She glanced over her shoulder to see the whirling vortex devour a tree, roots and all, and almost froze in her tracks, but he yanked on her hand and she started running. The noise above them sounded like a freight train as Jackson guided her into the storm cellar right behind Tex. He pulled the heavy door shut and barred it with a long length of wood. Then the sound got louder and louder.

Nessa dug her cell phone out of her pocket and used it for a flashlight. “Do you have electricity down here?” Her heart was beating so fast that her words came out between breaths.

Jackson struck a match and lit the wick of an oil lamp. “No electricity. Wouldn’t do us much good—every time the wind blows, we lose power for an hour or two. I’ve got a generator for the shop, but this is as good as it gets down here. Have a seat. We might be here . . .”

His voice was cut off again when it sounded like a full-grown elephant landed on the cellar door. Nessa’s hands went to cover her ears. Tex whimpered and crawled under the twin bed against the wall. Nessa took her hands down at the same time that something else landed on top of the cellar.

Jackson motioned toward the bed, then took her by the hand. “We’re safe. That was a close call, but we’re alive. You’re shivering. Are you cold?”

“No, just the aftereffects of the bejesus getting scared out of me.”

He draped an arm around her shoulders and led her to the bed, then pulled her down beside him. She was reminded of the song on her playlist about storms never lasting. “Is it over? Can we go outside?” she asked.

“I think it’s just rain and hail right now, but if that was the big pecan tree in the backyard that fell on the cellar door, we’ll be here until someone comes to see about us,” he answered.

“Or maybe the tornado threw that other tree it grabbed up down the road back down on us.” Nessa’s heart pounded in her chest even harder, and her hands felt clammy. Her eyes darted around the small space. Shelves stocked with canned goods at the end of the oblong room and a small table where the oil lamp sat were all that was down there, except for the twin bed. She wasn’t sure what was storm fear at that point and what was fear of finally being in a place where she and Jackson could talk.

Face your fears. Her father had preached that so many times. Don’t be afraid to put your trust in God. Give Him your life and your heart.

But Jackson isn’t God. He’s just a man, she argued.