Crazy Little Thing Called Love (18 page)

“I'm visiting Mindy—Mindy Adams from back in high school.”

“So then I was right—you and Logan don't live here anymore?” The guy grinned. “You two will probably win a prize at our class reunion for being the class' ‘Old Married Couple.' ”

Vanessa sucked in a breath. “Um, no. Logan and I got divorced eight years ago. I live in Denver now.”

Grant's face flushed. “Sorry. I didn't know.”

“There's no way you could have known.”

“But didn't you two just come in the shelter together? What's up with that?”

“We're just here—at the same place, at the same time. It's complicated. Weird.”

“I saw you on TV—”

Was saving that teen going to be an unexpected topic of conversation the entire time she was in Florida? “Yeah. That was another random, same-place, same-time thing.”

“Really?” Grant shrugged his shoulders. “If you say so.”

Vanessa forced a shrug and stepped away.

She needed to get out of town. Fast. And hope she avoided any more accidental run-ins with old classmates.

•  •  •

Vanessa had never been good at waiting—and she was playing a huge wait-and-see game with a couple of thousand other people—and Logan—all trying to find a way to be calm and comfortable in a college sports arena.

She continued another lap around the perimeter of the gym, the sound of her boot heels muffled by the nonstop swirl of conversation and laughter and the cries of fussy babies and even a rough, hoarse snore from a man sprawled out in a lawn chair, ball cap pulled low on his face. The odor of too many perfumes mingled with the occasional whiff of cigarette smoke clinging to someone's clothes. Here and there unlit cigarettes dangled from people's lips, but so far no one had crossed the no-smoking ban put forth by the shelter team.

When she neared the corner occupied by the Wrights and Logan and his team, she almost turned around. Walked the other way. Ridiculous. Logan hadn't acknowledged her once since she'd started her circuit around the gym.

He'd acted as if she were nonexistent ever since he brought Mr. Wright back after helping him change into warm, dry clothes. He'd double-checked the cot Brady and Max had put up for the older man—and ignored her. Chatted with the couple, regaling them with stories of his team's storm-chasing adventures, causing Mrs. Wright to warn them all to be careful. And ignored her. Gone off and played a board game with Brady and Max and some teens who thought storm chasing was totally cool. Still ignored her.

And that was fine.

If this hurricane hadn't disrupted her life—well, everyone's lives—she'd be packing to leave for Colorado. Thankful to say goodbye to the humidity. And the memories. Maybe not so excited to say goodbye to Mindy, who was proving to be a godsend when it came to pulling off this destination wedding.

“Mind if I walk with you for a lap or two?” Julie came alongside her, matching her pace.

“No. I'd love the company.”

“Mr. Wright finally fell asleep.”

“It's been a rough morning for him.”

“My grandfather has early-onset dementia. Changes in his routine unsettle him, too.”

“I'm sorry to hear that.”

“I could wax philosophical about it, but the truth is, it's hard.” Julie's steps slowed. “I've taken my grandmother's approach to handling it.”

“And what's that?”

“You know how people say God will never give us more than we can handle?”

“Yes—I've heard that all my life from my mother.”

“My grandmother says that's not true. That we do face things we can't handle—and that's when we're supposed to realize how much we need God—his strength, his peace, his wisdom. So, when my grandfather started getting ill, my grandmother told me, ‘No pretending I can do this, Julie. I can't. But I wake up every morning and ask God to help me love my husband—whatever he needs from me.' ”

Vanessa was silent for a few moments. “I think that must be how Mrs. Wright handles it, too—taking it one day at a time and trusting God to help her. I'm not so certain I'd be that kind of wife.”

“Well, I'm not even close to being married. I can't even get Max to ask me out on a date, the big goof—”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah. Pathetic, I know.” Julie stepped around a dog crate, where a medium-sized retriever lay snoozing. “Anyway, I'm not married, but isn't that what the whole for-better-or-for-worse part of the ceremony is about?”

“Yes, of course it is.” Vanessa couldn't help wondering if there was a hidden agenda in Julie's conversation. “You know what I wish?”

“What?”

“I wish that, when I was a teenager, someone had told me, ‘
The choices you make today will affect you five years from now. Some will affect you for the rest of your life
.' ”

“You think you would have listened?”

“I don't know. I thought I was so smart when I was eighteen.”

“Didn't we all? I know I sometimes look back and wonder,
Why did I do that?
or think,
If only I had made a different choice
. Everyone asks those questions—everyone.” Julie's laughter returned. “I've learned you can only spend so much time looking back before the future runs you over.”

As they passed the medical station, Vanessa paused. “Do you mind? I think I'll stop in and just see how things are going here.”

“Not a problem.” Julie leaned forward and hugged her. “I know my way back.”

Fear of danger is ten thousand times more terrifying than danger itself.

—DANIEL DEFOE (CA. 1660–1731), AUTHOR, FROM
THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF ROBINSON CRUSOE

L
ogan's neck spasmed—and his back responded with an echoing wince.

And why did his hotel room smell like a school cafeteria?

“I don't think he's awake.” Julie's semi-whisper nudged Logan further from sleep.

“It amazes me how that guy can sleep anywhere.” Brady didn't even bother to lower his voice. “I've seen him sprawled out in the back of our chase car, dead asleep, in the middle of a storm.”

The melody of Vanessa's laugh had Logan rolling onto his back, staring up at the trio—and Max, leaning on his crutches—standing above him. He wasn't in a hotel room—he was in the hurricane shelter. He rubbed his hand down his face, scraping against the early arrival of a five o'clock shadow.

