Heartland

by Sherryl Woods

  She hadn’t gone ten yards when she realized how impossible she was being. She was not going to sulk forever. She’d snap herself out of this. In the meantime she went back to the kitchen and gave Steven the lingering, breath-stealing kiss he deserved. “I’m sorry. I’ll try to be in a better mood by tonight.”

  “No problem,” he said, forgiving her so readily it made her heart ache at even the momentary unhappiness she’d caused him.

  “If you’re not,” he added, “I’ll just have to dream up some extraordinary means of cheering you up.”

  Despite the promise of an enjoyable evening ahead of her, her day went from bad to worse. She was so distracted that Logan finally ordered her away from the equipment. “The mood you’re in, you’re downright dangerous out here. If you don’t hurt yourself, you’re likely to ruin half the crop. Get away for a bit. Go for a walk. Go for a swim. We can manage without you.”

  She knew he was right, but the dismissal did nothing to improve that awful feeling of being abandoned and useless. If anything, it compounded it. She wasn’t even needed on her own farm anymore.

  She walked down to the stream, kicked off her shoes and waded along the edge but couldn’t seem to work up the energy to go for a swim. When she tired of that, she went back to the house, made a pitcher of lemonade and took a glass out to the front porch, letting the self-pity build until it threatened to engulf her. In all her life it was something she had rarely permitted, but this time she wasn’t sure she had the will to fight it off.

  The sky grew darker, the air oppressively still. Finally the ominous signs registered.

  “Oh, dear heaven,” she said softly. She ran inside to tune the radio to a weather channel. As she expected, they were announcing the sightings of tornadoes and warning residents in the area to take cover at the first sign of one of the dangerous funnel clouds.

  Surely Logan and the others had left the fields by now, she thought, then decided she couldn’t take any chances. She would have to warn them. Wrapping herself in a yellow waterproof cape, she ran along the track to the field where she had left Logan. Fat drops of rain began to fall, scattered at first and then with more insistency. Long before the men were in sight, her hair was drenched, her shoes soaked through and caked with mud.

  “Logan!” she shouted as soon as she thought her voice would carry to him. “Get the equipment inside. Tornadoes have been sighted.”

  He waved her back. “I just want to get this last little bit harvested before the storm breaks, Ms. Danvers. Shouldn’t take more than another ten, maybe fifteen minutes.”

  “Don’t risk it. A few rows of corn aren’t worth it.”

  “You get on back to the house. I’ll have everything back in the barn before you know it.”

  “Logan!”

  “Go on, missy. We’re not going to lose this corn.”

  “Then I’m staying to help. It’s my responsibility.”

  He scowled at her. “We don’t need your help. There’s no sense all of us staying out here getting wetter than a bunch of ducks. While you and I stand here arguing, I could be finishing up.”

  Lara reluctantly gave in and started back to the house. She was barely at the edge of the field when she heard the loud roar that could have been a train rattling along nearby tracks. But there was no railroad, and she knew well what the ominous sound meant. She whirled around and scanned the sky and found exactly what she feared: a huge, dark funnel cloud, twirling debris up from the land. Where it skimmed the earth, it was a tight, black column. But as it reached toward the sky, it expanded into a wide swirl that dipped and swayed like some evil prankster.

  “Dear God,” she breathed in horrified fascination, unable to tear her gaze away from the tornado’s relentless path toward her. At last she came to her senses, recalling that she should be inside, away from glass. Terrified now, she raced through the house to the storm cellar. She flipped on the cellar lights, but they flickered, then died as the sound of the approaching tornado increased to ear-shattering levels. Without taking the time to search for a flashlight, she felt her way down the stairs.

  In the basement she found a stack of old blankets and sat down. She drew her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them and waited, her pulse beating erratically. What little light penetrated the darkness from the two high windows on the opposite side of the room began to fade until the room was pitch black. The whole earth seemed to tremble then. The house creaked on its foundation. And a deep shudder swept through Lara.

  She had seen tornadoes before, witnessed the aftermath of their wild fury, but never had she been caught in the middle of one. Never had she known this choking fear that came from having her own fate wrested from her control by a willful force of nature. She could do nothing to hold back the inevitable destruction, nothing even to lessen it. She could only pray.

  She thanked God that Jennifer and Kelly were not here to suffer this agonizing torment of waiting for whatever might strike. She prayed desperately that Steven was someplace safe and secure, that Logan and the men had reached the relative safety of the barn. And she prayed that she would survive to experience once more the depth of Steven’s love. She wouldn’t be defeated by everything that had happened. She would, rather, fight for a better future. With Steven back in her life, happiness was finally within her grasp. She suffered another pang of regret that she had allowed her black mood to spoil even one moment of their time together.

  The terrible sound of the storm rumbled on. Rain continued to lash the house, whipping branches from the trees and throwing them against the roof. Still she waited, knowing that until the storm’s fury fully abated the danger was not past. She saw occasional flashes of lightning through the windows, heard echoing cracks of thunder. There was another rumbling at a distance, then another. Perhaps it was only thunder, but it was frightening nonetheless. Each one seemed to wrench her insides, leaving her cold and shivering. Her imagination ran wild, taking up where reality left off. She fought against wasted tears, knowing there wouldn’t be a moment’s peace for her until she could see for herself that Steven and the others had survived.

