The Weather Girl (2 page)

* * *

B
Y
 
THE
 
TIME
the five o’clock news rolled around, dusty gray clouds had moved in over Abilene and the rest of Big Country. Even though none of the computer models were predicting rain, Summer was going to promise some. During the commercial before her report, Travis walked by the green screen.

“Do y’all say break a leg or something before you go on?”

“Um, no. No one says that,” Summer replied, trying not to laugh. The sound assistant adjusted her mic while Pete, one of the engineering techs, made sure the lighting was right.

“Well, good luck, then, Weather Girl.” Travis started to walk toward the news desk but stopped. “You should wear blue every day.”

Her mouth dropped open. “Huh?”

“It looks nice. Makes your eyes stand out.” He pointed at her face as though she’d forgotten where her eyes were located. “You have amazing eyes.”

Summer was momentarily speechless. She looked over at a scowling Rachel, who practically had smoke blowing out her ears. “Funny. I was actually encouraged not to wear blue today. It kills bears in Chicago or something.”

Rachel pinched the bridge of her nose and shook her head. Travis’s brow furrowed. “The color blue kills bears? For real?”

“I think. Maybe not. I heard that somewhere, but that person was probably wrong because why in the world would blue have anything to do with bears? I mean, that makes no sense, right? I’m sure bears like blue,” Summer rambled. How she wished she’d remained speechless. Her nerves took over. “Did you know that even though Chicago is called the Windy City, it doesn’t even rank in the top ten windiest cities in the U.S.?”

“Really?”

“Really. Blue Hill, Massachusetts, is actually the windiest city.”

“Blue Hill?” Travis smiled. “Are you messin’ with me?”

“I never mess around about the weather.”

“Ten seconds,” the director called out. “Places, everyone.”

Summer shook her head, trying to clear it of all this nonsense brought on by the man who needed an extra thirty seconds. She closed her eyes and pictured an F5 tornado blowing through town and taking Richard, Ken, Rachel and Travis with it. Once all the troublemakers in her life were swept away by her imaginary tornado, Summer felt back in control. She opened her eyes just as the light above the camera turned on.

Summer cut the national outlook out of her segment and somehow managed to fit her entire forecast into the little time she’d been given.

“Everyone, including the National Weather Service, says we shouldn’t expect precipitation anytime soon. But, believe it or not, I say the rain will fall tonight across most of West Central Texas,” she said, ending her report over at the news desk.

“Well, if Summer Raines says we’re going to get some unexpected showers, I’ll be grabbing my umbrella on the way out tonight, for sure.” Rachel shot a big, fake smile into the camera. No one would believe she was staring daggers at Summer a few minutes ago.

“I do so appreciate your faith in me, Rachel,” Summer returned sweetly.

The control room switched to Camera 2 so Rachel and Brian could introduce Travis. Summer hung around to watch, something she’d never done when Bud was on the air. Travis was nervous and it showed. Sweat made his moppy hair stick to his forehead. He fluctuated between speaking too fast and not fast enough. Maybe he was one of those athletes who’d been pushed through school without having to actually learn things, like how to read. That or the words on the Teleprompter were written in Chinese. He saved himself a little when he bantered with Rachel and Brian. He was better unscripted.

By the ten o’clock newscast, someone must have given him a few pointers. He managed to maintain a stable rate of speech, though it was still too fast. He ad-libbed more and wiped the sweat off his forehead during the highlight clips.

The viewers—and their colleagues—would probably still love him. People cut guys like Travis more slack than they deserved. If he ever figured out how to read, Summer would have to kiss her thirty seconds goodbye for good. She hung out in the Stormwatch Room, avoiding being seen in the newsroom sulking. She checked up on the storm in the Atlantic that had picked up enough speed to be classified as a hurricane. It would die out at sea, though. This day in weather history, Hurricane Nadine raged and whipped across the water. It maxed out at wind speeds of eighty-five miles per hour. No one in Abilene would ever know about it because all they cared about were Travis Lockwood’s thoughts on the Dallas Cowboys’ preseason.

The lights were low in the newsroom when Summer finally dared to show her face. All the producers and writers had gone home for the night. Ken’s office was lit up behind drawn shades. He was likely congratulating himself with a glass of his secret whiskey he only broke out on special occasions. Still feeling defeated, Summer shut down her computer and picked up her bag and umbrella.

“You heading home?”

She jumped. Travis was leaning against the wall across from the elevators, somehow still managing to look as if he just stepped off the pages of
GQ.

“It’s about that time, I guess.” She fiddled with her umbrella, spinning it on its pointy tip.

