CHAPTER FORTY

By nine, Carly and Pat pushed their way through the local grocery store with the hundreds of others who were stocking up. They managed to get the last bottle of water on the shelf. It always amazed Carly that people went crazy when a storm approached, as if they would be stranded for weeks. Of course, she and Pat were doing the same thing.

"It's really hard to shop for food when I'm so stuffed," Carly said. She had eaten an entire seafood platter and two bowls of gumbo. "Nothing looks good."

But Pat was having no problems. Their basket was loaded with chips, bread and turkey slices and several cans of soup.

"Sandwiches and soup," Carly murmured. "We're pathetic. You would think at least one of us could cook."

"Frozen pizza?" Pat asked.

"We'll probably lose power."

"Isn't the generator hooked up yet?"

"No."

"Okay. Sandwiches and soup. Works for me."

They stood in the endless line waiting to check out and Pat snatched up a pack of batteries.

"I know the flashlight in my Jeep is dead. Need any?"

"No. I have a new one," Carly said. In fact, Martin had put several around the ranch house alone.

"So, Elsa and Martin seem quite friendly," Pat said suddenly. "Are they seeing each other?"

"I guess that's what you'd call it. They're very secretive though. If I hadn't had to practically beat it out of Elsa I would only be speculating."

"Well, I like them both. I hope it works out."

Carly nodded. She did, too.

"How was Rachel? I assume she wanted you to stay with her?"

"She did. But I told her you were staying at the ranch alone and she insisted I stay there with you. To protect you, of course."

Carly smiled. "Do you think I need protection?"

"I may be the one who needs protecting," Pat said. "You may try to take advantage of me."

Carly laughed. "Yes, I may."

Pat knew she was teasing but there was still an underlying tension between them. She wondered if Carly would allow her to share her bed or make her use the sofa. The sofa, Pat decided. There was no possible way they could sleep in the same bed and actually sleep. At least, that's what she thought. Carly may not have a bit of trouble.

The rain hit just as Pat was locking up the gate. She followed Carly to the ranch house and they unpacked the groceries and Pat's clothes quickly, but they were both soaked.

"We should really put our Jeeps in the barn," Carly suggested. "It's only going to get worse."

"This is just the first rain band. There'll be breaks," Pat said. "Come on. Let's put the TV on and see what's going on."

After they changed into dry clothes, Carly made them both hot chocolate and they sat on the floor, leaning against the back of the sofa. Only the recliner faced the TV but she decided to join Pat on the floor.

Adrian was now a category three hurricane. She flicked her eyes to Pat. It still had another day in the gulf to strengthen.

"Total rainfall may exceed twenty inches along the coast. We're now seeing the first bands of rain come ashore but the eye is still more than two hundred miles south-southeast of Corpus Christi. Hurricane warnings have been posted from St. Charles, Louisiana south to Brownsville, Texas. The highest probability of landfall is between Galveston and Corpus Christi . . .."

Carly let the voice fade as she watched Pat's face. She was worried, Carly could tell. They were perfectly safe here . . . but their land, that was another story.

"We should move the Jeeps at first light," Pat said. "Are you sure we have everything secured? Any lawn chairs laying around?"

"No. Martin put them up. And yes, I think we have everything secured. We'll be fine here. Won't we?" she asked.

Pat gave her a reassuring smile. "Sure. It'll be fun. Imagine the shots I can get."

"If you think for one minute that I'm going to let you go out when it hits, you're sadly mistaken," Carly told her.

"I'm just kidding. I'm really a wimp."

"Somehow I doubt that." She watched Pat sip from her chocolate. "You know, I've got something stronger than that, if you want."

"Yeah? Like what?"

Carly smiled. "If I listed my entire liquor cabinet to you, you might think I was a bartender in another life."

"Okay. How about something simple? Rum or bourbon and coke? That'll do."

Pat handed over the rest of her hot chocolate and turned back to the TV, watching the radar image that was up. They were in for a lot of rain. Even if the storm moved east, like she was hoping, they would still be hit. The entire gulf was covered by the storm.

"Doesn't look good," Carly said.

"No."

Pat looked up and took the drink Carly offered, then smiled as Carly sat down beside her again. This was nice. It was also the first time they had spent any significant time totally alone.

"What would you be doing if you weren't here?" Carly asked.

"Tonight?"

"No. I mean, what do you normally do in the evenings?"

"Oh. You mean, in my previous life before I agreed to become your photography slave?"

Carly grinned. "Yes. Before you became my slave."

Pat leaned back, and sipped from her drink. It beat the hell out of the hot chocolate. What would she be doing? Nothing nearly as much fun.

"I used to go to The Brown Pelican, a local dive on the island. Their great claim to fame is pool tournaments."

"Are you any good?"

"Of course. I've won my share. Some of the guys there think we're best buds. They always think they can outdo me with Tequila shots. Something I'm very proud of," she said sarcastically. She sounded pathetic, she knew.

Carly watched the expression on Pat's face change. She wondered why Pat was embarrassed.

"Do you date much?"

"Date?"

Carly smiled. "You know, women . . . go out, that sort of thing."

"No, not really. I never met anyone I wanted to spend that much time with," she said. "Or maybe they just didn't want to spend time with me. Because, you know, I've been called arrogant, obnoxious and a jerk, among other things."

"Of all the things I wish I could take back, I would take back calling you a jerk," Carly teased.

"But arrogant and obnoxious fit?"

"Okay. I'll take back obnoxious, too."

Pat nodded. "Okay, I can live with that."

"How old are you? You never said."

"Carly, you know you're never supposed to ask a woman her age. Surely you know that."

"I'll say thirty-five."

"Are you trying to offend me? I don't look thirty-five."

"Tell me."

"I'm thirty-six," Pat finally said, causing Carly to laugh.

"Is this where I'm to say that you don't look anywhere near thirty-six?"

"That would be the proper thing to say. Especially if you're trying to win points with me. And I would say you don't look a day over twenty-five. See how that works?"

