Page 19 of Her Saltwater Cowboy

“I’m not drunk,” he murmured. “Just … off.”

Willow tilted her head, watching him with those deep, dark eyes that missed nothing. “Your color is bad,” she whispered. “You’re sweating. And the floor—Chance, do you feel that?”

He blinked hard. The floor did feel all wrong, like it was shifting under him. But not because of the lemonade. Something deeper. A hum. A pressure shift.

“I think …” he began, but then staggered slightly as a tremor vibrated through the barn’s structure.

A crash behind him drew startled cries. A tray hit the floor, shattering glass and splashing lemonade across his boots. A few guests stumbled, grabbing for balance.

“What in the—” someone shouted.

“Chance!” Willow reached out as he braced himself on the edge of a table. The barn walls groaned with an eerie creak, timbers flexing with the force of wind—or something.

It wasn’t the drink. It wasn’t a dizzy spell.

An earthquake, and what sounded like a storm, had come. All rolled into one.

He looked at Willow again, and for a split second, that wasn’t pity he saw in her eyes—but fear. Real fear.

* * *

The earth’s tremor passed in under ten seconds, but the stillness it left behind cast the barn in an eerie hush. High-pitched voices punctuated the air.

Was that an earthquake?

That was a big one!

Wonder where it was centered?

Whoa! Are those lights swingin’?

The questions were customary. Californians didn’t panic after earthquakes—usually. Instead, a flurry of questions and internet searches usually followed a shaker. And aftershocks.

Chance listened for one of those, the hammering in his chest slowing some when it didn’t come. His eyes scanned the crowd that he suddenly felt responsible for. Lights flickered, while others stayed solidly lit.

Willow touched his arm. “You okay?”

Chance gave a short nod, jaw tight. “Wasn’t the lemonade.”

They shared a look. Though the jolt didn’t seem to have caused any damage, some of the guests, especially the older ones, walked stiffly, as if on edge.

Another low rumble rolled through the place, but this one was different. It came from overhead, rushing through the vaulted barn with a howl and a whistle.

Wind.

And, then, rain.

Lots and lots of rain.

No way.

Chance pushed the barn door open to the cacophony of rainwater coming down in sheets.

“Man!” Eli joined him. “That’s a gully washer, all right.”

A massive gust drove the rain sideways, slicing through the open doorway like a waterfall showerhead on full speed. The sudden flush of water and wind soaked the entryway, causing guests to leap backward for shelter.

Chance pushed the door partway closed again and stepped back, considering. Then came a single drip.

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