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Blown Together

By Janet W. Ferguson

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Chapter 1


“No way. Not now. Not ever.” Sam Conrad tossed the manila folder onto his father’s massive mahogany desk.
“Tiffany is a bank customer, like any other, and I expect you to grow up and take orders. Forget she’s your ex-fiancée.” Teddy Conrad stood to his full height and thrust out a finger. “She’s waiting in the lobby, so suck it up and get out there.”
Suck it up? Take orders? Bile seared Sam’s throat. He’d been taking orders, trying to please the man his entire life. Working the account for Tiffany was asking too much. Another wealth manager could easily handle her money. No more. “I quit.”
“What?” His father’s face reddened and screwed into a familiar scowl.
“Done. Through. Out of here.” Sam pivoted, crossed the extravagant office, and slammed the door behind him. His leather loafers slapped the white marble floors leading out of the bank. He refused to glance Tiffany’s direction. Wouldn’t give her the satisfaction.
Outside, thunder cracked and rain poured from the sky. Sam lingered a half second under the awning before stepping onto the sidewalk of the soggy town square. A man had to draw the line. And being thrown together with Tiffany was it. His father had controlled his life long enough.
Strong winds pushed torrential rain sideways, pummeling Sam’s face. His vision clouded as he ran toward his Mazda. Impeccable timing as usual. Couldn’t quit on a sunny day in Oxford, Mississippi. Had to quit during a storm.
Mud washed out from a freshly planted flower bed onto the sidewalk. With one long stride, he jumped over the slick patch. He landed on the far side and took another step. Into a smaller patch of mud. His foot slipped and slid forward this time. He reached for something, anything, to keep him upright, but found only air. A second later, he landed on his backside. Hard. Pain shot up his tailbone.
Shoot. He resisted the urge to look back at the bank window. Was his ex-fiancée laughing as she watched from a side window of the bank?
He needed to get up, but wow, that hurt. Water seeped through the fabric of his favorite suit as he sat in the mud. He glanced around. At least no one was on the Square because of the storm.
He closed his eyes for a moment. How could his father expect him to invest Tiffany’s new inheritance? To “push away his pride for the good of the bank” and make money for her and another man? The other man.
Not happening. Sam scrambled to his feet and craned his neck to survey the damage to his backside. Mud was slathered all over his pants. He eyed his Mazda. Did he really want to sit in his car and ruin the seat?
Sam groaned as water splattered around him.
If only he still owned his little place nearby—the one Tiffany had insisted he give up for the bigger house on the edge of town.
He pulled out his phone to check the time. Cracks ran across the screen. Great. What next?
The digital numbers read five-thirty. His best friend lived close. He could borrow dry clothes from Jess and wait out the rain. Maybe ask him for advice. Sam turned and crossed the street at a jog, a slower pace than his usual runs. No need busting his behind again. Water pelted him, ran down his face, and filled his shoes, but jogging three blocks in the deluge energized his mind. He should’ve quit years ago. Wouldn’t he love to wash away his old life and start a new one? A life where he called the shots. About his career. His neighborhood. His relationships.
Light shone in the front windows at Jess’s. Good. Someone was home. He bounded up the steps onto the front porch and knocked. A piercing cry echoed through the door. Oh, man. He must’ve woken the baby.
The door flew open. Strands of Cassie Conner’s red hair fell from her bun, and a baby clung to her hip. Her eyes widened as she took him in. “Oh, my, Sam. Are you okay?”
Why was one of his best clients answering Jess and Sarah Beth’s door? “Just wet.” And jobless. “But what are you—?”
“Thank goodness. I could use assistance.” Her normally controlled voice sounded strained. “Come in and take off your coat. Then take Michael, please.”
“Where’s Jess’s baby girl?”
“Madison Rose is in the bassinet.” She pointed toward the living room with her head and held out the plump, green-eyed toddler.
After Sam removed his coat and hung it on the rack in the foyer, he held his arms straight out and caught gentle hold of the fussy child. “Where are Jess and the wife? Your husband?”
“Everyone left for a university fundraiser before the bad weather blew in. I offered to skip it and stay with the babies since they both have upset tummies.”
An odor hit Sam’s nose as he followed her farther into the house. “Whew. Something’s foul in here.” He cringed and swallowed a gag. “Hideously foul.” Cassie was lucky he’d spent a large part of his life in locker rooms with smelly men, or he might’ve hightailed it back to his car.
Across the living room in a white wicker contraption, a dark-haired infant screeched. The black and white cat perched on the couch alongside Jess’s large dog, staring at the noisy creature.
“Stomach bug going around the church nursery. You might need this.” Cassie offered him a towel before opening a package of diapers.
Great. A stomach virus might be next on his agenda. At least he wouldn’t have to worry about missing work. He laid the towel across his shoulder then shifted the toddler up into the crook of his arm. No sense getting baby goop on his clothes.