"You are so full of shit," Carly said.

"That's because I know you're thirty-two."

"Let me guess. Elsa?"

"Of course. She loves to talk."

"Yes, I know." Carly glanced at Pat, watching the smile leave her face. She seemed depressed, and she hated to use that word to describe Pat. She was always so upbeat about everything.

"You've had some sort of relationship, surely. Why won't you tell me?" Carly asked again.

Pat shrugged. "I really haven't. At first, I was young and out there, you know. And please don't call me conceited, but . . .."

"You had your pick of women?" Carly guessed. And why not? She was beautiful. She could imagine a younger Pat walking into a bar, scanning the crowd for a woman willing to go home with her, just because of her looks.

"Something like that. That's when I realized that women could care less about me or my personality, they just wanted to be seen with me. And God, that sounds conceited," she admitted. "I'm sorry."

"You're very attractive, Pat. That's not something you can hide . . . or deny. You shouldn't have to apologize for your looks."

"No, but I've always had a hard time believing women when they came on to me."

"So you tried your best to be obnoxious and arrogant and see who would run from you and who wouldn't?"

"Well, it was a strategy, at least. But honestly, I've been physically attracted to women over the years, but not really emotionally. I just never met anyone that I wanted to get to know on a more personal level . . . other than just the physical part. And that's why Angel and Lannie were teasing me. They've tried to set me up with plenty of women and I never bring the same one around twice."

Carly smiled sadly, wondering at the loneliness this woman has endured most of her life. Not only from her parents, her family, but also from not having the intimacy of a relationship. And sadly, she could relate. It had been so many years since her disastrous relationship with Carol ended and she was no better than Pat. But at least she had her family.

"But you know, I can't really lump you in that category," Pat said. Carly looked up and Pat immediately captured her eyes. "I'm attracted to you physically, of course. You know that. But you're the first person I've really wanted to spend time with. You're the first person that I've felt . . . connected to."

"I won't deny that I'm attracted to you, Pat. In fact, I'm happier when you're here than when you're not." She swallowed hard, her voice catching, but she didn't pull her eyes away. "But I don't know what you want from me," she finished in a whisper.

"I want your heart," Pat said softly.

"I can't give you that, Pat. I won't ever be able to give you that. I might give you some, but I would have to keep some back, for myself. Pat, I nearly didn't make it after Carol. But you, with you, I don't think I could recover."

"I'm sorry, but I want all of it," Pat said. "Every bit of your heart. But that's okay. Because I want to give you all of mine. And I've never given mine away before."

Carly felt tears gather in her eyes and she blinked them away. She reached out and took Pat's hand, pulling it into her lap.

"You say things like that . . . and I want so to believe you," she whispered.

"Carly, if there's one thing you can believe, it's that I'll be honest with you. Always."

"You scare the hell out of me, you know. I don't seem to have any defense for you."

Pat moved until she was facing Carly, their knees brushing. Her eyes still held Carly captive and she reached out, brushing the blonde hair away from her face.

"Please don't kiss me, Pat," Carly whispered even as her eyes dropped to Pat's lips. "I'm too weak."

"It's not like I have a choice, Carly."

The lips that touched hers were so soft, so gentle that Carly whimpered. She felt her hands slide up Pat's arms to her shoulders, felt herself pull Pat closer. Suddenly their kiss turned hungry, mouths opening, tasting. Carly didn't try to control the hunger inside of her. She had wanted to kiss Pat this way for weeks. She wouldn't deny herself now.

But it was Pat who pulled away and Carly felt the loss immediately. She looked at Pat, her eyes questioning.

"If we don't stop now, I'm going to drag you into your bedroom and I don't think you're ready for that," Pat said.

"Why must you always leave me wanting a cold shower?"

"Because I want to make love to you like no one ever has," Pat said. "And I want you to be sure. I don't want you to tell me this was a mistake in the morning. And because I want you to give me your heart."

"You're asking the impossible. I can only give you my body."

"Then we're going to be taking cold showers."

Carly smiled at that and leaned forward and touched Pat's lips again, this time gently, without the hunger that was simmering just under the surface.

"So you really are trying to drive me crazy," she murmured. "I should have known."

Pat stood up and pulled Carly to her feet. She wanted to hold her. She drew Carly into her arms, holding her with all the tenderness she had never offered another soul. She felt Carly melt into her, felt her arms slide around her shoulders, felt the lips that moved over her neck. She moved her head, taking Carly's lips again. The fire between them ignited and she felt Carly's hips press into her own. She grasped Carly's hips, holding her firmly against her and she moaned. God, she wanted this woman. Never in her life had she wanted someone like this. Before she could stop herself, her hands slid to Carly's waist, then higher, cupping Carly's breasts.

"Oh, God, what are you trying to do to me?" Carly whispered into her mouth. She wanted her. She could feel her own wetness and she opened her legs, pressing against Pat's thigh, so afraid she would have an orgasm right then. And would it be so bad, she thought crazily.

Pat wanted to let go. It would be so much easier than trying to control her desire. But if she had Carly tonight, there were no assurances that she could have her again tomorrow. And Pat knew she wanted a thousand tomorrows with this woman. But what she felt was close to pain as she pulled away from Carly.

"You're dangerous, Dr. Cambridge. I can't seem to control myself when I'm around you."

"I could hate you right now, Pat Ryan," Carly whispered. "Because you know exactly how much I want you and you won't take it."

"We both know you don't hate me."

"I can't let myself love you, Pat."

But Pat smiled. Carly's eyes didn't lie. The hardest part would be convincing Carly that she was capable of giving . . . and accepting love.

"Let's call it a night, huh? We're going to have a busy day tomorrow."

"How the hell can you just change gears like that? You're driving me crazy and I think you enjoy it," Carly accused.

"Yes. Obnoxious, I know."

"You know, of course, that you'll pay for this," Carly told her.

Pat laughed and bent down and picked up their drinks. She handed one to Carly and drank the last of hers. Yes, she would pay. Gladly.

