 
Stormsurge

Shawna Lynn Brooks

Distributed by Smashwords

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Chapter 1

"You look awful."

Lacey Underwood raised her head and struggled to focus on Terri, her assistant manager, girl Friday and confidant. The stubborn light in the other woman's brown eyes drained a tiny bit of energy from Lacey's already depleted reserves. "Thanks."

Terri leaned a shoulder against the door to their office, her arms folded. "You know what I mean. Go home."

Lacey shook her head, and the room spun a little.

_Crap_.

"I'm fine."

"You didn't spend a lot of time working on your tan this summer, but that shade of white is a bit bright, even for you."

Lacey forced her brows into a matching frown. _Who knew moving your eyebrows could be so exhausting?_ She took a quick inventory. The results made her head ache. A heavy weakness gripped her limbs. Heat baked from her skin. She had dragged herself out of bed this morning by sheer force of will, and her body wanted revenge. Her wrinkled, gray top, worn blue jeans, and tattered sneakers mirrored the dreariness inside.

But she couldn't leave. This feed shop was her baby. She had bought Marquette Feed and Mercantile from Ben Davis the winter before last, when he announced his move to Canada. _Canada_. Why would anyone trade the sunshine and mild weather of the Gulf Coast in the dead of winter for the ice and snow of the Great White North? She didn't understand, but his loss was her gain. She loved this place. The clean smell of leather and dried corn always made her smile. The feedstore, where Shepherdsville's farmers came to buy everything from chicken feed to saddles and cowboy boots, had soaked up every moment of her time ever since. She wouldn't leave her baby unattended.

"It's three o'clock," Lacey said after a moment. "I made it this far. I can stay a couple more hours."

Terri shoved away from the door, stepped forward, and pushed a hand onto Lacey's forehead. "You're burning up. Go to the doctor."

_Ah, jeez_. No way. After two hours in the ancient Doc Havard's waiting room, anyone would be sick. Besides, he'd do little more than take her temperature and tell her to drink hot tea. Or a shot of whiskey. As if someone who needed it would be up for a thirty-minute drive to the next county to buy contraband alcohol. The man had lived in Shepherdsville since Moses was a child, and Marquette County had been dry for as long. He expected everyone had a stash, regardless.

Of course he might be right about that.

"No, thanks," she said. "I can drink tea without a prescription."

"Lacey—"

Lacey shook her head, setting off another wave of dizziness. "I've got this."

Terri sighed. "Sure you do." She stalked over to her desk, rattled around in her purse, and came back a moment later. She stuck her hand between Lacey's face and the paperwork she couldn't quite make sense of. "Here."

Lacey studied the two white pills, then dragged her gaze back up to Terri's. She opened her mouth, but Terri cut her off.

"Whatever you're getting ready to say, save it. I'm not taking no for an answer." Terri shoved her hand forward. "Take these."

Those pills couldn't possibly beat back whatever toxic germ had taken over her body, but accepting them meant Terri would leave her alone. She grabbed them and cupped them in her hand. "Thanks."

Terri grumbled something under her breath and turned back toward the sound of the bell over the door. "Hey, Chase," she called out, waving at the tall, handsome man who walked in, cowboy hat in hand. "How's it going?"

Lacey tossed the pills in her mouth and followed with some water from a bottle on her desk. She closed her eyes, pressed a hand to her temple, and waited.

Two hours later, she couldn't even be happy that she had been right. The pills hadn't helped at all. In fact, she would have given up half her store to go back to this afternoon, before her temple started playing bongo drums. She leaned back in her chair, tilted her head toward the ceiling, and closed her eyes.

"Oh, honey," Terri drawled from her office door.

Lacey opened one eye. "I made it to the end of the day."

"Yes, but I don't understand why." Terri dropped into her chair with a frustrated sigh. "Don't you trust me?"

"Of course I trust you." Lacey straightened and the room spun.

"Then why won't you go home and be sick? I promise I can run the store."

Lacey blinked. Hard working, smart and funny, the short-haired brunette in front of her was a huge asset to the business who had grown into a close friend. Lacey would trust Terri with anything. But this store was her _baby_.

"I never said you couldn't." She paused. How could she explain her reluctance, especially with her mind only working at 10 percent capacity? "Terri, I couldn't do everything alone. That's why I have you. I don't want to dump everything on you."

"Don't think of it as dumping on me. Think of it as not screwing everything up by working with a head full of mush." Terri arched an eyebrow. "My life will be easier if I don't have to redo those purchase orders."

Lacey winced. "Ouch."

"Lacey. Go home. Stay there. I can manage on my own for a couple of days."

_A couple of days?_ Lacey tried to gather a protest, but she didn't have the strength. The thought of getting up in the morning exhausted her. Maybe a day off wouldn't be the worst idea. "I'll take tomorrow. I'll call you after lunch to check in."

"And I won't answer the phone," Terri shot back. "So, you may as well not bother."

Lacey pushed her chair back and stood. Little gray spots feathered the outside of her vision, and her knees threatened to buckle. "I'll be back Saturday," she insisted.

"Monday," Terri said. "I swear, if you show up before then, I'll call Doc Havard and tell him to come down here. I'll get Doc Richardson to bring a horse tranquilizer if I have to."

Lacey shook her head and immediately regretted it. "No need to call the vet. When I come back, you won't know I've been sick. I plan on being better by Saturday."

"Hmph," Terri grunted. "If you could see yourself in a mirror, you'd have a plan B. Do you want me to drive you home?"

"No." Lacey reached for her purse. "If you'll lock up, I'll be home before you make it to your car."

"I will." Terri stood and placed a hand on Lacey's arm. "Be careful."

Lacey gave her a half-hearted smile. "Call me if you need me."

"Don't hold your breath," Terri said. "Now go."

Lacey trudged to her car as fast as she dared. Now that she had decided to give in to the overwhelming need to put her head on a pillow, she wanted it to happen _right now_.

She wasn't prepared for a sick day, though. Her brain sorted through the contents of her medicine drawer, but she couldn't concentrate over the drums in her head.

_Maybe a quick trip by the grocery store on the way home?_ A funny, fuzzy sensation rippled through her.

_No_. That would have to wait until tomorrow.

She stuck her key in the ignition and started the car. The check engine light gleamed, but the engine sprang to life, and she breathed a silent sigh of relief. Between the financial demands of the business and sheer lack of time, she had ignored the warning for longer than she should have.

Right now, she didn't care. "Just a little longer, okay girl?" The engine made its familiar shuddering cough and dutifully drew away from the curb and into the street.

She made the trip to her house in ten minutes that seemed like three hours, pulled into her carport, and stumbled out of the car. So close now. After a little rest, some of her strength would come back. Later, she would make some of Doc Havard's magic green tea. She fumbled with her keys and sank the key into its hole after the third try.

Lacey stopped in her kitchen long enough to fill a glass of water and grab a bottle of aspirin from a shelf in the pantry. She shuffled through the living room and picked up speed as she crossed her tiny bedroom. The thought of the cool softness of a pillow under her cheek blotted out everything else. She set the glass of water and aspirin on her bedside table.

Her stomach lurched uncomfortably, and she closed her eyes. _Crap_. How long would it take to check her symptoms online? The internet would know what to do.

Her body beat that thought into submission. Sleep. That was all she needed. If the internet had wisdom to share, it would have to wait. She opened the bottle of aspirin, popped two in her mouth, and chased them with water.

She fell on her bed, face first, and closed her eyes.

She didn't even bother to take off her shoes.

# # #

Gene Blackwell slowed his motorcycle and signaled a left turn into the driveway. Maybe he should have called his grandmother before showing up on her doorstep.

He brought the bike to a stop. She would have told him not to come. She would have said she didn't need help. When he insisted on coming anyway, she would have stopped everything to prepare a meal fit for an army.

With the hurricane barreling toward the Alabama coast, he didn't want his grandmother elbow deep in flour and shortening when he arrived. He would have preferred she be packed and ready to go.

Of course, he knew better. His mother had warned him, but she needn't have bothered. Gene could have predicted his grandma's reaction without any help from his mother. Even with the hurricane headed straight for Shepherdsville, he would need a crowbar to get her out of here.

He pulled the helmet from his head and settled it next to the spare he kept strapped to the back. He had spent the better part of a year trying to convince his best friend, Melody, to hop on the back and ride with him. She refused to budge. She had reminded him a dozen times that, as a scientist, he ought to have more sense than to drive a motorcycle. Still, he kept the spare there. He hadn't given up hoping.

He straightened dark-rimmed spectacles that had come askew when he removed the helmet, rolled up the cuffs of his blue chambray button-up, and headed for the house. Melody had been happy, at least, that he took the motorcycle when he left Atlanta. She wouldn't tell him why, but Gene suspected Mel hoped he'd be forced to stay with his grandmother, where the hurricane might destroy the bike.

A single gust of stiff wind blew through the trees, then died away. The sun beat down in hot waves. He could hardly believe the storm would be here so soon. If it weren't for the dire warnings of the newscasters, this could be any other day in Southern Alabama.

He crossed the patio, lifted his hand, and rapped on the door. Without waiting for an answer, he turned the knob and opened the door. "Grandma?" he yelled.

His grandmother emerged from the hallway beyond the living room, her faded eyes dancing. "Eugene!"

Gene fought back a shudder. No one had called him Eugene since high school. And he hadn't liked it since... well, ever. He had asked his mom once why she hated him. She had laughed, but Gene didn't find it funny. He suspected the name was punishment for some misdeed in a previous life—one that made him destined to become a scrawny, bespectacled nerd. Lacey Underwood was the only reason he hadn't spent most of tenth grade trying to figure out how to get his backpack off the school's roof.

_Not now_. He pushed aside thoughts of Lacey before they could take hold. "Just Gene, Grandma."

"Now, now. My father's name was Eugene. It's a fine name." She crossed the room, her arms raised. She didn't move as deftly as she used to, and he tried to keep concern from showing on his face. At seventy-seven, his grandmother was still healthy and full of life. She was also slower than the grandma of his youth. Frailer.

He stooped down and wrapped his arms around her. "For him, I'm sure it was. For me, it meant learning how to avoid being stuffed into my own locker in junior high."

"I'm sure it wasn't that bad."

High school hadn't been quite that bad, but it had been closer than Gene cared to admit. He let that pass without comment. "You know why I'm here, don't you?"

She sighed, stepped back, and patted the silver hair she kept in a permanent bun back into place. "Your mother is worried, isn't she?"

"She called me from Virginia first thing this morning."

She led him back toward the kitchen and the inevitable sandwich and sweet tea she would be offended if he didn't take. "This house has been here since the war. It's not going anywhere."

"I know." He leaned against the doorjamb. "But that doesn't mean you have to stay in it during the storm. We'd all be happier if you went to visit Aunt Viv."

"So, your mother sent you to take me up there on that deathtrap of yours, did she?" She opened the refrigerator and pulled out mayonnaise, mustard, lettuce, and cheese. "No thank you."

"Of course not." Gene laughed. "I'm here to load your car up and send you to Tennessee. I'd be happy to make the sandwich."

"I'm not going to make you wait on yourself after you've spent five hours on the back of that thing." She closed the refrigerator door and dropped her haul onto the counter. "And I'm not going to Viv's, either. I won't sleep on that awful mattress she keeps in her guest room when I can stay here."

"I knew you'd say that," he said.

She washed her hands and wiped them on a towel she kept on a hook next to the sink. "Then we're done talking about it. Let me make you lunch, and you can tell me all about you and your work and that girl you've been seeing. Marie, is it?"

"Melody. And we're just friends."

She flashed him an apologetic smile. "Melody. Like a song. I remember now."

He shoved away from the door and crossed to the sink. "Grandma, the storm will be here in a few hours. It's a category three."

She pulled two slices of bread from the bag and laid them on a plate she had retrieved from the cabinet. "Those people," she said. "Every hurricane is the storm of the century. They'll say anything for ratings."

"That doesn't mean it's not dangerous," he said.

"Well, I'm not going outside to play in it, so you have nothing to worry about," she replied.

Gene flipped on the faucet and stuck his hands under the stream. When his mother told him his grandma refused to leave, he'd had little choice but to go to her house and persuade her to evacuate before it was too late. He'd had five hours on the road to come up with a way to convince her, and the most effective tactic had been akin to emotional blackmail. He had to try to reason with her before resorting to that.

Even if it wouldn't work.

"Look, I know you're more comfortable here, but you won't be if the power goes off. Or if the water is contaminated. Mom is worried about you, and so am I. This hurricane is moving fast, so we don't have a lot of time."

She spread the mayonnaise on the bread. "Eugene, I always love to see you, honey. You shouldn't have come just because of a little storm, though."

He flinched at the use of his full name, then said a quick prayer for patience. "It's not a little storm. What if one of those old pine trees comes down on the house?"

"I'll need to be here to do something about it." She added cheese and lettuce and cut the sandwich in half with a single, diagonal swipe of the knife.

The prospect of emotional blackmail loomed ever larger. One more try. Then he would drop the hammer. "Like what? You can't run a chainsaw during a hurricane. Go to Aunt Viv's. Please?"

She picked up the plate and took it over to a small table that had sat in the corner all his life. "I'll be fine," she grumbled.

Gene stifled a sigh and plopped down into his seat. _Ah, well_. At least he had tried. "You know," he said, trying his best to keep his tone light and conversational, "I have to drive back to Atlanta today. The sooner I get you out of here, the better the chance I can make it out before the rain starts."

Her head snapped up. "You're not staying?"

He hoped he didn't suffer eternal damnation for lying to his grandmother. It was for a good cause. Maybe St. Peter would let him slide on this one. "I'm on a deadline, and taking the day to come down here put me further behind. They won't let me take off two days." Gene suppressed a wince. How could he inflict this kind of guilt on his grandmother and look himself in the mirror afterwards?

"You're driving back to Atlanta in the storm?" She pointed a crooked finger out the front window. "On that thing?"

"I can get ahead of the rain if I leave soon enough." He took a bite of his sandwich, refusing to look at her.

She didn't reply immediately. "If I don't go, you'll have to stay here."

