The Weather Girl (8 page)

She shook her head, though the gesture was a lie. Lately there was this gentle pull when she was near him that was followed by a much bigger desire to run far away. He was more complicated than she’d first thought, and that made him interesting. She didn’t need interesting men in her life. Especially not when Ryan was tempting her to fly the coop earlier than she’d planned.

They made it downstairs without any other weather facts escaping her lips. The parking lot was nearly empty. Some clouds had rolled in, but they didn’t hold any rain. Summer hadn’t felt rain since Sunday.

“Hopefully tomorrow will be a better day,” Travis said as they approached her car.

Summer sighed and started searching the bottomless pit that was her purse. “If today is any indication of what I have to look forward to, I’m not sure I’m going to like being the face of the station.”

“It’s one heck of a face,” he said. “One of the prettiest in Texas.”

She froze for a moment, wondering if she’d heard him right. “If you’re trying to get more weather facts out of me, it’s not going to work.”

He shook his head and grabbed her bag from her, reached in and pulled out her keys effortlessly. He didn’t bother hiding his grin. “Good night, Weather Girl.”

She snatched her keys from his hand, got in her car and drove home. Summer couldn’t wait to get into bed and put this crazy day to rest. Storm greeted her at the door as if he’d been waiting for her for days. She took him out back and let him run around under a perfect crescent moon. Her head fell back as she gazed up at the twinkling stars set against the inky backdrop. Summer loved the endlessness of the Texas sky. It reminded her that there was so much more world out there for her to discover. People in Finland looked up at the same moon, but she couldn’t help wondering if there would be different stars to wish on over there.

Back inside the house, she quickly changed out of her work clothes. Washing off the studio makeup helped her feel better. She stared at the reflection in the mirror. Somehow she’d become the face of Channel 6. Mimi was going to love that title. She ran her hands over her cheeks and thought about Travis and what he’d said. Did he really think she was pretty? Her eyes looked tired. Her bottom lip was too big compared to her top lip. The dusting of freckles across the bridge of her nose always made her feel like a kid, but that wasn’t the way she’d felt when Travis looked at her tonight.

She turned up the air-conditioning so she could sleep under the covers comfortably. Giving her pillow a fluff, she lay down and stared up at the ceiling fan her grandfather had helped her install as it spun slowly. It usually did the trick in lulling her to sleep. Tonight her head was too full. Her thoughts were scattered. Finland. The Arctic Circle. Northern lights. Ryan sure knew how to entice her. Faraway places with seasons and snow. Mother Nature’s brilliant light show. Texas did not have glass igloos. But Texas was her home. It had her grandparents. It had her dog and a job she was usually very good at. It also had Travis.

She laughed out loud as she flipped onto her side. She pulled the covers up under her chin. Was he a reason to stay or a reason to run away? She grabbed the other pillow and used it to cover her head. She’d told her parents she wasn’t taking the job, but maybe they were trying to send her a message. Maybe it wasn’t Richard who had messed with her graphics. Maybe it was divine intervention. Maybe it was a sign that television meteorology wasn’t for her.

Or maybe Abilene had more to offer her than she thought. Travis was the first guy who didn’t make a run for it every time she rambled on about the weather. He asked questions. He listened to her answers. Very few people humored her. Even fewer encouraged her to keep talking. Awkward silence was usually the only response to her weirdness. Travis didn’t make her feel weird. He almost made her feel normal.

Normal was something Summer hadn’t ever felt. Was that a sign? She tossed the pillow on the floor, restlessly flipping over to her other side. As normal as Travis made her feel, the man was a bigger unknown than the job Ryan was luring her into. Travis was dealing with a world of hurt, hurt that had nothing to do with his shoulder. He didn’t have to say it, he was one of those people who tried to hide his vulnerability but couldn’t stop his eyes from giving it away.

Summer rolled onto her stomach, smashing her face into her pillow. She hated not being able to predict the future. Not knowing meant things could go very wrong, like they had the night her parents died. She was such a hypocrite. She’d told Travis not to be trapped by fear, and that was exactly what was happening to her. Life needed to be worth living. If she stayed in Texas, she needed something more.

