Page 1 of Where You're Planted

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Tansy

Of all the terrible decisions Tansy Perkins had made in her life, rescuing two parakeets in the middle of a hurricane had to be near the top of the list.

Already, the relentless rain had filled the Grant Gellman branch library parking lot, splashing over the tops of her yellow mid-calf wellies as she raced toward the building. She was drenched by the time she reached the door, hair plastered to her forehead and cheeks, pale pink tank top sucked wet against her stomach and breasts. She regretted going braless, not that anyone was here to be scandalized by her nipples showing through the transparent cotton. No one in their right mind was out in this storm.

Tansy unlocked the heavy exterior door, flipped on one set of overhead lights, and jogged, squishing and squeaking, through the main circulation room while the fluorescents flickered to life. Inside their cage, the birds, one blue and onegreen, squawked at the disturbance, puffing up their feathers and pacing on their perches.

If anyone should have risked their neck to come fetch the parakeets during the storm, it absolutely should have been Marianne, who had recently donated them as branch pets without administrative approval. But because they were new, no one had established a bird-retrieval protocol in the event of a hurricane, and by the time Tansy’s daughter, Briar, asked who was keeping them safe, area roads were already starting to flood.

I’ll be in and out, back in ten minutes.That’s what she’d told her next-door neighbor, Dottie, when she left Briar with her. The scant three blocks between her house and the library couldn’t get that much worse in ten minutes.

The cage was so big her arms couldn’t reach all the way around it, and as soon as she hoisted it up, the water in the dish sloshed out onto her hip. The rain pounded urgently against the roof of the library. Tansy glanced around for a tarp or newspaper, anything to cover the open slats of the cage to keep the birds dry. Upon racing into meeting room A, she immediately spotted the big rainbow-colored parachute that she and the parents puffed up over the babies during story time. It was made of nylon or something—not totally waterproof, but good enough. She wrapped it around the cage, bear-hugged the load, and shuffled awkwardly back toward the entrance.

When she was halfway across the main room, the front door banged open.

“Who the hell is in here?” a deep voice boomed. “I swear, if you’re saving books in the middle of a hurricane—”

Tansy was just rounding the circulation desk into the foyer when the man barreled in and nearly slammed into her.She lurched back, bumping against the checkout counter. Underneath the parachute fabric, the birds let loose a volley of alarmed squawks.

“What the hell are you doing in here?” The man glanced back out the door at the dense veil of rain, then past Tansy into the dim library, where all the books were neatly slotted and the Children’s Corner toys were stowed away in the chest under the Wish Tree. Finally, he focused on the covered cage, inside which the birds flapped and knocked about noisily. “What is that?”

“Birds.”

He crossed his arms over his sage-green polo, which had the adjacent botanic gardens’ logo and a name—Jack—stitched onto the breast. It clung wetly to his broad shoulders and chest. His drenched khaki cargo pants were similarly plastered to his thick thighs. Water dripped from his longish, dark hair onto his collar. “Birds,” he said flatly.

“If the roads get worse, and we can’t get back for a few days, they’ll run out of food and water.”

“Ifthe roads get worse,” Jack echoed, hands on hips, chest rising and falling quickly. Rivulets of water sluiced down his face, catching in his short beard. His thick eyebrows were wet, drawn together with a trench between them, and his nose had a prominent Roman bridge and severe slope. It was a face made for stern looks, just like the one he was giving her now. “You realize that’s a category four hurricane out there?”

His condescension lit a brush fire of shame just under her skin. She shifted the birdcage to her hip, forgetting it was shielding the view of her nipples. Until he tracked the movement, eyes blatantly tripping at her chest. “Of course,” she said, resisting covering herself and acknowledging another of her poor choices. “Why do you think I came for them?”

He shook his head tersely, sending droplets of water flying off the ends of his hair. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

His open scorn was needles under her nails. “I get it,” she snapped. “It’s a big storm. But I’m not an idiot. I was on my way out when you—”

“Iwas about to lock the gate,” he cut in. “Just happened to see your car. If I hadn’t, you’d be trapped in here.”

That thought sank through her like a cold stone. But for all this man’s urgency and judgment,hewas the one holding her up. If not for him, she’d be locking the door by now.

“Risking your life for some fucking birds.” He knifed a hand at her cargo like it personally offended him.

“I couldn’t leave them to starve to death.”

“When the creek overflows its banks in about an hour, it’s gonna run directly through here. Won’t be inches. It’ll be four, fivefeet, maybe more. They wouldn’t starve. They’d drown.”

Tansy gulped. She knew the library was prone to flooding. Just before she was hired last year, it had closed for a six-week renovation following a springtime flood that brought three inches of water into the building. But she hadn’t realized the nearby creek could rise so high, or so quickly. Pains in the ass or not, the birds drowning in their cage was an unbearable thought, followed immediately by what that much water would do to all the books. And to her house, half a mile away.

Shit. She should have heeded all the early warnings, should have taken Charlie’s offer to evacuate to his place in Dallas. But three days ago, that had seemed like an overreaction.

By the time the storm had intensified to a greater threat and admin closed all the branches yesterday, the traffic heading out of town was already congested, even with the southbound lanes reversed for contraflow. Maybe she still should have tried to leave. Instead, she’d driven all over her northeastHouston suburb with Briar and managed to snag a couple gallons of water, some bread, and peanut butter. She’d charged backup battery packs and filled the tub with water for flushing toilets, all the while hoping she was overpreparing.

But now, seeing this man’s incredulous expression, Tansy felt like an utter idiot. And a terrible mother. As hard as she tried to make better choices for herself and Briar, she kept winding up here, about to face the consequences of yet another crucial misjudgment.

“What are you, five-five? A buck thirty soaking wet?” Jack asked.

Tansy straightened to her full five feet, seven inches. “Excuse you. What does my size have to do with—”

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