"Do you have a pillow or something that I can use out here?" Pat asked.

"You don't have to sleep on the sofa. My bed is plenty big enough for the both of us," Carly offered.

"You're joking, right? It's all I can do to be in the same house as you. Don't tempt me with a bed."

"So when Lannie called you stubborn, she wasn't kidding."

"I'm not stubborn. Jesus, Carly, I'm trying to be a saint here."

"And you're succeeding."

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

The continuous pounding against the shutters made for a sleepless night. Pat was constantly tossing on the small sofa, trying to get comfortable. Finally, she gave up. Four-thirty. Great.

She walked down the hall to Carly's bedroom. The door was opened but the soft glow of the nightlight in the hallway wasn't enough for her to see Carly's face. But she imagined how she would look in sleep. She'd been imagining it for weeks. She quietly closed the door and crept back into the living room.

The Weather Channel was having continuous coverage and after starting coffee, she settled down to watch. Landfall was predicted by late afternoon and already the storm surge was hitting. The nighttime pictures they showed of Corpus, Port Aransas, and Galveston were frightening. The only encouraging thing she heard was that the strike probability was now north of them. They would be spared the brunt of the storm.

She was on her third cup of coffee when Carly stumbled in. Her hair was a tasseled mess and she wore plaid boxers and a wrinkled white T-shirt. Pat was certain she'd never seen a more beautiful sight.

Carly rubbed her eyes with one hand and murmured, "Coffee?"

Pat grinned.

"Not a morning person?"

"No. It's best you find out now."

"Like that matters. You look gorgeous, by the way."

"Rule number one. Don't talk to me until I've had coffee."

"I guess I should warn you now. I'm a morning person. Actually, I'm a chatterbox in the morning. Unfortunately, I seldom have anyone to talk to. Maybe that's why I have a penchant for talking to myself."

"Shut up."

Pat laughed and watched as Carly shuffled into the kitchen. She heard coffee being poured then a quiet sigh. Ah, her first sip. Won't be long now.

Carly came back and this time her eyes were opened. When Pat opened her mouth to speak, Carly held up her hand.

"Don't."

Carly sat in the recliner and sipped her coffee, her eyes on the TV. Pat watched her, saw her stretch slightly as she moved her shoulders, then her neck. Finally, nearly ten minutes later, Carly turned and looked at her.

"What ungodly hour did you get up?"

"Four-thirty."

"I knew you were insane."

"Couldn't sleep. I think I'm longer than your sofa."

"Christ, why didn't you just come to bed with me?"

"I thought we'd already covered that?"

"Trust me. Once I'm asleep, I'm asleep."

"Yes, I know. You also snore."

"I most certainly do not snore!"

"Not like big burly men snores, but yes, you snore. It's very cute."

Carly stared at her, contemplating tossing the rest of her coffee on Pat's head. She smiled slightly. That was a pleasant thought.

"Don't even think about it."

"Too late. And if you spread nasty rumors about my snoring, I'll take you out into the bay and drown you."

"You're vicious in the morning."

"Yes. And don't ever forget it."

"Do you like to make love in the morning?"

Carly choked on her coffee and Pat laughed.

"Do I look like I like to make love in the morning?"

"You look like you could be . . . extremely aggressive," Pat said. "Could be fun."

Carly couldn't help the smile that crossed her face. Even in the dreaded morning, Pat could make her laugh.

"How about a weather update?" Carly suggested, changing the subject.

"It's category four, just barely. Winds are at 135. Gusts at Corpus were already 80."

"Jesus Christ. What's the prediction?"

"More strengthening today, but it's moving faster, which is a good thing. It's also turned a bit to the north."

"Galveston?"

"Between here and there."

"Category four is very dangerous. But a category five?"

"It won't reach that. It's so large, when the outer bands hit land, it'll stop strengthening."

"Do you think we should leave?"

"If we were on the island, sure. Port Aransas has been evacuated. Galveston Island, too. But, we've got the barrier island and the bay between us and the storm. I think we'll be okay. Besides, our Jeeps would get beat to hell out there."

Carly looked back to the TV, watching as a reporter stood in the early morning dawn near Corpus Christi Bay as the water from the bay washed above the jetty.

"I hope my parents are okay," she said.

"Were they going to leave?"

"Dad said they were going to wait until today. Both my brothers live inland." Then she looked at Pat. "Do we need to check on Rachel?"

"No. She's boarded up. She'll be okay."

Carly nodded. "Let's make some breakfast. I can do eggs," she said.

"Yes. We should probably cook while we still have power."

Pat sat at the table and watched as Carly opened the package of bacon they'd bought last night. Pat couldn't remember the last time she'd had a real breakfast cooked for her, other than Alice. This was nice, she decided. The smell of frying bacon had a soothing effect on her and she was content to sit and watch Carly as she moved about her kitchen. She was bent over now, head stuck inside the refrigerator. It was a nice view.

"Bacon, eggs, toast?" Carly asked.

"Sounds great."

Carly pulled out jar of what used to be some sort of jam. Pat smiled at the frown on Carly's face.

"Guess it's only butter on the toast. I'm not really certain what this has turned into," she said as she tossed the jar into the trash. "Don't know why I even packed that." Then she looked up. "What time is it, anyway?"

Pat turned her wrist. "Almost six-thirty."

"I hate it all boarded up like this," Carly said. "I'm going to be crazy by the end of the day."

"I know. I hate not being able to see what's going on out there. But we should move our Jeeps as soon as we eat."

"There are two oil lamps down in the kitchen. Remind me to bring one up here. With the shutters closed, it's going to be dark as hell when the power goes out."

"Candles?"

"Yes. I have some." Then she paused. "You're not going to suggest we fill the bathtub up with water, are you? I never understood that."

"I think that precaution is still from the old days when utilities could be out for weeks after a storm hit."

"Have you been through many?" Carly asked.

"A few tropical storms but only one hurricane. The first year I lived at the beach house and I was totally unprepared. I did get new furniture out of the deal."