"I wish I could," he said. The regret in his voice was real enough, even if it was for an entirely different reason. In truth, if she refused to leave, nothing could drag him away from here. He wanted her safely gone, though. If he had to make her think he would drive through a hurricane on a motorcycle rather than stay with her, then the end justified the means. "But I can't afford to lose the time. I told mom I would load you up, then I would have to leave. I guess if you aren't going, I'll need to secure the house so you'll be safe in here. By the time I board the windows, I'll have to race the storm back home."

When she spoke, her voice was hard and a little shrill. A wave of guilt washed over him again. "You're bluffing," she said. "You're too smart to do such a fool thing."

He took a slow bite of his sandwich. "I should be," he said. "My job isn't very forgiving, though. Plus, my grandma taught me how to be stubborn."

She scowled back at him, then her face relaxed into a smirk. "I don't care if you are twice my size. I ought to take a switch to you."

He dropped his sandwich onto his plate, took a sip of tea, and flinched. She really needed to lay off the sugar. "Whatever makes you happy. As long as you're ready to go in twenty minutes."

His grandma leaned forward, patted him on the shoulder, and pushed up from the table with a grunt. "I guess it would be good to see my sister. I hope her pain-in-the-butt son isn't there. That boy needs a switch worse than you do." She disappeared through the door and, a moment later, the sound of her clunking about in her room drifted down the hallway.

_Good_. He stuffed the remainder of the sandwich half into his mouth, stood, and poked his head through the adjoining door. "Is your car running okay?" he called.

Her muffled voice floated into the kitchen. "Don't talk with your mouth full."

He swallowed and tried again. "Yes, ma'am."

"I took it to the grocery store this morning."

"What about gas?"

She appeared in her doorway, hands on her hips. "Eugene. You don't have to yell across the house."

Again with the name. That time, she'd done it on purpose. He was sure of it. His grin widened. "Sorry."

"I don't think you are." She turned and disappeared into her room again. "I filled it up while I was out. This isn't my first storm."

"I know. Pack." He turned to the pegboard by the back door. Her car keys were exactly where he expected them to be. He grabbed them and walked out to the backyard. She had brought the chairs in from the yard. She had removed and stored her wind chimes, and the whirling plastic lawn ornaments were gone. Other than boarding the windows, which she simply was not able to do on her own, Grandma had everything covered. Considering the speed with which the storm developed and that, only yesterday, forecasters had expected it to continue to Louisiana, she had worked fast.

He turned the corner and let himself through the door that led past the utility room and out to the front yard. She only drove the car once or twice a week these days, and grocery store or not, Gene didn't like the idea of sending her off to Tennessee without checking the fluids and making sure the car sounded all right. Not that he could do anything about it if it didn't. He could rattle off the molecular structure of oil in his sleep. He understood the physics behind the operation of an engine. To fix one though? No. He was useless when it came to cars.

Gene opened the door, popped the hood, and walked around to the front of the car. He propped the hood open and went to work on the fluids. His mind, though, wandered back to Lacey. Grandma's insistence on calling him Eugene made him think of Lacey sooner than usual, but his thoughts would have settled on her eventually. Next month, four years would have passed since he last saw her. Four years since he had let the infatuation go and moved on with his life.

Still, every time he came to Shepherdsville, the urge to go see her jumped on him the moment he arrived in town. He would resist it. He had learned to ignore that pull. Except now, with a hurricane looming, it seemed a bit stronger.

In school, Lacey, kindhearted and thoughtful, had been the only one outside of the AV club who thought Gene deserved to be treated like a normal human being. She'd felt sorry for him, of course. Age and wisdom had taught him that. But in high school? Man, what a crush he'd had on her. He had enough sense even then to know she didn't feel anything for him. She'd been too enamored with Russ Vaughn, the baseball player with arms the size of tree trunks. In fact, only moments after his chemistry teacher assigned Lacey to be Gene's lab partner, Gene concluded that if she found out he had the hots for her, she'd run away at light speed. He'd been so desperate to maintain the tenuous connection that he would have moved heaven and earth to keep his secret.

_Pathetic_.

To his credit, he'd done a fine job. She'd befriended the scrawny geek and kept the bullies off him. He helped her through chemistry, then physics, a subject she had been woefully incapable of handling on her own, and later, a calculus course. By the time she dropped out of college, Gene had accepted that his one-sided infatuation had been immature. He settled into an easy friendship with her, and he checked in on her every time he was in town to visit his grandmother.

Drew had finally made Gene see the habit for what it was. Drew, his friend and roommate while Gene pursued his PhD, had hit him right where it hurt. "Man, you're going to spend the rest of your life alone because you won't quit obsessing over something you'll never have."

Gene shoved the dipstick back into its hole. His friend had been right, of course. Something deep inside of him would always want her to see him as someone other than Eugene the nerd. Despite the trips to the gym and the days playing shirts and skins with the guys at the university, for her, he would always be the skinny little guy with the plastic glasses.

So, he had made a decision. He cut the cord. Later, he found Melody. He hadn't worked up the nerve to ask Mel out yet, but he would. He had only realized he wanted to over the last month or two. Now, all he needed was the right opportunity.

He closed the hood and headed back to the driver's seat. After four years, being in Shepherdsville still reminded him of Lacey. How could it not? She had been the best thing about high school. Had she evacuated? Shepherdsville, small, flat, and close to the Gulf, wasn't a place he would choose to ride out a hurricane, even a cat three.

Gene poked the keys into the ignition and fired up the car. Right now, his only concern should be getting his grandmother to safety. Lacey didn't need him.

The engine hummed under the hood, and the gas needle topped out at "F." Excellent. As soon as his grandma finished packing, he'd load her up, and they could both get out of Dodge. He flipped the key to "off" and hopped back out of the car. In thirty minutes, tops, he and his motorcycle would be pointed toward Atlanta.

Then, like he had done for the last four years, he would cross the county line without looking back.

# # #

Lacey stared at the picture in front of her. In a weird, detached way, her mind took inventory of her body. For the first time in days, hazy, sluggish nausea had let go of her. Mild panic had taken its place.

_Not much of an improvement_.

Around her, the room was in chaos. Pillows lay in a haphazard array, and sheets twisted and tugged into an impossible tangle. Her room looked like a bomb had gone off. Or, more to the point, it looked like she had been bedridden for three days.

Three days. She had lost all track of time. On the television in front of her, the day tracked across the screen in large, bold letters. _Monday_. How had that happened?

She'd fallen into bed after work on Thursday. Everything after that was a blur. She'd slipped in and out of awareness. A few times, she'd awakened enough to stumble, doubled over, to the bathroom and back to the bed again. She hadn't had enough strength to call Terri on Friday. Her phone must have died at some point, since she hadn't gotten up long enough to plug it in. She hadn't cared.

Now, on the first day she felt human again, on the first day she could stand upright, reality reasserted itself in the form of a radar screen. The large, swirling bands of angry green, yellow, and red filled the Gulf.

Hurricane Felicia was a category three. And Lacey sat right in its path.

The storm had marched across the Gulf while she slept. The county had given evacuation orders early this morning. The townspeople would have stripped the stores and gas stations bare by now. Outside, the sun beat down in bright, hot waves, but the wind whipped through the trees, and branches snapped back and forth in the gusts. She needed a plan. Now.

At least the rain hadn't come yet. She still had time to...what? _Leave or stay?_ Lacey turned from the television and surveyed the room around her, looking for answers and finding none. She had little food. She owned a flashlight, but she couldn't remember where she had put it. _With the batteries?_ If she had any. She could fill the sink with water, but when it came to readiness, she needed more.

So, evacuation was the better choice. Lacey jumped to her feet. She swayed, grabbed the arm of the sofa, and steadied herself. _Slow down_. She wouldn't be doing herself any favors if she passed out on the living room floor. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

A moment later, they popped back open. _Holy crap. The store_. She'd forgotten about her baby. She made for her bedroom as fast as she dared and stood in the center of the room. Where had she left her phone? She scanned the room until she found her purse lying in a crumpled heap in the corner.

_Bingo_. She rushed over, snatched it from the floor, and dug around until her fingers brushed something cold and metal. Lacey plucked it out. She punched the button and got no response.

_Big surprise_. Even so, seeing the still, black screen turned the anxiety up to a slow simmer.

_Charger. Where's the charger?_ She checked the outlet next to the bed. No luck. She thought back to Wednesday, her last normal day. She would have used it that night. But where?

Her brain refused to return any coherent thoughts. She took a deep breath and cleared her mind. _Think_. She headed back to the living room and spotted the cord hanging from an outlet next to the couch. Some of the unease loosened. She plugged in the phone and stared down at the screen.

"Come on, come on, come on," she muttered. She punched the button again. Nothing.

She hurried back to her room, grabbed a cloth bag, and tossed in clothes, shoes and anything else she could grab. A wave of rain spattered on the roof, and she glanced out the window. The sun still shined in patches, but a thick curtain of water dropped from the sky.

She smothered a panicked epithet and trotted back toward her phone. The screen flashed a logo, then flipped to home. She ignored the chime of incoming messages and punched in Terri's number. She fumbled the last digit, corrected it, and hit the call button.

Terri answered on the first ring. "Lacey! Oh, sweet baby Jade, I've been trying to call you. I was about to come over there."

"Sorry. My phone died. Terri, the store—"

"Is handled," Terri said. "Everything is secure, and I had Jake come over and help board it up."

"What about the deposit?" Lacey asked.

"Made yesterday. Are you still at home?"

Lacey's eyes darted toward the window. The rain had stopped, but the patches of sun had lost a little ground. "Yes. I was really sick. I'm so sorry I wasn't there. I didn't know. I didn't bother with the TV until today."

"Don't worry about me, honey," Terri replied. "I'm more concerned about you. I'm about to head up to my mom's in Birmingham, but I can swing by and pick you up on the way."

Lacey frowned. She had relied on Terri to secure the store. She refused to impose any more than she already had. Besides, Lacey's plan included a quick trip by the shop on her way out of town. Terri wouldn't approve. "What? No. I'm good. Already packed."

"You sure?" Terri asked.

"Yes. I'm going to the car now. You go on to your mom's."

Lacey ended the call, headed back to the bedroom, then hesitated. She hadn't showered in three days. Until she came up with a better plan, she intended to drive north to safety and find a hotel with a vacant room. That might take a while. She didn't like the idea of several hours in a car with this clammy, sickbed film clinging to her.

_Make it quick_.

Fifteen minutes later, Lacey emerged from her house dressed in jeans, white sneakers, and a battered blue polo, wet, dark hair falling in curls around her pale face. Surprisingly, the shower, combined with a healthy dose of adrenaline, chased away the rest of the queasy nausea that had gripped her stomach for the last few days.

If only she could rid herself of the growing unease. Another burst of rain spattered to the ground. The patches of sun had almost disappeared. The worst of the storm wouldn't arrive until midnight, but the outer bands had crept in, and the front edge would blow in within hours.

_Then get moving_. She couldn't afford to waste any more time if she planned to stop by the shop. She tossed her bag in the car and ducked in behind it.

Seconds later, the engine started with a cough, and Lacey stared down at the red light with startled eyes. _Crap_. She'd forgotten about that. What if her car left her stranded on the side of the road during a hurricane?

That light had been shining for two weeks without the car giving up on her, so it probably had a few more hours in it. _Probably_.

What if it didn't? She drummed her fingers on the steering wheel and tried to make a decision. Go or stay?

Her brain refused to spit out an answer. She pounded on the steering wheel. Either way, she couldn't sit here and wait for the storm to come in. _Do something_.

She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and let it out again. _Slow down and think_.

Whatever else she did, she needed to check on her baby. She would go to the feedstore and ease her mind. If the car gave her trouble, she would come back home and do what she could to prepare. If it didn't, she would keep going.

She relaxed a little, dropped the car into reverse, and backed out of the carport. At least she had a plan. Once she confirmed that Terri had secured everything, Lacey could relax.

She pulled out of her driveway and pointed her car in the direction of the feedstore. She had chosen her rental house mostly because her uncle needed someone to live in it, but she often counted the seclusion of the countryside as a bonus. Today, that seclusion felt more like isolation. A sudden need to see other people prodded her, and she shoved it aside. Even with an evacuation in place, there would be people who rode out the storm. Some of her customers would die before leaving their animals. Others would stay because they had never left before. The engine gave another gasp, and she gripped the steering wheel tighter. She couldn't be the only person in town, but seeing someone else would still calm her nerves.

After a few minutes, the rows of pine trees and open fields that lined the road gave way to sporadic groups of houses. She studied each as she passed by and looked for signs of life. She hadn't seen any cars yet, and the rain had driven everyone indoors. She might not be the only person left, but all the other townspeople had to be smarter than her. She had decided to race a hurricane in a car with engine trouble to check on a building Terri assured her was ready for the storm. Lacey's mom, always full of colorful sayings, had one that fit.

Your cornbread ain't done in the middle, is it honey?

She pressed forward. What choice did she have? She couldn't leave her baby. Not when she had poured every ounce of money and sweat she possessed into it for two years. She needed to see the store for herself.

A light shone through a window in a house on the side of the road, and the muscles in her shoulders relaxed. Other people really had stayed behind. To see it confirmed set her mind at ease.

Well, a little, anyway.

Lacey swung her car into the lot a few minutes later. She didn't bother to aim for a parking space. She didn't plan to be here long. Soon, she would be back in the car and headed for...where? She still didn't know whether to go home and brace for the storm or head north. The thought of pushing the car made her nervous.

She could call the pastor of the Baptist church and see if they had opened it up. She shut off the engine, ignored the light rain and hopped out of the car. A shelter wouldn't be comfortable, but they would have food and batteries. Maybe a generator. And people.

She placed a hand over her eyes and studied the building. True to her word, Terri had taken care of everything. She had removed the barrels, haystacks, and saddles that usually sat out front. She'd boarded the windows up tight. Lacey walked around to the back. No trash cans. Terri had cleared the loading bay and barred the shed doors with two thick pieces of wood screwed into the siding. The shed would blow away before those doors blew open.

She had been blessed with the best kind of luck when Terri agreed to work for her.

Another wave of rain came down, and Lacey picked up speed and finished her circuit of the building. Unless she wanted to tear down the boards and go inside, she couldn't do anything else here. Time to leave.

