Fortune's Cinderella

“Stay still. Do you hear me?”

Not looking at him, she nodded. “Just … hurry.”

“On it,” he muttered as he snatched away the lighter stuff—wood lathing, plaster chunks, shards of glass. But despite having lifted weights for years, Scott was no match for the granite slab pinning her to the ground. He tried another angle, his back and shoulder muscles burning like a sonuvabitch, but no dice. Sitting back beside her, he punched out an exasperated breath. “Why the hell did they use granite for the counter?”

Her head fell back, her eyes shut. “And yet,” she said through faint, rapid breaths, “no espresso maker. Go figure.”

More dust sifted down beside them, the sound like scurrying ants. “Call me crazy, but this seems like an odd time to crack jokes.”

“It’s that or s-scream again. D-deal.”

He groped for her hand in the dim light, found it; her fingers tightened around his, kicking his heart into overdrive. “Take some deep breaths before you hyperventilate. There, that’s better,” he said when she complied, then gently squeezed her hand. “You scared?”

A snort preceded, “Yeah, fear is kinda my go-to emotion when I think I might die.”

“We’re not going to die.”

“Oh? Last I heard, death couldn’t be bought off.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Her eyes opened as she shifted, clearly trying to suppress a wince. And shivering. “S-sorry. Today hasn’t gone exactly the way I thought it w-would … no, it’s okay, I’m fine,” she said when he let go to shrug off his jacket.

“I’m wearing a sweater. You’re not. So no arguments. Can you sit up a little more?” Nodding, she did, at least enough for him to wrap the jacket around her shoulders, tug her smooth blond braid free.

“Thank you.”

“Anytime.” Elbowing aside the first stirrings of alarm, Scott glanced around. “This is … surreal.”

“Yeah,” she said. “Especially as I can’t recall ever seeing a tornado around here before. Farther north and west, sure. But …” Her eyes lifted. “I think … I’m gonna pretend this is all a dream. And any minute I’ll wake up and … it’ll be over.”

“Sounds like a plan.” He inched a little closer. “I’m Scott, by the way.”

“I know.” Her eyes drifted closed again. “Heard you on your cell phone.”

“Speaking of which, mine’s gone AWOL. Do you have one?”

“Sure thing. In my purse.”

“Which is where?”

She almost laughed. A sound that, under other circumstances, he would have found extremely appealing. “Around here somewhere. And you need to be quiet now.”

Scott angled his head to see into her face. Her eyes were still shut. “You didn’t tell me your name.”

“Christina. Hastings. Now hush.”

“What … what are you doing?”

“Praying. Trying to, anyway.”

“You really think that’ll help?”

“We’ll never find out if you keep talking, will we?”

A damp draft swept through their little cave. “Is your head okay?”

“And that better not be you thinking I’m off my nut because I’m praying.”

He did, but he wasn’t about to say that. “Not at all. But if your head got hit, you might have a concussion. So you shouldn’t close your eyes in case you fall asleep.”

“Oh. No. Head’s fine. Well, no worse than usual—”

A muffled sound from outside made Scott jump. Holy hell. How could he have forgotten—?

The initial shock sloughed off, he jolted to his knees again to claw at the wall of debris barely three feet away separating him from the others. “Blake! Mike!” He yanked at a chunk of drywall, sending plaster dust and small chunks of heaven knew what sifting down on them. “Dad! Can you hear me—?”

“For heaven’s sake, stop!” Christina snapped behind him. “You want to bring whatever’s left up there down on our heads?”

“No, but … dammit!” Terror erupting in his chest, he stared into the darkness quickly swallowing up what might as well have been a mountain. “Most of my family’s out there. Somewhere.”

“It’ll be okay,” she murmured, although he wasn’t sure if the reassurance was aimed at him or she was trying to talk herself down off the ledge. Scott duckwalked back to where she lay, planting his butt on the floor beside her and listening to the unremitting drip, drip, drip of rain somewhere above them.

“You sure about that?”

A beat passed before she said, “Somebody’s bound to know what happened, where we are. It might take a while, but … we’ll be okay.”

He could barely see her now, but that first image when he’d looked up from his phone earlier and actually noticed her was indelibly etched into his brain: the sass and intelligence in those enormous blue eyes, the barely repressed humor—at his expense, no doubt—behind her smile. “For somebody convinced a minute ago we were about to die, you seem amazingly calm now.”

“I had my moment. It’s over. Or I could be in shock. Hard to tell.”

“Or maybe you did get beaned.”

Her soft laugh melted something inside him. “Or maybe I did.”

Crazy. Most women he knew would be in hysterics by now. And Christina’s hair and skin had to be as caked with plaster dust as his, her eyes and mouth as gritty. Not to mention she couldn’t have been more than five-two, five-three tops. And yet—

“You’re tougher than you look.”

“So I’ve been told.”

More distorted sounds from the other side of the wall snagged his attention; he crawled over, shouting. “We’re in here! Can anybody hear me? Javier! Is that you?”

“You’re wasting your energy, you realize.”

His head swung back to her. “I can’t sit here and do nothing.”

“Looks like you don’t have much of a choice.”