Blown Away Read online

  Blown Away is a work of fiction. Names, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  A Loveswept Ebook Original

  Copyright © 2016 by Brenda Rothert

  Excerpt from Always for You: Jack by Alexis Morgan copyright © 2016 by Patricia L. Pritchard

  All rights reserved.

  Published in the United States by Loveswept, an imprint of Random House, a division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York.

  LOVESWEPT is a registered trademark and the LOVESWEPT colophon is a trademark of Penguin Random House LLC.

  eBook ISBN 9780399594694

  Cover design: Lynn Andreozzi

  Cover illustration: Jupiterimages/Thinkstock

  randomhousebooks.com

  v4.1

  ep

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Epigraph

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Epilogue

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  By Brenda Rothert

  About the Author

  The Editor’s Corner

  Excerpt from Always for You: Jack

  There came a Wind like a Bugle –

  It quivered through the Grass

  And a Green Chill upon the Heat

  So ominous did pass

  We barred the Windows and the Doors

  As from an Emerald Ghost –

  The Doom’s Electric Moccasin

  That very instant passed –

  On a strange Mob of panting Trees

  And Fences fled away

  And Rivers where the Houses ran

  Those looked that lived – that Day –

  The Bell within the steeple wild

  The flying tidings told –

  How much can come

  And much can go,

  And yet abide the World!

  —Emily Dickinson

  Chapter 1

  Drew

  I rubbed my fingertips in circular motions on Mrs. Landon’s scalp, my gaze fixed on the TV mounted in the corner of To Dye For, the salon I worked at.

  “This is so relaxing. I could just fall asleep right here,” Mrs. Landon said. “And that shampoo smells heavenly. Is that peppermint?”

  “Yes, it sure is,” I said in the upbeat tone I always used with customers.

  Normally I would have struck up a conversation about her summer plans since it was May and she was a teacher. Or I’d have asked her how her kids were doing.

  But not today. Today I couldn’t look away from CNN, which was covering the tornadoes that had touched down this afternoon in Missouri. The damage was widespread and included cellular towers. I told myself that was why Colby hadn’t texted me all afternoon. It had to be why.

  “Isn’t that a shame about those storms?” Mrs. Landon said as I rinsed away the suds. “I heard on the radio that a school was hit. They’re calling in the National Guard.”

  “That’s terrible,” I murmured, squinting to read the headlines scrolling across the bottom of the screen.

  “Isn’t your fiancé one of those storm chasers? You’re engaged to Carla Harrington’s boy, aren’t you?”

  “Yeah,” I said absently. “Colby. He’s in Missouri now with the rest of his team.”

  She whipped her head around to look at me, showering me with droplets of water.

  “Well, is he okay?” she practically demanded.

  “I don’t know. I haven’t been able to reach him this afternoon.”

  “Oh sweet Jesus. Carla must be beside herself. Have you talked to her?”

  I shook my head. “I’m not panicked. Colby’s probably still tracking storms or helping with rescue. He’ll call me when he can.”

  She grunted skeptically. “Well, I’d be worried sick if the man I loved was out in that mess. It’s foolhardy if you ask me, chasing a tornado. We’re meant to run away from them.”

  I wanted to point out that I hadn’t asked her, and that storm chasers put their lives in danger to save others, but I forced myself to stay quiet. Shampoo Girl Rule Number One: never upset a customer.

  My job was to shampoo, condition and make light conversation. I also waxed the occasional upper lip, though I wasn’t licensed to do it. I wouldn’t touch brows, though. That took finesse. An upper lip was hard to mess up.

  I conditioned and rinsed Mrs. Landon and wrapped a towel around her head. When she sat up, she passed me a couple of folded bills.

  “Thank you, Drew. I hope Colby’s okay.”

  I smiled. “Thank you, Mrs. Landon. Bet you’re looking forward to summer.”

  “You have no idea,” she said, rolling her eyes. “It’s been a long year.”

  My boss, Shayla, called Mrs. Landon over to her chair and I went to the front desk to check messages and return calls. I was closer to the TV, and I could read the headlines now.

  NINE CONFIRMED DEAD…

  FACTORY LEVELED BY STORM…

  COUPLE NARROWLY ESCAPES TWISTER…

  I swallowed hard. Every time Colby left for a storm-chasing trip, I felt a surge of pride. He was brave and bold. He cared about others enough to go away for weeks at a time in hopes of saving lives. It wasn’t thrill-seeking for him. The leader of his five-man crew was a meteorologist running a research project. They studied weather patterns to predict and identify bad weather so people could take cover when storms were approaching. But the nature of the work always put them at risk.

  They were safe, I mentally reassured myself as I returned calls and scheduled appointments. He was only twenty-six, but he’d been doing this for almost a decade. He’d been shown the ropes by the father of one of his friends and had fallen hard for storm chasing.