CHAPTER EIGHT

T
HE
 
NEWSROOM
 
WAS
 
a maze of desks filled with producers, assignment editors, reporters and anchors. People were always on the phone, on their computers or consulting with one another about a story. When Travis pushed away from his desk and spun his chair a quarter turn to the left, he could watch the Weather Girl do all those things. She was usually staring at her monitor, probably researching some random weather fact like the average snowfall in Idaho. Summer knew the strangest things.

Travis was on the phone with his mother, who decided she needed to see him and meet his coworker before the football game on Friday. “I don’t know, Mom. Can’t I just introduce you to her at the game?”

“I promised to help sell tickets for the booster club’s fifty/fifty raffle. I’ll be working. You two will be working. Can’t you both come over beforehand? I’m baking.” The woman drove a hard bargain.

Travis leaned back and looked left. As if she knew he was watching, Summer turned her head to meet his stare. He watched as the heat crept up her neck, the skin flushing red. Her fingers glided up her throat as if she was trying to contain the blush.

“I’ll ask her, but no promises.” He continued watching Summer until the right side of her mouth curved up in a shy, stop-looking-at-me-like-that smile. Those soft pink lips of hers were something. He knew they were soft. He had touched them.

Travis slid back toward his desk and rested his forehead on his fist while his mom told him all about what his aunt Kelly had to say about the road construction between Sweetwater and Abilene. He wished traffic was his only issue with going home. “I’ll let you get back to work,” she said before hanging up. “We’ll see you on Friday. Your dad’s looking forward to seeing you. He misses you.”

It took everything he had not to laugh out loud. His dad missed him? His dad could visit anytime he wanted. Travis lived the same forty minutes away that Conner did, and Travis knew he’d been to Conner’s house plenty of times since the baby was born. Travis’s phone worked just fine, too. His dad didn’t miss him. His dad missed who he had been. He didn’t have the time of day for this version of his son.

Travis didn’t dare bring up the trouble with his dad. It was better his mom thought everything between them was fine. Travis had grown up in a house where he was taught not to worry his mother.

He hung up and scrubbed his face with his hands. This Friday was going to be torture. It was time for him to face all the people who’d supported him and his career all these years. He had to suffer through all their condolences, sympathetic looks and pats on the back. Best of all, Summer would be there to witness it, giving her more reason to think he was a loser.

His relationship with Summer was shaky at best. She hated football. She was unfazed by the dimples. All the things that made him so desirable to women in the past had no effect on her. There was no reason for her to agree to meet his mother. Still, Travis was a glutton for punishment. He got up and perched himself on the corner of her desk. She smelled like spring—fresh and flowery.

“So, we’re going to the Sweetwater homecoming game this weekend.” He picked up her paper clip holder, which she promptly took away from him and set back down. “Do you know what that means?”

Refusing to look at him, Summer sighed. “It means I need to bring earplugs to protect my hearing from the screaming fans and my abundance of indifference to make sure your head doesn’t get too big.”

“Ha-ha.” Considering he was coming back a has-been, there was no danger of an overinflated head. “I don’t think you have to worry about that.”

“Oh, come on, the fair prince is returning to his kingdom,” she said with a flourish of her hand.

Little did she know, his trip to Sweetwater was more like the return of the prodigal son. He had squandered his chances of fame and fortune and could only hope his father would forgive him. This was a bad idea. Inviting her to his parents’ house was asking her to make things too personal between them. He’d tell his mom she couldn’t make it. He’d do a brief introduction at the game and that would be that. “Never mind.”

He headed back to his desk and pulled up his script for the five o’clock newscast. He tried putting some of the report in his own words to make it easier to regurgitate.

“So what does it mean?” Summer pressed. She folded her arms across her chest. “And don’t say nothing.”

Leaning back in his chair, his fingers nervously drummed on his thighs. “It means I’m going home, and maybe you’d ride with me instead of in the station van. We could stop by my parents’ before the game. My mom’s a big fan of yours.” Her bluebird eyes widened a bit. “I told her I could probably get her some one-on-one time with you if she made cupcakes.”

