“What if today was the last day we had?” Lexi asked.
As the tornado surged outside, she looked up at him and wondered why she had let him go so easily. The words were definitely more maudlin than she’d intended.
“At least we’re together,” he said.
“Together?” She shook her head. She knew without a doubt that she wasn’t over her husband. He whispered that he sometimes felt the same way and she smiled, even though she knew it wasn’t real. This wasn’t real.
But his arms around her were real. This was what happened when two people were afraid and they didn’t know if they would have a tomorrow. And if they did survive, they’d go back to living separate lives, careful to never really look at one another. But for this moment, with their lives hanging in the balance, she chose to not think about it, about tomorrow, and about losing him all over again.
BRENDA MINTON
started creating stories to entertain herself during hour-long rides on the school bus. In high school she wrote romance novels to entertain her friends. The dream grew and so did her aspirations to become an author. She started with notebooks, handwritten manuscripts and characters that refused to go away until their stories were told. Eventually she put away the pen and paper and got down to business with the computer. The journey took a few years, with some encouragement and rejection along the way—as well as a lot of stubbornness on her part. In 2006, her dream to write for Steeple Hill Books came true.
Brenda lives in the rural Ozarks with her husband, three kids and an abundance of cats and dogs. She enjoys a chaotic life that she wouldn’t trade for anything—except, on occasion, a beach house in Texas. You can stop by and visit at her Web site, www.brendaminton.net.
Rekindled Hearts
Brenda Minton
Special thanks and acknowledgment to Brenda Minton for her contribution to the After the Storm miniseries.
Then maidens will dance and be glad,
young men and old as well.
I will turn their mourning into gladness;
I will give them comfort and joy instead of sorrow.
—Jeremiah 31:13
I would like to dedicate this book to my family, for understanding deadlines. To the editors at Love Inspired, for giving me the opportunity to do this story. To my agent, Janet Benrey, for being the best.
To survivors everywhere.
Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Questions for Discussion
Prologue
July 10
The patrol car cruised Main Street of High Plains. There was no breeze, just July heat and heavy humidity. A glance out the open car window confirmed what Police Chief Colt Ridgeway already knew. It was anything but a normal day. The air was too still and the sky had that funky green tint that set a guy’s nerves on edge and raised the hair on his arms.
Foreboding, there was a definite sense of foreboding with the town streets nearly empty at four in the afternoon and the leaves on the trees turned bottom up in advance of the rains that were coming.
Colt had been sitting in his car on a road at the edge of town, storm spotting. Now he headed for the police department connected to the fire station. Two of his officers were still posted on side roads, as were several volunteer firemen. From the looks of things, High Plains, Kansas, was in big trouble. The southern horizon was dark and the clouds rolled. A definite wall cloud had formed and he could see the rotation, even at this distance.
His scanner blasted the information about the latest warning and the tornado siren connected to the town hall went off. The sound blared loud and then soft as it rotated on the pole. Colt hit his siren and lights.
A dozen or more times a year they went through this same scenario, cruising the streets and neighborhoods of High Plains to warn the residents that a tornado had been spotted. If people couldn’t hear the tornado siren, he wanted them to hear the siren on his car.
His radio crackled and the voice of one of his officers, breaking up but discernible, blasted his ear. Colt lowered the volume.
“Go ahead, Bud.”
“Chief, it’s on the ground, ten or fifteen miles out of town.” A muttered comment from Bud.
“Take shelter, Bud.”
“God save…” The deputy’s voice faded.
“Bud?” No answer. Colt had to hope it was just interference. He really had to hope, because the kid was young and just out of the police academy.
Colt wouldn’t lose an officer. He shook his head, remembering the younger cop’s shortened sentence. God save us.
God wasn’t going to save them. Colt could have told the younger officer that he’d prayed more than once in his life, and he wasn’t sure God was listening.
Maybe this time?
Until God proved Himself, Colt would have to do the saving. The people of High Plains had entrusted him with that duty. He drove through a quiet neighborhood, his siren blaring, and headed back to Main Street. The wind picked up and he could smell rain. He could see the dark band of precipitation heading their way.
And above the wind and thunder, he could hear something else. A dog howling. Or he thought it was a dog.
He tried to listen, leaning out a little, but the wind was whipping and he had to put up his window. His radio crackled again. Bud’s voice broke, crackled and then dissolved into nothing.
The siren on his car blended in with the sound of the storm, the tornado siren and the barking dog. Colt glanced to his left, to the street that led to Lexi’s house. He swallowed the lump that rose in his throat, the lump that just thinking about her caused. And then it was fear, because he had to work and couldn’t keep her safe.
Besides that, she wasn’t his wife anymore. He had to let her go.
He had let go. Of course he had. Because he had to let her find happiness, a life that included her dream of having a family.
They had both moved on. He had even dated a little.
A newspaper blew, catching on the wipers of the car. Rain fell in sheets so heavy it was hard to see the street. Trees along the meandering High Plains River, barely a creek most of the time, were circling and bending as the wind picked up.
Ahead of him, just a few blocks away, Tommy Jacobs was riding a bike in the rain that was becoming a downpour. Who let a six-year-old out in weather like this? No way had Beth and Brandon Otis, the boy’s foster parents, let him out to play. That was just Tommy, always sneaking off with that old dog of his. He had probably been in the middle of doing what he loved most,