The Rancher's Miracle Baby. April Arrington
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out of the cab.
Her boots slid over the slick mud of the driveway, and she gripped the hard metal of the truck, forcing her way through the violent gusts of wind to the trailer.
Razz jerked her head against the open slats. Her dark eyes widened in panic, stark against the black and white markings surrounding them.
“I’m right here.” Tammy strived for a calm tone as the spray of wind and rain whipped her bare neck and arms. “I won’t leave you.”
She ducked her head and continued, making it to the back end and grabbing the latch on the gate. There were deep dents and dings where the hail had hit, making it difficult to pry the door open.
Razz cried out and thrashed against the walls of the trailer. Each panicked act from the horse sent a wave of dread through her.
“I know.” Tammy jerked harder at the handle, the bent metal cutting into the sensitive flesh of her palms. “I’m gonna get you out, I promise.”
A strange stillness settled around the truck, and the lashing rain stopped. She froze, her hand tightening around the latch.
Moments later, a distant rumble sounded at her back, the rhythmic roar growing louder with each lurch of her heart. Tammy slowly turned and peeled the wet strands of her hair from her eyes with shaky fingers.
There it was. A towering funnel, churning less than a mile away across the landscape, lifting above the hill she and Razz had just traveled over and bearing down on the other side of the road. Its snakelike outline widened with each passing second, growing in size and tearing across the landscape opposite her.
She stood, transfixed, as her eyes tracked its powerful spin. Trees hid its base, but large chunks of debris lifted higher into the air with each second, floating on the outskirts of the black spiral before hurtling to the ground.
The jagged objects were too big and solid to be bits of vegetation. They flipped and twirled like confetti and loose pieces of paper, but they looked firm and heavy. Definitely man-made.
“Oh, no.” Tammy’s strangled whisper sounded foreign even to her own ears.
Broken beams of wood. Fragmented sections of brick walls. All pieces of a home. There’d been a house at the end of the other driveway, too. And, possibly...people.
Her heart stalled. “No...”
The trees standing at the base of the twister bent, touched the ground, then disappeared into the black swirl of wind. A fierce chorus of cracks and growls erupted into the air, and the furious churning of wind howled across the field.
Tammy squinted in confusion when the sidetracking motion of the tornado stopped. It was odd. There was movement. Large chunks of debris still twirled with the powerful twister, lifting and lowering with each roar of wind. But, somehow, it was standing still.
How could—
Her muscles seized. It wasn’t standing still. The twister had shifted its path and was heading across the field again. In her direction.
She spun back to the trailer and jerked on the latch violently. “Help! Please!”
The wind swept away her cry, her lungs burning as Razz’s kicks rocked the trailer.
Tammy squatted low and yanked harder on the handle, her heart hammering painfully. She needed to run to the house. But to leave Razz without a chance—
“Please.” She pulled harder, her arms screaming in protest.
A shrill noise erupted at her side. Something flashed in the air—flat and silver—then slammed into her temple, knocking her to the ground.
Tammy blinked hard, a sharp pain slicing through her head and a flash of light distorting her vision. Wetness trickled down her cheek.
Touching a trembling hand to it, she stared at the dark sky above her and noted the absence of rain. The white spots dancing in front of her eyes cleared, and she pulled her hand from her face and held it up. Red coated her palm.
“It’s just blood, Razz,” she whispered amid the mare’s cries, studying the black clouds through the gaps in her spread fingers.
A hard blow to the head. That was all. Something her father had doled out on a daily basis by the time she’d reached sixteen.
A large shape shifted, moving above her and obscuring the dark clouds. Tammy lowered her palm and her gaze locked with a pair of stormy gray eyes.
A man stared down at her, his broad shoulders and muscled girth blocking the wind. He had tanned skin and black hair sprinkled with silver. The striking mix as deep and rich as the storm overhead.
His big hands reached for her.
“My horse needs help,” she rasped, scrambling back.
His piercing gaze cut to the trailer as Razz’s kicks and desperate cries strengthened. He swung around, gripped the bent latch and wrestled the gate open. A moment later, Razz burst out of the trailer with disoriented jerks.
“Get,” he shouted, smacking the horse’s rear.
Razz leaped and took off, galloping out of sight.
“Come on.” He yanked Tammy to her feet, tucked her tight to his side and ran across the front lawn toward the house.
Tammy pumped her legs hard, keeping up with his powerful stride and ignoring the nausea roiling in her gut.
The massive surge of wind grew stronger at their backs, and their boots slipped repeatedly on the slick grass. They stumbled up the front steps to the door and fell to the porch floor as the vicious growl of the tornado drew closer.
This is it.
Tammy squeezed her eyes shut, the concrete pressing hard against her cheek and disjointed thoughts whipping through her mind.
She wouldn’t make it to Jen’s wedding. Wouldn’t hug or kiss Jen’s children one day. And would never get the chance to have babies of her own. It would remain the foolish dream it’d always been. The kind that belonged to a woman who’d never been able to trust a man with her body or her heart. Unrealistic and unattainable.
“Keep moving.” The man’s brawny arm tightened around her back as he forced his way to his knees.
Tammy looked up, her eyes freezing on his face. The strong jaw, aquiline nose and sculpted mouth belonged to a stranger. But at least she wasn’t alone.
The thought was oddly comforting, and when she spoke, her voice remained steady despite the horrifying possibility she acknowledged.
“We’re not going to make it.”
* * *
THE HELL THEY WEREN’T.
Alex Weston balled his hand into a fist, pressed it to the porch floor and shoved to his haunches. He steadied himself against the strong surge of wind, then reached down and pulled the woman up with him.
She was soft—and strong. The slight curves of her biceps were firm underneath the pads of his fingers, and she’d matched his pace as they’d sprinted to the house. But she was slender and light. So light, each gust of wind threatened to steal her from his grasp.
“Keep moving,” he growled, ignoring the panicked flare of her green eyes and forging ahead.
Alex shoved her forward and pressed her against the wall of the house. He jerked the front door open and helped her inside, but before he could follow, the wind caught it, ripping it wide-open to the side and yanking him around with it. The sharp edges of brick cut into his back.
Wet grass and dirt sprayed his face, and he spat against it, struggling to maintain control of the door and his panic. He squinted against the bite of wind and peered across the front lawn. The tornado barreled across the driveway toward the house, sucking up the wooden posts of the fence and spitting them out. The wood sliced through the air with shrill whistles, scattering in all directions