After pulling out a few wipes, Cassie leaned over the crib to change the diaper. “So, what’s got you running around in your business suit while these summer storms ravage north Mississippi?”
“Long story you don’t want to hear. I was hoping to borrow dry clothes from Jess and hitch a ride to my car once the rain stopped.”
A small hand smacked Sam’s nose hard enough to bring tears.
He mashed his eyes shut. “Little dude, that hurt.”
Michael let out a deep belly laugh and smacked him again.
“Ouch.”
“You bring out a mischievous side in him.” With an arched brow, Cassie eyed him while she trashed a bunch of stuff he didn’t want to see. “I’ll take that little joker as soon as I sanitize my hands.”
Sam scrunched his nose at the grinning boy with curly auburn hair. “More like little stinker.”
After another laugh, the boy pressed a slobbery kiss on Sam’s cheek.
“Aw, now. That’s gross.” Not that he wasn’t already wet. But still.
Cassie set Madison Rose into an infant seat with some sort of contraption swinging over it. “Michael seems to like you.”
“Glad someone does. But I want to get this slime off.”
“Here.” She handed him a wipe and took the child.
It would take more than that tiny square to get him clean. Howling winds ripped through the trees outside the window.
The electricity flickered, then cut off, leaving only silhouettes in the dim light cast through the windows.
“Crud.” Now he couldn’t see.
One of the babies squeaked, and the dog barked three times.
“It’s okay, sweetie,” Cassie’s voice crooned. “Sam, I have no idea where they keep the candles and matches.”
He took out his cell and turned on the flashlight. “If you tell me where your phone is, I’ll get it. They’ll help some.”
“On the end table behind you.”
He twisted, laid his phone face up, and did the same with the other. “Got it.” The glow from the two cells worked for now.
Still holding the feisty toddler, Cassie sat on the floor beside Madison Rose. “Looks like we have some time if you feel like telling me what’s troubling you.”
Sam ran his fingers across his wet silk tie. Why not bellyache to a couple of smelly babies and one nice lady? They were friends after all. “In a nutshell, I quit my job. I’m ready to start a new life away from the bank. Away from my father.”
Lightning split the dim light, illuminating the room for a second. “Hmmm…” Cassie switched the wiggling boy to the other arm. “If you’re serious, I know someone who’d help you get a fresh start. What do you think about moving to Mobile for a while?”
“In Alabama, down on the Gulf?”
“That’s the one. A man became my father’s mentor and helped him turn his life around. Now Dad enjoys doing the same for others. I could give him a call if you’d like.” Cassie paused. “If nothing else, you could get away and think about what you want to do.”
This town was too small to avoid his father. Or Tiffany. Leaving for a while might be just the ticket.
Shadows swallowed the room, much like the shadows swallowing his life in Oxford. And his soggy suit clung to his skin, heavy and cold like Tiffany’s fake smile and his father’s never-ending domination. Could he really do this? Step out of his hometown, a successful career, the only life he’d ever known? The thought of walking back into the bank turned his stomach worse than the smell of the dirty diapers still saturating the air.
Mobile was at least five hours south. Why not? “Make the call.”
~~~
Sinister clouds loomed over the Gulf of Mexico and Fort Morgan, Alabama, blocking the sun as Elinor Elizabeth Bosarge turned and headed back toward her beachside cottage. She should’ve taken her daily walk earlier, but the words had flowed so well, she dared not leave the computer. Now, the line of storms that had brutalized Louisiana and Mississippi overnight swooped down upon Alabama. At exactly the predicted time.
Elinor picked up her pace to a jog. She needed to get home to poor Mr. Darcy. He despised thunderstorms. Who knew a cat could be so destructive?
The blowing sand bit into her skin like tiny needles as a red beach umbrella caught air and sailed toward her like a torpedo.
A frantic young mother ran after the airborne parasol, lugging a large bag while clutching a little boy on her hip. “So sorry. This wind…”
With one arm shielding her face from the sharp tips, Elinor caught hold of the umbrella with the other. Not a good day to use a flimsy piece of equipment.
The mother struggled to walk against the gale and the blasting sand, and the little boy covered his eyes with his hands. The woman needed a few more arms.
Elinor waved her off. “I can assist you.” She’d seen them earlier in the week and pointed to the house behind them. “Isn’t that your place? I’ll put it in the carport for you.”
“Thank you so much.” The mother didn’t waste time changing course toward the boardwalk leading to shelter.
After fighting with the strap, Elinor got the ribs closed tight and trudged through the dry sand until she made it underneath the house. A canister stood in the corner that looked to be the storage area. She secured the umbrella and started back toward her own cottage at a jog.
At least she hadn’t had to pull anyone out of the water today. She’d raised a red flag on her deck to warn tourists of the unfavorable conditions, since the city didn’t hoist one this far down the peninsula. Despite her repeated requests.
