Heartland Wedding

A burst of wind whipped the doorknob from Rebecca Gundersen’s fingers. Hail pelted her face, leaving behind a nasty sting. The storm was coming in too fast. The town wasn’t prepared. She wasn’t prepared. But before Rebecca took cover, she had to find Edward and make sure he was safe.

She couldn’t lose her brother in this storm. Not so soon after her parents had died.

Forcing back her panic, she sprinted down the boardinghouse steps and ran straight into the growling wind. There was an oppressive stench of rotting earth and grass, an unmistakable warning that a deadly tornado loomed in the distance.

Rebecca shoved her hair back from her face. Too afraid of losing Edward to think of her own safety, she forced her feet to move faster. She knew her brother could take care of himself. He was a grown man. But knowing something wasn’t the same as believing it. She had to make sure he took cover.

Heart pounding in time with her steps, she cast a quick glance to her left. A shelf of ominous clouds cut a sharp line of black against the pale blue sky.

There was still time to find Edward. If she hurried.

She was not alone on the street, though the thought gave her no comfort. Caught in their own fear, people of all ages and sizes rushed past her, scrambling for home. Three horses galloped by, their high-pitched whinnies echoing the panic they held in their eyes.

Navigating the labyrinth of activity, Rebecca dashed around the mercantile. She cast another glance to the sky. The rapidly approaching clouds had taken on a sickly, greenish tint.

Oh, Lord, please, I beg You. Do not take Edward away from me. He’s all I have left.

As if to mock her prayer, black clouds swallowed the last patch of sunlight.

She broke into a run across the expanse of dirt and pebbles behind the mercantile building. Debris and sand stung her exposed skin while the raging wind pulled and pushed at her, tossing her around like a child’s doll. Thankfully, she had in sight the livery stable where her brother lived and worked.

Five more steps and she was there.

“Edward!” she shouted into the wind.

No answer.

She ran to the opposite end of the stable, only to discover the doors flung wide open. Not a man or horse in sight.

“Edward?” Panic made her Norwegian accent heavier than usual. “Are you in there?”

Still no answer.

Could he be in the blacksmith shop? She took a step forward, but a gust of wind shoved her back. She missed her footing, twisted in midair and landed on her hands and knees.

“Edward,” she whimpered, loss of hope making her voice crack.

Gritting her teeth, she wobbled to a standing position. One step. Two. A hand clamped around her arm and pulled her backward, away from the stable.

“No.” She fought against the steely grip. “Please. I need to get to my brother.”

“You need to get below ground.”

Instead of calming her, the sound of the gravelly voice, so strong and masculine and unmistakably not Edward, shot a wave of pure terror through her.

“I have to find my brother. He might not realize the danger. He—”

“There’s no time.”

She looked to the heavens. The swirling clouds were better organized now, twisting in a powerful circular motion. She clawed at the hand still holding her arm. “Let me go.”

“Rebecca, you’ll do Edward no good if you panic.”

The use of her name, rather than the words spoken, had her turning her head toward the insistent voice. Her gaze connected with the intense, deep brown eyes of Pete Benjamin. Her stomach folded inside itself. She’d never seen such raw emotion in the reserved blacksmith before. Fear, impatience—both were glaring back at her.

“Pete.” She had to shout over the wind. “Help me find him.”

“No time. We have to take cover.”

Without waiting for her to respond, he forced her away from the stable, step by step. Not roughly, but with firm, insistent movements.

As if to punctuate his urgency, the rain let loose. The wind turned deafening, the sound as loud as if they were standing in the path of an incoming freight train.

The door to the blacksmith shop flung open. The clank of tools slamming into the walls could be heard over the wind. Rationally, she knew she had to get out of the storm, but she couldn’t move.

“Hurry.” Pete readjusted his hold, practically lifting her off the ground as he took off toward the back of the livery. Rebecca half stumbled, half skipped beside him.

With each step, wind and horizontal rain spit in her face. She ducked her head, but tears leaked from her eyes, anyway.

Just as she turned her face to the sky again, Pete yanked her toward him. “Look out.”

One of his tools flew past her head, missing her by mere inches.

“Stay down.” Pete released her long enough to throw open the door to the storm cellar. Without his sturdy grip, Rebecca fell to her knees again.

He lifted her to her feet. “You first.”

“I—”

“Go.”

She went. In her haste, she tripped just as she reached the bottom of the steps, landing hard against the wall. She turned around, flattened her back against the unforgiving stone and tried to settle her ragged breathing. But like the bugs scurrying past her feet, thoughts chased around in Rebecca’s brain.

She shifted slightly to her left, batting away the cobwebs as she went. A few seconds later, Pete rushed into the cellar.

With a powerful jerk, he pulled the door shut behind him and threw the bolt. The gesture plunged the small room into pitch-black darkness.

“There’s a lantern on the middle shelf to your left,” he yelled down to her.

Hands shaking, Rebecca reached out and fumbled around until her palm curled around cool glass. “I’ve got it,” she shouted back.

“The matches are beside it, on your right.”

Hands shaking harder still, she found the box of matches. It took her three attempts to ignite one. Momentarily blinded by the miniature fire, she somehow managed to light the lantern, anyway.

Pete came down the first three steps and then stopped, his gaze never fully leaving the door. Loud, hissing air slipped through the slats, filling every crevice of the room, a brutal reminder of the terror sweeping across their small Kansas town.

Had Edward found cover in time?