Page 23 of Baker
He did have the grace to look slightly embarrassed. “True. That was a big turtle. Anyway, yeah, I get it. We’re all slightly out of our elements here.” I nodded. No point in trying to sprinkle perfume on a sow. They were all lost here, and it was obvious. But we weren’t some hippie commune. Just a ranch filled with queers. Which, given that his ex-husband was also a queer man, shouldn’t be an issue. But who knows? I guess the men herewerestrangers to Chris just as they had been to me. I couldn’t fault him for being protective. “So, yeah, that’s where I’m at tonight. Would you be pissed if I got a background check run on you?”
“Nope. I’ve not done anything too bad other than a few drunken episodes in town when I was drinking. I’m sober now. Have been for a few years. Guess that’s the baddest thing they might dig up. Divorced too, but that’s not a crime. At least that I know of.”
“No, it’s not a crime. If it was, Chris would be in prison a few times over. I’m his third husband, and rumor has it, he’s got number four in his sights.” He tossed the spatula into the utensil drawer, shoved it shut, and then had to fight with a ladle to get it closed properly.
“Damn, what is his rush to put a ring on it?” I handed him the cake plate.
“I don’t know. Low self-esteem or something.” He plucked a pot from the drainer and glanced at me. “And about the past drinking issues, I have no worries. Congrats on getting sober. I’ll talk to the others about it before I go to bed. Thanks for being so understanding and honest. I know I came here with a ton of baggage, and you’ve been nothing but warm and welcoming.”
That made me snigger. “Not sure I was ever warm.”
He chuckled. “Well, okay, lukewarm.” He shot me a look with a quirky half smile. “Granny was welcoming.”
Yeah, that she was. Maybe I should have been a bit more sociable. Guess having some family around wasn’t all badallthe time.
***
After cleanup was done, we rejoined the family in the living room where a rousing game of “Guess who sang this one” was now in progress. Granny loved this game. She listened to a classic country station religiously, and being a person of a certain age, knew all the old-time singers well. Growing up with the radio tuned to WRKC—Working Country was their tagline—I did pretty well with my guesses. I took note of the rather large pile of quarters resting in Granny’s lap. Oh yes, this game was played with money on the line.
Ford, Linc, and Bella had not done well. Hanley, smiling up at me as I entered and announced that there was a fresh pot of coffee, seemed to be cradling a mere dollar in coins in his hand. Bella scooted over on the old sofa to make room, slight as it was, for me to sit beside Hanley. I caught the tiny little wink Bella gave me as I took my seat. Great. Someone seemed to be playing matchmaker. I’d have to pull her aside and explain that therewas no match to make as I was a lone wolf and Hanley was a wandering soul.
The DJ was talking about the upcoming Easter parade in Bastian Grange. Linc rose to go fetch coffee as I leaned back and draped my arm casually over the back of the couch, not touching Hanley in the least. Bella leaned back, smiled knowingly at me, and then shouted out an answer to who was currently singing.
“Johnny Cash!” she yelled and got a soft chuckle from Granny.
“You say Johnny Cash for every song that plays,” Granny replied with a giggle. A gust of wind blew over the front porch, sending the chimes into motion. Rain began to fall. Softly, and so we continued playing while the weather outside grew uglier. Thunder could be heard rolling in, and the gusts of wind grew stronger.
“Maybe you should plan on sleeping here tonight,” I said to Hanley and got a nod in agreement. The rain was pelting the house now, sheets of it, as lightning flashed brightly. The lights flickered. We all looked at the lamps as if by staring at them we could use our willpower on them to stay lit. Waylon Jennings was interrupted by a series of short, sharp blasts that sent Granny and me to our feet. The wind outside was howling now. Everyone looked up at us, coffee or sodas in hand, questioningly. The tornado warning alarm grew faster. Sharper. And then the announcement of a tornado on the ground moving southwest of Bastian Grange got us moving.
“Everyone down into the cellar,” Granny barked as she waved her arms for the stunned folks to get moving. “Get on now! Move it.”