“Cupcakes? The red velvet ones?”

“Those are the ones,” he said, managing a smile. It was humiliating to need a bribe.

She pondered his request for a second or two. “Did you know there was a tornado in Sweetwater back in 1986 that developed with little warning and caused almost fifteen million dollars in damages?” Her voice was a little higher than normal.

Travis figured that was better than a no. “My parents lived in Sweetwater back in ’86. My mom might be able to give you a firsthand account of that tornado.”

Interest flickered in her eyes. “Don’t tease me.”

“No lie,” he said, making a mental note to call his mother immediately and make sure she knew something about that storm before Friday.

“Summer!” Ken shouted across the newsroom. He marched over to Travis’s desk, his face red and his fingers tugging on the collar of his shirt as if his tie was too tight. “Why are you here and not at your appearance?”

“Someone from the school called me and said they had to cancel,” she replied calmly.

“That’s funny, because I just got a call from the principal of Hooper Elementary, asking why she had a gymnasium full of children and no meteorologist there to enlighten them about tornadoes.”

Summer shook her head and flipped through the planner on her desk. “I swear, someone canceled. I didn’t write down the name, but I know the woman said she was from Hooper.”

“Why would they call you and not me?” Ken’s tone put Travis on edge. He felt the urge to stand in between his livid boss and the Weather Girl. “When have you ever handled scheduling your own appearances? Everything goes through me, Summer. It always has.”

Flustered and looking as if she wanted to share every fact she knew about tornadoes—or any weather phenomena, for that matter—Summer continued to defend herself. “I didn’t think about it. I assumed they had someone transfer the call to me. We can reschedule. Whatever they want to do.”

“They want you there thirty minutes ago. That’s what they want. You represent this station. When you mess up, it makes us all look bad. Be where you are supposed to be when you’re supposed to be there.”

“But—”

“No excuses. I rebooked you for next week.” Ken turned to go but stopped. “And this time, even if someone calls to cancel, I expect you to show up anyway, understand?”

Summer clamped her lips together and nodded. Ken went back to his office, slamming his door hard enough to quiet the whole newsroom for a second or two. Travis watched Summer take a deep breath, forcing herself to remain in control.

“Boy, I think the boss man needs a day off,” Travis said to lighten the mood.

“Someone called and canceled. I have never missed an appearance in the three years I’ve worked here.” Summer bit her lip.

“Say it,” Travis said. Her chin trembled. “Say it. You know you need to say it.” Summer covered her face with her hands, shaking her head vigorously. “Summer...”

From behind her hands, she let it out. “Did you know Hurricane Katrina caused 108 billion dollars in damages and was responsible for 1,836 deaths? Or that the storm surge was twenty feet high and approximately ninety thousand square miles were affected?”

“It’s incredible how much destruction one storm can cause,” Travis said.

Summer dropped her hands and glanced down at him. She was so darn adorable he couldn’t help wanting to make her feel better. Travis stood up and touched her shoulder. “You missed an appearance. It isn’t like you destroyed the entire Gulf coast.”

Summer gave him the smile he was looking for. She didn’t need to say anything; the gratitude was clear in her eyes.

“So you’ll come with me?” he asked, feeling a bit more confident than he did when this conversation first started.

“Let’s see... I don’t have to ride in the van, I get cupcakes and a firsthand account of the Sweetwater tornado.” She seemed to pause for dramatic effect. “You got yourself a deal.”

* * *

A
LL
 
OF
S
WEETWATER
was properly geared up for the big Friday night homecoming game. Store windows throughout the downtown were decorated with fire-truck red and bright white paint. Signs lined the streets, wishing the Mustangs good luck and encouraging them to WIN, WIN, WIN. Several houses proudly displayed the names and numbers of the players who lived there. Football never failed to bring this community together.

The Lockwoods lived on a friendly street in the heart of Sweetwater just a few blocks from the high school. Travis fondly remembered playing games of two-hand touch in the street with Conner and the neighbor kids. Eight or so boys of varying ages would gather out there before getting called in for dinner. It was the only time football was carefree for Travis. No pressure. His only worry had been getting out of the way of passing cars.