"But your house is safe now?"

"Category four? I don't know. The storm surge alone will probably have water up to my deck. But the structure, the roof . . . I don't know."

"I'm sorry. You're worried about it, aren't you?"

Pat nodded. "But I don't have a lot there. I keep all of my prints and negatives at Aunt Rachel's and some of my equipment."

Carly took the bacon out to drain on paper towels and cracked four eggs into the pan.

"Do you have any inventory? I mean, do you sell over the Internet?"

"No. I've got a deal with a place in Corpus that produces my prints and does the framing for the large ones that I market locally."

"Why don't you have your own gallery? Surely, you've got enough material."

"I've actually been thinking about that for awhile now. There's an old T-shirt shop in Rockport that Aunt Rachel's heard is going to come up for sale by the first of the year. She wants me to get it. But owning a gallery means more work and I'd have less time out in the field."

"And that's why you hire a good manager," Carly said. "Why have other galleries sell your work and make a profit when you can do it yourself?"

"I know. Flip those already, would you?" she said, pointing to the eggs.

"Sorry. I normally do scrambled."

Pat put bread in the toaster while Carly filled their plates.

"Juice?"

"You have some?"

"Yes. Two days to expiration. You're just in time."

They sat across from each other at the table and ate in silence. Carly looked up from time to time, watching Pat. For the first time that morning, she allowed her thoughts to revisit last night. She shouldn't have. Her skin tingled, her breasts ached. She closed her eyes, remembering Pat's urgent hands as they touched her. She suddenly found it difficult to breathe and when she opened her eyes, Pat was watching her. She dove into the blue eyes but said nothing. Finally, Pat's hand reached out and covered hers.

"I'm thinking about it, too," she whispered.

Carly blushed. God, was it that obvious?

"You have no idea how long it took me to get to sleep last night," Carly admitted.

"At least you got to sleep. And trust me, all the squirming I did had nothing to do with the size of the sofa."

"Well, it's your own fault."

"Yes, I'm a glutton for punishment."

"I think you may be," Carly said. She got up and took her plate to the sink, then reached for Pat's. She was going to be absolutely crazy by the end of the day if they were stuck inside. "Let's move the Jeeps. I need to get outside."

But Pat grabbed her arm as she walked past, pulling her close.

"Don't . . . please?" Carly whispered when their eyes met. "I still haven't recovered from last night."

But Pat lowered her head anyway. She couldn't help it. But her kiss was light, brief. She hadn't recovered, either.

"I'm sorry."

"It would be so easy to fall in love with you."

"Yes, I know. It's my glowing personality," Pat said.

"Please don't make me."

"It's too late. And you know it," Pat said quietly.

"Yes. That's what scares me."

"I want to do a lot of things to you, Dr. Cambridge, but scare you is not one of them."

"Well, it's too late for that, too."

Pat smiled warmly then backed away.

"Come on. Let's get our Jeeps in the barn."

The wind was ferocious, but not nearly as fierce as it would be later in the day. Already, small branches from the oaks were breaking off, littering the ground. The pounding rain of the night before had slacked some but the swirling clouds only promised more.

Both Jeeps fit easily inside the barn and they closed the double doors with Pat on the outside pushing against the wind. Then, with the hoods of their rain jackets pulled over their heads, they ran back to the ranch house. Carly looked back once, a frown creasing her brow, then she closed the door.

"What?" Pat asked.

"They'll never make it," she said.

"The egrets?"

"Yeah. I'm sure the parents have already headed inland. The babies are on their own."

"You want to try and get them?" Pat asked.

Carly shook her head. "Our Jeeps barely made it to the barn without blowing over."

"We could walk."

"No. It's too dangerous. I just have to keep telling myself that this is nature and these things happen."

"I'm sorry, Carly."

"Come on. Let's go get dry. I could use a shower," she said as they climbed the stairs. "You?"

"Yes. You want to go first?"

"No. Go ahead. I think I'll call Elsa and check in."

Pat took her time, then searched everywhere in Carly's bathroom for a blow dryer. She finally stuck her head out.

"Blow dryer?"

"Sorry. I don't use one," she called.

No wonder her hair always looked wind blown. It was wind blown. She gathered up her things and walked back out to the living room, wet hair and all.

"Sorry about that. I haven't used one in years."

"It's okay. It'll dry soon enough."

Carly was again on the floor, watching the never-ending weathercast. Beside her was a tall drink that looked suspiciously like a Bloody Mary.

Pat raised her eyebrows.

"I thought it was a good day to stay inside and drink," she said.

Pat nodded. "And mine would be where?"

"In the fridge. I left the Tabasco on the table. I wasn't sure how spicy you liked them."

Pat came back with her glass and sat down beside Carly and they watched the TV in silence. It wasn't long before the rain started in earnest again and they listened as it pounded against the shutters.

"I really hate this," Carly said. "I hate that the marsh will be flooded, that trees will be lost. And I hate it about the egrets," she admitted.

"I know," Pat said. "Listen, it's still manageable out there. Why don't I just go out and get them?"

"It's too dangerous, Pat. You can hear yourself that the wind is picking up by the minute. Limbs will be snapping off and blowing around. It would be insane to go out."

"I can stick to the woods," she said.

"You can't penetrate the oak motes and you know it."

"Look, I like the damn little birds, too. They're ugly as hell but . . . they're ours," she said. For some reason, she equated the safety of the egrets with the fragileness of the relationship that she and Carly were starting. If the egrets died, she was afraid that she and Carly would have no chance either.

Pat's words touched Carly. She knew Pat had become fond of the nest. She'd seen her sneak off with her camera on numerous days, but Pat never said anything. Carly thought maybe she would be embarrassed over the attention she was giving them. But still, it was too dangerous.

"You could get hurt," she said. "I would never forgive myself. They're just birds."

"They're not just birds, Carly."