  And the farm. What damage was it suffering? Would there even be corn left to harvest once the storm had its way? Would the debt she had struggled so long and hard to reduce mount again with no crops to meet the loan payment?

  Suddenly it was all too much for her. The emotional intensity of the last week caught up with her, and tears began to spill down her cheeks. Angrily she brushed them away, but more followed.

  She’d thought she was so blasted independent, that she didn’t need anyone. For years now she’d managed her life, this farm, but she realized now that’s all it had been: managing. She’d done what was expected of her, but she hadn’t been fulfilled and happy. She’d been out to prove herself, perhaps even hoping to show Steven how little his betrayal had affected her.

  What a sham! In no more than a few days he’d shown her exactly how much she still needed him to fire her senses, to share her successes, simply to care. She was strong. She’d had to be. She knew now that she could survive anything. But she was not so strong that she didn’t require love. No one was ever that independent.

  Her tears spent at last, she got up and went over to one of the high windows to see what was happening outside. She pulled over a chair and stepped up on it. Just as she did, there was another explosion of sound, the shattering of glass and then...nothing.

  * * *

  Steven had been in his study when the storm broke. He tried calling Lara as soon as he heard the tornado warnings, but the phone lines were already down. His first instinct had been to drive to the farm, but Mrs. Marston had stopped him at the front door.

  “You won’t do that girl a bit of good if your car is picked up, turned on its roof and set down in the next county,” she scolded. “Now don’t you go being foolish, Mr. Drake. You built t
hat fancy storm cellar downstairs just for an occasion like this. Get on down there, and I’ll make you a pot of tea, and we can wait this out.”

  He saw the wisdom in her advice, but he chafed at the waiting. He paced the cellar, listening to the wrath of the wind, his muscles knotted in frustration. When Mrs. Marston offered him tea, he growled at her.

  “What if she’s out in the fields and can’t get back?”

  “That girl has lived in these parts a whole lot longer than you have. She knows all about these storms. I’m sure she’s not taking any chances.”

  “You’re very calm about this,” he accused.

  “No point in getting myself all riled up. There’s not a thing you or I can do to stop whatever’s going to happen.”

  “I’m not sure I’m in the mood to discuss your fatalistic approach to life. I’d rather be doing something.”

  He caught her grinning at him, though she took a quick swallow of tea to cover it. “Why don’t you put up those shelving units you bought, as long as you’re down here?”

  He gave her a fierce scowl.

  “Well, it was just an idea,” she huffed right back at him.

  He took up pacing again, his nerves tightening with each crash of thunder. When one of the basement windows was shattered by a storm-tossed tree branch, he whirled around and headed for the steps.

  “That does it! I’m going after her. She could be in danger over there.”

  When Mrs. Marston opened her mouth to protest, he held up his hand. “Save it. I’m going. I’ll take the car. Despite your dire prediction that I’ll end up like Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz, I think the car should give me some protection.”

  The housekeeper rolled her eyes heavenward, but she kept silent as he ran up the stairs.

  He didn’t stop for a raincoat. His clothes were soaked through by the time he reached the car. The eerie stillness that usually preceded the worst part of this kind of weather system had been replaced by an old-fashioned beauty of a storm.

  As he drove along the winding road that led from his house to the entrance to the Danvers’ farm, his eyes widened in incredulity. While there had been a few broken branches scattered about his own property, there had been nothing to suggest the devastation he found as he drove past Lara’s fields. A wide, tangled path of destruction had been cut through the middle, leaving raw earth and broken stalks in its wake. A mighty oak tree, its trunk three feet or more in diameter, had been twisted from the ground and left sprawling across dangling power lines. Tree limbs and debris were everywhere.

  With the road blocked by the fallen tree, Steven pulled onto the shoulder and, being careful of the dangerous electrical wires, left the car and set off on foot.

  His heart hammered with fear as he made his way through the destroyed field. Was this where Lara had been working this morning? Had she made it back to the house? Or had she stubbornly refused to take shelter, hoping to salvage one more bushel of corn, before the storm broke around her? He began to run, oblivious to the mud that sucked at his shoes and the rain that pounded down.

  As he reached the barn, Logan called out to him.

  “Is Lara with you?” Steven called back, his words whipped around by the wind.

  “No. I sent her back early. She’s probably pacing around the storm cellar.”

  Logan paused, as if trying to work up the courage to say something more. He took off his Stetson and fiddled with it, turning it around and around in his weathered hands. Steven found himself growing impatient. Finally, brown eyes filled with dismay turned on him.

  “Mr. Drake, I’m worried about how she’s gonna take this.” He gestured toward the fields. “She’s bound to be mighty upset when she sees what’s happened here. She was counting on this harvest.”

  The foreman’s concern confirmed his own fears. “I know that, Logan. How bad is it?”

  “Can’t say for sure. I haven’t been around the whole place, but from what I seen so far, it looks pretty bad.”

