Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 91490 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 457(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91490 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 457(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
My orgasm tears through me like it’s been held captive for a decade and has just broken free. My body shakes and I cry out. I chant Byron’s name like it’s the answer to every question I didn’t know to ask.
Finally he’s lying next to me. “I’m here, baby,” he whispers. “I’m here.”
I turn into him, hiding, scared at how distant I feel from who I was before I walked into his cabin tonight. How close I feel to him right now. How I never want tonight to be over.
He scoops me up in his arms and pulls me closer. “I’m here,” he says. “I’m here.”
I inhale and let myself sink into him. Eventually, I drift off to sleep.
I don’t know how long I’ve been out when a blaring alarm wakes me.
“Quick,” Byron says. “We need to get into the shelter. It’s the tornado warning.”
I bolt upright and scan the room for clothes. Even if Byron’s the only other person in the shelter, I still want to be wearing panties. We both dress quickly, pull on our boots and coats, and head out. Byron grabs the crate by the door and leads me outside with his other hand.
“Wait!” I say. “We need Athena.”
Like she heard me say her name, she’s at my feet. I scoop her up and we head out.
It’s almost impossible to notice the rain because the wind is so ferocious. The silhouettes of the trees that line each side of the road are swaying like a crowd with its arms outstretched, raging against the sky. We crouch and head across the porch and behind the cabin. Thankfully Byron’s here. I wouldn’t have known where to go. I’ve never faced a tornado before. Never worried about the weather, other than to wonder whether I’m ever going to see the sun again after days of relentless Oregon rain.
The shelter is only ten yards from the cabins, but it’s far enough to get covered in mud from the rain-soaked grass. The shelter has been built into the ground. He flips open the doors and nods for me to go inside. The doors are at an angle, but rain sluices inside in sheets. I don’t have time to ask all the questions I have: Are we going to be able to breathe in there? How big is it? What happens if a tree falls on the door?
My feet slide on the steps as I find myself inside the dark hole. Byron flicks on a light.
He must see something in my expression, because he moves to cup my face and presses a kiss against my forehead. “It’s going to be fine. We’re safe here.”
“It’s cold,” I say, glancing down at the two wooden benches set opposite each other, running the length of the shelter. It feels like a prison cell.
“We have plenty of blankets and hats and gloves in here.” He starts pulling things out of the crate. “And food.” He hands me a thermos. “Homemade tomato soup.”
“You make soup?”
He chuckles. “I can’t take the credit. Nancy French makes the best tomato soup in the state of Colorado. She dropped some off yesterday.”
“And you know that it’s the best soup in Colorado because you’ve tasted everyone else’s?”
“I haven’t,” he replies, “but Nancy’s won the county soup-making championship five years in a row.”
I grin. “Are you serious?”
“I never joke about soup. And neither does Nancy.”
This guy.
He pours me a cup and I take a seat on the bench. He huddles next to me and puts a blanket over our knees like we’re on a camping trip and this is no big deal.
“How long will we be in here?” I ask. “And will we be able to get out if a tree or something falls on the door?”
“Sheriff Altaha knows we’re down here.”
“He does?” I ask. “How? He’ll probably think we’re both at the Colorado Club.”
“I texted our location in. We’re going to be fine.”
“Can we get a phone signal down here?” I ask.
Byron pulls out his phone. “Nothing at the moment.”
“Then how will we know when to come out?”
“We have an NOAA radio.” He pulls it out of his crate and sets it on the bench opposite before turning it on.
“You came prepared.”
He nods and squeezes my knee.
“I don’t know what I would have done if you weren’t here.”
Despite the small space, I don’t have the sense of being hemmed in and constrained that I did in Oregon. Byron’s organized everything, but his instructions don’t feel controlling. It feels caring. I didn’t know the difference until right now. He’s looking after me. He’s thinking about me. That’s the difference.
He slings his arm around me. “But I am. There’s no need to worry.”
It’s impossible not to hear the rain and the wind. It sounds like there’s a war being fought beyond the doors of the shelter. The occasional crash rumbles against the other noise. Athena is curled up sleeping on the opposite bench like this is her home away from home. I try not to think about how it feels like we’re in a big metal coffin. Like Byron says, emergency services will find us if we can’t open the doors. Won’t they?