No Place Like Home. Robin Nicholas

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СКАЧАТЬ him with a determination meant to convey she was here to stay. He’d already raised his still camera, shooting away. Seemingly at her.

      Mariah moved hastily out of range, conscious of her windblown hair, wrinkled clothes and run stockings. There was obviously no use in talking to him now. He fired off that camera like an automatic weapon, going through a roll of film in less than a minute, trading it for a fresh roll from his pocket, reloading and shooting again.

      The storm was indeed a magnificent sight moving across the prairie, more imposing than when viewed from the confines of the city. Yet she felt that same safe feeling she’d felt as a child, watching the rain from the shelter of her parents’ front porch. With Rafe standing between her and the approaching front, broad-shouldered and enlightened to any danger, it was easy to understand where that sense of security came from.

      Her untrained eye began to distinguish the storm darkening as it traveled in a northeasterly direction. Questions gathered in her mind as he captured the scene on film. But he seemed to have forgotten she was there.

      He already regretted her presence; rather than interrupt him, Mariah took a moment to survey her surroundings. Behind her, the land rose, leveling off at a barbed-wire fence. Cropped pastures lined the roadsides, and she wondered if there were cows grazing up there. Or maybe even a horse. Like most females, she was drawn by the equine mystique.

      Lightning crackled in the distance. Mariah flinched, glancing over her shoulder. Rafe’s back was to her, his camera aimed at the flashes that streaked the sky. If she found a horse and rode away, he wouldn’t notice until he ran out of film.

      Calmed by his lack of alarm, she climbed to the top of the knoll and curled her hands around the fence.

      Disappointment swept through her. Not a horse in sight. Not even a cow, though evidence of them lay in pungent dried chips on the ground.

      The breeze seemed stronger at the top of the slope and felt good on her skin after the climb. Goose bumps pricked her arms, tingled her scalp—

      Rafe reached around her, closing his hands overtop of hers, prying her fingers from the wire. Before she could protest, he swung her away from the fence. Jagged bolts dropped from the clouds, effectively closing the miles between them and the storm. Thunder reverberated, but failed to drown out his curse—likely over the picture he’d just missed. He ushered her down the weedy slope to where he’d set up the video camera, and her temper flared with each step she took.

      He faced her abruptly, grasping her arms as if tempted to shake some sense into her. “Are you crazy? If lightning strikes that wire, even milesaway, you might as well grab hold of a power line! Always keep your distance from a fence in a storm.”

      “Well, excuse me. But I don’t chase storms for a living.”

      “I know. Your mother sends you to the basement.”

      She glared at him and his hands tightened on her arms. Then they gentled. Cold then hot, he was as changing as the weather. Mariah shivered; she felt the heat. But she couldn’t help wondering if the scare she’d given him had turned his thoughts to Ann.

      The breeze buffeted their bodies against each other and abruptly, he released her.

      “Just…stay by me, okay? I need to get some more pictures.”

      He didn’t like that he wanted her. And she liked it too much. But he clearly felt responsible for her well-being, if only because he was stuck with her.

      Surprisingly, as he resumed shooting, he offered a grudging explanation from behind the camera. “That dark cloud close to the ground, beneath the center of the updraft base, is a wall cloud.”

      Updraft base? Wall cloud? Intrigued, she followed him, edging along the roadside in the direction of the storm. “The wide one with the rather jagged looking edges?”

      “That’s right.”

      “The one kind of…hovering there?”

      “Yeah…”

      “The one kind of…churning?”

      “Rotating…Damn.” Rafe lowered the camera. “It’s started to rotate.”

      “That’s what I said. And just feel that cool fresh air.” Standing beside him, Mariah breathed deeply of the rich country scent, the invigorating breeze combining with Rafe’s more cooperative mood to perk up her spirit. She’d never thought of a storm as beautiful, but she’d like to have a picture of this one. Rafe seemed almost a part of it, the wind combing through his crisp hair, his loose shirt whipping from his lean body. His eyes seemed to reflect the electric atmosphere of the storm.

      “Here.” He lifted the strap from around his neck and pushed the camera into her hand. Mariah fumbled to catch hold of it, wondering if he’d read her mind. He gave her a nudge toward the truck. “Go on back. I’ll be right there.”

      He moved swiftly toward the video camera, apparently ready to leave. She stared after him, exasperated. He did everything in such a hurry. But at least he was talking to her. On that positive note, she started down the slope, inspecting the camera, her head bent to the wind.

      It looked a lot like her own 35mm at home. Mariah glanced up the knoll as Rafe hoisted the tripod to his shoulder. She caught her lip, then faced the storm, raising the camera and focusing through the viewfinder until she’d framed in the impressive wall cloud. Amazing. The storm appeared perilously closer through the eye of the camera….

      “I should have made you sign a waiver,” Rafe muttered from close behind, in the same moment she clicked the shutter.

      “I only took one picture. I didn’t break anything.”

      “I was thinking more along the lines of liability.”

      “What do you mean?” Surely they weren’t in any danger. The storm was miles away, moving east.

      “Never mind. Come on.”

      He caught her hand and pulled her the last few feet down the slope. The ground was rough along the gravelly edge of the road, and Mariah stumbled, grasping his arm for balance. The muscle beneath her hand was like iron. Tense. She glanced up at him. His jaw was set, his mouth pressed grimly, his mind clearly on the business of packing up.

      Mariah moved back as he opened the hatch to store the tripod. She stepped slowly from behind the truck, breeze flowing over her, along with a sense of unreality as she surveyed the storm. The beauty of the massive white clouds seemed suddenly eclipsed by the sinister air of the wall cloud, the blackish-blue mass churning faster, holding her mesmerized. The branches of a nearby cottonwood bowed and cold air rushed over her skin. She should have been frightened. But when the snaky gray funnel dropped from the cloud, she instinctively raised the camera.

      “Mariah!”

      Rafe’s voice came faintly from behind her, the wind whipping her name away. He wouldn’t like it if she used up his film…. She stared through the viewfinder, entranced as the funnel touched down.

      “The Wizard of Oz tornado…” she murmured.

      Click. The base darkened—with dust and debris, she realized. And it was coming closer….

      She lowered the camera, eyes СКАЧАТЬ