  Colby knew I wasn’t a woman who needed constant reassurance. I trusted him in every way. I wasn’t so self-absorbed that I thought he’d stop to call me while searching for people buried in rubble.

  I tried to split my focus between working and watching CNN. But the more time that passed without my phone buzzing with an incoming text, the harder it became to think of anything but Colby.

  Shayla locked the salon door after her last customer left and turned to me with a concerned expression.

  “Any word?” she asked.

  I shook my head silently.

  “You go on home, sugar. I’ll clean up tonight.”

  “Thanks, but I’m okay,” I said. “I need to stay busy while I wait to hear from him. Plus, I don’t have cable at home. Okay if I leave the TV on while I clean?”

  “Of course,” she said, waving dismissively. “I can stay and help if you want some company.”

  “I’m lousy company right now.”

  “Anything I can do?”

  “No, but thanks. A
ll I can do is wait.”

  She came over and hugged me tight, her familiar powdery-sweet scent reassuring me. Shayla co-owned the salon with another stylist, Jackie, and they were the best bosses I could ask for.

  “Text me when you hear from him,” she said.

  I followed her to the door and locked it behind her. Then I cranked up CNN and monitored the coverage as I swept hair from the salon’s tiled floor.

  A small Missouri community had been devastated by the storm. Homes, schools, and workplaces had been flattened. And more important, people had died. The tragedy of what had happened hit me almost as hard as my worries about Colby.

  I finished sweeping, wiped everything down, returned the last of the phone calls, and folded towels, all while checking my phone for a text at least once a minute. It was after seven P.M.

  With a deep sigh, I headed out the salon’s front door, locking it with my key. I stopped at the store for milk and cereal and then went home, listening to a news radio station in the car.

  Dusk had settled by the time I pulled into the driveway of my childhood home. In six weeks, I was marrying Colby and leaving this place behind forever. My younger sister, Ashley, was staying on campus this summer at the college where she was finishing up her degree in education. And Daniel, my youngest sibling, would be moving to the same campus to start college this August.

  We’d made it. Somehow, the three of us had banded together and made it. It made living at home until age twenty-four well worth it.

  When I walked through the back door, the smell of smoke and the blare of the TV hit me at the same time. My mom, who was spooning fried potatoes onto a plate, didn’t even look up to acknowledge me.

  “It’s smoky in here,” I said, setting my grocery bag on the counter. “I’m going to open a window.”

  “No, I’ve got the air on,” she said, liberally salting the food on her plate.

  “The air? It’s not even hot outside.”

  “The neighbors were revving the engine on that car again, and it was loud.”

  I suppressed an urge to roll my eyes. That was sound reasoning for turning on the air-conditioning to someone who didn’t pay the utility bills.

  “But it costs money,” I said, unpacking the groceries I’d bought.

  She shrugged and walked to the living room, where she turned up the volume on the TV and settled into a recliner, pulling a blanket over her lap.

  My blood boiled. Daniel and I were saving every penny we could get our hands on to pay his college start-up expenses. He worked as a checker at a local grocery store and would be starting a second job as soon as he graduated. But August would be here soon, and we wanted to be ready.

  My mom, on the other hand, didn’t know or care how much college expenses were. She had no idea I was six thousand dollars in debt from getting myself through community college, or that Ashley was somehow pulling a 4.0 GPA while working and going to school full-time.

  I’d planned on making spaghetti, but I couldn’t cook when the kitchen looked this way. Dirty dishes were stacked in the sink and on the counter. The stovetop was laden with used pots and pans. A fly buzzed around the giant mess.

  Would I clean up this kitchen for my mom? Hell no. She could rot for all I cared. But for Daniel, I would. For six more weeks I’d keep up this house like I had for eleven years now. And when I moved in with Colby, Daniel was coming with me. He’d stay with us until we helped him move into his new dorm room.

  Six weeks. Forty-four days, technically. I couldn’t wait to start my new life with Colby in his clean bungalow that smelled like freshly cut wood.

  I moved the dishes from the sink and ran dishwater, swirling my hands in it to make suds. When my phone dinged with a text, I lunged for it.

  Daniel: Staying at Shawn’s 2night.

  Damn. Not the message I’d been hoping for.

  I dried my hands and texted a response, confirming that I’d gotten his message. No need to cook spaghetti now. I’d just eat cereal when I finished cleaning up.

  If Colby was home, I’d have been staying at his place tonight. I missed our nights together. He’d been gone on this storm-chasing trip for almost two weeks now.

  When the cleaning was done and I’d made a bowl of cereal, I sat down at the table to eat it. I’d only taken a bite when my phone dinged with an incoming text.

  Colby: Hey babe. Sorry it took me so long to get back. I’m okay. Was helping with cleanup.

  My body went limp with relief. I wrote back in a rush.

  Me: Thank God. Be careful.

