She stood up abruptly from the rocker, cradling Hope. “I’ve got to get back.”
“Back?” Heather asked, eyebrows raised. “Why would you go back to the island? You’re safe here in the mountains.”
“The beach house,” Cara said, her tone implying that was the only reason she needed. “I have to board up the windows. It’s completely open.”
“It’s just a house,” Heather said, trying both to assuage her fears and encourage her to stay. “Your safety is more important. And Hope’s.”
“It’s not just a house to me,” Cara said, panic bubbling under her cool surface. “I love that house. It’s very important to me. You know that.”
Chastened, Heather didn’t reply, but kissed Rory’s head.
Resolve stirred in Cara’s veins. “I’d better start packing.”
“You stay here,” David said, standing up. “I’ll go down to Isle of Palms and close it up.”
“I’ll help you,” Bo offered.
“Bo?” Heather’s voice was high with worry.
Rory lifted his head, alarmed by the tone of his mother’s voice.
Bo slipped an arm around her and winked at his son. “Don’t you worry. It won’t take long. We’ll be back before the hurricane hits.”
Cara looked at Heather’s uneasy expression. She was four months pregnant with their second child, and emotions were running high.
“You stay with Heather,” Cara told Bo. “I know where everything is and it’ll go quicker. Plus, it’s my house. I won’t feel easy if I don’t see it secured myself.” She looked at David. “I should’ve boarded it up before we left for the mountains, like you did.”
“Don’t be hard on yourself,” David said kindly. “You were only going away for a week, and I was staying for a month. You couldn’t have planned this. I’ll go down with you,” he said in a decisive tone. “Bo, you stay here with Heather. She needs you up here in her condition.”
Heather nodded, relief shining in her eyes. “I’ll take care of Hope,” she volunteered. “She knows us, and she and Rory are best pals.”
“Mama? I wanna go with you,” Hope said, her lower lip trembling.
“Mama will be back real fast, you’ll see,” she told her daughter with an attempt at a reassuring smile. Then, resting her hand on Hope’s soft curls, she looked at Heather. “Thank you. That would be amazing. Of course, I couldn’t take her.” She turned to David, rocking Hope on her hip. “How long do you think it’ll take?”
“Not long. It’s a small house.”
“With a lot of windows.”
“Right,” he said with chagrin. He crossed his arms across his denim shirt as he considered. “A day down. A day to board. A day back. Three days. That should do it.”
Cara turned to Bo. “When is it due to hit?”
Bo shrugged. “Hard to tell. It’s too far out for them to be sure, but probably not for at least five days, maybe six. Less, if it picks up speed.”
Cara nodded with sober acceptance. “Okay. That gives us time.”
David came to wrap his long arms around her. She felt their strength and leaned into them. He rested his chin atop her head, then spoke in a low voice.
“Don’t worry. We’ll leave first thing in the morning.”
Cara shifted her gaze to the south. Her view was shrouded by thick foliage, but in her mind’s eye she envisioned her beloved 1930s cottage perched on a dune surrounded by primrose and sea oats. Small and vulnerable, it faced the ocean she both loved and feared. Her mother had always said a wise woman never turned her back on the ocean.
Cara felt the breeze again on her cheek. This time, however, the wind felt menacing.
PART TWO
* * *
ARRIVAL
THREE
August 20, 6:00 p.m.
Tryon, North Carolina
Mandatory evacuations called for southeastern coast of Florida
Hannah glanced in the rearview mirror. Angel was snoring softly, curled in the cramped backseat of the car. She chuckled to herself. He could fall asleep at the drop of a hat anytime and anywhere. Unlike herself, who struggled to fall asleep anywhere but in her own bed, and even then she usually awoke in the early hours of the morning—the witching hour—her mind spinning with thoughts, recriminations, and dire warnings. Angel slept like a baby, then awakened refreshed and eager to start the day. In so many ways, he was like a child.
She turned her head toward the passenger seat and her smile fell. Max had curled into the front seat as he also slept. His enormous, hairy body kept sliding, annoyingly, over the gearshift. She shoved his butt out of the way as she turned off the interstate.
Hannah had taken the last leg of the arduous drive. They’d been smart to get out of town early. The traffic on I-95 North was heavy and steady, but it moved. At long last they bade farewell to the hardscape highway and, after a few turns, entered a world of lush green. The winding road was bordered by thick forests and steep hillsides that pushed upward into the sky. As the road moved farther into the countryside, the landscape grew more rolling, with well-managed acres dotted with trees and bordered by long stretches of white rail fencing. Here and there, in clusters, horses grazed. Hannah turned off the air-conditioning and rolled down the windows. The stale air was swept away by the fresh breeze smelling of new-mown grass that blew into the car. She breathed in great, soothing gulps, then laughed when she saw Max rise up, stick his head out of the front window, and do the same.
The North Carolina mountains were a world away from the merciless sun, heat, and scrubby landscape of Florida in August. Palm trees had given way to oaks and elms, birch and beech, sandy soil to red clay. She’d forgotten what crisp mountain air smelled like.
Hannah had lived in Florida for so long she thought of it as home. But in truth, she’d been born in Virginia, in a tiny town with a population of fewer than 1,500 humans, big horse farms, and a premier equestrian facility. Neither of her parents had known much about horses. Hannah, however, was one of those star-eyed girls who fell head over heels in love with the horses that surrounded her.
She wouldn’t say her childhood had been hard. It was simply that, unlike her horse-set friends, nothing was handed to her. She didn’t come from a wealthy family like the other girls. They lived on horse farms with big houses and elaborate barns, one more impressive than the last. Each girl had her own horse, private riding lessons, and prized trainers. And clothes . . . It was a different world from the one Hannah inhabited. The girls had thought she was “poor.”
She and her mother lived in a small rental house on the outskirts of the privileged town. Her father had died not long after Hannah was born. Her mother singlehandedly supported them. Delia had found a job as a waitress in a local restaurant. With her strong work ethic and diligence, she worked her way from waitress to manager. Delia was a proud woman who had refused public assistance or charity. She lived within her means and paid her bills. Pride didn’t pay for extras, however.
So, like her mother, Hannah went to work. At age twelve she started in the local stables as a groom, rising at dawn each morning to muck out stalls, and feed and brush someone else’s horses in exchange for lessons with top trainers. As she got older, she was given more responsibilities and was asked to exercise the horses. Her hope was that an owner would one day choose her to ride one of his great horses in competition. She went to the public school and knew these private-school girls only from the horse world. She most likely would’ve been ignored except for her exceptional beauty.