“You all have nothing better to do than watch a man sleep?”

“We weren't sure you were asleep, boss.” Max looked anything but apologetic.

“I was.”

Brady nodded toward Vanessa. “The lady needs to talk to you.”

Logan pushed himself to a sitting position, twisting his neck from left to right. Not much better.

“Can we talk—in private?” Vanessa twisted the end of her braid as she stepped away from the group.

Julie lifted her hands, palms up, and shook her head, mouthing,
Got me
, as Logan stood and followed Vanessa.

A constant hum of conversation competed with the sound of rain and wind buffeting the building. Various styles of music blended together from people's MP3 players, while others chose to read. The barking of dogs and meowing of cats added a whole other level of racket to the shelter. Nearby, a mom sat cross-legged on a blanket, reading one of the
Little House on the Prairie
books to her son and two daughters, who sprawled in front of her. The staff must have prepared lunch while he dozed, because the scent of pizza and burgers and fries lingered in the air.

Once they were a few feet away from everyone else, Vanessa turned and faced him. “Logan, I need your help.”

“Sure.” Logan stifled a yawn with his hand. He could be a nice guy. “Need me to do something else for the Wrights? I mean, I still have to say no if Mr. Wright wants a motorcycle ride—”

His comment earned only a brief smile before Vanessa turned serious.

“This sick kid came into the shelter earlier—the paramedics have been watching him. They thought it was a recurrence of the flu he had last week.” She glanced over her shoulder toward where the medical team was set up. “But he's complaining of right lower quadrant pain and a fever. And he's throwing up.”

“That doesn't sound good.”

“They've been talking to the ER doc at Twin Cities, and she thinks this kid has appendicitis—and he may be becoming septic. His pulse is high, and he's more lethargic than we would expect—”

Logan tried to follow what she was saying, but he wasn't a medic. “So what do you need from me, Vanessa?”

“The kid probably needs surgery. The paramedics are dealing with stuff here. I told them about you—that you're a storm chaser and have experience driving in difficult weather conditions.” A brief laugh followed her statement. “That you go looking for the bad stuff, even. And I said you could take the mom and her son to Twin Cities Hospital.”

Vanessa's announcement felt as if she'd hauled him back outside into the middle of the hurricane's raging wind and rain. Okay. He was wide awake now. “What? No. They have plenty of paramedics or EMTs here—”

“Logan, this boy just needs to be transported two miles to Twin Cities—that's all. They've already got an IV in him. I told them that I'd ride along with you to supervise, check the IV, reassure the mom—”

The wail of a baby interrupted Vanessa's words, rasping across Logan's frayed nerves like the howl of the ambulance siren that came to the rescue when he and Max had been tossed around by the twister.

“No. There's got to be someone else.”

She stepped closer, resting her hand on his arm, warmth seeping through the fabric of his sleeve. “I'm scared for this boy.” Her words reached into his heart and lodged there like some sort of verbal thorn. “He could get septic—infected—at this point pretty quickly. Worst case, he could die. No one wants to make a big deal in front of his mom and dad. They've got two other younger kids to take care of. Please, help me help this family.”

Vanessa might as well have backed him into a corner. Being this close to her again tangled his senses. He knew he needed to listen to what she was saying—a young boy was dangerously ill—but found himself noticing the flecks of gold in her eyes. Realizing she wore the same perfume he remembered from high school. Wondering why she'd let her hair grow so long and if she ever released it from the confines of the braid.

Even as he battled the physical attraction, her words tore at his heart. And yet the thought of driving this sick kid—and the mother and Vanessa—through a hurricane threatened to buckle his knees. Vanessa was thinking of what he was capable of doing—but Logan knew he wasn't invincible. And yet he wanted to help . . . to figure out a way to say yes. To help Vanessa.

Fine. He would do it—but he was going to do it his way.

“I'll take them—but I'm taking them
by myself
. I know how to get to the hospital from here.”

“I'm not going as your navigator, Logan, just to give you directions.” Vanessa stared him down, her brown eyes darkening to the color of jasper.

“What are you talking about?”

“Well, we're not taking an ambulance, but still, if things go bad—and they could, even in a five-minute ride to the hospital—there are some things I can do because of my medical training.”

“Send another paramedic.”

“I volunteered both of us—you driving, and me to ride along and monitor the boy. I've talked to the mom already, and she's comfortable with me and with this plan.” She held up her hand when he opened his mouth to continue arguing with her. “We're done negotiating, Logan. There's simply no time. I'm going to go tell the team it's all settled. We need to leave in fifteen minutes—or less.”

Logan wanted to grab Vanessa by the shoulders. Stop her. Shake her. Try to talk sense into her—but she turned her back on him and walked away.

Vanessa had hoped to avoid a standoff with her parents. Wishful thinking.

“Why Florida State?” Her father leaned against the kitchen counter. “I'm not sure you'll be qualifying as a Florida resident yet, which means you'll be paying out-of-state tuition costs.”

Vanessa clutched the acceptance letter to her chest, as if her father might tear it from her hands and throw it in the trash. “Only for the first semester. After that, I'll qualify for in-state tuition.”

Her mother turned from the stove, steam rising from the pot of boiling water waiting for the spaghetti noodles. “Did you even apply to any other colleges like your father and I recommended?”

Great—now it was two against one. Couldn't just one of her parents be on her side? Should she give her mother the answer she wanted or be honest? “I thought about it—but I don't want to move around anymore. I want to stay in Florida.”