Healing the Boss's Heart

“Get in here under cover,” Greg shouted, realizing the danger. “That stuff can get big enough to knock out a full grown cow.”

Ignoring him, Tommy dropped his bike and began swatting uselessly at the pellets of ice that were now falling in far greater numbers. “Ow, ow, ow!”

At the end of his patience, Greg took four long strides and made a grab for Tommy while he was distracted. The wind had picked up and was driving the already nickel-size chunks of hail at them with stinging force. There was no more time to argue.

A siren began to wail. Bending against the wind and struggling to stay on his feet, Greg hunched over the boy to shield him and glanced down Main Street where a distant police car had begun flashing its red-and-blue lights.

Townspeople were scattering right and left. Umbrellas were turning inside out with a quick snap, making them worse than useless. Passersby had pulled jackets and whatever else they had at hand over their heads and were scrambling for cover. In the park across the street, a mother grabbed her toddler and made a wild dash for safety, abandoning his plastic-canopied stroller and the rest of her belongings to the storm.

Trash cans along the street and in the park toppled with a bang and dumped their contents. Some rolled in tight arcs, kept from blowing away by the slim chains that held them to their stanchions, while others tore loose and tumbled toward the High Plains River to the north.

This newer, more powerful wind carried strange odors, as if a freshly plowed field suddenly had become airborne. There was grass and cedar and ozone in the mix, too. That meant the weather was about to become even more perilous.

Freezing for only an instant, Greg strained to listen. Every sense was alert. His pulse was pounding in his ears so loudly he wasn’t sure what he was actually hearing. A dull humming echoed in the distance, then increased in volume.

Frightening memories came flooding back, fears that he had kept buried since childhood.

How could this be happening? The morning had been warm. Balmy. There had been no tornado watches or warnings in effect that he knew of, nor had there been a peep out of the town’s antiquated alarm system.

That didn’t matter now. The hum had grown to a roar and seemed to be coming from the southwest. Unless he was imagining things, High Plains was about to be hit by a twister!

Greg pivoted and peered into the sheeting rain and ice crystals, trying to make out anything definitive. It was hopeless. All he could see was blackness in the distance and a gray pall overhead.

Wind-driven hail had punched holes in the bright red-and-white awning over the front of Elmira’s Pie Shop next door. The canvas was whipping so violently it was beginning to shred and tear away from its frame. Other bits of material were blowing past, too, some large enough to do serious damage to anything or anyone in the way.

“Come on, kid. I’m done arguing,” he shouted, staying bent over and slinging the small child into his arms.

The boy struggled. His loose bicycle went skidding across the pavement and on down the brick street as if it were weightless.

Shrieking, “Charlie!” Tommy reached toward the place where his dog had been. Instead of staying with him, the mutt had tucked its tail and was headed for the park across the street.

He was frantic. “Charlie!”

Greg ducked into the safety of the office door archway just as the police car finally reached them and cruised past, its occupant broadcasting a “take cover” order over the sound of the wailing, pulsing siren.

Tommy was kicking and pounding on him with his tight little fists. “No! I have to get Charlie!”

Struggling to stay balanced while holding the child, Greg paused in the doorway. Using its protruding stone frame as a temporary shelter, he took one last look at the menacing sky.

There was no doubt about it. He couldn’t spot a funnel cloud yet but he was positive trouble was coming—with a vengeance. Straight-line winds were already causing plenty of havoc and a tornado would probably finish the job.

Lush cottonwood trees across the street bent and thrashed about as if they were about to be ripped to shreds. Many small branches and leaves had already torn loose and were flying away like tattered green confetti.

A few foolish people had taken to their cars, apparently hoping to outrun the storm, and were now reduced to peering through shattered and pocked windshields as they crept along the street in newly dented vehicles. At least the cars’ windshields were made of safety glass and didn’t completely fall apart when they were hit. If those cars didn’t end up airborne, their occupants would probably be okay. If a twister caught and lifted them, however, they would be in serious, possibly deadly, trouble.

During the years he’d spent up north, Greg had forgotten how terrifying the forces of nature could be in the plains. Unfortunately, it was all coming back to him. Vividly.

Maya had been watching with growing concern and already had her car keys in hand when she jerked open the door to admit her boss and Tommy. “Get inside. Quick!”

He thrust the squirming child at her. “Here. Take him. I’m going back after his dog.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” She clutched his arm and pointed. “You’ll never catch it. Look.”

Debris was swirling through the air in ever-increasing amounts and the hail had begun to pile in lumpy drifts along the curb. It had flattened the flowers she’d so lovingly placed in the planters and buried their stubbly remnants under inches of white, icy crystals.

In the distance, Tommy’s dog was disappearing into the maelstrom. Unless the frightened animal responded to commands to return, there was no chance of anyone catching up to it.

Gregory took a deep breath and hollered, “Charlie,” but Maya could tell he was wasting his breath. The soggy mongrel didn’t even slow.

“Take the boy and head for the basement,” Gregory yelled at her. Ducking inside, he had to put his shoulder to the heavy door and use his full weight to close and latch it.

She shoved Tommy back at him. “No. I have to go get Layla.”

“In this weather? Don’t be an idiot.”

“She’s my daughter. She’s only three. She’ll be scared to death if I’m not there.”

“She’s in the preschool at the church, right? They’ll take care of the kids.”

“No. I’m going after her.”

“Use your head. You can’t help Layla if you get yourself killed.” He grasped her wrist, holding tight.

Maya struggled, twisting her arm till it hurt. “Let me go. I’m going to my baby. She’s all I’ve got.”

“That’s crazy! If the hail doesn’t knock you out cold the tornado’s likely to bury you.”

“I don’t care.”

“Yes, you do.”

“No, I don’t! Let go of me.” To her amazement, he held fast. This was the kind of crude treatment she’d refused to accept in the past and had thought she’d escaped for good. No one, especially a man, was going to treat her this way and get away with it. No one.

“Stop. Think,” he shouted, staring at her as if she were deranged.

She continued to struggle, to refuse to give in to his will, his greater strength. “No. You think. I’m going to my little girl. That’s all there is to it.”

“How? Driving?” He indicated the street, which now looked distorted from the vibrations of the front window. “It’s too late. Look at those cars. Your head isn’t half as hard as that metal is and it’s already full of dents.”

“But…”

She knew in her mind that he was right, yet her heart kept insisting she must do something. Anything. Please, God, help me. Tell me what to do!

“We’re going to take shelter,” Gregory ordered, giving her arm a tug. “Now.”

She couldn’t think and stumbled along as he pulled and half dragged her toward the basement access.

Staring into the storm moments ago she had felt as if the fury of the weather was sucking her into a bottomless black hole. Her emotions were still trapped in those murky, imaginary depths, still sinking, spinning out of control. She pictured Layla, with her silky, long dark hair and beautiful brown eyes.