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“Are you serious right now?” He threw up his hands before motioning to the ever-growing funnel. “There’s a fuckingtornadocoming right for us.”
I looked back at it before nodding. I slung the van door open, and Takoda jumped into my arms. Trembling with fear, I ran toward the truck’s passenger side, where the stranger opened the door for me, hoisting me up into the lifted truck.
“Thanks,” I mumbled as he slammed the door, sprinting around to the driver’s side. He wasted no time flooring it. The tires threw dirt and grass from the ditch as it jumped forward. The sky opened up around us, a violent downpour causing Takoda to shake in my arms.
“There’s a hunting cabin just up here,” the cowboy said, taking a hard left—right in the direction of the tornado.
“It’s really close.”
“I know that,” he snapped, stomping the gas again as we drifted down the gravel road. “But it’s our only option where I can say for sure there’s a cellar.”
I nodded, swallowing hard. I held Takoda, my heart thumping as the winds shook the truck. I glanced at the stranger driving the truck, his jaw tense beneath the chocolate-colored stubble. He wasveryhandsome with a strong nose and defined brow line beneath his tan Stetson cowboy hat.
And those biceps.
His muscles jutting out from his white short-sleeve t-shirt made it more than apparent that he put his cowboy look to use, probably working on a ranch somewhere—a very nice one considering the expensive, limited edition truck I was sitting in.
The sound of the train-like wind brought me out of my much-needed state of distraction, and the truck bounced over a cattleguard in the ground. I could hardly see through the windshield, but I could see just enough to make out a small old cabin in front of us.
“Let’s go,” he barked at me, having to physically push with both hands to get the door open. “Andhurry.”
Nodding, I pulled the lever on the door, only to have the opposite problem that he did. The door ripped right out of my grip, nearly throwing Takoda and I onto the ground. I let out a startled scream as my pup slid from my arms, landing on the ground. The cowboy ran around, scooping up my dog, and using his shoulder and my help, we shut the truck door.
He grabbed ahold of my elbow, the whir of the wind picking up as the tree branches crackled above my head. He guided me across the overgrown yard, heavy rains shifting to dime-sized hail as we ran.
“Here.” He handed Takoda back to me when we reached a large silver door protruding out of the ground, surrounded by concrete. He pulled the door open, urging me inside. Soaked and shivering, I navigated my way down the steep steps, relieved by the musty, stale stench in the old cellar. I saw a string hanging down from the ceiling, and I pulled it, a single bulb illuminated the darkness as the cowboy fastened the door above us.
“Made it,” he said, letting out a heavy sigh. His white shirt was soaked, clinging to his washboard abs beneath it. I took in the sight of him, feeling the warmth of something deep in my core. He washot.
I forced my eyes away from him as the wind howled around us, though, choosing to sit on the hard metal bench in the corner, setting Takoda down. I turned to the cowboy, who was still standing in the corner of the cellar, his eyes focused on the door. “Thanks for helping me. I’d hate to think what it would’ve been like having to ride this out in the van.”
He whipped his head around to me, his gray eyes breathtaking. “Uh, yeah, no problem. It’s not right to leave someone stranded on the side of the highway when there’s plenty of room in the cellar.” His voice was gruff and not necessarily all that friendly, but the Texas drawl was charming.
“Do you live here?” I asked, catching Takoda as he hopped back into my lap at the sound of hail pummeling the cellar door.
He laughed, shaking his head. “Nah, absolutely not. I don’t even know if there’s running water in the cabin.”
I furrowed my brow, surprised by the reaction. “A lot of people live without running water. I don’t think that really means anything.”
“Right,” he grunted, rolling his eyes at me. “You must be one of those hippy women who talk to the trees and shit.”
Maybe he’s not so charming.
“I amnotone of those hippy women, though I do believe that nature speaks to us in one way or another.” My knee bounced at the sound of the hail, all my anxiety returning.
He chuckled, though the tone was more condescending than humorous. “So what do you think that tornado out there is saying to us then, oh wise woman?”
“Well, if all the people in Texas are about as welcoming as you, I can’t say that I would blame her,” I snapped, looking away from him and into the darkness of the cellar. It wasn’t nearly as dingey as I had initially thought, though it did still smell a little musty. There were a few flashlights and lawn chairs in the corner, but beyond that and the bench I was sitting on...
It was just a concrete box below the ground.
And I was stuck in it with a strange asshole.
“Where are you from?” the guy asked, his voice shifting with more curiosity than animosity. “I didn’t pay any attention to the license plate on your van.”
“South Dakota.” I looked back at him, studying the lines on his face. He was a clean cut kind of cowboy, not ragged and rough around the edges like a lot of the guys I knew back home. In fact, my guess was that he was probably some kind of boss or manager—not the guy who was making minimum wage feeding cattle.
“What the hell are you doing in Texas then? You’re a long way from home.”