She jogged back to her car, jumped in, and leaned back against the seat to catch her breath. Three days in bed didn't make good training for wind sprints. With all her anxiety over the coming storm, she forgot about her bout of flu. Her cornbread was softer than she gave herself credit for.

_What now?_ She still didn't know where to go next, and she didn't—

She turned the key in the ignition, and her thoughts came to a screeching halt. That infernal light popped on without hesitation. The engine, however, did not. She pressed the gas and the engine turned over but refused to catch. She flipped the key off, then back on again. Still nothing.

_Oh, no._ "Don't panic," she murmured.

Good advice. Not helpful, though. Exhaustion overtook her. Should she give in and call Terri?

_No._ Terri would be half an hour away by now, and Lacey wasn't about to ask her to turn around. Especially when she had been checking up on Terri's work.

Who? There were plenty of people in town who would be happy to help. Of course, Lacey would have to ask. How could she? She shouldn't be out here, so how could she ask someone else to come bail her out?

She flopped her head against the headrest and closed her eyes.

_So, you're just going to sit here?_ She needed to do _something_. The problem might be obvious. She ought to at least pop the hood and have a look.

She groaned, leaned forward, and pulled the lever. _What a ridiculous idea_. She had no clue what to look for. Still, she would rather go down fighting than cower in her car.

She opened the door and stepped out, back into the steady rain.

Chapter 2

Gene scowled at the darkening landscape. He meant to be gone by now. He zipped his jacket all the way to his throat. This wouldn't be his first ride in the rain, but the wet clothes would make for an uncomfortable trip home.

He kicked the bike into gear. With a little luck, he would outdistance the rain by the time he made it out of the county. The storm traveled fast, but even hampered with wet roads, Gene would travel faster.

He navigated the town's streets carefully and turned his bike onto the main highway that led out of town. His mind returned to Lacey as he rode along, but he didn't let it linger for too long. He intended to head straight for the county line. No detours. After so many years, the urge to reconnect with her had faded to something like nostalgia. He had grown up and moved on.

The rain picked up a little, and Gene slowed down. He had considered renting a car to make the trip. After he checked the weather maps and calculated the speed of the storm compared with the distance it needed to travel, he didn't think he needed one. A rental would be an unnecessary precaution that would cost time he couldn't afford to spare. Unfortunately, his calculations hadn't correctly accounted for the packing speed of a seventy-seven-year-old woman who hadn't seen her sister in five years. He supposed science could only do so much. Now, the decision to forgo the rental seemed shortsighted.

He held the bike steady. Five minutes, maybe ten, and he would be in the clear. The old feedstore was just ahead, which put him a few miles from the county line. The store's owner had been a friend of his mother's before she and Gene's dad moved to Virginia. Ben had told Mom how to build a hen house and supplied her with feed during her puzzling chicken phase. She had given up the moment she found a snake in one of the nests. Gene's father would have been delighted if a week's worth of coop construction hadn't gone to waste.

Had Ben evacuated? A small blue car sat in front of the shop, hood propped open and a blue-jean-clad leg poking out from under it.

_Uh-oh._ He slowed a little more. Ben knew more about cars than Gene. Of course, that didn't mean Ben would be able to fix what had gone wrong with a storm bearing down on him. Whether he could help with the car or not, Gene couldn't ignore him and drive on by. He downshifted and applied the brakes, taking care not to apply too much pressure to the hand lever. He'd done that once and almost lost control of the motorcycle. Never again.

He glided to a stop beside the car, dismounted, and tugged off his helmet as the driver of the car stepped out from under the hood. For the first time in four years, he found himself face-to-face with a very pale and wet Lacey Underwood.

He'd learned to control his language at the age of twelve, when his grandmother washed his mouth out with soap for an accidental F-bomb. Like Pavlov's dog, the bitter tang of blue dish soap assaulted him every time an epithet skittered through his brain.

Like now.

"Lacey?"

She flung her arms around his neck. He caught her, steadied himself, and gathered her against him. "I don't believe it! Oh, thank you, Lord," she said.

"You don't have to call me Lord. Gene will do."

"Ha ha. What are you doing here?" She smiled up at him, and his earlier confidence slipped a notch. So much for shedding Lacey memories at the county line.

"Bullying my grandma into leaving town." His arms still gripped the softness of her waist, and the warmth spread down to his stomach. He stifled a grimace and stepped back. _You've moved on._ "What's going on?"

Lacey turned back to her car, and her smile dropped. "I have no idea. My check engine light has been on for a couple of weeks, and now the car won't start."

"You don't think those two things might be related?"

She punched him on the arm. "Of course they're related. I don't know what to do about it, though."

He couldn't fix a car, but he knew what to do about engine trouble. In Shepherdsville, cars with problems went to Ed Brown's garage. "Take it to Ed's shop?"

"I know _that_ ," she scoffed. "I mean I don't know what to do about it _right now_."

He followed her around to the front of the car, pulled off his glasses, and cleaned off the raindrops. "Well, I'm not Ed, so I'm not sure I'm the guy for the job." He replaced the glasses and looked down into the compartment. "Looks like an engine to me."

"Me, too," she said. She grabbed the hood and dropped it back into place.

As determined as he had been to stay away from Lacey and keep his life on its current trajectory, he couldn't leave her here. "Were you planning to sit in the driver's seat and watch the storm come in, or do you want a ride?"

She eyed his bike with obvious reluctance. "I'm not sure how to answer that."

He couldn't help but grin. "Afraid you'll get wet?"

Lacey moved around to the side of the car and opened the passenger door. "Eugene, why in the world would you drive into a hurricane on a motorcycle?"

His smile slipped. Yep. To Lacey, he would always be Eugene. "Just Gene. I haven't been Eugene in a very long time."

"Oh. Sure." She studied him for a moment. "I like it. It suits you."

His heart rolled over in his chest. He shook it off. _Infatuation. Remember?_ It hadn't been real. And it had never been returned. "Thanks."

"Can I bring this?" she asked.

She pulled a duffel bag from her car and held it up. He took it from her and examined the straps. "It's a little big, but we'll make it work. Think you can wear it across your back?"

"On my...I'm not sure. I've never tried it before."

He stepped closer, took her hand, and looped one of the straps over her arm. Another trickle of warmth wound through him, and the bitter tang of blue dish soap settled on his tongue when his brain let another epithet loose. He might have had trouble controlling his urges as a teenager, but he was a man now. She was nothing more than a girl he used to go to school with. He walked behind her and helped her slide her other arm through the remaining strap. "Is that too heavy?"

She gave a little bounce. "Not too bad. You really are a genius."

Gene winced. He didn't like being reminded that she thought of him as a brain freak. "Experience. Do you have somewhere to go?"

Her smile faded. "I've been trying to decide between home and a shelter. I don't have a lot in the way of supplies at my house."

_Great_. He couldn't bring himself to abandon her, either alone at her house or at a shelter. "You don't have someone to stay with? What about Russ?"

Her eyes narrowed to hard little slits. "I'd stand on the beach and face the hurricane with nothing but the clothes on my back before I'd call Russ. Heck, I'd even do it naked."

He'd never liked Russ, but Lacey had been smitten by him. Gene wished she hadn't been sideswiped by whatever Russ did to put that expression on her face, but he wasn't surprised. "Okay, no Russ. Anyone else?"

"No." Her shoulders slumped. "The only other person I'd want to stay with is on her way to Birmingham. Would you take me to the church?"

A stiff gust of wind blew a blast of rain into his face. Gene raised his eyes to the sky and studied the movement of the clouds. As a man of science, he believed thorough research solved most problems. His study of the weather pattern had convinced him he would be away before the storm hit. Women, it appeared, were the X factor that threw his well-ordered research into chaos.

"No." He cleaned his glasses again, unstrapped the spare helmet from the back seat, and handed it to her.

She paused, the helmet halfway to her head. "No?"

He pulled on his helmet. He couldn't do it. To be fair, he couldn't drop any of his friends at a shelter and walk away, but he sure couldn't do it to her. Besides, judging by the wind, by the time he figured out what to do with her, it might not be safe for him to be on the bike anymore. He flipped the face guard up. "I'm not going to dump you off at a shelter. We'll go to my grandmother's house."

"Oh." Her eyes flicked to the motorcycle, then back up to his. "You don't have to do that."

"Yes, I do."

"I don't want to be a burden."

He threw one leg over the back and settled onto the seat. "We can stand here in the rain and talk it over, if you like."

"No! No. Let's go." She yanked the helmet over her head, snapped the strap beneath her chin and hopped on behind him. "I've never ridden a motorcycle before. What am I supposed to do?"

"Put your arms around my waist and hold on," he instructed her. "When I lean, you keep your head and shoulders toward the sky. It'll help me balance."

She nodded, and he flipped the face guard closed. Gene steeled himself as she slid her arms around him and pressed her torso against his back. If teenage Eugene had known Lacey would be sitting against him like this, he would have had a heart attack. Fortunately, the more mature Gene could treat the situation with the clinical detachment it deserved. _Nothing to it_. He raised the kickstand, fired up the bike, and kicked it into gear.

As they pulled onto the road, a gust of wind pushed against the motorcycle, and Gene gripped the handlebars. So, he would stay here. He wouldn't call his grandmother to tell her, though. Blue dish soap would be the least of his worries if Grandma caught him staying at her house when he'd made her leave.

He concentrated on getting them back to Grandma's in one piece. He thought again that this was no worse than any other drive in the rain, but that wouldn't hold true much longer. With any luck, he'd have them inside his grandmother's house before the wind made the bike too hard to manage.

From there, the situation would become more difficult. _Don't worry about it_. He'd had four years to get his head together, and he was a grown man now.

_Sure_. Except for one tiny problem.

Once he arrived at Grandma's, he would have to spend the night with a woman he'd cut out of his life to get over.

# # #

Gene pulled the bike to a stop in front of a trim little brick house in what passed for uptown Shepherdsville. Lacey released her death grip on his waist and sat back. Her first motorcycle ride might have been better if the skies had been clear and the wind had been calm. Or if that watery weakness hadn't settled into her limbs as soon as she'd sat down. Since none of those things worked in her favor, she didn't ever want to sit on the back of a motorcycle again. She pulled off her helmet and handed it to him.

"You all right?" he asked. "You look a little pale."

She nodded and swung her leg over the seat. "I'm fine. Let's go inside."

He stood back and waited. He obviously didn't intend to go in until she did. Eugene—Gene—had always been such a sweetie. That was one of her favorite things about him.

Lacey pushed up from the bike, and those annoying gray spots feathered the outside of her vision again. She reached a hand out, but illness, lack of food, and stress caught up with her.

As soon as her feet touched the gravel, the gray took over.

She slid to the ground, and she couldn't do anything to stop herself. Gene raced forward and grabbed her around the waist. "Whoa! Lacey?"

She shook her head to let him know she was all right, but he didn't seem to be convinced. He rested her against the motorcycle, pushed the straps of her bag from her shoulders, and let it drop to the ground. Then he picked her up and cradled her against his chest.

A distant part of her brain registered that Eugene Blackwell, of all people, had dead lifted her as if she were nothing more than a sack of groceries. The guy she had gone to high school with almost couldn't lift his own backpack. The rest of her brain wondered why her limbs refused to obey orders.

"Eu...Gene? I'm all right," she said.

Either he didn't hear, or he didn't believe her. He marched onto the porch and deposited her in a chair next to the door. "Stay there."

She didn't bother to protest. _Yet_. If he meant to carry her inside, she would argue with him then. Lacey intended to walk into the house on her own two feet. She watched him move over to a flowerpot near the corner of the porch and bend over to tilt it to one side.

_Mercy_. Among other things, Gene had developed a very nice backside. Something about a guy in blue jeans always got her attention.

But Gene? She frowned as he picked up something off the concrete and straightened. The skinny kid she used to know was one of her favorite people. He was sweet and attentive and always knew what to say to make her feel better. She couldn't say she'd ever caught herself staring at his butt, though.

He turned and held up the key. "My grandma is very predictable."

Her eyes followed him back over to the door. Now that she thought about it, he'd changed in more ways than one. She couldn't remember when she'd last seen him, but it had been at least three years. Maybe more. Somewhere along the way, he'd traded up to a pair of trendy, hipster glasses that accentuated his blue eyes. His dark blond hair was cut close at the neck but left longer on top, so that it fell across his brow in a thick sweep. His thin, gangly torso had filled out into a well-toned swimmer's build. Her gaze dropped to his forearms, which peeked out from under the cuffs of his shirt. His muscles flexed and bunched as he unlocked the door and pushed it inward.

_Wow_. Eugene Blackwell had become a hunk.

Good for him. Lacey had always thought no one gave him enough credit. He was sweet, funny, and scary brilliant. The other kids, Russ in particular, never gave him a fair chance.

_Russ_. What a jerk. Gene pushed the door open and turned back to her, his brows settling into a puzzled frown. "What?"

She shook it off and pushed herself up. "Nothing."

"Hold on." He moved to stand in front of her. "I don't think you should—"

She waved a hand at him. "I'm not going to let you haul me around like a bag of potatoes. I can walk."

He folded his arms and moved back to give her some space. But not much. "Didn't look that way to me."

"I stood up too fast. Won't happen again." She stepped around him and headed back toward the porch steps.

"Where are you going?" He stopped her with a hand on her arm.

"I have to get my bag."

"I don't think so." He tugged her arm and guided her into the house. "I'll get it. You sit on the couch."

She opened her mouth to protest, but Gene didn't look like he would take no for an answer. Another of her mother's endless sayings sounded in Lacey's head. "Honey," her mother told her, "every now and again, you need to let someone be sweet to you."

Lacey gave him a wry smile. Gene _would_ be the one who would want to be sweet. She'd missed him. "Thank you."

She stepped into the house and dropped into a recliner that sat inside the door. If Gene hadn't told her this was his grandmother's house, Lacey would have been able to guess. A dark ceiling fan spun overhead, stirring sheer pink curtains that covered a window to her left. A television rested on a table in the corner surrounded by a collection of painted porcelain birds. A shelf on the wall next to the TV held more birds. _Who could possibly want that many birds?_ A cluster of small pictures she couldn't quite see sat on a table, and a floral couch lined the wall on the other side of the room. A lace doily and an old leather Bible lay on the coffee table in front of her.