“You really can tell when it’s going to rain? Even when the computers say differently?”

“What do computers really know?” Summer shot back. “Sometimes I think people have forgotten how to trust those feelings we all get. That tickle on the back of your neck right before something bad happens. The knot in your gut when something’s not right. The way your heart tells you to stay or go.”

The elevator arrived and the doors opened. Travis pushed off the wall and followed Summer inside. “Hearts can be fickle. Hard to trust,” he said. His eyes stayed focused on the numbers above the door as they lit up.

“True.” Summer’s heart had played a trick or two on her before. “But usually we aren’t listening close enough.”

Travis nodded. That storm inside him had done some damage, that much was clear.

“So, was reporting about sports all you imagined it would be?” she asked as they reached the bottom floor. The doors opened and they made their way to the exit.

“I thought those who can’t play can at least talk about it. Turns out it’s harder than people like you make it look.”

“You did fine,” she said, to be polite.

“I was terrible.”

Summer couldn’t argue with his self-assessment. She almost felt bad for him until he held open the door for her and took note of the very dry parking lot.

“I don’t know, Weather Girl. I think you might be losing your touch.”

Summer couldn’t hold back her grin as the thunder rumbled overhead. She opened her big red umbrella and stepped outside. The skies let go, raindrops sending tiny dust clouds into the air where they hit the pavement. “What was that?” she asked. She cupped her ear with her free hand. “I can’t hear you over the rain and thunder.”

“Aren’t you going to offer to walk me to my car?” he shouted as she slowly backed away.

“I think you might be losing your touch, Lady-killer.” She picked up the pace. “Good night!”

It wasn’t a tornado, but watching Travis Lockwood get soaked to the bone as he ran to his fancy black sports car kind of made Summer’s day.

CHAPTER TWO

T
RAVIS
 
WAS
 
HALFWAY
 
out the door for his morning run when his phone rang. It was his mother, and he knew better than to ignore the call.

“Hey, Mom. Did you watch last night?”

“Did I watch last night? Of course I did! You were so great.” Her definition of “great” must have been skewed by motherly devotion. “Your aunt Kelly called me right away to say you looked so handsome. And I just got off the phone with your brother. He thought you did super. Well, except he disagrees with your opinion of the Cowboys’ defense, but you know Conner. He’s decided the Texans are the only team in the state worth watching this year.”

“What did Dad have to say?” Travis feared the answer but asked anyway. His father’s opinion was never affected by silly emotion.

His mother paused. Not a good sign. “You know your father. He was so tired last night and was asleep before the news came on. I recorded it, though. I’ll make sure he watches.”

His dad hadn’t even bothered to watch. Travis was used to hearing his father’s long list of things he needed to work on before the next game, but complete apathy was something he hadn’t expected. Postgame criticism never hurt this badly. Was this what he had to look forward to? Disappointment masked as indifference?

Travis was having a hard enough time dealing with his own disappointment. His football career was over before it had truly had a chance to begin. One and a half seasons; that was all he got before a Chicago Bears linebacker sacked him and reinjured his shoulder. Playing football was all he knew. Since he was six years old, Travis had worked endless hours to be the best quarterback to come out of Texas. His father had been his coach until he was twelve. Then his parents hired the first private quarterback coach. The expectations were high and the pressure increased exponentially over time. Outside of football, his dad apparently had no expectations of him.

“Listen, Mom. I was about to head out for a run before work. I’ll call you in a couple of days, all right?”

“Sounds good. Don’t worry about your dad, honey. Training camp started and he’s in mourning, I guess. But he’ll come around. You’ll see. We love you, Travis. You know that.”

“I know. Love you, too. Gotta run.” He hung up and pushed his earbuds in, turning up the music good and loud. Travis never doubted his mother’s love. The woman had doted on him his entire life regardless of how he did on the field. His father’s love always felt more conditional. When the doctors informed them Travis’s shoulder injury was career-ending, he had seen the look on his father’s face. All the work, all the time, all the money he’d put into Travis was wasted. All his father’s hopes and dreams died that day.

Mourning.
His dad was mourning more than training camp.

Travis tried to clear his mind as he ran. He welcomed the burn in his legs and the ache in his chest as he hit the six-mile mark. The air was still a little thick from the rain last night, though there was no sign of it on the pavement. Travis shook his head at the memory of the girl with the red umbrella running to her car. Summer Raines. That girl was unusual, to say the least.

Women loved Travis. Back in high school and college, they lined up to get nothing more than a minute of his time.And his year and a half in the NFL? He could have dated a different woman every week.