  Colby: Major reinforcements just arrived. Red Cross, National Guard. I’m hitting the road for home bc I have to work tomorrow.

  Me: Okay.

  Colby: 44 days til you make me the happiest man on the planet.

  I grinned as I read his words, still feeling a need to pinch myself.

  Me: I can’t wait. I miss you.

  Colby: Miss u 2. Be home soon.

  Me: Drive safe.

  Colby: Always. LUSH

  I smiled at his shorthand. We’d texted each other a lot since we started dating two years ago, and he’d started signing off with “Love u, sweetheart” about six months in. It had been shortened to “Love u sh” and eventually, “LUSH.”

  I never tired of hearing Colby say he loved me, or of saying it in return.

  Me: LUSH

  By the time I finished my cereal, took a shower, and ran a load of laundry, I was ready for bed. The stress of not knowing whether Colby was safe had worn me out.

  As I curled up beneath the covers, I said a prayer for all the people who hadn’t been as lucky as me today. The families of nine people had been changed forever, and though I didn’t know them, I still mourned.

  —

  A dull, rhythmic pounding pulled me from a deep sleep. I sat up in bed and looked around, confused.

  The clock on my nightstand read 7:04. I’d slept for almost nine hours.

  When I heard the thudding noise this time, I realized someone was knocking on the front door. I got up and slipped into a bathrobe, wondering who would be here at this hour. My mom never woke up before noon. Not because she was drunk or anything, but because sleeping was her escape from life.

  I pulled open the front door and saw a uniformed police officer, his hat in his hands in front of him. My heart pounded. Police officers never came to the door with good news. Especially not at this hour.

  “What’s going on?” I asked, dispensing with a greeting.

  “Drew McGovern?”

  “That’s me.”

  Immediately, my mind went to Daniel. Had he and Shawn gone out last night? He’d promised me he didn’t drink. A choking terror took hold. My brother and sister meant so much to me.

  “Miss McGovern, I’m sorry to be bringing some sad news,” the officer said. “Colby Harrington was gravely injured early this morning in a motor vehicle versus pedestrian accident.”

  I gripped the doorframe. Blood whooshed through my ears. I just stared at the officer, not even blinking.

  “He stopped on the highway to change the tire of a stranded motorist. It was raining, and the driver of a truck didn’t see him and struck both the vehicle and Mr. Harrington. I’m so sorry. I contacted Mr. Harrington’s mother, and she asked me to deliver the news to you. She’s with him at Mercy Medical Center.”

  I swallowed the massive lump in my throat. “He’s…alive, then?”

  The officer’s face fell. “Technically, yes. But I believe it’s more for loved ones to get a chance to say their goodbyes.”

  “I see.”

  “Can I offer you a ride to the hospital?”

  My mind swirled. I wanted to collapse onto the rotting boards of the front porch, but I wouldn’t let myself. Colby was alive. He was alive and he was hurt and I had to get to him.

  “I’d appreciate that,” I said. “Just give me one minute to get dressed.”

  I was in a daze as I pulled on some clothes and grabbed my purse. Mercifully, the offi
cer didn’t try to make small talk on the twenty-minute drive to the hospital.

  We were getting married in forty-three days. He’d proposed on Christmas Eve, just five months ago. I ran my fingers over the platinum ring on my finger, remembering the shine in his eyes as he’d slid it on.

  He was hurt, but he was alive. Through his job as a high school teacher and coach, he had good health insurance. Colby was a bright light. His glow was magnetic and strong. A glow like that didn’t just disappear. He was a fighter, and he’d fight his way through this.

  “ICU’s on the third floor,” the officer said as he pulled up to the emergency room entrance.

  I thanked him and went inside, looking down as I stepped onto the elevator. I’d put on running shorts, a T-shirt, and a pair of worn-out house slippers with a hole in one toe. Not that it mattered.

  When I stepped off the elevator, I approached the nurses’ station.

  “Colby Harrington,” I said. “I’m his…”

  “You must be Drew.”

  “Did he ask for me?” My voice broke and I cleared my throat.

  She shook her head. “His mother said you’d be coming.”

  “Oh. Right.”

  “I’ll take you in,” she said, coming around the desk and wrapping an arm around my shoulders.

  She led me through a door and my heart pounded wildly as we walked into the room. I saw Carla first, standing next to the wall of windows with her arms crossed. She clutched a wad of used tissues in one hand.

  I hardly recognized Colby. Bandages covered his head, with only his closed eyes, nose and mouth exposed.

  The nurse still had her arm around me. I turned to her.

  “There’s a tube in his throat connected to a ventilator, and that’s helping him breathe,” she said.

  I nodded. Carla was coming toward me now, her arms outstretched. I stepped away from the nurse and held Carla as she cried. She sobbed for several minutes before pulling away and wiping her face with the tissues in her hand.