_Definitely Grandmaville_. She leaned back and closed her eyes. The rain on the roof was soothing now that she didn't have to ride a motorcycle through it. From the sound of it, they had arrived just in time.

She heard Gene's footsteps stop outside the door a moment later and realized with dismay that he must have been caught in the sudden downpour. All because he'd been determined to retrieve her bag.

Without meaning to, he had always been able to make her feel guilty for accepting his help. She was his charity case—the one he always dragged out of a jam because he was so much smarter than she would ever be. If he'd been condescending about it, she wouldn't have liked him at all. Instead, he was so amiable that she'd been both grateful and ashamed at the same time.

He stepped back inside a moment later. He'd removed his shoes and socks, and his tousled wet hair dripped down his temple. He stood in the doorway and tugged his arms out of a soaked button-down shirt.

_Holy Moses_. Had she thought he had a swimmer's build? _Wrong_. The man had somehow sprouted the body of a Greek god. The sculpted muscles and glistening bronze skin of his torso stared back at her, and she fought to keep herself from staring.

"Sorry," he said. "My grandma'll kill me if I track water all over the house." He tossed his shirt onto the porch and glanced down at his legs. "But I guess I'll risk a beating and leave my jeans on."

Lacey swallowed past a dry throat. "Good idea."

"The dryer's out in the utility room. I'm going to throw everything in while we still have power." He cocked a thumb toward the door. "Your bag is all wet, so I'll put your things in, too."

"Thanks." Considering the hoarse croak that escaped her a moment ago, she didn't dare say more.

Gene frowned down at her. "You lightheaded?"

_Busted_. "Well—"

"Whatever happened to you out there, you need to be careful."

_Oh, yeah. That_. "Oh. I will. I'll sit here a little while longer."

He closed the door behind him. "Stay right there. I have an idea." He crossed the living room, went through the dining room on the other side, and ducked into the kitchen.

She stared at his equally impressive back, along with the perfect butt encased in wet jeans, until he disappeared. She couldn't believe she was leering at Eugene Blackwell. As much as she'd always adored him, she never thought of him that way. In truth, she always felt inadequate around him. She had trouble in chemistry, and he fixed it with seemingly no effort. Physics? No problem. Couldn't figure out how to do a proof in geometry? Gene knew. Time and again, he bailed her out.

Gene pitied her, but who could blame him? She could never be half as smart as him, so she settled for being grateful he didn't lose patience with her. She accepted his help for what it was and paid him back the only way she knew how—by standing up for him. Of course, when she defended him to Russ, he'd come unglued. "If you like him so much, how come _he's_ not your boyfriend?"

_As if._ Gene would never settle for someone who wasn't a brainiac like him. He'd be bored. Eventually, that's what happened. He stopped coming around when he outgrew her.

_So, you need to stop drooling over him_. She had a good life and a successful business, but that didn't make her right for Gene. He would always be kind to her, but pity would only go so far.

He appeared in the kitchen doorway, and she shoved her wandering thoughts aside. For now, she would enjoy spending some time with an old friend—and she would ignore what he had going on from the neck down.

Gene crossed the living room and stood in front of her. He held out a steaming mug. "Drink this."

She dropped her gaze from his startling blue eyes to the cup and tried to avoid his bare chest. She reached out to take it from him. "What is it?"

He wore the same patient expression he used to have when he tried to explain how electricity worked. She had gotten lost between amps and ohms.

"No, don't sniff. Drink."

The murky, mud-brown liquid looked positively evil. It smelled even worse. She shoved it back toward him. "No way."

" _Drink_ ," he said. "It'll put the color back in your cheeks."

"It's more likely to put hair on my chest."

He straightened, towering over her, and folded his arms. "I rescued you from the side of the road, carried you up to the porch, and went after your bag in the pouring rain. I even went to the trouble of making you a hot drink. The least you can do is try it."

_Ouch_. She took another wary sniff.

"Hold your nose and toss it back. You won't even notice," he said.

_I doubt that_. He _had_ gone through a lot of trouble for her, though. She owed him. "If you say so." She pinched her nose and held the mug to her lips. After a moment of hesitation and a count of three, she tossed back a gulp.

She immediately spit it back into the cup. "Yuck! Jeez, Gene, what is this stuff? Are you trying to kill me?"

"It's a toddy. Drink it. You need something stiff and hot."

_Stiff and hot. Right_. Her thoughts spun in the wrong direction again. She corralled her brain before it got away from her and plunked the mug on the coffee table. "Not on your life. I always thought a toddy sounded so sophisticated. It's gross. Where did you find alcohol? Don't tell me your grandma has a stash?"

"Grandma is old-school Baptist. She doesn't believe in alcohol. Home cold remedies, however, are acceptable." He gave her an impish grin. "I improvised, though. There was no brandy, so you got whiskey and peppermint. And she didn't have lemon juice or honey, either. I added orange juice and artificial sweetener instead. The chemical properties aren't quite the same, but I got it as close as I could."

She scowled up at him. "Ew. You _are_ trying to kill me."

"No. I'm trying to help you." He sobered. "You scared me, you know."

She studied the intricate lace doily on the table. "Sorry. I've been pretty sick the last few days. I guess it caught up with me."

"Don't apologize. It's not your fault." She risked a glance up at him, and his eyes were both cautious and gentle. Cozy warmth spread through her, like he had wrapped her in a soft blanket.

_What is wrong with you?_ She must have swallowed some of the whiskey.

"I'm better now, though." She picked up the mug. "So, I'm going to toss this down the sink and find something a little less toxic." He looked ready to protest, but she didn't give him a chance. "Go ahead and dry the clothes. We don't know how much longer we'll have power. When you come back in, we'll dig up some lunch."

Gene hesitated for a second, then nodded. "You're right, I guess. I've got to make a phone call, so don't wait on me. Eat if you're hungry."

She shooed him away, and he turned with obvious reluctance and walked out the front door.

Her shoulders sagged. Why had her senses misfired? They needed to cut it out. She adored him. He was one of her best friends for years. That didn't mean she could let herself be attracted to him.

She headed for the kitchen. The last few days had thrown her off-balance. She'd broken up with Russ so long ago, and now she had testosterone withdrawal. Naturally, the first guy to come within arm's reach would affect her.

_Wonderful_. She understood the problem. Now, how to fix it?

Lacey dumped the drink into the sink and rinsed out the cup. Easy. She would remind herself that Gene had grown bored with her and moved on. He was kind enough to help her in high school, but he outgrew their friendship because she didn't stimulate him. Years later, as the owner of a simple farming store, she couldn't be any less interesting to him.

Like he'd done so many times before, he found her in trouble, and he fixed things for her. She couldn't allow herself to be attracted to someone who thought she was a liability. Russ taught her that lesson. She might not be as smart as Gene, but she didn't intend to repeat that mistake.

Not even for Apollo himself.

Chapter 3

Gene let himself into the small room on the other side of the porch, closed the door, and leaned back against it. What had he gotten himself into?

After four years, he thought his need to be Lacey's knight in shining armor would have faded some. He couldn't be too hard on himself, though. She was in a bad way. He'd found her on the side of the road, in the rain, and she'd almost passed out right in front of him. He would want to help anyone in that situation.

Although having anyone else's body pressed against him wouldn't be unsettling in quite the same way.

He pushed away from the door. That didn't mean anything. It was just ... weird. He would call Mel, and she would set his head straight.

He and Mel had a perfect friendship. As scientists, they shared a fascination with things others found confusing or dull. More importantly, she kept him grounded. They might grow into something more than friends, and if they did, he'd have something real. He'd focus on that so he wouldn't be tempted to slip back into the old infatuation. He refused to go backwards, especially for someone who friend zoned him from the very beginning.

Gene opened the dryer door and tossed his shirt and socks in. He grabbed Lacey's bag and threw it in after. It landed with a loud clunk.

Crap. She would have packed things that shouldn't go in a dryer. "Yeah, I'm a real genius," he muttered. He took the bag out again, laid it on top of the washer, and unzipped it.

He reached inside, grabbed a handful of cloth, and tossed it in. On his second try, he pulled out a fistful of skimpy, lacy underwear. Heat flooded his face. He looked away, shoved his hand in the dryer, and let go.

His fingers tingled now. He hesitated, unsure of whether he ought to keep going. _It's just cloth, you big chicken_. Nothing more than polyethylene terephthalate, a synthetic polymer made of coal, petroleum, air, and water.

That had touched her bare skin. In places he'd never seen.

_Stop it._ He had to be the world's biggest pervert. He grimaced, stuck his hand inside again, and kept going until no more material remained. He dumped the remaining contents onto the washer and threw the bag in, as well.

Wet denim stuck to his legs when he straightened. He glanced at the door. _Why not?_ He'd be a lot more comfortable with dry jeans. Lacey knew he meant to make a call, and she didn't feel well. She wouldn't leave the recliner. He emptied his pockets, unzipped his pants and tossed them in.

A moment later, the dryer tumbled, and Gene dialed Melody's number.

She picked up on the second ring. "Hello?"

"Hey, Mel."

"Where are you?"

"I'm at my grandmother's house."

Melody chuckled. "Couldn't talk her into leaving, hmm? From what you've told me about her, I'm not surprised."

Gene took a deep breath. "Not quite. Grandma left. I stayed behind."

"I told you not to take that motorcycle," she said. "You need a real car, you know."

She would never understand. He loved his bike. It represented freedom, speed, and communing with nature all at once. "No, that wasn't the problem. I would have made it if I hadn't run into Lacey Underwood on the way out of town."

Silence. Gene frowned. Mel would remember her name. Although Lacey had been behind him for a couple of years by the time he met Melody, as he and Mel became closer, he'd opened up. He told her everything, and she gave the situation her customary clinical analysis. After a moment, he started to ask if she was still there, but she spoke first. "The one you had a thing for in high school?"

He frowned at the open reservation in her voice. "Yes. She was stranded on the side of the road. I brought her back here."

Another long pause. "Why?"

_That should be obvious_. "What do you mean why?"

She let out a harsh sigh. "Are you that clueless?"

_Fair question_. He'd made his share of blunders since he and Mel met. Other than Lacey, a few dates with girls to banquets and the odd meet up at science club functions, he'd never been one to hang out with women. He didn't understand them. Drew praised him for finding a woman who was "low maintenance" and had spent the last six weeks pushing Gene to ask Mel out. Apparently, however, even a low-maintenance woman expected a guy to notice _some_ things.

He didn't always deliver.

"Sometimes. I don't think I am right now, though."

"You cut off the friendship so you could get over her."

"Yes, and you told me there was nothing to get over but a little high school crush."

"I know," she replied. "That doesn't mean you should reignite the fire."

Based on what he'd told her about his infatuation with Lacey, he couldn't blame Mel for being a _little_ worried about him. How could he have done anything differently, though? "I'm not. Her car broke down. I had to do something"

"Well, of course you did," she said in a tight voice. "But you didn't have to bring her home and stay with her."

Gene closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the wall. She sounded less worried and more irritated. "Yes, I did. She didn't have anywhere to go, and by the time I got her back here, the weather was deteriorating. I didn't want to risk it on the bike."

Her voice softened a little. "Maybe not."

"Stop worrying. It's been years. I'm past it."

"Are you?" she asked. "I know you think you are, but I've thought about this a few times since you told me about her."

Really? "Why would you do that?"

She hesitated. "I've wondered what would happen if you ever saw her again. Gene, you're going to spend the night with this woman."

_Well, there's that_. He'd thought the same thing. "I've got this."

"I hope so. But..." She trailed off. "If you start to think you've still got a thing for her, remind yourself of... what you'd be giving up."

His brows knitted. _What I'd be giving up?_ Did she know he'd thought about asking her out? In truth, he would have done it already if he weren't concerned about messing up a perfectly good friendship if she said no.

Which meant Mel might not have been the right person to have this conversation with. He sighed. Maybe he really was clueless.

"Thanks," he said after a moment.

"This will be good for you," she said in a tone that was a little too sunny. "You can find out if you're over her."

"I am."

"Listen, Gene..." She hesitated.

"Yeah?"

"Be careful. I don't want you to get hurt."

"Don't worry. I'll be fine."

He said goodbye, disconnected the call, and stared down at the phone. Mel couldn't be jealous. She wasn't that kind of woman. He admired that about her. She approached life like a scientist. Every problem needed a hypothesis, a test, results, and a conclusion. He set his cell down on the dryer. She wanted to conduct an experiment. She'd developed a hypothesis—he still wanted Lacey. From the sound of it, Mel had come up with her theory some time ago. Now, she wanted him to test it. It made an odd kind of clinical sense.

He would be a lab rat, if that's what she wanted. The experiment would be a success, and when it was, he would use the results as an excuse to ask her out.

He settled back to wait. Five more minutes, and his clothes should be dry enough to be tolerable. Maybe ten. If he accepted Melody's theory, the longer he stayed in here, and away from Lacey, the better.

Ridiculous. He—

The laundry room door swung open, and Lacey stepped inside. She held a plate with a sandwich that looked like the one his grandmother made for him not too long ago. "I thought you might—" She screeched to a halt, her eyes wide.

Gene almost laughed at the expression on her face. He should have been a little more embarrassed to be caught in his drawers, but they covered the important parts. Why let it bother him? Her eyes dropped to his underwear, a pair of navy-blue boxer briefs, and stayed there. For some reason, that amused him even more. He'd never gotten this much of a rise out of Lacey. He reached out and took the plate from her. "I assume this is for me?"

She nodded, but her wide eyes still didn't budge.

"Thanks," he said. He picked up the sandwich and took a bite.

Finally, she looked up at him, her expression dazed. "I'm...so sorry. I should..." She took a step back. "I should go."

She didn't move. With his grandmother's admonition still fresh in his head, he made sure to swallow before he spoke. "You don't have to leave. I'm waiting for my pants to dry."

"I can see that."

"You didn't have to do this," he said, nodding toward the sandwich. His brain sent him an image of Lacey, crumpling in front of him like a discarded puppet. His humor disappeared. "I wish you'd waited until I came inside. I would've taken care of lunch."

She grinned. "I wasn't impressed with your last attempt."

_True_. "Still—" He stopped when the lights flickered briefly, then died.

Lacey's eyes were two huge pools in the light cast by the door behind her. "Gene?"