He didn’t do that, though. He had one girlfriend in high school, went out with a couple of girls in college and found himself a pretty lady who wanted to marry him during his first year with the Dolphins. But Brooke went running for the hills as soon as she found out Travis Lockwood wasn’t going to be the next Dan Marino.

Fickle hearts. Stupid, fickle hearts.

Losing his career was tough. Losing faith in the person he thought was his true love was devastating. Travis’s life had been on a nice, straight path, then all of a sudden it took a very sharp right. Then a left, before he spun out. Now he didn’t know which direction he was headed. He was alone and unsure if that was the way it should be. After Brooke took his ring and stomped on his heart, trust would never come easily to him again.

Six months after his last football game, Travis picked up the pieces of his broken heart and his busted shoulder and returned to Sweetwater to start over. He was still loved throughout West Central Texas even if he couldn’t play ball anymore. Everybody knew who he was and still thought he was worth something. Ken Collins thought he was worth something. He called Travis up and asked if he wanted to use that communications degree he’d earned. Sportscasting wasn’t Travis’s dream job, but hell, neither was football. Football had simply been his only option. When he couldn’t play anymore, reporting on it seemed like a decent alternative— at least until Travis could figure out what he really wanted to do with his life.

The problem with reporting seemed to be that he wasn’t very good at it. It was probably for the best that his dad hadn’t watched him fail. It was only a matter of time before he disappointed Ken the way he’d let his dad down. Travis needed to work harder if he didn’t want to end up unemployed again. Everyone at the station had welcomed him with open arms. Well, almost everyone. Summer Raines wasn’t impressed. She didn’t know who he was or what he had accomplished in his life. She didn’t seem to know or care much about football at all. The weather girl was dedicated to her craft—period.

Travis sped up, sweat dripping down his forehead. He wiped it out of his eyes with the back of his hand. He was in the zone now, his body working like a well-oiled machine. No one who saw him running would suspect he was damaged beyond repair. Of course, out here there was no one trying to throw him down on the ground, looking to completely destroy his weakened shoulder. He was in great physical shape, just not for the one thing he thought he was born to do.

He pushed himself harder than usual. Rachel would likely give him some on-air pointers. She came off as more than willing to mentor the newcomer. So unlike the weather girl, who was excellent at her job but didn’t seem to be much of a team player. Both women were experienced reporters. He also couldn’t deny they were attractive. Rachel had a face that was made for television—a friendly smile, high cheekbones and porcelain skin. Summer had long blond hair with a little curl and the prettiest eyes he had ever seen.

As he sprinted back toward his house, he thought about how the last thing he needed was to give someone else a chance to break what was left of his heart. Rachel had been incredibly kind to him on his first day, but her intentions were familiarly questionable. She was too impressed with who Travis had been. Summer didn’t like him. She had made that clear, and maybe that was what made her a safe mentor. He’d never get caught in the rain unprepared, and there was no chance they’d ever fall in love. It was a win-win for him, and it’d been a long time since Travis had won at anything.

* * *

“Y
OU
 
REMEMBER
 
PLAYING
Wylie your senior year? My son was tight end. Maybe you remember him— Sean Harper? Number 80. He was a junior. Made all-conference his senior year.”

Travis had played in thousands of football games. He remembered lots of opponents. He knew all the quarterbacks, several linemen, a handful of linebackers. Tight ends? Not so many. But the portly man with the bright green tie sitting beside him looked so desperate for Travis to recall his son, he lied.

“Sean Harper from Wylie.” He paused as though he was trying to place him. “Oh yeah, tight end. He was a helluva player. Where’d he go after high school?”

Mr. Harper was beaming. “He went to A&M. Didn’t play ball. Graduates this spring with a degree in accounting.”

“You must be very proud.”

“He’s got a bright future ahead of him. His mom and I couldn’t be prouder.” Mr. Harper smiled and went back to his lunch. Bright future. Travis remembered what it felt like to have one of those. Suddenly, his shoulder ached and his stomach hurt. He tried to get in a couple bites before someone else asked him a football-related question, reminding him once again that his future wasn’t looking nearly as good as Sean Harper’s.

Making an appearance for the station at the Abilene Rotary Club luncheon sounded like a dream until Travis realized how little eating would actually be involved. After helping to present a service award to a gangly, pimply-faced teenager, he’d been bombarded with a million questions. The small banquet hall was filled with many of Abilene’s finest, people who cared enough to give back to their community. Businessmen and businesswomen, local leaders, regular citizens who found purpose in promoting goodwill through their fellowship. Travis was surrounded by very nice people. Very nice people who wanted to talk to the fallen hero of West Central Texas. Each time he lifted his fork to his mouth, he was thwarted by another question.

