Page 74 of Desperate Creed

“How severe?”

“I don’t know.”

“Another tornado?”

He could hear the edge of panic in her voice.

“I haven’t heard the forecast. I’m headed back to the Jeep. Jason will know.”

“Ryder, I don’t think we can take another hit. All the kitchen’s equipment—the grill, dishwasher, walk-in refrigerator—Hank says it’s all right above us.”

He winced at the thought, and in his mind he added that burst open trailer and those blue barrels.

53

Frankie already felt better. So much better. At least her pain was easing. She slumped against the cool concrete wall and tried to take advantage of the short reprieve.

Maggie had found frost-burned packages of meat in the old chest freezer. The white butcher paper was stamped with the year 2013. She came back with an armful of various sizes. She’d distributed packages to the others, but said she’d saved the best cuts for Frankie.

“Rib-eye for this leg,” she told Frankie as she carefully laid the wonderfully cold package on her burning leg. “And a sirloin for this leg.”

But the best gift was the bottle of whiskey.

At first, she’d rolled her eyes at Maggie. But then she noticed the change on Maggie’s face when she read her phone.

“What’s wrong?” Frankie had asked.

“It might be a while. Ryder says the crews need to leave. More storms are coming.”

“And they can’t rescue us in the rain?”

When Maggie didn’t answer, Frankie knew. She held out her hand for the bottle of whiskey.

That was four gulps ago. Maybe five.

She was no longer feeling the searing pain. Just a nice, warm buzz.

Maggie had found an old three-legged stool and sat beside her. Despite the cool concrete against Frankie’s back, she was still drenched in sweat. Her legs were splayed out in front of her with packages of frozen meat taking away the rest of her pain.

“So you and Ryder,” Frankie said, all inhibitions scattered in the dark. They were trying to conserve cell phone batteries. “Are you and Ryder, you know, doing it?”

She couldn’t see Maggie’s face. Only her profile, but Frankie laughed. Harder than she’d laughed in a long time. Hard enough to get the others to look up from their cell phones.

Before Maggie could answer, Frankie added, “Oh my God, I swear I can hear you blush.”

“It’s not exactly like that.”

“But you have?”

“I think you’ve had too much medicine.”

“I’ve always thought he was absolutely yummy,” Frankie confessed. “You know Hannah had to tell him to stop bringing women to his apartment over the kennel. Her boys started seeing them leave in the early morning and they were asking questions.”

“Are you saying he’s a womanizer?”

“No, no. I’m saying he’s a hot commodity.” She swung her hand to pat Maggie’s shoulder. “Surely, you’ve noticed—oh my God, I just called you Shirley.” She giggled. And snorted. She hadn’t giggled since she was a little girl. Yep, she was a little bit drunk.

“Let me rephrase that,” Frankie said, trying to focus. The whiskey was really making her head spin. “Certainly, you’ve noticed the way women look at him when he walks into a room. And you know what the best thing is about that? He doesn’t even notice the way women look at him. Usually he has a dog along, and he seems to think they’re all looking at the dog.”