The romantic part of Carly wanted to say, yes, go save them. But the sensible part said it was totally irresponsible to try. But Pat's eyes were so sure and confident. As fierce as the storm raging around them. She wanted to believe her. She wanted to believe that it was worth the risk to try and save them.

"Okay. But only if I go with you."

"No way. You're not going out. No offence, but I'm bigger and stronger than you are." She was already getting to her feet and Carly followed.

"I don't think you should go out alone, Pat. What if something happened?"

"Then it shouldn't happen to both of us."

"That's just crazy."

"Maybe. But you're staying here."

"You are so fucking stubborn," she said to Pat's retreating back. She was already headed down the stairs.

"I thought obnoxious and arrogant."

"Those, too."

Pat grabbed her rain jacket off of one of the chairs and slipped it on. She looked at her bare legs, wishing she'd put jeans on. But there was no time. They both looked up as a limb slammed against one of the shutters, shaking the window.

"This isn't a good idea," Carly said.

Their eyes met and Carly walked to Pat, slipping her arms around her without thinking. She kissed her cheek, then moved to her lips, kissing her gently, then with more pressure.

"If you let anything happen to you, I'll never forgive you," she whispered.

"Don't drink all my Bloody Mary while I'm gone."

"Pat, please don't do anything foolish. If it's too bad, just come back. Please?"

"I promise. Now, what am I supposed to put the little monsters in?"

"Shit. I didn't think. Wait," she said and ran back up the stairs. She came back carrying a pillowcase. "Put them in here. It's the best I've got."

Pat nodded, then bent and kissed Carly hard.

"I'll be back."

"Watch your head," Carly called after her as Pat sprinted out into the storm. Suddenly, Carly wanted to call her back. She wanted to tell her that it was foolish. She wanted to take her upstairs where it was safe. But Pat was already to the barn and Carly watched as she disappeared around the corner.

"Please be safe," she whispered.

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

A gust of wind nearly picked Pat up off the ground and she grabbed the nearest tree branch to gain control. The roar of the wind was deafening and she glanced up into the rain, seeing a very angry sky overhead. For an instant, she felt fear. Then she shook it off, staying as close to the woods as possible, using anything she could to hold herself up against the onslaught of wind.

She would be safer inside the oak motes but as Carly had said she couldn't penetrate the brush. She knew this because she tried. Then, behind her, she heard the cracking and popping and she turned and watched as an oak was uprooted and fell to the ground, not twenty feet from where she'd just walked.

"Well, fuck me, Jack," she said, and the wind quickly carried her words away.

She knew the closer she got to the pond, the more exposed she would be. Before she knew it, she was blown to the ground and she now knew how the wind could demolish buildings. She had just been tossed as if she were a rag doll. She got to her knees, fighting to reach the woods. It was then that she realized this was a fucking stupid idea.

"Too late," she muttered. She would be lucky if the damn egrets were still alive anyway. The nest may have already been blown to the ground. A tree could have fallen on them. "Shit, shit, shit."

She pushed on, finally seeing the pond through the torrential rain. Not much farther, she thought. But again, a gust caught her, tossing her forward.

"Whose bright idea was this? It was yours." The she laughed, another sign that she was out of her mind. "You've really got to stop talking to yourself."

At last, she reached the woods where she'd always been able to walk to the nest. She was amazed that even the wind seemed to have a hard time penetrating the motes. She could at least hear herself think, but she'd rather the thoughts running through her mind remain silent. How the hell was she supposed to make it back, against the wind, when she could barely hold herself up?

She pushed through the brush, ignoring the branches that scratched at her face and legs. At the clearing, she looked for the nest. She couldn't find it.

"Fuck," she whispered.

She took a deep breath, then ran towards the trees, falling down when her foot caught a fallen branch. She got back up and fought against the wind, pulling herself to where the nest should be. It was there, covered now with limb of a neighboring tree that had broken. She pulled the branches back and there, staring at her, were two of the ugliest looking birds she'd ever seen.

She laughed.

She reached under her shirt where she'd stuffed the pillowcase and pulled it out. Before the startled birds knew what was happening, she grabbed them both and shoved them inside. They gave little resistance. She tucked the birds against her stomach and turned, heading right back into the wind.

And she couldn't move. The force of the wind blew her backwards and she landed on her ass with a thump.

"Son of a bitch," she muttered. She got back up, on her knees and crawled into the brush.

The roar around her sounded like a train and she had a sudden urge to begin chanting prayers from her childhood.

"A little late for that now," she told the birds.

She crawled through the brush, stopping when she reached the road. It looked endless. It was also cluttered with branches and limbs.

"Okay, here goes."

She clutched the birds to her chest and bent over as low as she could get, fighting against the wind. The wind was winning. For every step she took forward, the wind blew her two steps back. The rain in her face made it nearly impossible for her to see. But she kept on, falling to her knees but getting back up again. Jeans, should have worn jeans, she thought.

It was in slow motion that she saw the oak limb flying through the air. Then, with a quick jerk of her head, she realized she had been hit. She dropped like a rock.

"Stars. You really do see stars," she murmured.

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

Carly paced, then opened the back door, looking for Pat. Then she paced again.

"Stupid. It was fucking stupid to let her go out," she said over and over again. She'd heard it from Elsa who had spent ten minutes yelling at her over the phone.

"Have you completely lost your mind?" Elsa had yelled. "You shouldn't even be at the ranch, much less out in the goddamn woods!"

"Don't you think I know that? She's stubborn, in case you haven't realized."

"She loves you. She's getting the birds for you in case you're too stupid to realize that."

"It was her idea to go out," Carly said.

"And you didn't stop her."

Carly was almost thankful they had lost the connection. But she knew Pat was going for the egrets as much for herself as for Carly. Pat pretended indifference, but Carly knew it was breaking her heart to think of the egrets out there on their own. She had seen that in her eyes.

But still, it was insane to try and save them. The trees were barely able to withstand the force of the wind. How in the hell would Pat be able to?