“What channel do you work for again?” a woman with silver hair asked from across the table.

“He’s over at Channel 6 with Rachel Crow and that weather girl who always knows when it’s going to rain,” Mr. Harper replied, allowing Travis to indulge in his first bite of the chicken that had been cooling on his plate.

“Oh, Summer Raines.” The woman smiled. “I love her.”

“You have to tell us,” another gentleman in a dark blue blazer said, his eyes crinkling in the corners. “Is it true she has magic powers? Can she really predict when it’s going to rain, or is it a gimmick?”

Travis’s mouth was full of some of the best mashed potatoes he’d had in a long time. He swallowed them quickly as all eyes turned on him. It was strange to talk about something other than his football past—or lack of a football future. Summer Raines had offered him a reprieve, and she wasn’t even here. “Well, I haven’t been working there long enough to be sure, but I don’t think it’s magic. She’s just real good at her job.”

“Rumor is she’s a witch,” one of the younger women at the table whispered. “That’s why she’s so connected with nature. Wicca, they call it.”

Travis snorted. Were these people serious? Travis didn’t know the woman well, but she sure wasn’t a witch. “I don’t think she’s a witch. She takes the weather seriously. Spends a lot of time looking at things online. Maps and radars, you know. Weather stuff.” He had no idea what he was talking about. The other diners stared as though they could tell.

“She’s the only one I trust. She’s always right,” the gray-haired woman said, breaking the silence.

The man beside her agreed. “Never been wrong in all the time I’ve watched.”

Travis was impressed. He drank some iced tea and finished his lunch while the table continued to discuss the storms Summer had predicted. The weather girl was quite the legend in her own right. If he could learn from her, Travis might be able to pull this sportscasting thing off.

* * *

T
HE
 
NEWSROOM
 
WAS
quieter today. Yesterday everyone had bombarded Travis with their memories of games they had watched him play over the years. One of the producers had been following Travis’s career since he was in Pee Wee. Today, people were still friendly, but not as in-his-face. There was only one face he wanted to get in front of, and she was already at her desk, on her computer.

“Good afternoon, Weather Girl.”

Her annoyance at that nickname was obvious. Her naturally pink cheeks flushed red and made him smile. She hated him and he loved it.

“Mr. Lockwood, good to see you were able to dry off after last night,” she quipped.

Travis’s laugh was deep. How he’d missed laughing for real and not for show. “I plan on telling Ken it’s entirely your fault if I catch a cold.”

“I don’t control the weather, I just predict it.” She turned her attention back to her monitor. Her soft-looking curls fell down like a curtain, shielding her face from him. He wanted to reach out and push them behind her ear so he could see those cheeks, those eyes. Her eyes really were amazing. They were big and blue like the Texas sky.

He sat on the edge of her desk. She flipped her hair off her shoulder and side-eyed him, saying nothing. He picked up the framed photo of a young couple and a curly-haired, little girl in front of something that looked like a souped-up tank. She snatched it out of his hands and set it back in its place. “Is there something you need? Maybe you’re looking to unload thirty seconds from your segment? Or are you just here to bother me?”

“I was the special guest at the Abilene Rotary Club’s luncheon today. They think you have magic powers. Said you’ve never been wrong about when it’s going to rain.” He left out the part where they wondered if she was a witch.

“No magic powers,” she said, trying to look disinterested.

“That’s what I said. I told them it was nothing but luck, and odds were you’d get it wrong one of these days.”

Summer stopped what she was doing and turned her whole body in his direction. “Did you, now?”

Finally, he had her full attention. He smiled. Most ladies loved the dimples, but they only seemed to fuel Summer’s fire. “I mean, if it’s not magic, what else could it be?”

“You were a football player before this, correct?”

He liked how she had to ask, as if she wasn’t completely sure. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Does that not require any intuition at all? Or do you just learn how to play and that’s it? Anybody with any athletic ability can do it?”

Again, she made him laugh. “Anyone can play. But to be good, you need to read more than a playbook.”

“Exactly,” she said with a smile and a wave of her hand. “I read more than the radar. I can’t explain how it works, I just feel it. I’m sure there are things you can’t teach someone about football. They just know it or they don’t.”

“Well, that’s probably true. My mom swears I was born wearing a helmet. I probably know more about football than I want to.” That was the truth. He had slept, eaten, drunk and breathed football his entire life. “Anytime you want to learn something about the game, I’d be happy to teach you.”