Her soft voice wavered slightly. He gripped the plate tighter and restrained the urge to reach for her. This is going to be harder than I thought. "Stay calm, Lacey. The power was bound to go."

"I know. But we haven't found a flashlight. Or candles. Or something."

"Don't worry," he assured her. "It's too early to lose power for good, and Grandma was prepared to wait out the storm. She'll have all that in the house."

"I'll go check." Lacey whirled around, and this time he did reach out and take her by the arm. Her skin was warm and soft beneath his fingers _. Much harder_.

"Slow down," he said. "It'll be much easier to search a dark house without you fainting on me again."

She half turned, and her mouth set into a thin line. "I'm not going to faint."

"The evidence doesn't support your theory," he said. "If you pass out again, you're getting another toddy."

She shuddered. "You're a mean man."

"Whatever works."

The lights flickered again, then bathed the small room in a warm, yellow glow. "See? Nothing to worry about."

Her eyes didn't share his enthusiasm. "Easy for you to say."

"At least you're not standing here in your underwear."

Her muscles tightened under his fingers. He let go and stooped to open the dryer door. Dry or not, he ought to get dressed. He hardly thought Lacey would lose control. Still, running around half-naked wouldn't be the best way to conduct this experiment. "Let me put my pants on, and I'll look around for the flashlights."

She took a step backwards and turned away from him and toward the front yard, where rain pounded against the cement driveway. "If you'll tell me where to look, I'll do it."

He straightened, stepped one foot into his jeans and pulled them on, studying her as he did. Her glorious, thick hair was long enough to touch her shoulders in drying tendrils. Her face was a little thinner than in high school, her perfect lips a little fuller, and her delicate cheekbones more pronounced. Her shirt was shapeless and baggy, but her jeans hugged her slender curves.

He swallowed past a knot in his throat and looked down at his feet. In high school, she'd been beautiful. At twenty-seven, she was absolutely stunning. Of course, that didn't change anything. "Nope," he said as he pulled his zipper up. "You should go sit down."

She turned back. "I'm not an invalid, Gene."

_Not Eugene. Much better_. "I'll do it. Inside."

Lacey opened her mouth, probably to protest—she seemed to be doing a lot of that today—but stopped when his phone let out a loud chirp. She shook her head, turned, and stalked into the house.

He almost ignored the call and went after her. If Melody was worried about him, she'd find out tomorrow that he'd stayed in control. Lacey was obviously irritated with him. He needed to fix that. He grabbed the phone and flipped it over.

Not Mel. Drew. He punched the green icon on the screen. "Hey, man. What's up?"

"Mel called me. What are you _doing?_ "

_Ah, great_. Another mother hen. "Waiting out a hurricane. Why?"

"Dude, have you forgotten how many times I peeled you out of the beanbag chair in our dorm because you were moping over Lacey Underwood?"

"Don't be such a drama queen," Gene drawled.

Drew snorted. "I thought you moved on."

"I did."

"You're in a good place," Drew said. "Mel is... amazing. You should be working on her, not running after Lacey again."

Gene paused. _Amazing? What's with him?_ "I don't understand you two," Gene continued after a moment. "I wasn't going to leave her on the side of the road. I had to help her. She would've done the same for me."

"Look, don't let yourself start thinking things have changed. You may not be in high school anymore, but in her mind, you're still the same guy."

_Don't I know it_. "I'm fine. I can handle this."

"I hope you're right."

He ended the call and stuck the phone in his pocket. _Don't let yourself think things have changed_. Drew might have a point. Gene told himself he had this under control, but did he? She almost passed out, and she seemed annoyed with him for trying to keep it from happening again. He'd done nothing wrong, but he wanted to apologize so she wouldn't be mad at him.

He couldn't let himself care that she was irritated. She'd been out of his life, and his heart, for four years. He'd do what any normal, compassionate human being would do. When the storm blew out tomorrow, though, he would be right behind it. Back to Atlanta.

Back to Melody.

# # #

Lacey patted her hands around the cluttered hall closet. The power had lasted long enough for her to close the outside door behind her. She'd found a lighter in the end table drawer, along with a few assorted candles. The candles gave the living room a cozy glow that almost made up for the gloom outside. They didn't help much in the closet, though.

There had to be a flashlight around somewhere, and she refused to wait for Gene to look. Like she would lay back in the recliner and stare at his beautiful bare chest while he did all the work.

Her mind dredged up an image of him standing in the laundry room in his underwear. _Wow._ His strong, tanned legs were every bit as perfect as the rest of him. And the boxer briefs he wore left little to the imagination. She'd said a quick prayer of thanks that he hadn't decided to dry those, too.

She shoved the thought aside and dug around in the bottom of the closet. She shouldn't let herself think about him that way. Talk about a lost cause. He would never see her as anything more than a poor waif who needed rescuing. Who could blame him? He hadn't just picked her up on the side of the road. _Oh no_. She'd upped the ante by nearly passing out at his feet.

Her spirits lifted when her fingers closed around a tube of hard plastic. _Yes!_ She tugged a flashlight from under a pile of something that was either coats or blankets and flipped the switch with her thumb. A dim, yellow beam flickered to life. She shook it, and the light faltered and blinked back on.

_Better than nothing_. For now, at least. She switched it off again to save what little power remained in the batteries.

"Gene?" she called out.

"Yes?"

Lacey flinched. She had heard him come in as she opened the closet door, but she thought he was in the kitchen. Somehow, the deep rumble of his voice had sounded right behind her. She stood and turned carefully to face him, shrinking back into the closet to avoid a collision with the solid bulk of his chest. She hoped he had put on his shirt. Not that the shirt would make much of a difference—if she found herself pressed against him, the thin fabric wouldn't be enough to keep her knees underneath her.

"Don't do that," she snapped.

"Do what?"

"Sneak up behind me."

His outline moved in the dim light of the hall, and the gray blur of his face floated above her. His voice held an unmistakable smile. "I wasn't sneaking. You weren't paying attention. What's on your mind?"

_You_. Of course, she'd die before she admitted that. "Nothing."

"I see. Then why were you calling me?"

_Oh_. _Right_. "Here. It needs batteries." She shoved the flashlight in his direction until it connected with something solid.

"Hey. Ow."

She fought off a giggle. "That's what you get for skulking around in the dark. Scared me to death."

He flipped on the light and held it to his chin, casting his face in an eerie glow. "Better?"

She let the giggle loose. "Sure. Now cut it out. The batteries are almost dead."

"There were more in the kitchen drawer. I also filled a couple of pitchers with clean water." She caught a glimpse of white teeth. "While you've been in here daydreaming, I've been doing the real work."

How did he know she'd been daydreaming? _He didn't. Shot in the dark_. She grinned at the unintended pun. "This is your grandmother's house. You know where everything is. There's at least a window in the kitchen."

He flipped the flashlight back off. "Excuses. Lucky for you there's a man around."

She folded her arms across her chest. "Is that right? The first thing you went for was the whiskey. If I hadn't made us lunch, we'd be sitting on the couch in the dark with nothing but a bottle of homemade cough syrup."

"Nothing wrong with that," he said. "Look at what's going on outside. What else is there to do?"

What else indeed? In a strange house with no power, there was literally nothing to keep them occupied. At least, nothing she wanted to do with Gene.

_Liar_.

The sight of him almost naked in the laundry room had sent wicked thoughts through her mind. She _did_ want him. She just didn't _want_ to want him—not when he was completely unaffected while her hormones shot through the roof.

He stood a little too close for comfort. Unless she wanted to stay in the closet, her only choice was to step straight into his arms. She braced herself and squeezed between him and the door. The knot in her stomach twisted a little tighter as she brushed against him.

"Right," she said, trying to steer the conversation in a safe direction and put some distance between them. "You didn't actually taste the stuff." Was that breathless voice hers? For heaven's sake, this was _Eugene_.

"I've choked down my fair share of it," he said.

"That explains a lot." She continued into the living room. He'd placed an assortment of batteries, some candles, and a small radio on a table beside the couch. How could he have dumped all this stuff on the table without her hearing him? "Wow. You scored."

He stepped out of the hallway and into the glow cast by the flickering candles. _Still no shirt_. _Crap_.

"Told you," he said with a boyish grin. He bent over in a mock bow. "Gene Blackwell, rescuer of damsels in distress."

_Yeah_. That was the story of their entire relationship. "My hero."

He straightened, and the grin dropped. "You okay?"

"Sure. Of course. I..." How could she tell him she didn't _want_ to need rescuing? He was smart, successful, sweet, and holy-freaking-bejeebers gorgeous. He had it all. Lacey, however, got by, and until he'd disappeared a few years ago, had needed Gene's help to do that much.

"I can't believe I almost passed out," she said instead.

His face clouded. "You scared me."

"Sorry." She studied the dancing candlelight. "I've been in bed sick since Thursday. Too much activity too soon, I guess."

"What?" His eyes narrowed.

"Yeah. Flu or something. It was rough."

"In the recliner." He pointed an uncompromising finger at the chair.

She shook her head, and some of the wooziness from this morning reasserted itself. "Don't go all 'mom' on me. I'm fine."

"You can either park it in the recliner, or I'm going to pick you up and put you there myself," he said.

The thought of him picking her up and pressing her against his bare chest made her knees even weaker. She hoped that was a bluff.

Well, sort of.

"Gene—"

"I'm not kidding. Sit."

She studied him a moment longer. He didn't look like he was joking. Unless she wanted to be cradled against him and resisting the urge to run her hands across the hard planes of his chest, she'd best follow instructions. "Only because there's nothing else to do right now."

She settled back into the recliner. Her whole body breathed a sigh of relief. She'd never admit that to Gene, though. She wasn't 100 percent yet, but that didn't mean he needed to wait on her hand and foot.

He followed, leaned over her, and pulled the handle on the side of the chair. She resisted the urge to reach out and touch the solid wall of muscles, but they were _right_ _there_.

Oh, boy.

He straightened, and she frowned up at him. "You didn't have to put my feet up."

"There's no reason not to. You've eaten?"

"Oh, for crying out loud. Yes."

He arched his eyebrows. "Why are you mad at me?"

"I'm not—" She stopped. He'd never believe her with that edge in her voice. In truth, she _was_ irritated—but not at him. She'd come back in the house intending to pull her own weight. Yet, here she sat. She calmed her tone and tried again. "I'm not mad."

"Could have fooled me."

"Tired of being sick, I guess. Sorry."

"Don't apologize." He stepped back. "I'm going to get those clothes out the dryer. Why don't you take a nap?"

She almost protested again, but her arms and legs sagged, like someone had turned up the gravity. "Maybe I'll rest. Just for a minute."

He smirked down at her, a roguish twist of the lips that turned her hormones up again, then he disappeared outside.

She laid her head back and stared at the ceiling. _Don't apologize_. He would say that, even after she almost bit his head off. She'd always wished Russ could be as nice as Gene. She would have settled for half as nice.

Of course, they were more similar than she'd realized. Russ also thought he was smarter than her, and he hadn't been as kind as Gene about it.

He'd been wrong, though. Unlike Gene, Russ was an idiot. He'd been so insecure that every success Lacey achieved made him feel like less of a man. She'd dropped out of college and taken a minimum-wage job to make him happy. In return, he'd degraded her and told her she was lucky to have a man who would put up with a failure like her. She'd finally come to her senses and kicked him to the curb.

Once was enough. She refused to make that mistake again. She would have a man who thought of her as an equal or no man at all.

She closed her eyes, and her brain dredged an image—Gene standing in the laundry room, grinning at her while wearing nothing but that sexy blue underwear.

_Knock it off_.

She pushed the image away and drifted off to sleep.

Chapter 4

Gene stood in the kitchen, his eyes fixed on the bleak landscape outside the storm door. In the backyard, flowers let go of the bushes and spun through the air. Branches, leaves, and pinecones joined the flowers in a scattered mess that covered most of the grass and stuck haphazardly in the chain-link fence.

_The wind's blowing too hard_.

_Stop being an alarmist_.

A cat 3 shouldn't produce wind like this, though. Not so soon. Heavy rain blew sideways, which fogged the already gloomy landscape and formed puddles of water on the concrete underneath the awning. A branch let go of a nearby oak and went flying into the neighbor's yard.

_It's too much_. A hurricane could cause a lot of damage, but with the eye still hours away, the chaos outside didn't make sense. He pulled his cell from his pocket and checked his weather app.

The awestruck epithet that escaped him immediately brought back the bitter tang of soap. He glanced over his shoulder, sure his grandmother would be there, a scowl on her face and a bottle in her hand.

_No time for that now_. He slammed the door and sprinted into the living room. "Lacey? Lacey!"

"Hmm?" she mumbled.

He stooped over next to her. She hadn't been asleep for long. She couldn't be that far under, could she? "Wake up."

She opened her eyes and stared hazily back at him. "Gene?"

"Tornado. Get up. Now."

He hated the alarm that spread across her face, but at least he had her attention. He couldn't be sure in the glow of the candlelight, but he thought the color had drained from her face. She swung her legs around without bothering to release the footrest, scrambled to her feet, and stopped when her body swayed drunkenly.

The same epithet escaped him again. _I am_ _such_ _a moron_. She would faint, and all because he hadn't stopped to think before waking her. He swung her into his arms. His stomach knotted when her soft warmth settled against him. He ignored it and marched her across the living room.

"Gene," she protested. "Put me down."

He shook his head. "I'm not taking any chances." He crossed the hall and entered the cramped bathroom his grandmother had been threatening to remodel since before he was born, then set her down. "Be right back. Don't move."

"Gene—"

"Don't argue," he ordered. He winced at the harsh tone in his voice, but if the radar was correct, the tornado was almost on top of them. He needed her to stay put.

To her credit, she did. He snatched a lit candle from the end table and cupped his hand around the flame as he raced back to the bathroom. He set it on the counter, closed the door, and sank down on the floor facing her. The tiny room forced them to sit crammed together, her arm and leg pressed against his. Her arm trembled against him, and he studied her pale face.

"You all right?"

Her head bobbed up and down. "Uh-huh. Sure."

_Yeah, right_. A memory bubbled to the surface—the two of them in chemistry when a bolt of lightning struck close enough that the accompanying thunder boomed at the same moment. She had jumped, then confessed with a nervous laugh that storms had always scared her. Whether she'd outgrown her sensitivity or not, _this_ one bothered her.