Only twenty yards before she reached home, she spotted him. Another crazy teen, arms waving and head bobbing, bodysurfing and caught in the rip current. He’d ignored not only the black skies and thunder, but her tidal flag as well. Her lifeguard training set into motion, the way it had since she’d been a teen herself. She sprinted the rest of the way to her fence and grabbed the equipment, her calves aching from the dense sand. The wind slowed her progress, but she pushed onward. At least he wasn’t too far out. Yet.
Lord, help me.
At the water’s edge, Elinor, still carrying two life belts, entered the surf at an angle to the foaming current. A few swells lapped over her head, but she swam through the churning waves. She paused and popped up, wiping the briny water from her eyes to check the teen’s location once more.
Lightning lit up the sky on the horizon, sending adrenaline shooting from Elinor’s head to her legs. She swam harder. Being electrocuted wasn’t on her to-do list.
Almost there.
At last, she neared and held out the orange life belt. “Just hold on to the float. I’ll pull us out of the current.”
“Yeah.” His knuckles whitened as he grabbed on.
The boy was large enough to swamp them both if he panicked.
“Don’t worry. I’ve assisted many swimmers.”
“Okay.” His round eyes flitted from her to the large swells.
She glanced back and tried to give a reassuring smile. She’d save the stern lecture about the dangers of the sea and the purpose of the beach warning flags for when they reached the shore.
Thunder cracked in the west, loud enough to be heard over the waves. Her heartbeat kicked up a notch. Elinor took a gulp of air, dipped her head under, and using fierce kicks, she surged them forward. When she surfaced, they looked near enough to touch bottom. She straightened, planted both feet, and stood. Once she steadied herself, she tugged the boy closer.
“You should be able to walk out now.”
When he realized he was in shallower water, he got his balance and took off. “Thanks, lady.”
“Wait. See that red flag? That means don’t go in the—”
Another bolt of lightning zapped only two houses away, and the teen shot down the beach. She’d better do the same. So much for educating him. She reached the shore and sprinted, the floats dangling from her hand and periodically whipping her legs.
The one palm tree beside the cottage creaked and moaned under the pressure of the fierce gusts of wind. Heart pounding, she raced up onto the back deck and slid open the glass door.
Inside, she grabbed a beach towel from the basket she kept by the door and wrapped it around her dripping swimsuit. “Mr. Darcy? Come hither, sir.” Crawling across the hardwood flooring of her living room, she peeked under the furniture. “Where is my little hairless kitty?” If she didn’t find him soon, the panicked cat would select another chair to slice to shreds. If he hadn’t already. Apparently, destroying expensive furniture consoled his anxiety.
A loud clatter overhead began. Hail pelting the roof? Thank the good Lord she’d made it back before that barrage of precipitation. She’d intended to have the roof replaced soon anyway. Maybe this would spur her on to the wretched task. Contemplating the earsplitting sounds of men hammering for hours shot a chill up her neck almost as much as the storm.
“Mr. Darcy, where are you?”
Lightning flashed, and thunder rattled the windows. The lights blinked then went out. She poked her head up. Outside the window, the sky transformed into a murky green. Not good. Last time that happened… “Mr. Darcy, we have to get in the bathtub.” Elinor sprang to her feet and darted into the bedroom to grab the pillows from her bed.
A throaty meow came from near the closet where the cat lay beside a pile of shredded straw.
“My favorite beach hat. How could you?” Groaning, she lifted the animal and a few pillows. The cat’s claws dug into her arm, but they made it into the tub, and Elinor ducked and covered them both. “Please don’t let it be a tornado, Lord.”
A boom and a crash shook the walls. “Not an innocuous noise.” But at least it didn’t sound like a freight train, which meant no tornado. She squeezed the pillow tighter above her head with one arm and held the squirming Mr. Darcy with the other.
For ten more minutes, she held still and listened. The wind and rain slacked off. Then nothing. No hail. No thunder. “Whew. Only a fast-moving thunderstorm.”
Mr. Darcy wriggled from her arms and hurdled the side of the claw-foot tub.
“The coast must be clear.” She gathered the pillows but took measured steps out of the bathroom. A strange gaping light came from the front room, and a small stream of water trickled across the floor toward her.
“No.” Her shoulders drooped, and the pillows fell from her grasp. “Not my cottage.”
Her heart thudded as she scrambled down the hall, but the sight that met her stopped her in place. Water dripped through a cavernous hole in the front wall and roof. The end of a power pole protruded inside, and sparking lines draped the front porch.
Her stomach squeezed as surging panic zapped through her. She ran to find her cell phone. She’d left it by the bed. Her fingers shook as she punched in 911.
