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CHAPTER 4

Brooke was terrified. Houston could feel how she was shaking against him—it almost rivaled the shaking of the station around them. He tightened his hold, burying his face in sweet-scented red hair.

The radio station was housed in an old two-story home that one of the original Barratts had built as the first home for him and his wife almost one hundred and seventy years ago. But it was a sturdy building now, that the college had donated—with Houston’s searching out grants to match—enough money to keep the station in excellent repair. Brooke’s father had paid a pretty penny for the station. And then invested even more in getting it up-to-date. Within the next year, they’d be a station on the satellite radio system, too.

But now, the old house was all that stood between them and the fury of Mother Nature.

There was no basement. They had the hallway, and that was it. He had no idea where Dwight was sheltering at the moment. All he focused on was holding Brooke as closely as he could.

They wouldn’t win in a head-to-head fight with the storm. He knew that. Knew better than most just what damage a storm like this was capable of doing.

He heard the shattering of glass in the rooms next to the hallway. His hold tightened. Brooke just clung to him, her smaller body pressed as close to his as he could get her.

If the building came down on top of them, he just hoped the hallway would withstand the collapse.

The storm had to be right over the station now. He didn’t even try to talk to the woman in his arms. There was no point. He didn’t worry about dead air, or the people listening now as the storm struck the building above them.

He just focused on holding Brooke tight as the storm rolled overhead.