There were no boys playing ball or parents coming home from work today. The street was quiet as they climbed out of the car. Summer, on the other hand, had been quite talkative on the drive over. Besides the weather, she chatted about her dog and her grandparents. She continued to be evasive about her parents, but Travis sensed they weren’t a topic for small talk.

A large shade tree in front of the house cast early-evening shadows on the path that led to the door. “Welcome to Casa Lockwood,” he said, holding the door open for her as they entered the house. The smell of every possible bakery delight enveloped them. His mother must have spent the entire day making treats for her beloved son. Travis inhaled deeply.

“Anybody home?” he called out.

There was quite a racket in the kitchen, clanking pans and a buzzing timer.

“Oh, my baby boy is home!” His mom came flying out to greet her guests. She had an apple-red apron tied around her waist and her hair was done up in a sophisticated twist. Olivia Lockwood looked good no matter the time or the place. She introduced herself to Summer and gave her a hug before quickly moving on to Travis, who she clung to for dear life.

There was little resemblance between mother and son, aside from the dimples. His mom was a petite, dark-haired former beauty queen. Everyone who knew them always noted how he and his mother shared the same smile, but everything else was clearly inherited from his father.

“Hi, Mama. Smells good in here.”

Visibly overjoyed at the thought of feeding her son, his mom bounced on the balls of her feet. “Just wait till you see what I got for you to take back to Abilene.”

One thing Travis truly loved about home was his mother’s cooking. “Where’s Dad?”

His mother’s face fell for a second, but she quickly put her hostess smile back on. “Oh, you know him. He’s slower than molasses. Came home from work and messed around in the backyard for twenty minutes. Now he’s upstairs doing Lord knows what. I’ll run up and get him.”

Travis frowned. Avoid, avoid, avoid. It was all his dad did lately. He didn’t come to the phone when Travis called. He hadn’t been to Abilene to see Travis’s new place yet. He hadn’t even responded to the few texts Travis had sent.

Travis and Summer moved farther into the house. Everything was beautifully arranged. The UT blanket Travis had given his mother for Christmas one year was perfectly folded and draped over her favorite chair by the fireplace. Framed photos of the first grandchild littered the mantel. All of Olivia’s
Martha Stewart Living
magazines sat beside the chair in a basket. Travis’s mother loved baskets. She had enough to hold just about everything in the entire house that needed holding.

“These pictures are beautiful,” Summer said from behind him. She stared up at the wall of photographs framed on the wall opposite the fireplace.

“I can’t believe she did this.” He smiled, surprised his mother had chosen so many of his favorites. She’d framed the photos he’d taken of the Statue of Liberty at night, and the fog rolling in around the Golden Gate Bridge. There was the one of his grandmother’s rose garden in full bloom, and the one of the giant bean in Millennium Park from his wintery trip to Chicago last year.

“Did you know this sculpture is really called
Cloud Gate?
” Summer asked, pointing to that last photo. “No one calls it that, but I think it’s a much better name than
The Bean.
” Her nose wrinkled and Travis’s smile widened. Only Summer would know something like that.

“He’s quite talented, isn’t he?” His mother had snuck up on both of them.

“Who?” Summer asked.

“Travis. He’s got a good eye for pretty things, don’t you think?” His mother gave him a wink that made him wonder whether she was still talking about the photographs.

Summer looked a little stunned. “You took these?”

Travis shrugged. “Anybody can take pictures of things.”

“I can’t even take a picture of my dog without it turning out blurry,” she replied, turning back to the photos.

He’d never put too much thought into how easy or difficult it was to capture a decent shot. Travis photographed things he thought were cool to look at when he traveled around the States. It was his way of remembering the places he’d been.

The buzzer went off in the kitchen. “Can I help you with anything, Mrs. Lockwood?” Summer asked.

“Oh, call me Olivia, dear.” She took Summer by the hand and pulled her toward the kitchen. “You can help me box up some goodies for Coach Phillips. Travis, you go tell your father to get down here.”