It would be her fault if anything happened to Pat. And, God, how could she live with herself? Pat had gotten inside her, she had reached out and taken something that Carly swore she would never give. And she couldn't bare the thought of losing Pat before they'd really had a chance. A chance at something special.

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

Pat opened her eyes, ignoring the pain shooting through her cheek, her face. She was on her back, the rain and wind lashing at her. She had no idea how long she'd been there. The pillowcase was still on her stomach and it was warm against her. She rolled over, feeling light-headed, but she shook it off. She had to get back. Now. She sat up, shaking the rain from her face, feeling, she was certain, her brain as it banged against her skull.

She couldn't walk against the wind, that much was certain. So she crawled. She could feel the scrapes on her knees as they dug into the wet earth but she pushed on. Limbs were breaking and crashing around her and she had a brief moment of humor as she realized she could very well be in a disaster movie. Only in the movies, it was all for play. The wind roaring around her was nothing to play with.

It was with great joy that she spotted the barn. It was still a long way off but in her heart, she knew she would make it. She was soaked through and through but it didn't matter. She had the birds. And soon, they would all be safe. She tucked her head against her chest and crawled on, ignoring the constant pain in her cheek.

As she crawled around the corner of the barn, the back door to the ranch house flew open and Carly was standing there, shielding her eyes against the wind and rain. Then she was running towards her and Pat finally relaxed.

"Made it," she said. "Never doubted it for a minute."

Then Carly fell to her knees in front of her, her eyes wide as she saw blood running down Pat's face.

"Jesus Christ," she whispered. "Can you make it to the house?"

"Piece of cake," Pat said with a grin. But it hurt to smile.

Carly grabbed her arm and pulled her to her feet, struggling against the wind towards the house. Finally, the door slammed shut and the sudden silence startled Pat.

"Oh my God. You're hurt. Sit down."

"I'm okay," Pat said. "Here." She lifted up the pillowcase, now as wet as she was, and handed it to Carly.

"You found them?"

"Safe and sound. Or they were," she said as she collapsed into a chair and wiped the blood away from her eye.

Carly opened the pillowcase and peeked inside, meeting two pairs of wild eyes.

"I can't believe you did this," she said. She glanced at Pat and grinned. "My hero."

She went to the box she'd prepared, just in case. She lifted out the birds and settled them inside, then covered it with a towel. She would tend to them later. Right now, someone more important needed her.

She cupped Pat's face gently, her frown deepening as she saw the deep cut above Pat's right eyebrow.

"What happened to you?"

"I think it was a baseball bat," Pat said.

Carly touched her cheekbone and Pat pulled away.

"It hurts," she said.

"You'll be lucky if it's not broken." Then she lightly touched Pat's lips with her own. "I was . . . I was so scared," she admitted. "I didn't know what to do."

"How could you think I wasn't coming back?" Pat asked. "I haven't seen you naked yet. You think I'd miss out on that?"

Carly closed her eyes, then bent and kissed Pat again, her lips lingering this time.

"Okay, enough of that mushy stuff," Pat said. "I'm bleeding to death here."

"I'm sorry." Carly stood back. "Sit up there," she said, pointing to the counter. "I'm going upstairs for my bag. Don't move."

Pat did as she was told. The throbbing in her face was nearly unbearable but it beat the constant roar of the storm. She glanced at her watch, surprised to see that over two hours had passed since she'd left the ranch house. No wonder Carly had been frantic.

She heard her running back down the stairs, then she reappeared with what looked like a medical bag in her hand.

"Jesus, Pat. At least take your rain coat off," Carly said. She moved to Pat, sliding the wet jacket off her shoulders. "You're absolutely soaked. What did you do? Take a dip in the pond?"

"I may have. I don't really remember," Pat murmured.

Carly frowned. Pat's face was flushed, cool. She seemed to be in shock.

"Lift your arms up," Carly instructed quietly. Pat did and Carly pulled her wet T-shirt over her head, leaving Pat in only her sports bra. Carly raised her eyes, meeting Pat's. Now was no time to stare, she knew, but Jesus the woman was beautiful. She threw the wet shirt into the sink, then opened her bag.

Pat cringed as Carly dabbed at her cut. It burned and she squeezed her eyes shut against the pain.

"I'm sorry. I know it hurts but I've got to clean it. You need stitches."

"Stitches? No."

"Yes."

Carly spread Pat's legs and stood between them, wiping at the cut. The bleeding would not stop. She put pressure on it and held it, seeing the pain in Pat's eyes. Then she felt Pat tremble, felt the pressure as Pat's legs tightened around her hips.

"What? Too hard?"

"Why are you doing this to me?" Pat whispered.

"I'm trying to stop the bleeding. I know it hurts."

Pat suddenly gripped Carly's hips and pulled her tightly into her opened legs. Carly gasped at the intimate contact.

"No, this is what you're doing to me," Pat murmured. She leaned forward and captured Carly's lips. Despite the pain in her face, the ache between her legs was greater.

Carly melted into the kiss, letting Pat hold her close. But she pulled away finally. This was not the time or place to start this.

"Behave," she said. She dabbed at the wound again, pleased that the bleeding had nearly stopped. "I need to close this." She reached into her bag again and pulled out a suture. She ignored Pat's gasp.

"That's for dogs, right?" she asked.

"Well, I was training to be a vet," Carly said.

"Maybe you shouldn't use that on me. Right?"

Carly nearly laughed. It was at times like this that she just wanted to take Pat in her arms and hold her. Not kiss her. Just hold her.

"Be quiet. You're such a baby," she said.

"Surely you have something to deaden it," Pat said.

"I didn't think you'd need it."

"Of course I need it! I'm not completely insane."

This time Carly did laugh.

"Will you hold still? I put a topical on it. I don't have anything else."

"Dr. Cambridge, and I use that term lightly, because I'm not a dog," Pat said. "But I'm really a wimp when it comes to pain."

"You could have fooled me." Carly dabbed again at the wound and this time Pat didn't pull away. "See. Can't even feel it."