He didn't have to be a genius to figure out why. He had roused her out of a deep sleep with news of an imminent tornado. While extreme weather patterns generally fascinated him, having one on top of him didn't sit well with him, either, and he hadn't been slapped in the face with it. He should have been more sensitive.

He rooted around in his head for something to take her mind off the storm that raged outside. _Good luck with that_.

"Why don't you tell me what you've been up to the last four years?"

The wind howled, and she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. He touched a finger to her chin and forced her to look at him. "Lacey? Where do you work?"

She blinked. "Oh. At the... at the feed shop. I bought it from Ben."

"I didn't know that. When?"

"A couple of years ago. After I dropped out of college..." She trailed off, staring down at her toes. "I was so stupid. Russ didn't make the pros, and he couldn't handle it. Anything that went well for me after that made him angry. I thought if I left school, he wouldn't be so threatened. I meant to go back and finish later, after he calmed down some."

She dropped out because of Russ? She'd never told him. "It didn't help, I take it?"

"No. He told me I was a quitter and a failure. I think..." Her eyes flashed. "I think he was so insecure he needed to push me beneath him to make himself feel better. He _liked_ the idea that I failed. It made him think he hadn't done so bad."

_Unbelievable_. He'd never cared for Russ, but now, Gene thought he might be able to hate him. "Russ was a selfish nimrod."

Lacey laughed, a light, musical sound that made his breath catch in his throat. " _Nimrod_?"

"Sorry. Too many Bugs Bunny cartoons."

"You're right, though. He was a nimrod." She grinned, then her smile faded. "And when I couldn't make him happy, I showed him the door. I guess you think I should have done that a long time ago."

He did, but he wasn't about to tell her that. "You have to do what's right for you."

"Nice cover, genius," she said. "Anyway, after that, I wanted to get my life back on track. My folks moved out to Oregon for Dad's job. I thought about joining them, but I was a little too old to go running to Daddy. When Ben put the feed shop up for sale, I decided to go for it."

_Wow. She's got some grit_. He couldn't stomach the gamble a small business would require. "Do you like it?"

"I do," she said. "It's—"

A loud crash sounded in the living room. Lacey gasped, and her gaze jerked in the direction of the door. "It was just a limb on the roof," he said.

She didn't seem to hear him. The wind howled, the rain pounded overhead, and the house seemed to groan under the assault. He placed a finger under her chin again and tried to draw her attention. She turned to him, her eyes dark, terrified pools in the dim light.

Again, he acted without thought. One moment, he sat next to her, his finger touching the warmth of her skin, the next, his mouth was on hers. The impact of her soft lips under his sent a hot rush of need coursing through him. A warning rang in the back of his mind.

He ignored it. He was kissing Lacey. _Lacey Underwood_. Why in the world would he want to stop?

After a moment's hesitation, she responded. She opened to him, inviting him in, and her fingers closed around the back of his neck, pulling him closer.

He followed the unspoken invitation, leaned in, and turned his head to deepen the kiss. His glasses dislodged themselves, and he plucked them free and tossed them aside without breaking contact. She threaded her hands through his hair and another bolt of heat shot through him. He couldn't believe this was happening. Lacey wanted him. _Really_ wanted him. She—

Reality reasserted itself like a cold splash of water on his cheeks. He pulled back and looked down into her eyes. She didn't want him. She was terrified. She wanted _someone_. Mel and Drew had warned him, and he still fell into the trap.

He muttered a curse, shifted backwards, and reached around for the glasses he had discarded only seconds before. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that."

Lacey raised a hand to her mouth, then clenched her fingers into a fist and dropped it. "Right. I freaked out a little, I guess."

"Are you okay?"

Her eyes flicked to the side. "Yeah."

_Not true_. She refused to look at him. Instead, she shrank back against the wall and pulled her arms and legs away from the contact that had been so comfortable a minute ago. He'd kissed her, and she was trying to escape from it. He plastered on a fake smile. "Good."

Another thud sounded from outside followed by a loud scrape. How long did tornadoes take to subside? Ten minutes? Fifteen? The answer depended on a number of variables he didn't have access to, and the warning on his weather app meant only that a tornado was imminent. How long should they stay packed in here together?

He pulled out his phone and keyed in his pass code. "I'll check the weather. If the watch has passed, we can go back in the living room."

"No!" The fear crept back onto her face, and the need to console her bit him hard.

"No?"

"I don't want to go out there. Not if there's still a chance the roof might blow off."

The roof might blow off in here, too, but she didn't need to hear that. "Then we'll stay in here."

"Look..." She stopped, cleared her throat, then continued. "I know you were trying to comfort me. Please don't feel weird about it. I...I appreciate it."

_Don't feel weird. Sure. No problem_.

"Actually..." Another, longer pause. "Would you mind sitting next to me?"

No, he wouldn't mind. Not even a little. But why? Did she want to put him at ease or herself? If he wanted to preserve his sanity, he should go to his grandmother's room and shut himself in her closet.

He couldn't do that to her. Not when she was so obviously frightened. He shifted around until he was beside her, then sat quietly and listened to the sound of the wind.

"We'll get past this," she said after a moment. She laid her head on his shoulder and sighed. "We've been friends since junior high. I'm not going to let one kiss in a stressful situation like this mess that up. I hope you won't either."

"Of course not."

_Classic Lacey Underwood_. She'd spent the balance of his high school career saving him from bullies. How like her to want to save him from himself.

Still, she had a point. If he treated the kiss as a momentary lapse caused by something beyond his control, he could go back to his life in Atlanta as though nothing had changed. He'd made a mistake. That didn't mean he should throw away the peace of mind he'd taken four years to build.

"Gene?"

"Yes?"

She took his arm and looped it around her shoulders. "Thanks for everything. You're awesome."

"It's nothing."

_Awesome. Yeah, right_. He'd been so awesome that they'd conducted a decade-long friendship without her ever seeing him as anything but a nerdy kid brother.

More reason for him to keep his wits about him and get out of here without another incident. That was a tall order with Lacey tucked against him. He could do it, though—if he focused on what was waiting for him back home.

_Remind yourself of what you'd be giving up_.

Good advice.

He settled Lacey against his shoulder, leaned his head against the wall, and put his mind to work.

# # #

Lacey closed her eyes and tried to slow her racing pulse. Holy _Moses_ , he packed a powerful kiss. Even now, her lips tingled with the memory. She wished he hadn't stopped so soon.

_No, I don't_. He'd meant to ease her fear of storms, then realized he messed up. The remorse had been instant.

She didn't want to be someone's mistake. Not again.

At least she'd been able to smooth things over. Situation normal. More or less.

Gene relaxed against the wall, closed his eyes, and fell silent. Several minutes passed. His breathing evened, and his weight settled against her shoulder.

Was he _asleep_? How could anyone nap through a tornado—after a kiss that had knocked her into a tailspin?

Lucky him.

The hard tile floor pushed against her thigh, and a numb, tingling pain gathered in her leg. She struggled to sit still. He'd _kissed_ her. Her brain replayed the brief contact again, and she suppressed a delicate shudder. Her heart contracted, her breath stuck in her chest, and she clenched her fingers to will away the memory.

And Gene slept. _Men_.

The numbness in her leg morphed into needles of sensation. She eased it out in front of her, taking care not to jostle him.

"Are you uncomfortable?" His deep, husky voice, so near her ear, sent a shiver down her spine. _What is_ _wrong_ _with me today?_

"I don't mind sitting on the floor, but there's not a lot of room to stretch out in here."

He chuckled, and the shiver intensified. "The house is seventy-five years old. They were more interested in economy than comfort."

"I know I'm being silly," she said. "If there was a tornado, it should be long gone by now. I..." What? She'd been terrified of storms since a bolt of lightning set a shed in her back yard on fire when she was a child. The power of that howling, crashing storm and being at its mercy was more than her young mind could take. As an adult, she told herself to get a grip, but the phobia dug in hard.

"Lacey?"

"Sorry," she said. "Are you ready to move back to the living room?"

He unclipped his cell from his belt and tapped the screen until he came to a radar picture. She leaned over for a better view, her head now resting against his chest, pretending everything was normal. "From the look of it, the immediate danger has passed." He put his phone away and shifted away from her. "Stay here. I want to have a look outside."

He stood and pushed the door open. She wanted to follow, morbid curiosity taking over for anxiety, but her pride wouldn't let her. He'd practically jumped at the opportunity to leave the cramped space he shared with her.

She let him go.

After several minutes of silence, she strained her ears, but she couldn't hear anything except for the patter of rain and the occasional rush of wind. Lacey sat in the gloom. What was he doing?

Another minute passed, and she'd had all she could take. She pushed up from the floor and left the bathroom. The glow of the candle faded when she stepped around the corner, and grayness closed around her. _Ugh_. All that trouble to find a flashlight, and she still stumbled around in the dark.

She stopped in the hall and stuck her hand into her pocket. Before she could fish out her phone, Gene collided with her, and she stumbled backwards. He reached out and grabbed her by the shoulders. Her hands grazed the tight muscles of his chest.

_Crap, crap, crap_.

"Jeez. Sorry. You okay?" he said.

She tried to say something, anything, but the words stuck in her throat. At least he'd put on his shirt.

She nodded. _He can't see, smart girl._ "Yes. My fault. What did you see?"

He let go of her and stepped back. "I was coming to get you. We have a problem."

_Oh, we definitely have a problem_. Well, _she_ did anyway.

_The storm_. He was talking about the storm. Dread trickled in and dispelled the warmth that took over a moment before. "What?"

She heard him move. "There's water coming under the door."

Lacey froze. A flood? Had it rained that much already? Like losing the power wasn't bad enough. The thought of flooding in darkness made her blood run cold.

"Lacey?"

Her mind flipped through half a dozen scenarios, then discarded each as unworkable. The attic would be dangerous. They couldn't leave on his motorcycle with the hurricane churning outside. And they couldn't sit on the couch and dangle their feet in the water.

"Lacey?"

He touched her arm again. She glanced down at his hand, but the muddy grayness masked everything.

"What can we do?" she finally asked.

"We don't have to worry about the river. At least not yet."

_Not yet. How comforting_.

"The fence in the back is keeping some of the water from draining, and it's backing up on the patio," he said. "I'm going outside to clear the debris."

That explained the delay. He'd stood at the back door conducting a scientific analysis of the water flow. Rate times volume plus some other nonsense she would never understand. Now that he'd solved the equation, he intended to battle the elements to test his findings. There was another example of how he was nothing like her. "You're going out in the rain?"

He dropped his hand. "I have to. I can't stand back and let the water in Grandma's house. Not if there's something I can do about it."

_True_. She would have done the same for her own grandparents, storm or no storm. "You're right. What do you need me to do?"

He paused before answering. "Stay in the bathroom."

_Seriously?_ Did he have so little faith in her? "You're kidding, right?"

"No."

Her eyes adjusted somewhat to the dim light, but not enough to see the expression on his face. His voice held an odd tone, though—hesitant and a little sheepish.

_He ought to be_. He'd coddled her ever since he found her at the feed shop that afternoon. Why?

Maybe her experience with Russ had jaded her. Or maybe she'd been too grateful to Gene in the past to notice that he had so little faith in her. Either way, to come face-to-face with the realization that he thought so little of her both saddened and infuriated her. "Gene, I'm not helpless. I can do something."

"Yeah, but..."

"But what?" she snapped.

Another pause. "The dryer isn't working."

_What?_ "So?"

"So, I can't dry my clothes. I meant to go back to Atlanta today, and what I have on is all I have. I..." He drew the word out, stopped, and let out a long sigh. "I'm going to take everything off."

Her irritation melted into confusion. She replayed his words in her head again, sure she had misunderstood him. "Gene. You're not going outside naked. Right?" Maybe _she_ was smarter than _him_.

"Well, not completely. I dug out one of Grandma's housedresses."

Lacey sputtered unexpected laughter. "Seriously?"

"Yeah." His voice now held an amused, self-deprecating note that sent a flutter through her chest. "It was the best idea I could come up with."

Her brain sent her an image of Gene walking through the house wearing nothing but a flowered muumuu. In her mind, the gown sported a lace trim that fell right above his knees. She laughed harder. "Can I take a picture?"

"Absolutely not."

"You're secure enough in your masculinity to wear it outside. _In public_. Everyone else can see it, but I get banished to a room with no windows? So. Not. Fair."

"I don't think anyone will see me in the rain," he said. "Besides, you're the only one who would be able to tag me in the photos."

"I'd love to promise not to." She laughed. "But you've gotta admit, I'd get some mileage out of some good pictures."

"Exactly. Back to the bathroom."

"I'm kidding. I wouldn't do that to you."

Lacey saw a faint glimmer of white teeth through the gloom. "Anyone with a decent sense of humor would do that to me."

"I'll let you hold my phone," she said.

"Where would I put it?"

This time, her unruly brain sent her an image of Gene standing in the laundry room in his tight navy underwear. She pushed it away.

"Hide it before you go outside. I swear, I want to help."

"You've got the flu," he reminded her. "You don't need to be running around in the rain."

"Gene—"

"Look," he said. "If you want to do something, why don't you start with the floor? Once I get the debris cleared, you should be able to dry the puddle in the kitchen."

She considered that for a moment. "I can live with that."

He turned back to the bathroom to retrieve an armload of towels, pushed them into her arms, then disappeared into an adjoining bedroom.

A moment later, he emerged into the living room wearing the housedress and a pair of dainty pink flip-flops. The red paisley smock wasn't quite what she had pictured, but it was just as funny. The cap sleeves hugged his shoulders with elastic ruffles, and the scooped neckline dipped low enough to show a sprinkling of dark chest hair. The hem fell farther up his thighs than she had imagined. Even in high school his grandmother had been a head shorter than him, so her gown barely covered the parts that mattered. She couldn't stop herself from giggling. "Do yourself a favor. Don't bend over."

He reached down and tugged at the hem. "I'm getting a lot more breeze under here than I'm comfortable with. I'm rethinking this plan."

"Don't." She laughed. "You look adorable."

"Good," he retorted. "Adorable is my MO."

"Are you sure I can't take a picture?"

