. “She keeps talking about some dude in a cowboy hat pulling her out of the rubble then disappearing. Got any clue who she’s talking about?”

“None,” Scott said, thinking he had far more pressing things on his mind than Victoria’s mystery cowboy in shining armor. Like the woman who, in one night, had twisted him far more inside out than a tornado ever could. Not knowing how badly she was hurt…

Pulling the rental’s keys from his pocket, Scott called to his cousin. “Vicki! We need to get to the hospital.”

She looked up, shielding her eyes from the sun. The wind caught in her hair, whipping it around her smudged face. “But…my things…”

“Now, Victoria,” Scott said sharply, walking to the SUV, his brother and muttering cousin following suit.

“Sorry,” she mumbled after she got into the back. “I’m just hungry. And exhausted. And…” She let out a muffled sob. “And when I think—”

“It’s okay, honey,” Scott said as they slowly pulled away, the car’s shocks working overtime as they drove over the chewed up ground. “We’ve all had a rough time.”

And yet, he mused as they reached the highway, where it became much smoother going except for the occasional jagged branch or chunk of somebody’s shed, not once during their ordeal had Christina complained. Even though she had to have been in pain.

And frightened out of her wits.

If anything happened to her…

He stepped on the gas.

Not surprisingly, the E.R. was borderline chaos, all the exam rooms filled, a pair of obviously harried nurses doing triage on the dozens of walking wounded flooding the waiting room.

“Scott! Over here!”

Emily was in a far corner, between a resigned-looking older man pressing a bloodstained towel to a gash in his head and a mother with worried eyes holding a sleeping toddler. His sister’s foot, wrapped in an ice pack, was elevated on a pillow on the glass table in front of her. Blake scanned the crowd. “Wow. Did San Antonio get hit, too?”

Emily shook her head, her pinched brow the only clue she’d been through hell. “No, just Red Rock. This is overflow from the Medical Center. Look,” she said, nodding toward the TV mounted high on the opposite wall, where a camera panned parts of the town, showing the damage. Considering what might have been, though, things could have been much worse.

For all of them.

He turned back to his sister. “Where’s Mom and Dad?”

“In treatment rooms. Mike’s been toggling between the two of them. I’d bug the desk for more information, except, one, I can’t exactly move and, two, I’m afraid of that nurse. Yeah, that one, in the pink scrubs. Don’t let the teddy bears fool you—she’s fierce.”

The man with the bleeding head was called to see the doctor. With a heavy sigh, Victoria plopped into his vacated seat, laid her head on Emily’s shoulder. She smiled for her cousin, then said, “Eventually I’ll get into the inner sanctum and find out what’s going on, but…”

She glanced across the room, then whispered, “It’s Javier I’m most worried about, if the look on Miguel’s face is anything to go by.”

Scott twisted around to see Javier’s and Marcos’s brother, who’d come from New York for the wedding, sitting in a chair on the other side of the room, his head in his hands.

“Go on, talk to him,” Blake said. “I’ll check on Mom and Dad.”

Looking far more bedraggled than the rest of them, Miguel shakily stood at Scott’s approach. A small, tight smile strained his mouth. “Your family—is everybody okay?”

“More or less. Miguel—for God’s sake, sit, you look like you’re about to keel over. How is he?”

“It’s bad, man,” Miguel said, sinking onto the seat, strangling his still wet ball cap in his hands. “Real bad.” Terrified brown eyes lifted to Scott’s. “He’s…he’s unconscious, they don’t even know yet what needs fixing. His head, his legs…” The young man swallowed hard, obviously fighting for control.