"I'm sure I'll feel a needle and thread."

"Suture," Carly said. "But maybe I should just put a butterfly on it. It's not a clean cut and I'm a little out of practice. It may leave a scar. We can take you to a doctor tomorrow."

Pat met her eyes, then took her hand and brought it to her lips. She closed her eyes as she kissed Carly's palm.

"That's okay. I don't mind a scar. Years from now, it'll give us something to talk about. I'll remind you of how you tried to kill me, all for a couple of egrets. And we'll have hundreds of egrets out here then, just because of these two little guys. So I won't mind a scar, Carly."

Carly stared at her, again diving into her eyes. She reached out and touched Pat's face gently.

"Sometimes, you say things . . . you just take my breath away."

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

Carly settled Pat into her bed, now in dry shorts and a clean T-shirt. She could tell Pat had discarded her sports bra and she pulled her eyes away from her breasts, moving instead to Pat's face. She had given her a pain pill and Pat was nearly asleep. The bruise on her cheek was more pronounced and there was a slight discoloration under her eye. She was damn lucky. Actually, the egrets were damn lucky. They would surely be dead by now.

"It was a stupid thing to do," Pat murmured.

"Yes, it was."

"But I would do it all over again."

"I'm sure you would."

"The bed smells like you."

Carly smiled as Pat drifted off to sleep. She watched her for a minute, then walked downstairs. She needed to check on the egrets.

They lost power just as she lifted the towel from the box.

"Great."

She fumbled along the counter, trying to find the flashlight she'd set out. Then she flashed the beam around the kitchen, going to the cabinet where she'd stashed the oil lamps. She lit one, illuminating the kitchen with a soft glow.

The egret chicks were wet but seemed okay. They shied away from her and seemed alert.

"It's okay. I won't hurt you," she murmured softly to them. She covered the box again. They would be okay until morning. She would worry about feeding them then.

She jumped as something hit the house, rattling the windows. Another tree branch, no doubt. She moved the flashlight to her watch. It was nearly four. The storm was moving over them. The last weather report she'd heard had the eye hitting closer to Galveston, but still too close for comfort. The winds were probably at least one hundred-twenty as it were.

She pulled out the second lamp and set it on the counter. She would use it in the morning. She took the lit one and carefully climbed the stairs, trying to ignore the pounding of the shutters as they banged against the house. The worst was upon them. It could only get better.

She made a sandwich, wishing she had made Pat eat something before she slept but the woman was nearly exhausted. Carly finally admitted how scared she'd been. After one hour had passed, she'd been frantic. After two, she had been ready to bolt out the door in search of the other woman.

What she felt for Pat was certainly more than simple attraction. She wouldn't say she loved her . . . well, that she was in love with her. She wouldn't say that. She couldn't. But yes, she loved her. She sat at the table alone and squeezed her eyes shut. She wasn't in love with her. That would be . . . crazy. But the thought of losing Pat before they'd even had a chance to explore this relationship that they'd started hurt her deeply. And whether Pat would admit it or not, she had been in great danger out there. What if the limb that hit her had been larger? What if it had hit her square in the face?

"She could have been killed."

Carly felt the ache deep in her heart. Pat could have been killed.

She got up quickly from the table, pushing her chair back. She filled a glass with ice and closed the freezer quickly. Hopefully, the power wouldn't be out for long. Not that she had a lot in the freezer that would spoil. She found a bottle of rum and poured a generous amount into her glass. Then she added Coke and walked into the living room and sat in the recliner in the dark.

She listened to the wind and rain, sipping from her drink occasionally. She tried not to think of the woman sleeping in her bed. Because if she did, she would completely lose herself. She ached to go to her. She wanted nothing more than to crawl in beside Pat and hold her. And that scared the hell out of her.

She didn't know how long she sat here. Long enough for her drink to empty. But she was surprised when Pat appeared in the shadows, her silhouette outlined by the lamp in the kitchen.

"What are you doing up?" Carly asked.

"Hungry."

Carly sat up, moving to her. She took her hand and pulled her into the kitchen, into the light. Her cheek was swollen and discolored and Pat's eyes were hazy.

"We lost power?"

"Yes. Hours ago," Carly said.

"I guess that's why I'm hot," Pat said. She nearly collapsed into a chair, the effects of the pain pill still obvious.

"How do you feel?"

"Okay," Pat lied. Actually, her face throbbed but she wouldn't tell Carly that. She could see the worry that was still etched across her face.

"Why don't I believe you?"

"It hurts a little," Pat finally admitted.

"Sandwich? That's about all I can offer."

"That would be great."

Carly quickly made a turkey sandwich, then went back for cheese when Pat requested it.

Pat found she could only chew on her left side and even then, each bite hurt. She ate silently and drank from the water that Carly had poured from the jug.

"Have you eaten?" Pat asked.

"Yes. Earlier."

"It hasn't slowed, huh?"

"No. And I'm actually thankful for the shutters. At least I don't have to watch."

Pat didn't answer. She couldn't seem to gather her thoughts. She finally pushed her plate aside. She had only been able to eat half of the sandwich.

"I think I'm going to go back to bed," she said.

"Yes. You should." Then Carly looked at the half-eaten sandwich. "Hurts to chew?"

Pat only nodded.

"Would cold soup be better?"

"No."

Carly stood and walked to Pat, pushing her head back to get a better look at her wound. It was puffy and red. She felt her face, finding no fever.

"Do you need something for the pain?"

"No. I'm okay for now. I'm still kinda out of it."

"Okay. Come on."

Carly grabbed the flashlight with one hand and Pat's arm with the other and led her back into the bedroom. She pulled the covers back and pointed. Pat obediently laid down, leaving her long legs on top of the covers. She was hot, Carly knew, but she dared not open the shutters, even on the north side of the house. She perched on the edge of the bed near Pat.