"More than ever." He picked up the flashlight and headed for the kitchen. "Give me a few minutes, then you can get started."

She followed close behind him, stopping just inside the kitchen as he walked across the floor and into the deepening puddle. Through the glass, the rain-soaked dusk grayed the landscape. Leaves floated in water that stood inches deep across much of the yard. The heavy wind had ripped countless limbs from the trees, some as thick as her leg. Whether the tornado had landed or not, the wind had done its work.

Nightfall would be complete in the next half hour or so, but enough light remained to expose Gene as he trudged across the grass. His grandmother's paisley muumuu clung to him, soaked within seconds from the downpour. He stopped in front of the fence and bent to examine the debris at the base. The dress hiked up in the back, and the flash of white skin told her he was serious about taking _everything_ off.

Her cheeks burned, but she giggled anyway. When his hand flashed up to tug at the hem, the giggle turned to a gusty laugh.

_I warned you_.

She would bet rain had never touched his bare butt before. Of course, she would bet he'd never donned a short housedress before, either.

_What a great guy_. She knew a few men who would brave a hurricane for their grandmother's sake but none who would do it in a skimpy nightgown.

She also had to give him credit for knowing _what_ to do. When he'd mentioned water, she panicked and thought "flood." He took the time to examine the problem and come up with a solution.

Was this how Russ felt—overshadowed by her successes and his own shortcomings? Unable to control his bitterness? Her own irritation with Gene made that seem likely. She hadn't been angry with him. She'd been frustrated with herself for being so inadequate compared to him.

_Hmm_. More reason to bury this sudden attraction and forget he'd kissed her. Lacey watched him pull a wad of debris from under the fence. He crouched and pulled the mass of leaves and twigs from the rake, then tossed it over the fence and straightened. The dress stayed in place.

_He learns fast_.

She smiled. He would be an easy man to love. His intelligence, his humor, and his humility made him just about perfect. She sighed and stepped away from the storm door. Not perfect for her, though. Even as a friend, she hadn't been able to hold his attention beyond high school. He needed more than her.

_Enough_. By the time he finished and she mopped up, she should claim fatigue and put herself to bed. In the morning, she would go home. No more fretting over how he was so much smarter than she. No more time in close quarters with him.

She shook off a twinge of regret, grabbed a towel, and stooped to the floor. She understood what needed to happen. He would go back to Atlanta, and she would put this weird night behind her.

Good plan. The storm caused that kiss. The hurricane, combined with her recent illness, had made her loopy, and Gene had been sucked in. _Call it temporary insanity_.

Tomorrow, she would be back to normal. The anxiety would be gone, the skies would be clear, and he would turn back into the sweet little nerd she'd known since junior high. She would be able to see this sudden interest for what it was—a lapse of judgment brought on by stress. She would have a laugh about it, then get back to her life. The life that made her happy. The life where she was in control.

The life without Gene.

Chapter 5

The sun warmed Lacey's face, and she woke to find the blackness behind her eyelids had changed to a warm, mellow orange. She opened her eyes and blinked at the light that shone through the living room window.

Her gaze shifted from the window to the man who slept on the couch. The hope that morning and bright sunshine would clear her head took an instant kick in the shins. Gene lay sprawled on his back, one arm flung over his head and the other resting across his stomach. A dark scrub of stubble had grown overnight, giving him a roguish look she would never have associated with Eugene Blackwell. His chest, bare again, expanded and contracted with each breath, and she found herself watching the movement with fascination.

Well, _crap_.

_Don't panic_. The plan hadn't changed since last night. Plus, with the dark gone, the cozy, candlelit atmosphere had been dispelled. In the light of day, he wasn't her hero anymore. He was just a guy.

A hot guy.

Lying half-naked within ten feet of her.

_Stop it_. She turned her attention to her legs, which rested on the recliner's footrest. She had intended to find a bed, but she hadn't made it that far. Lacey hadn't feigned fatigue. It had taken her the moment she sat down.

Gene had apparently found a blanket for her after she fell asleep. She had opened her eyes a few times during the night and seen him walking through the living room in the candlelight. After he'd covered her up, he'd kept a close eye on the kitchen, probably to make sure the water didn't reappear under the door.

Lacey had felt safe. The glow of the candle, having him sprawled out near her, and the certainty that he was keeping watch had been enough for her to sleep like a baby, even with the storm passing directly over them.

He hadn't slept, though. Every time she'd opened her eyes, he'd been moving around. She wanted to release the footrest and stand, but she didn't want to wake him. He deserved some rest.

_Oh, please_. Like she was _so_ considerate. The more time he spent asleep, the less she had to worry about an awkward morning after—and the less she had to worry about being tempted to kiss him again.

She slid her legs to the side. That would never happen. He wouldn't let it.

Her feet touched the floor. She eased upright and glanced in his direction.

"How do you feel?" he asked without opening his eyes.

_Rats_. "Like I spent the night asleep in a chair," she replied.

He raised his arms over his head in a long, luxurious stretch. She watched his chest muscles pull tight.

_Ah, crap_. Weren't things supposed to be back to normal now?

He opened his eyes. "Sorry. It didn't make sense to move you."

"No worries. Thanks for the blanket."

He reached for his glasses and pushed them onto his face. "Sure. Is the power back on?"

Other than the daylight streaming through the window, everything looked as it had the night before. "I don't know." She took a step toward the door and flipped the switch on the wall.

Nothing happened.

"Guess not." He sat up. "That means no coffee."

"Ouch," she said. "Because we haven't suffered enough."

He stood, stretched again, and this time, she turned her eyes away. "I'll stop for some on the way home. You..." He let the sentence trail off. "What are you going to do?"

She hadn't thought that far ahead _._ "Go back to the shop, I guess."

"You can't stay at your shop. What about your car?"

"I'll call Ed's as soon as he opens back up," she said. "I need to make sure the store survived."

The store. She hadn't even given it a thought until now. How could she have forgotten the shop?

He plucked his shirt off the back of the couch and stuffed his arm through a sleeve. "You'll be stranded."

"I'd be stranded at home, too. _And_ I'd be worried about my baby."

He paused in the middle of pulling on his shirt. "Lacey—"

"I'll be fine. Once the tornado passed, the rest wasn't bad. Things will be back to normal here by the end of the day." She turned around and headed for the kitchen. "Let's see what your grandma has for breakfast before we head out."

Now that her mind had settled on the feedstore, the need to go took a firm hold. If she had to let go of him, she wanted it done—like ripping off a bandage. There would be work to do. She would have a full day of cleanup before she opened for business tomorrow. Had Ben left a generator in the shed? She couldn't remember.

Hopefully, she'd beaten enough of the flu back to be able to handle the effort. She opened the refrigerator and took out some milk. Terri was in Birmingham, but she would likely come back before the end of the day. Lacey wouldn't wait for her. She'd get to work as soon as Gene dropped her off, and with any luck, she'd have everything back in order before Terri got there.

The thought of a day's work lightened her spirits. With everything she would have to do, she could shut Gene out of her mind as soon as he left.

"Wishful thinking," she muttered.

She found two boxes of cereal and set them on the countertop with a grimace. _At least there's food_. "Tasteless bran flakes or tasteless wheat nuggets?" she called over her shoulder.

"Tasteless bran flakes, I guess." He spoke from right behind her, and she flinched. "What's wishful thinking?"

_Well_ , crap. She blurted the first thing that came to mind. "Bacon and eggs."

"Yeah." He laughed. "Thanks a lot, by the way. Now I won't be able to get the smell of bacon out of my head."

She shook the box of bran flakes. "Use your imagination."

Forty minutes later, dishes washed and towels hung on the back porch to dry, Lacey stood in front of the motorcycle for a second time, her bag strapped to her back. Soon, Gene would ride out of her life again, and judging by the last few years, she wouldn't see him again for a long time. If ever. She wondered how she would say goodbye. A hug?

_No_. That would be dangerous.

A handshake?

She'd never shaken Gene's hand before. A handshake would be too formal.

Just "goodbye," then.

Tears stung her eyes, and she turned away and plunked the helmet over her head. He swung his leg over the seat, and she followed, afraid to press herself against him and loop her arms around his waist. Having her body pressed against him hadn't been a problem when he brought her here yesterday. Of course, she'd been ill, and they'd been fighting rain and wind gusts. She'd had other things to worry about.

But yesterday, she hadn't seen him half-naked. He hadn't kissed her. Her senses hadn't been alerted to the deep rumble of his voice or the warmth of his skin.

Lacey bit her lip. She couldn't ride any other way.

_Suck it up and grab on_.

She slid forward, wrapped her arms around him, and pushed away an urge to bury her face against his back.

He edged the bike along, changing course here and there to bypass a fallen limb or chunk of debris. She held on and did her best to ignore the taut pull of muscles under her hands and her churning thoughts. Did she have to let him go? Maybe she could tell him how she felt and ask him when she would see him again.

No, she couldn't. A relationship with him would never work. She'd known in high school that he was way out of her league.

She turned her distracted gaze to the passing landscape, and her thoughts came to a sudden halt. Broken trees lined the road, some snapped like matchsticks and others pulled out of the ground at their roots. A huge section of metal roofing had landed in a twisted heap next to a massive oak that canted at a precarious angle. A random assortment of bicycles, plastic bags, shredded boxes and yard implements scattered across the side of the road. They had ridden through the messy branch and litter-strewn aftermath of heavy wind and into a war zone.

And the path of destruction led toward her store.

Fear gripped her with an icy fist. The tornado she feared last night hadn't been headed for them. It went in the other direction. She was so worried about the roof of the house where they had taken shelter that she hadn't thought to worry about the store.

She forgot about her baby.

Lacey leaned to the side, trying to see around the bulk of Gene's body. The bike swerved. She gripped him harder and straightened. _Idiot_. They wouldn't make it to the store at all if she got them in a wreck. She forced herself to sit still and hang on. She would see if the store had weathered the storm soon enough.

Still, she could barely restrain herself now. The need to make sure the store had survived assaulted her with a force she almost couldn't contain. Her baby. In the path of a tornado. She prayed with all her might.

_Stop it_. The shop was sturdy and well built. It had sat on the same corner since Lacey was a child. In a few minutes, she would see she had worked herself into a tizzy for nothing. She would breathe a sigh of relief, then set to work cleaning up.

She closed her eyes and rested her helmet against Gene's back. Now that panic had taken hold, she couldn't make it go away. The wasted landscape assaulted her like a slap in the face. Every bent and broken tree, every building with missing walls, twisted her stomach in a tighter knot.

At long last, the motorcycle slowed and came to a stop. She opened her eyes.

Lacey let out a sharp gasp, tore off her helmet, and jumped off the bike. Even as she'd given in to the rising panic, she'd convinced herself the building would be as she had left it. She hadn't let herself believe she would find anything worse than some missing shingles and a mess in the parking lot.

The sight in front of her nearly dropped her to her knees. Half of the store had disappeared, leaving behind broken boards, shattered windows and a tangled wad of bridles and half-empty feed sacks. The gaping hole where the sales floor used to be opened up to a field behind the shop, where scattered remnants of the roof had come to rest.

As she stared at the wrecked remains of her livelihood, her brain went numb. She didn't know what to say. She didn't know what to do. She had never in her life felt so lost.

Gene spoke from beside her, and his voice seemed to come from far away. "Lacey? Ah, man, Lace. I'm so sorry."

She turned to him and blinked. Her mind drifted in a dense fog. "It's... it's okay."

_What?_ Who was she kidding? Half of her store had evaporated. Two years of work lay in a crumbled heap in front of her. She could barely breathe past the lump in her throat. She was light years from okay.

"What can I do?" he asked.

She stared at her wounded child. Gene wanted to help. Of course he did. Poor Lacey was in trouble again, and like always, he wanted to step in and save the day. He had spent the last twenty-four hours propping her up.

No. He'd been doing it for the last fifteen years. She refused to accept his pity. Not anymore. If he had any respect left for her, he wouldn't for long if she kept taking from him.

"Nothing." She flinched at the edge in her voice, but she wouldn't apologize. She had to be strong.

He reached a hand toward her, then dropped it. "You can't give up on it. You'll rebuild. I can—"

She shook her head. " _No_. I mean, of course I'll rebuild. But this is _my_ problem. You can't fix this for me. Go home, Gene."

He hesitated. "I can't leave you here."

"Yes, you can." She willed away a wave of tears. The goodbye she'd dreaded was here, and she wasn't ready. Standing in front of the pile of rubble that used to be her pride and joy, it was so much worse than she had imagined. The stupid tears fell, and she swiped them away with the back of her hand.

"I want to help you."

"I'm serious," she said, her voice level and calm. "You can get on your bike and head back to Atlanta." She tried to smile, hoping to soften the sting but not sure she was capable. "This will take weeks to sort out. Maybe more. You can't hang around here and bail me out this time."

His eyes glittered with a mixture of confusion and hurt, and her heart contracted. He nodded and stepped back. "If that's what you want."

_Not even close_. But it didn't matter what she wanted. She couldn't accept a relationship where he gave and she took.

"I'd better get to work." She straightened her shoulders and raised her chin. "I've got a lot to do."

He looked like he wanted to argue. Instead, he nodded. "I understand. Take care, Lace." He turned back to his bike and swung a leg over the seat.

Lacey wouldn't let herself stop him. She tried to say goodbye, but the word stuck in her throat. Gene stared at her for a second longer, then cranked the engine, tipped her a wave, and pulled into the street. She watched him until he rounded the curve and disappeared.

_He's gone_. The finality of his departure hit her like a punch in the stomach. He'd moved on four years ago. She just hadn't known that the last time she saw him. If she had, she would have been devastated.

This was worse. She'd lost her shop and her oldest friend in under five minutes. She thought her heart would break in half.

She stared at the tangled mess in front of her through a haze of tears. _What now?_ Lacey couldn't make herself think. All she wanted to do was sit down, cover her face with her hands, and cry like a little girl.

_Bad idea_. If she let herself start crying, she might not be able to stop. She refused to stand in the parking lot and bawl like a toddler. Instead, she would bury herself in her shop. There was plenty to do, and by the time she finished, Gene would be a distant memory.

She cast one last look over her shoulder at the empty road.

"Goodbye," she whispered.

She stepped forward, climbed through the wreckage to the inside of the building, and began to put her life back together.

