âMr. Logan?â Loriâs heart began to pound.
Jesseâs head snapped up, and once again his face looked as if it had been carved out of stone.
Lori hoped she woudnât live to regret her next words.
âAre you still looking for a nanny?â
âThatâs right.â The words sounded curt. âI didnât realize you were interested in the position. When can you start?â Jesseâs words were sarcastic. He must want to scare her off. Heâd already fired five nannies in the months since the triplets were born.
Lori met his gaze. And smiled sweetly. She could handle him.
âRight now.â
After the Storm:
A Kansas community unites to rebuild
Healing the Bossâs HeartâValerie Hansen
July 2009
Marrying Minister RightâAnnie Jones
August 2009
Rekindled HeartsâBrenda Minton
September 2009
The Matchmaking PactâCarolyne Aarsen
October 2009
A Family for ThanksgivingâPatricia Davids
November 2009
Jingle Bell BabiesâKathryn Springer
December 2009
To Val, Annie, Brenda, Carolyne and Pat. It was an
honor to be able to work with such gifted writers.
Your cooperation, encouragement and prayer
support over the course of the summer was a real blessingâand I love how we occasionally took âcyber-coffee breaksâ together!
July 11, 1:15 p.m.
âOne of the funnel clouds that touched down in the area yesterday and struck the small town of High Plains was determined to be a level F3. Already the Red Cross, local law enforcement agents and volunteers have banded together to begin cleanupââ
Jesse Logan stabbed his finger against the power button of the radio. He didnât need to hear a reporter condense the past twenty-four hours into a neat sound bite, or try to describe the damage a second funnel cloud had caused when it slashed across the prairie, directly toward the Circle L.
Jesse had seen the devastation firsthand; he was standing in the middle of it.
The kitchen lay in shambles around him. The twister had spared the outbuildings but clipped the side of the ranch house, taking out a section of the wall, while leaving his motherâs antique china cabinet in the corner of the room intact. Glass from the shattered window littered the floor, strewn among soggy tufts of insulation and chunks of sodden wallboard.
Jesse picked up a piece of wood and was about to pitch it into the growing pile of debris when he realized it was one of the legs from the kitchen table.
His fingers tightened around it, ignoring the splinters that bit into his skin.
Yesterday morning heâd sat at the table, before going out to do his chores.
And yesterday afternoonâ¦
A fresh wave of pain crashed over Jesse, making him wonder if he wasnât still caught in the throes of a nightmare. Except his eyes werenât closed.
The crunch of tires against gravel momentarily broke through his turbulent thoughts. For a split second hope stirred inside his chest as he sent up a silent prayer that the car coming up the driveway would be a familiar one.
It was.
The hammer slipped out of Jesseâs hand and grazed a crease in the hardwood floor as the High Plains squad car stopped in front of the house. Colt Ridgewayâs tall frame unfolded from the passenger side.
As the police chief approached, the stoic set of his jaw and the regret darkening his eyes told Jesse everything.
No. No. No.
âThis is going to be hard for you to hear, Jesse.â His friendâs quiet words barely penetrated the rushing sound in Jesseâs head. âLate this morningâ¦found Marieâs vehicleâ¦tree fell on the driverâs sideâ¦â
Like a child, Jesse wanted to press his hands against his ears and shut out the truth.
Where are You, God? Are You even listening? How much more do You think one man can take?
The silent cry burst out of a place deep inside him.
Hadnât he gone through enough?
âMarie must have been trying to outrun the tornado,â Colt continued softly. âIâm so sorry for your loss, Jesse. Sorry for youâ¦and your girls.â
Jesse couldnât answer. Couldnât tell Colt the truth. Not yet. That his wife hadnât been trying to outrun the tornadoâsheâd been running away. From him.