"Close your eyes," she said. When Pat did, she pointed the flashlight onto her face, making sure the sutures were still tight. Then she inspected the rest of Pat's body, seeing for the first time the scratches on her legs and the small cuts on her knees. " I should have cleaned these, too. Why didn't you tell me?" Carly asked, running her finger lightly over Pat's knee.

"I forgot about them," she said. She reached out and took Carly's hand, squeezing it. Then she shut her eyes. Her face was throbbing again but she still felt drowsy. "Why don't you lay down, too? You must be tired," Pat murmured.

"Yes. I am. Go back to sleep. I'll be back in a little while."

"Okay." She felt Carly get up and move away from her but she was too tired to open her eyes. She shifted on the bed, trying to find a cool spot.

Carly walked back into the kitchen, putting Pat's plate in the sink along with the two glasses. She was tired, she admitted, but she didn't think she'd be able to sleep with the storm still raging outside. But she couldn't very well wander around the dark house. She pulled the T-shirt away from her body, just now noticing how warm it was getting inside. By morning, it would be stifling. But then, they should be able to open the shutters and let some air inside.

She finally blew out the lamp and took her flashlight into the bathroom. She brushed her teeth and splashed her face with cold water. She should at least try to get some sleep. Tomorrow would be a very busy day.

Pat was sound asleep but Carly very nearly dropped her flashlight. Pat was apparently hot. She had discarded her T-shirt.

"You're not making this easy, are you?" she whispered. She was . . . simply beautiful and Carly's hungry eyes moved over her exposed body. She ached to touch it.

But she turned the flashlight off, moving to the other side of the bed. She lay down next to Pat, trying not to wake her. But she, too, was hot. She sat up and pulled her own T-shirt off. Finally, the rhythm of the storm lulled her to sleep and she let herself drift off, thoughts of the nearly naked woman beside her filling her dreams.

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

Carly woke to moaning beside her and she turned in the darkness, listening as Pat nearly whimpered in her sleep. Carly reached for the flashlight, seeing the pain on Pat's face. The swelling was worse.

"Pat," she whispered.

Pat opened her eyes, then shut them again. The throbbing in her face was too much.

"What is it?" Carly asked. "Are you in pain?"

"Throbbing," she murmured. "Hurts like a son of a bitch."

"Let me get you a pain pill."

"Yes. Please."

Carly swung her bare feet to the floor, hurrying to the kitchen for water and her pills. She guessed Pat's cheekbone was fractured. That would account for the swelling. She hoped it was nothing more serious.

She walked back to the bedroom with the flashlight tucked under her arm, holding out the water in one hand and the pill in the other.

"Can you sit up?"

Pat opened her eyes and lifted up, fighting against the pain. Then her heart clutched in her chest.

"Jesus Christ, are you trying to kill me?"

"What?" Then she followed Pat's gaze to her breasts. She had not put her shirt back on and she stood beside Pat in nothing but her boxers. Pat finally raised her eyes to Carly's, a look of hunger in the blue depths.

"I was hot," she said. "I'm sorry."

"Suddenly, the pain is gone," Pat whispered.

"No, it's not. Now take this."

Pat took the pill and water from Carly, her eyes never leaving the exposed flesh before her. Carly was absolutely beautiful. Her small breasts were shadowed but Pat could see the aroused nipples. She wanted her mouth there. She wanted to feel them swell against her tongue.

She handed the glass back to Carly as her eyes roamed over the perfect body before her.

"Please come here," she whispered.

"Pat, you're in pain. Lay down."

"Yes. I'm in pain and it's below the waist."

The beam of the flashlight moved across Pat's body and Carly allowed her eyes to follow it, settling on the swell of breasts that begged for her touch. She simply couldn't resist. She put the water on the small table beside the bed and turned the flashlight off.

"Please come here," Pat said again, quietly.

"Don't start something you don't intend to finish," Carly said. "Not this time."

"I want to make love with you."

In the total darkness, Carly moved to her voice. Pat's arms found her, pulling her down beside her on the bed. Flesh met flesh and Carly was lost. Mouths met and mated, tongues danced, and hands touched. Carly moaned when Pat's hands found her breasts, cupping them both. She forgot about Pat's injury, she forgot everything she had ever vowed. She wanted her. She wanted to make love to her. She pushed Pat onto her back, straddling her. Pat's hips came up and met her and Carly groaned.

"Am I hurting you?" she asked.

"No," Pat whispered. Her face ached but didn't compare to the ache between her thighs. And if she weren't so tired, so drugged, she would already be inside Carly. But her movements were slow, her hands soft upon Carly's skin.

Carly bent down again, and her mouth and tongue moved across Pat's bare skin, finally finding her nipple. Pat arched into her and Carly's mouth closed over the erect peak, sucking it hard into her mouth. She felt Pat's hands slide over her back, moving inside her boxers and cupping her hips, pulling her more firmly to her.

Her hips pressed into Pat, undulating against her. God, she wished there was some light. She wanted to look at Pat, to see her eyes. Then she felt Pat's body relax, felt her hands still. She pulled away slightly, moving her mouth back to Pat's. But the lips that met hers barely moved.

"Pat?"

"Can't move," she murmured. "It's your fault. You made me take the pill."

With an exasperated sigh, Carly let her head fall to Pat's chest. The fucking pain pill. Pat was out.

"I'm not believing this," she whispered. "I'm really not fucking believing this."

But Pat didn't answer. Her even breathing told Carly that she was asleep. Carly rolled off of Pat, her body still on the verge of exploding.

"You will so pay for this," she whispered to the sleeping woman. She lay on her back, staring into the blackness, barely hearing the storm. She had been ready to give herself to this woman, and she had been ready to take everything Pat could offer.

Her breathing finally slowed and she again gained some control over her body. She rolled onto her side, facing Pat. She couldn't see her but her hand reached out, touching bare flesh. She found her breast, her hand closing around it. She felt Pat stir, felt Pat move towards her. She smiled. It was enough. For now. She rested her head on the pillow, so close to Pat. She closed her eyes, her hand still upon Pat's breast, and she slept.