# # #

Gene picked up speed as he passed through the last intersection before the main highway. The debris still littered the street, but as he left the path of the tornado behind, the branches became smaller and the road easier to navigate. Out here, the countryside looked almost normal. Back in town, though, the destruction had taken his breath away. When they arrived at Lacey's shop....

He would never forget the stricken look on her face. Her expression would haunt him when he tried to go to sleep tonight. His hands gripped the handlebar tight enough to make his arms hurt, and he forced himself to lighten up.

Leaving her behind had been the most difficult thing he'd ever done. She hadn't given him any choice, and he guessed he ought to be grateful. She hadn't let him regress to the pathetic kid who'd spent his teenage years trying to hide his crush on her.

Still, he had abandoned her. His mind toggled between last night, with his arms around her and her lips under his, and a few minutes ago, when her pale, wounded face had nearly broken him. As she'd always done, she'd tried to make him feel better about his mistake last night. He'd paid her back by turning away in her moment of need. She'd wanted him to, sure, but that didn't absolve him.

He turned right on the main highway, a four-laner that would take him east, then north toward home. Lacey had been right. His life lay ahead of him, not behind him, where he would forever be the nerdy kid gripped by a hopeless infatuation.

He rode on for another three miles, trying without success to wipe the despair he had seen in her eyes out of his mind. In a half mile, a green sign by the road marked the line between Marquette and neighboring Blackfoot County. This spot had always been his goal. Here, he shed the past and became an adult again. When he reached this spot, he always reminded himself how far he'd come.

He watched the sign approach and waited for the usual sense of satisfaction to take over. He might not have left without seeing her, but he'd made it out with his dignity intact.

_Well, mostly_. He _had_ messed up and kissed her. In the glow of the candlelight and with her beautiful face full of apprehension, he could forgive himself for that misstep, couldn't he?

Maybe. Whether he forgave himself or not, though, he couldn't generate his usual contentment. Instead, an overwhelming sense of loss gripped him and wouldn't let go.

_I can't do it_.

He steered the bike to the side of the road in front of the boundary marker. _Yes, you can._ Four more feet, and he would be out of the county. He'd be back to Drew and Melody and a life where he respected himself.

_Drive_.

_No_. Lacey needed him.

But she didn't _want_ him. Drew was right. Gene didn't want to spend the rest of his life alone while he obsessed over something he could never have. He wanted...

He let out a long, harsh sigh. He wanted Lacey to be happy. He didn't care about himself. Not now. He could help her put her life back together. She might not want him, but that didn't matter.

Still, going back meant giving in. He loved her. He always had. Could he accept that she would never feel the same?

He hadn't been able to live with that knowledge before. He also couldn't live with the knowledge that he'd left her when she needed him most.

Gene stared up at the sign. No matter what, he seemed destined to be unhappy.

All right, genius, you're a scientist. What's the logical choice when all the options are bad?

The least objectionable one.

_Fair enough_. He would accept the course of action that would cause him the least regret.

_I hope_.

He shifted the bike into gear and pulled back onto the road.

# # #

Lacey slumped against the front counter. She surveyed the wreckage of the rest of the store and didn't understand how the counter had survived.

_Not that it matters_. As silver linings went, that wasn't much of one. She'd taken two dozen photos, made a hopeless attempt at taking inventory, and picked listlessly at the stray branches and broken boards that lay scattered throughout the parking lot. She would have little choice but to knock the counter down with the rest of what remained and rebuild the shop from the ground.

She had bought this store to reboot her life, and she had been excited at the prospect of starting over at zero.

_Ha. This_ _is starting at zero_. She looked from one pile of rubble to another, and her mind refused to tell her what to do next. The urge to do _something_ burned deep, but her feeble attempts to organize a plan all dissolved back to the same thought: Gene was gone.

_Gone_.

He had been her friend for half her life. She would fix her store, no matter how painful that process might be. Losing him, though, left a hole in her heart she could never fill. If she had known four years ago that he wouldn't be back, she would have spent days in tears.

That was before he kissed her and tied her stomach in knots. Now, she'd consider a few days a blessing.

Lacey couldn't believe the store that had been the center of her universe yesterday was now a side issue. Her baby lay in shambles, but instead of working out a plan to start over, her mind beat her up with images of him—Gene tugging the helmet off while the wind ruffled his dark hair. Gene walking through the house in nothing but a pair of jeans. Gene bending over in his grandmother's housedress.

The last image brought a reluctant smile, followed by the sting of more tears. He was the best thing to ever happen to her. And now, he was...

_Gone_.

She let the tears spill over and onto her cheeks. _Why not?_ After what just happened, she deserved a good cry.

The distant sound of an engine broke the silence. She shifted until the remains of a wall hid her from view and dropped her face into her hands. Later, she would step out to the road and flag down a ride. She would go home, assuming her home had survived, and figure out where to go from here. For now, though, she wanted to be alone. She wanted to give in to the pain and wallow in her loss. Tomorrow would be soon enough to pull herself together. She could have one day for a pity party.

She slid her back down the counter until she sat on the floor, ignoring the shock of wetness that seeped through her jeans. She let out a sob.

The buzz from the approaching car grew louder. Through a haze of self-pity, her mind registered the whine of the engine, higher and harsher than normal, like a lawn mower or...

Or a motorcycle.

She wiped her eyes with the backs of her hands. That didn't mean a thing. Other people drove motorcycles, too, if that's what the sound belonged to. She stared at the piles of debris without seeing them, concentrating on that sound. Was the vehicle slowing down?

_No._ Limbs and trash littered the road, so anyone driving past would go slow. She shrank back out of view.

Still, she locked onto the noise and wouldn't let go. The engine grew louder, and the pitch dropped as the driver decelerated.

Gene?

No. He wouldn't come back. He had no reason to.

But the sound didn't belong to a car, and the driver had slowed to a crawl. She allowed herself a tiny peek around the wall that obstructed her view as a man in a familiar blue chambray shirt pulled to a stop in front of the store.

Her heart stopped then picked up speed until the sound of it filled her ears. She jumped to her feet, dodged a broken sack of wet chicken feed, and raced out to meet him.

A dim warning sounded in her head. She didn't know why he'd come back.

She ignored it and flung herself into his arms before he could lay his helmet on the seat. He dropped it to the ground and caught her against him.

"Lacey?"

"I didn't think... I didn't think I'd ever see you again," she sniffled.

"What?"

He pulled back and looked down at her with wary eyes. The warning in her head repeated itself, and this time, the look on his face forced her to pay attention. She stepped back and wrapped her arms around her stomach. "It's been years since we saw each other. I finally realized you'd outgrown me, so when you left this time, I thought I wouldn't see you again." She stared down at the ground. "Sorry. I got a little misty."

"Outgrown you?" he repeated.

She nodded. "Yeah."

He stared back at her, his jaw unhinged. "What are you talking about?"

She opened her mouth but stopped before the words came out. _Do I want to tell him this?_ She didn't need _more_ sympathy. She did, however, need a good reason for bawling all over him. If he guessed the truth—she had sobbed in his arms because she was head over heels for him—how awkward would that be?

"You're brilliant, and I'm just—" She shrugged. "Me. Honestly, I'm not sure why you didn't get bored with me sooner."

Gene's eyes darkened, and he gave his head a dazed shake. "Bored? That's what you thought? Lacey, I spent all of high school in love with you."

_What?_ Lacey blinked. That couldn't be right. Her mind flashed back to the happy, scrawny teenager that had so calmly described the difference between ohms and amps, even after she mixed them up a dozen times. She'd been so sure he would grow frustrated with her that she had made a point to apologize for being so dense.

But he didn't. He explained it again. She'd thought he must be the most patient person on earth. Had he been too smitten with her to lose his patience?

"No way," she said. "You felt sorry for me."

His short bark of laughter held no humor. "No, I felt sorry for _me_. Russ Vaughn was a waste of oxygen, but I still watched you with him and wondered why girls liked jocks over smart guys."

Her head spun with questions. How could he have loved her? Was he telling the truth or trying to make her feel better for crying?

Why didn't he tell me?

"I never knew."

"I hid it from you." His mouth tilted in a self-deprecating smile that made her heart pick up speed. "I was afraid if you found out, you'd take off."

She hated to admit it, but he may have had reason to worry. She wouldn't have avoided him entirely, but she would've been concerned about Russ's reaction. That might have been enough for her to keep her distance. "I adored you, Gene, but I never thought about you that way. I wasn't even close to your level. You were crazy smart, and I was an ordinary girl your mathlete friends probably made fun of."

"There was nothing for them to make fun of." His smile softened. "Besides, you never let people tease me, and I wouldn't have let them do it to you."

She fell silent for a moment. She would never have guessed he used to love her. Of course, he'd also walked away from her years ago.

"Why did you come back?"

He didn't answer at first. She opened her mouth to prod him, but he spoke first. "You need my help."

"I always needed your help." She shrugged. "I can't let you keep bailing me out, though."

"Why not?" he asked. "What's wrong with me giving you a hand? I don't mind."

"I know." She studied her fingers as they twisted themselves into a tangled knot. How could she explain to him that she needed him to see her as an equal? That would never happen unless he somehow lost thirty IQ points, but if he didn't think she could survive without him, the imbalance would be more pronounced. "But you _did_ outgrow me and move on. You know why? Because you can never respect someone who's needy."

He gave her a blank stare. "Who said you were needy?"

Russ, for one.

"I did," she said. "You've fixed everything for me since we were kids in junior high. At some point, I need to manage my own life and stop being your charity case."

"You've run your own business successfully for two years," he reminded her. "You _can_ manage your life."

She hadn't thought about that. Owning her own business did count for something.

Still, her abilities didn't compare to his—the research chemist with a PhD and a genius IQ. The guy who showed her over and over how he had a better grip on life than her. "Gene. Seriously. What I do is not complicated. You do research and develop things that will change people's lives," she said. "I sell chicken feed."

He smiled down at her. "Yes. And for people who have chickens, you're much more valuable than I am."

He _would_ say something like that.

He would also believe it.

_Hold on_. She frowned up at him. He _would_ believe it. If he said as much, he had found a way to convince himself his insane intelligence made no difference.

Awareness hit her like a lightning bolt. _It was me_. Maybe _she_ had created the gap. She had been the one to assume she could never measure up.

He watched her with an intensity that stole the breath from her lungs. "Where is this coming from, Lace?" he asked when she didn't reply.

She started to speak, then hesitated. She would sound like the most insecure woman on the planet. Still, if she could convince him to give her a chance, shouldn't she try?

_Wait_. He pushed her away last night. He got past the feelings he'd had for her in high school. He'd think she was worse than pitiful if she came clean with him.

But he came back because he thought she needed him. Was that enough? If he stayed long enough, could she hope to make him love her again?

She squared her shoulders. He'd admitted how he felt about her in high school, and that couldn't have been easy. If she truly wanted him to respect her, to treat her as an equal, she had to take risks, too.

"Look," she continued. "I've always thought you could never be happy with someone who wasn't as smart as you."

He tried to interrupt, and she could read the protest on his face. She held up a hand. "I adored you, and I treasured our friendship. I realized you stopped coming around, and I missed you so much." She forced herself to meet his gaze. "I thought about going to Atlanta to find you, but I knew what happened. I thought it would be better to respect your wishes."

"I didn't—"

She shook her head. "You didn't want to be around me anymore. If I was wrong about your reasons, you have to admit I was right about what you were doing. I accepted your decision."

His shoulder sagged. "Yeah."

To have him agree stole some of her momentum. A part of her had always insisted he'd gotten busy and lost track of time, but now, she knew the truth. He'd walked away from their friendship on purpose. Gene hadn't wanted her anymore.

She shoved the thought aside and plowed forward.

"Still, you were here for me yesterday," she said. "I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't shown up. I hadn't thought about it yet, but given a little more time, I guess I would have ridden out the storm inside the shop."

His gaze flicked from her to the ruined building beside them, and his face paled. "I wouldn't have been able to live with myself if you'd been in there," he murmured in a voice that wasn't quite steady.

Lacey lifted a hand and touched his cheek. "Thanks to you, I wasn't. Instead..." She took a deep breath and continued. "You took me home and kissed me."

His eyes, as clear and blue as the ocean, fastened on her lips, and a small shiver slipped down her neck.

_Wow_.

She waited for him to reply, to give her some encouragement, but he didn't say a word. He simply watched and waited.

_No help there_. How could the man who'd spent most of their lives coming to her rescue leave her dangling like this?

Lacey let her gaze drift over his shoulder and back to the pile of debris. She'd sat behind the remains of the wall and grieved over her decision to let him go. He'd given her a second chance. She had to take it.

"I could have kissed you like that for days," she said after a moment. "I realized how much I love you, but I didn't think you would ever—"

Gene didn't let her finish. He took her hand, pulled her against him, and wrapped his arms around her. She relaxed against him, and when his lips settled on hers, her legs loosened, and she gripped his shoulders for support.

By the time he eased away, she could barely breathe. She opened her eyes and took a deep breath. "Holy Moses, Gene."

He propped his forehead on hers. "Ditto."

"Does this mean you might give me another chance?"

He pulled back. "That's a joke, right?"

She shook her head. "You walked away four years ago. You have to be the one to change your mind."

"I made myself move on because you only wanted Russ." His arms tightened around her. "I never stopped loving you."

Relief flooded through her, and her heart sang. Lacey beamed up at him. "Well, that makes this easier. I was gonna make you stay with me anyway. It'll be much better if you enjoy it."

Gene threw his head back and laughed. She threaded her arms around his shoulders. She had lost so much today, but she had gained so much more. Despite the wreckage that surrounded them, Lacey couldn't stop smiling.

She tugged him down toward her, and he came without hesitation.

He was still laughing when his mouth took hers.

The End

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FINDING THE AUTHOR

Shawna Lynn Brooks is an author of clean, contemporary romance and women's fiction. She lives online at shawnalynnbrooks.com. You can also connect with her at facebook.com/shawnalynnbrooksauthor, at pinterest.com/shawnalynnbrooksauthor, or by email at shawnalynn@shawnalynnbrooks.com.

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Copyright 2018 by Shawna Lynn Brooks

Cover design by Angela Haddon

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced without prior written permission from the author.

All characters in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