When she finished the call, sadness crept in and took the place of the panic. She loved her small yellow beach house tucked among the others of all shapes, colors, and sizes on the end of the peninsula. Though hers was a smaller home, it was free of clutter and carpet and all the other knickknacks she lived without to keep away the dust. She was one of the few owners who lived in this area year-round. Her cottage provided sanctuary. A place where she could breathe and write. What would she do without that?
Thirty minutes later, emergency workers arrived to clear the lines.
After calling her handy man and informing her insurance agent, she made a quick run to the dollar store to purchase plastic containers. Apparently her cottage was the only place damaged by the storm other than a few limbs littering her neighbors’ yards—which was a good thing. She just wished her own home had escaped unscathed.
She stood in her living room, overwhelmed by the arduous task of packing. Despite the blue tarp covering the ragged roof, she’d need to protect her belongings from water damage. At least her books and paintings had been spared. And of course, herself and Mr. Darcy. Thank you, Lord, for protecting us. Although between the workers in the cottage and the stress of the storm, she’d had to crate the poor cat to keep him from shredding more household items. Every few seconds his howl echoed, a protest to his incarceration.
In her room, she gathered clothes into one large suitcase and dragged a smaller bag to the medicine chest. She grabbed two inhalers, all the antihistamines, nasal spray, a box of tissues, and an EpiPen. Another pen couldn’t hurt. One hand rubbed the area on her thigh where the last two had been plunged in, and then she threw in her spare pen.
After all, they had pharmacies in Mobile. She’d be fine with just a few things.
Hours later and with muscles aching from packing and rearranging the furniture, she steered down the long drive of her parents’ estate beside the Dog River. Not as quiet as she desired with her father’s constant banter, but she could stay in the boathouse. With her cousin Darren living in their summer home for the month, what choice did she have? There were so few rentals available this time of year, much less hypoallergenic ones.
At least the summer skies had cleared. A yellow glow shone from the west where the sun sank lower. She skipped parking in the main garage and pulled around the circle drive that ran between the main house and the boathouse. She’d like to unload before dark. A red Mazda was parked near the fence. Probably the pool man. Mother and Daddy hadn’t answered her calls on the way over, so she’d say hello once she got Mr. Darcy settled. With designer cat carrier in one hand and laptop satchel over the other shoulder, she strode down the sidewalk.
Her keys jangled in the boathouse deadbolt. Not even locked. Her parents should really be more careful. Everything looked to be in order though. With the minimal décor, leather furniture, and stained concrete floors, the boathouse kept her asthma at bay. No place for dust to collect. After discarding the computer on a side table, she pulled the cat from his travel bed.
“I know you’d rather be at home, but we have no choice in the matter.”
The cat gave a low growl and a hiss.
“Oh, don’t be mad.” She scratched at the wrinkles around his neck, just the way he liked, and a purr vibrated the creamy bare skin as smooth as toasty suede. Big green almond eyes stared at her. “You are such a sweet baby. You’ve been through quite a trauma today.”
A spray of light cut through the shadowy room as the side door creaked open.
Her heart skipped as she spun.
A tall, blond, and shirtless man slid to a stop just inside. “Who are you and why are you in here? Holding a…a… Is that a rat?”
Oh my. Elinor froze. The clean-cut man didn’t look like a robber, so he had to be with the pool service. Of all the nerve. “This is not a rat. This is a hairless cat, a Sphynx to be exact. And for your information, the pool man is not supposed to be dillydallying around in here. You must go back outside, sir.”
Mr. Darcy hissed again and sprung at the man, who vaulted behind the leather couch.
“Whoa. I don’t care what you call that thing, housekeepers shouldn’t bring their pets to work. Big Roy wouldn’t want that genetic mutation inside. And I’m not the pool man. I’m a guest.” A smug smile pressed his mouth upwards. “Of Mr. and Mrs. Bosarge.”
Housekeeper? She’d—
Wait. A guest? Or another mentee like Craig? The thought jarred her, and fire swept through Elinor’s hands, arms, and face. “My father couldn’t have taken on another project.” Especially after last time.
“Project? Your father?” The man’s eyes squinted as he looked her up and down. He stood taller and crossed his arms at his chest. Muscular arms across muscular chest. “I remember you from Cassie’s wedding. I should’ve guessed with that flaming red hair.”
Flaming red hair? His blue eyes sent another wave of heat to her cheeks. She forced her gaze down, but the chest was there. Oh, where to look? His ear. She would look at his ear. “My hair is not flaming, and I have to stay here.” Frustrated, she picked up her laptop and carrier, then swung back toward the door. “I’ll pay for a hotel nearby if you can’t afford one, and in the meantime, I’ll wait in the main house.”
“Hey, missy.” His voice stopped her at the doorway.
She jammed her shoulder back and pivoted. “Did you call me missy?” What a miscreant.
“I can afford a hotel, and you forgot your”—he made air quotes—“Sphynx.”

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