  Steven sighed. “That’s what I was afraid of. I cut through the northwestern field coming over here. It’s like it’s been mowed down. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  Logan shook his head. “I’ve seen it all too often. It’s the kinda thing that near wiped her daddy out more than once.”

  Steven heard the genuine affection and anxiety in Logan’s voice and patted the older man on the shoulder. “She’s going to need your help more than ever now. Why don’t I go find her, and we can ride around the fields together and see just how bad this is?”

  Logan shoved his hat back on his head and nodded. “I’ll be waiting right here, Mr. Drake. Ain’t no use hurryin’ now.”

  Steven walked slowly to the house, every beat of his heart painful. He wrestled with the desire to pack a suitcase, sweep Lara into his arms and whisk her off to some magical place where the problems of the farm would seem far removed and unimportant, but he knew that such a place did not exist. For all that she’d hated it as a girl, for all that it had demanded of her, she loved the farm. She would fight his protective instincts, if that’s what it took to save it. He was proud of her gutsy determination, respected her for the way she’d handled tough times. No, she probably wouldn’t appreciate his butting in and trying to protect her. All he could do was try to help in any way she’d let him.

  When he reached the back door of the house, he called out to her. The shout echoed back to him, but there was no response.

  “Lara,” he called again, struck by the faintest sense of unease. There was no sign of her. “Lara!”

  Choking back a terrible sense of panic, he found the door to the basement. He threw it open and stared down into pitch darkness. He hunted through kitchen drawers until he found a candle, and when it was lit, he began his descent, heart hammering.

  “Lara!”

  His call was greeted by a deathly silence. The candle cast flickering light for only a few feet around him. As he moved on, fighting shadows, a hard knot of fear formed in his stomach. He was halfway around the room, when he saw her lying in a crumpled heap on the floor, rain pouring in on her through the broken window.

  He was at her side in an instant, his heart in his throat. “Lara,” he said softly. “Sweetheart, can you hear me?”

  When he went to brush the hair from her face, his hand came away sticky with blood. “Oh, my God,” he murmured. “Lara!”

  Gently he felt her head, locating the huge bump just over her temple, then the cut along her cheek. She’d apparently been slashed by the broken glass, besides being hit by whatever had flown through the window. He felt for her pulse. It was weak but steady, and the flow of blood from the wound seemed to have slowed. Not wanting to leave her to go in search of a washcloth, he took off his shirt and ripped it, then held a strip of the cloth against the injury.

  “Come on, sweetheart, wake up. This is no time to be taking a nap.”

  Her eyelashes fluttered against her cheeks.

  “That’s the way. You can do it. Wake up for me.”

  After what seemed an eternity, her eyes blinked open.

  “Steven, is that you?” Lara responded sleepily. She saw the flickering candlelight, then heard his heavy sigh of relief. “Is the storm over?”

  “The worst of it is. How do you feel?”

  She tried to sit up, winced at the sudden pounding in her head and lay back. She touched her fingers to her temple. “Why does my head hurt?”

  “Apparently a branch or something blew in through the window and knocked you out.” She could see the anxiety in his eyes, the tension in his brow.

  “You’ve been crying,” she said, her thumb rubbing gently across the telltale traces on his cheeks. “Are you okay? You aren’t hurt, are you?”

  He laughed. “No, sweetheart, I’m not the one who’s hurt. I almost went crazy, though, w
hen I realized the phone lines were down and I couldn’t check on you. Then when I got over here and couldn’t find you, it scared the daylights out of me.”

  She put her hand over his. “I’m fine.”

  “We’ll let a doctor be the judge of that.”

  “No doctor,” she insisted, forcing herself to sit up. “The headache should go away soon, and I have to see how things are around here. The tornadoes sounded so close. Did they touch down?”

  The question was greeted by silence.

  “Steven?” She scanned his eyes for the truth he couldn’t seem to say. “They did a lot of damage, didn’t they? Have you seen Logan?”

  “He’s fine. He’s waiting for you outside.”

  “And the fields?” When he didn’t respond, she demanded, “Tell me, Steven. I need to know. I’d rather hear it from you before I see for myself.” The pounding in her head intensified. She closed her eyes against the pain, and her hand flew up instinctively to touch the injury.

  Steven apparently saw that his silence was only increasing her agitation. The stubborn gleam in his eyes faded. He sighed wearily. “I’ve only seen one field. It was pretty badly damaged. I don’t know about the rest.”

  “I have to see.”

  “Not yet,” he said. “There’s the little matter of your clothes that got soaked in the rain and the bump on your head to consider. I’ll make you a deal.”

  One eyebrow lifted fractionally. “Yes?”

  “We’ll go upstairs. I’ll check this out in a better light, and then, if it looks okay, you can change, and we’ll go out and see the farm.”

  “Is there an alternative?”

  “Sure.” He grinned at her wickedly. “We go straight to the hospital.”

  She frowned at him. “I’ll take the deal.”

  He nodded in satisfaction. “I thought you might.”

  The next thing she knew, she was in his arms being carried up the basement stairs. “This is getting to be a habit,” she noted. “Be careful. If I get used to it, you may have to carry me everywhere.”