Chapters (85)
- BOOKS BY LOUISE BAY
- ONE
- Rosey
- TWO
- Byron
- THREE
- Rosey
- FOUR
- Byron
- FIVE
- Rosey
- SIX
- Byron
- SEVEN
- Rosey
- EIGHT
- Rosey
- NINE
- Byron
- TEN
- Rosey
- ELEVEN
- Byron
- TWELVE
- Rosey
- THIRTEEN
- Byron
- FOURTEEN
- Rosey
- FIFTEEN
- Rosey
- SIXTEEN
- Byron
- SEVENTEEN
- Rosey
- EIGHTEEN
- Byron
- NINETEEN
- Rosey
- TWENTY
- Rosey
- TWENTY-ONE
- Byron
- TWENTY-TWO
- Byron
- TWENTY-THREE
- Rosey
- TWENTY-FOUR
- Rosey
- TWENTY-FIVE
- Byron
- TWENTY-SIX
- Rosey
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- Byron
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- Rosey
- TWENTY-NINE
- Byron
- THIRTY
- Rosey
- THIRTY-ONE
- Rosey
- THIRTY-TWO
- Byron
- THIRTY-THREE
- Rosey
- THIRTY-FOUR
- Rosey
- THIRTY-FIVE
- Byron
- THIRTY-SIX
- Rosey
- THIRTY-SEVEN
- Byron
- THIRTY-EIGHT
- Byron
- EPILOGUE
- A month later – New York City
- 14 months later - Star Falls
- MR. MAYFAIR
- Beck
- Beck
- Stella
- BOOKS BY LOUISE BAY
The shelter is only ten yards from the cabins, but it’s far enough to get covered in mud from the rain-soaked grass. The shelter has been built into the ground. He flips open the doors and nods for me to go inside. The doors are at an angle, but rain sluices inside in sheets. I don’t have time to ask all the questions I have: Are we going to be able to breathe in there? How big is it? What happens if a tree falls on the door?
My feet slide on the steps as I find myself inside the dark hole. Byron flicks on a light.
He must see something in my expression, because he moves to cup my face and presses a kiss against my forehead. “It’s going to be fine. We’re safe here.”
“It’s cold,” I say, glancing down at the two wooden benches set opposite each other, running the length of the shelter. It feels like a prison cell.
“We have plenty of blankets and hats and gloves in here.” He starts pulling things out of the crate. “And food.” He hands me a thermos. “Homemade tomato soup.”
“You make soup?”
He chuckles. “I can’t take the credit. Nancy French makes the best tomato soup in the state of Colorado. She dropped some off yesterday.”
“And you know that it’s the best soup in Colorado because you’ve tasted everyone else’s?”
“I haven’t,” he replies, “but Nancy’s won the county soup-making championship five years in a row.”
I grin. “Are you serious?”
“I never joke about soup. And neither does Nancy.”
This guy.
He pours me a cup and I take a seat on the bench. He huddles next to me and puts a blanket over our knees like we’re on a camping trip and this is no big deal.
“How long will we be in here?” I ask. “And will we be able to get out if a tree or something falls on the door?”
“Sheriff Altaha knows we’re down here.”
“He does?” I ask. “How? He’ll probably think we’re both at the Colorado Club.”
“I texted our location in. We’re going to be fine.”
“Can we get a phone signal down here?” I ask.
Byron pulls out his phone. “Nothing at the moment.”
“Then how will we know when to come out?”
“We have an NOAA radio.” He pulls it out of his crate and sets it on the bench opposite before turning it on.
“You came prepared.”
He nods and squeezes my knee.
“I don’t know what I would have done if you weren’t here.”