I took Granny by the arm and led her through the kitchen, grabbing a flashlight from atop the fridge as I moved her along. I pulled with all my might to get the back door open, but the wind ripped it from my hand, sending it crashing into the side of thehouse. Once outside, I looked in the direction of the twister but could only see small white and blue-green flashes.
“Shit,” I muttered and hustled my grandmother along as fast as we could hustle. We’d just cleared the corner when the roar hit my ears. I’d grown up in this part of the country, and I knew all too well what the tumble of a tornado sounded like. “Move! Move!”
The storm cellar doors were closed. Linc and Dodge yanked them open as small bits of debris accosted us, twigs and dirt hitting our faces felt like sandpaper. I passed my grandmother off to Linc, as he was the biggest, and yelled at him to get her and the others inside. He shouted something that was lost in the wind as I broke away to dash to the stables.
“Baker!” I thought I heard Hanley bellowing as I raced to the barn. The horses were nervous as I rushed in and started throwing open stall doors. Prissy ran past, knowing instinctively somehow to seek shelter, which is why we generally turned them out when a twister was rolling at us. While the barn might offer some shelter, it could also collapse on them, trapping the horses inside. The last one out sped past me. I turned and ran into Hanley as he came around the corner.
A flash of lightning lit up the sky behind him. I wanted to yell at him for risking himself like this, but I didn’t have time to scold him.
“Goats!” I shouted. He ran along with me to the goat barn. Thankfully, we had put collars on the goats so that if they did wander off, people would know they belonged to us. That was a good call on Ford’s part. We had to nudge a few of the big white and red caprines along. The pregnant ones did not want to venture out into the rain. That was one big difference between goats and cattle that I was learning. Cows will stand out in the hardest, harshest weather and contentedly chew their cuds. Goats, as I now understood, hated the rain. So instead of themdarting out like the horses had, we had to herd them along. The buck was the worst, but once we got him and the herd matriarch moving, we managed to drive them out into the pasture.
A branch the size of a bat snapped off the oak beside Granny’s shooting range. I threw up an arm to keep it from hitting my head. The impact nearly sent me to my knees, the pain white hot. I pressed my right arm to my side and moved on. I’d deal with it later.
The howling winds were so loud I couldn’t hear the goats’ blats or the shouts of my half-brothers. The goats heard them, though, and they galloped—do goats gallop?—at full goat speed toward the moving lights. Two of them. Two of my dumb brothers risking themselves when I told them to stay safe. Did no oneeverlisten?
Hanley gave me a push. My forearm was throbbing. The shutters on the house were shaking as the wind started pushing us around like tin soldiers. We followed the goats. Hanley tripped over something as we neared the storm cellar. The roar of the twister was deafening now. I righted him, gave him a shove forward, and then ran behind him.
Dodge and Linc reached out for us, their eyes round as dinner plates. A crash nearby gave us the extra energy we needed to lunge at the men waving their cellphones around as if they were trying to land a plane. We ducked into the cellar. I spun around to see Linc battling valiantly with the storm doors to get them shut. They closed with a clatter. Soaked to the skin, breathless, heart pounding, I turned to look at the crowd packed into the small space.
“Blah!” Willy said as the foundation of the house shuddered. Bella was seated on a cot with Granny, her arm around my grandmother’s shoulders, her eyes big and filled with frightened tears.
I stepped around a goat, kneeled by Granny, and took her hands in mine. Goats and people all seemed to be stuck in a time hole. The dust from the rafters holding the house drifted down on us as we all sat, or kneeled, surrounded by goats. Then, the noise began to lessen, that terrifying roar of a twister moving off. We all stayed put, quietly listening as the rain continued to pound down and the thunder rolled. Clasping Granny’s small hands, I gave her knuckles a peck, then turned to come face to face with Willy. He made this odd blubbery lip sound in my face and pooped.
“I think I just did the same thing,” Hanley commented from the other side of the goat buck.
Everyone laughed nervously.
