This was not the kind of weather she liked to encounter while driving. Not at all. The wind was practically blowing trees to the ground and making the rain blow sideways. Lightning flicked the darkened afternoon sky, occasionally seeming to be hitting just in front of her, and the resulting thunder vibrated through her car.
It was bad enough to have to deal with this on the interstate, with traffic coming almost to a standstill and sporadic drivers thinking they were on the NASCAR circuit. To have to deal with it on a two lane blacktop out in the middle of nowhere, no idea where she might be, was just plain insane.
This was, perhaps, the most foolish thing she had ever done. Some people might say it was the most dangerous as well; but those people weren't aware that she hunted bad guys and had, on several occasions, been shot at, threatened, bruised, and most recently, beaten and left to die.
If she had been the type of woman given to crying jags, she'd be deep in one right now. Tears had no place in her line of work or her life. Don't show fear. And fear, after all, was the motivating factor behind all tears.
How ironic that she took a leave from her job, caught the first flight out of town going anywhere, all to avoid a potential dangerous situation, and here she was, in the midst of the worst storm she could remember. The wind gusts were so strong at times she could feel her car literally being lifted off the ground.
Yet another bolt of lightning lit the sky, illuminating the rain and the surrounding landscape. That was the only reason she was able to stop before running over the downed motorcycle in her path.
She slammed the brakes, and even at such a slow rate of speed, she felt the car hydroplane and fishtail before coming to a stop nearly sideways in the middle of the road, just inches from the fallen bike. Looking around the best she could, she saw no body. In her own car she carried a couple flashlights and a large umbrella; this was a cheap rental, no emergency supplies. Still, she couldn't leave in good conscious without at least making an attempt to look for the driver.
The wind caught her door, nearly ripping it off the hinges. Before she was even out of the car, she was soaking wet. She attempted to use the car to keep her up, but the wind and the rain won out and she felt herself slip to the pavement. Managing to get up again, she called out, despite the fact her voice would be lost in the roar of the storm.
More lightning. This time she was able to make out a shape near the ditch. Struggling against the force of the wind, she made her way to where she had seen the shape.
It was a man. He was trying to stand, but the rain had turned the dirt to mud and he kept sliding back. She reached out and took his hand to help.
"I just live up the road a pace," he said, shouting above the roar of the wind and the rain. "Can I get a lift?"
She suggested they move his bike to the ditch. With one of them on each side, they were able to set it upright. There was another bolt of lightning, this time seeming to be right on top of them, followed immediately by the sound of the loudest clap of thunder she had ever heard.
For a moment, she felt completely disoriented. There must have been some electric current or something crossing the ground. Just for a split second, she wished she had paid more attention in science classes; maybe then she'd understand what had happened.
They were soaked. If it had been her own car, there would have been a blanket in the back seat she would have had them sit on. She didn't really care if he got the seat of this car wet.
"I almost made it home," he said. "On my way back from practice, thought I had time to make it home before the storm hit. Then the wind caught me and I lost control. It's only about a mile up here. Thanks for the ride."
Conversation wasn't one of her strong points, especially with strangers. Conversations with anyone while driving in a car under these circumstances was just not going to happen.
She checked the odometer and when she'd gone three quarters of a mile, she began looking for a drive way. Just over a mile, he told her it was between the trees on the right. She could barely make out the shape of a building a few feet off the road.
He had her stop the car so it was in a position that if she got out, she could take two steps and be on the covered porch. With the wind blowing the rain, a covered porch meant nothing, though.
"Where's the nearest diner or gas station?" she asked him.
"Sweetheart, there's nothing for another fifty miles. Come inside to wait the storm out."
"Appreciate the offer, but…"
"You go another mile and it's all open. Nothing to break the wind. This little car will be blown all over. Come on in. Should be only another half hour."
More confident in her skills in self-defense than in her ability to keep a soap box derby car on the road in hurricane force winds, she accepted his offer. She turned off the engine, put the keys in her shorts pocket and retrieved her backpack from the backseat, then got out and made her way up the stairs to the porch.
Within three minutes he had the door unlocked and was ushering her inside. The lightweight cotton shirt she'd put on that morning to beat the heat was clinging against her body now. Her shorts were dripping, making a puddle on the floor within seconds.
"I'd offer to dry your clothes for you, but I don't own a dryer."
She plucked the wet material away from her body. She had a suitcase of dry clothes out in the trunk of the car; she'd change as soon as the rain let up.
"I'm fine," she replied.
He looked her over and smiled.
"Wholeheartedly agree." he said. "But let me give you a robe or something. I think I scraped my leg up in the fall, I'm gonna go have a look. I'll be right back."
He was gone ten minutes. She took that time to look over his home. It was basically one big room. She was in the living room, the kitchen was to her right. At the back, the bedroom was in front of her, the dining room at the back of the kitchen. He had disappeared behind a door between the living room and bedroom. The entire back wall of the house was glass, floor to cathedral ceiling.
He stepped out of the room wearing only a towel wrapped low around his hips. He'd brushed his shoulder length dark hair and washed the mud off his face. Until then, she'd had no idea what he looked like; couldn't have described him if her life had depended on it.
He didn't have the face or the body of a male model, but he wasn't ugly and he wasn't obese. The fact was, he was very 'Joe Average', and she'd always been attracted to that type. Dark hair, dark eyes, nothing to set him apart from any other average man… except for the dimple when he smiled and a small scar over his right eye.
