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“Then let’s get out of here.” Morgan put the little chair inside and, with Wade’s help, managed to get the metal doors closed and locked down. It wasn’t a watertight solution, but it was a sheltered one. Better than what was heading toward the diner.
Wade locked the diner’s glass doors behind them and jogged over to his pickup. The water was nearly to his knees, but he managed to get the truck to start and pulled out of the lot the same instant Morgan heard a loud crack.
The tree. Morgan watched as the big pine he’d noticed last week, on the other side of the creek, swayed in the rough wind. Back and forth.
He cursed, but before he could move, he saw it tilt, saw the big ball of roots that normally held it in the bank lift into the air.
Morgan stared as the thick green boughs come down and bounced off the hood of his steel truck. The metal over the cab buckled, and the tree slid just enough to wedge between the building and the seat where seconds later he’d have been sitting.
Water rushed over the broken bank. And headed straight toward Morgan.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
SITTING STILL WAS IMPOSSIBLE. Finally, Tara gave up, moving to warm her suddenly chilled hands before the flames.
“You don’t know it’s him,” Wyatt said.
“I don’t know it isn’t, either.” She closed her eyes, seeing Morgan in her mind’s eye. She had so much to tell him, so much they hadn’t resolved or discussed…or done.
Just then, the double doors opened and Wyatt’s wife, Emily, stepped inside.
“Dang, it’s nasty out there.” She moved over to Wyatt, who pulled her into his arms and gave her a resounding kiss.
Tara looked away. Wishing…
“Hey, none of that in front of the kid,” DJ teased.
“Oh, who do we have here?” Emily looked at the still-sleeping Brooke, then up at Tara. “Is this your guy’s little one?”
Tara looked at DJ. “Is there anyone who doesn’t know?” Though this time she was glad she wouldn’t have to explain everything. As a judge in family court, Emily had more experience with this type of situation than Tara ever hoped to have. It didn’t take her long to catch up.
“Except now, Tara’s worried about Morgan. There’s news of an accident involving a rig on I-35,” Wyatt explained.
“Oh.” Emily frowned. “I came that way. Traffic was bad, but I did see them moving a black truck from the ditch.”
“Black,” Tara whispered and sank onto the couch. Not blue. Not Morgan. Just then, her phone dinged and she grabbed it. She was only slightly disappointed that it was Wendy texting her Jack’s number instead of Morgan. She quickly dialed, but only got Jack’s voice mail.
“Jack. It’s Tara. I’m trying to reach Morgan. Brooke’s with me at my brother’s ranch.” She stumbled over the words. She took a deep breath and left her number for Jack, or Morgan, to call her back. Then she hung up.
All that was left to do was wait. The only sound in the room was the echo of the rain pelting the windows. The gas flames behind the glass were weirdly silent. She wished for the pop and crackle of logs, if for no other reason than to break up the night.
“I’m calling Dutch,” Emily said softly, breaking the thick quiet.
“Dutch?” Tara asked.
“Sheriff Ferguson,” Wyatt explained.
“No!” Brooke shot up off the pillow where they’d all thought she was sound asleep. She scrambled into Tara’s lap, curling her tiny hands tight in Tara’s shirt. “Don’t let her send me away, please.” She hiccuped on a sob.
Tara closed her arms tight around Brooke. “I won’t let anyone take you away.” She frowned at Emily over Brooke’s head.
Emily’s eyes shone in the dim firelight. “I’m not sending you away, sweetie.” Emily stood and moved to sit beside Tara. Brooke clung tighter, snuggling against Tara’s shoulder. “I want to call the sheriff and let him know where you are.”
“He’ll take me to Mama. And Jimmy.”
“He won’t be able to get here,” Wyatt said from the other couch. Emily glared at him, then looked at Tara and Brooke.
