Love Letters From Ladybug Farm - Donna Ball [103]
“There aren’t any storm sirens out here,” Cici pointed out.
“It sounds like a car horn,” Lindsay said. She got up and opened the back door, the others following. The sound was much clearer now, and it was definitely a car horn. When it stopped, a faint, small voice echoed through the night: “Traci! Traci!”
Traci gasped. “Jason!”
She pushed past them and scrambled around the porch. Lindsay thrust a flashlight into her hands just before she bounded down the steps. “Jason!” she cried. “Jason, I’m here! I’m here!”
They watched her run down the debris-littered driveway, flashlight beam bobbing to meet her true love. “Just like in a movie,” Bridget observed contentedly, folding her arms across her chest in satisfaction.
Jason was soaked and covered in mud and scratches, and Traci couldn’t hold onto his arm tightly enough. “He came through the storm to make sure I was okay!” she told them, beaming at him. “He did that! He came through the storm!”
They got him dried off and somewhat cleaned up, and fed him hot coffee and strawberry crumble as he told how, upon arriving at the hotel, he had heard about the coming storm on the radio, and had driven through hail and sleet and falling trees to get back here and save the woman he loved from whatever fate had befallen her. While the older members of his captive audience took his tale with a grain of salt, Traci was enraptured with her newly anointed Prince Charming.
Proving the axiom that men and small children will always rise to the level of your expectations, the groom-to-be swept Traci into his arms at the bottom of the stairs and demanded, “Which room are we in?”
Traci, with eyes sparkling so brightly electric lighting was hardly needed, looked over his shoulder to catch Bridget’s eye. “Now,” she said, “I know what it means.”
She turned her flashlight to light the way upstairs.
Lori sighed. “That is so romantic.”
“They’re going to have sex on our nice clean sheets,” Lindsay said, grudgingly. “I just know it.”
Bridget looked worried. “If it’s bad luck for the groom to see the bride before the wedding, just imagine what kind of luck it is if he has sex with her.”
Cici stared at her. “We just endured the worst rehearsal dinner in the history of rehearsal dinners. Our house was almost blown away by a tornado. We have people arriving for a wedding in less than twelve hours, and there is a fallen forest on our driveway. How much worse can our luck get?”
“The goat could eat the wedding cake,” Bridget suggested morosely.
“The goat ran away!”
“The lovebirds could burn down the house with scented candles,” Lindsay said.
Lori rolled her eyes. “You guys,” she said, “are really old. I’m going to bed.”
“Me, too,” Lindsay said, and Bridget agreed, “There’s not much more we can do until we have enough daylight to assess the damage.”
Paul said thoughtfully, “If no one is using the phone, I think I should make a call.”
“It’s after midnight,” Cici pointed out.
“That’s okay. I happen to know the person I’m calling is still up.” And he smiled. “Besides, as the girl said—we could have died. I don’t think this phone call can wait any longer.”
Cici and Richard stood alone at the bottom of the stairs in a foyer lit only by the two flashlights in their hands and the battery-operated lantern on the table a dozen feet away. Cici looked at him.
“Richard,” she said, with some difficulty. “Tonight—when you swept Lori up in your arms and carried her down to the cellar, without even hesitating or asking a single question, just like some kind of, I don’t know, hero or something... ” He smiled at her in the pale yellow light, and she smiled back, uncertainly. “And then, walking down the driveway in the dark to check the damage after the storm ... I just wanted to say I’m sorry I yelled at you earlier. And I’m glad you stayed.”
He curved his hand around the back of her neck, and kissed her cheek. “How about bringing me a pillow,” he said, “and showing me the sofa?”
Rodrigo sounded the alarm at five thirty. By six, Noah had fired up the chainsaw,