Kentucky Heat (32 page)

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Authors: Fern Michaels

BOOK: Kentucky Heat
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Her gaze swept the stallion barn. The grooms and workers were doing double duty trying to calm the skittish horses. Every single light in the barn blazed. Outside it seemed darker—if that was possible. She looked down at her watch—3:25. It was way too early for darkness to fall.
Nealy ran to the tack room and turned on the portable radio. She couldn't hear anything but static.
“Mom?”
“Emmie, what's wrong?”
“I don't know, Mom. I
feel
something. I think I'm starting to get scared. I've never seen anything like this. It isn't even three-thirty, and it's black as tar outside. I'm so glad you're home.” Relief rang in her voice.
“Me, too, honey. We need to keep the horses calm. Are you okay being down here with Gabby sleeping up at the house?”
“Sure. Smitty dotes on her. She can tell to the second when Gabby wakes up. Then, again, it could have something to do with Cookie barking. She's fine. Smitty is like a second grandmother to her. It sure did get warm.” To prove her point, Emmie removed her flannel shirt. She yanked at the neck band of the white tee shirt as she stretched her neck. “Is something going to happen, Mom?”
“I don't know, Emmie. All we can do is keep the horses calm and wait it out. Whatever
it
turns out to be.”
“I can't believe those cameramen are out there filming. The past few days they've been working around the clock. Tomorrow or the day after, you have to sit down with them and do some background stuff. Mitch said they want some
insight
on you.”
“Mitch, is it?”
“We've gotten to be good friends. Don't look at me like that. We're just friends, Mom. The whole crew has been real good about listening to me. They understand the horses come first. When I say no to something, they back off. Mitch says it's going to be good enough to be up for an Academy Award. Can you imagine, Mom?”
“No, Emmie, I can't imagine it. Right now all I can think about is this storm.”
 
 
Ruby Parish stepped out onto the lanai of her island estate. She felt jittery and out of sorts. She looked down at her bare feet. They seemed wider to her these days. Maybe it had something to do with the hard leather boots she'd been wearing for the past couple of years. She'd always had nice feet when she was younger. She couldn't remember the last time she'd had a pedicure or had bought sexy sandals. Not that it mattered. She plucked a vibrant hibiscus bloom from the bush nearest her and stuck it behind her ear.
“That flower is almost as pretty as you,” Metaxas said, wrapping his arms around his wife. “You seem pensive. Is something wrong, sweet baby?” The concern in her husband's voice startled Ruby.
“I'm not sure, honey. Do you remember that time we took off in the snowstorm to find Sunny and Harry? I called you because the chickens were restless. I had such an awful feeling that night. I knew something was wrong. I don't know if it was a female thing or not. I just knew something was wrong. I had that same feeling again when Fanny Thornton's mountain was on fire. That's the kind of feeling I have right now. I'm thinking it has something to do with Nealy. She and Hatch are due back today. I'm sorry I can't explain it any better than that, Metaxas.”
“That's good enough for me.” Metaxas had the portable phone in his hand and was dialing Blue Diamond Farms before his wife could finish speaking. His face ashen, he said, “The lines are down. Get your shoes on, sweet baby, we're outta here.”
Minutes later, Ruby fiddled with the dial of the car radio as Metaxas guided the open-air Jeep up one hill, down another, and around hairpin turns. “They're saying it's some kind of unexplained freak storm that was spawned in the Gulf. It already ripped up through Alabama and Tennessee and is now headed straight for Kentucky. The announcer clarified it and said it is headed straight for Kentucky's horse country. So far there have been nine tornados, but they haven't been able to calculate the loss of lives yet. This storm just keeps getting stronger and stronger. They say the lightning is the worst that's ever been documented. They're calling it the storm of the century, honey. We can't possibly fly in this kind of weather. They won't let you off the ground. They won't even let you file a flight plan.”
“We can skirt around the storm, that's not the problem. It's landing somewhere close that is going to be the problem. We're going to do our best, sweet baby. This is some homecoming for Nealy. She needs us, honey. We have to try, Ruby.”
“Okay, honey.”
 
 
“I don't know about you, Riley, but I'm ready to hit the sack,” Cole Tanner said. “Let's get the ten o'clock news highlights and head off for bed.” He switched channels. “Oh, oh, what have we here? Riley, I think you better come over here and look at what's on the screen. God Almighty!”
Both men stood staring at the sixty-one-inch television screen, their eyes wide. “Jesus!” Riley said.
“Get your gear together. Bring your cell phone.”
Riley pulled on his boots. “The weather conditions aren't the best, cousin.”
“They plain old sucked when we hit those Swiss Alps, but we did it anyway. Move, move!”
“I'm moving! I'm moving!”
 
 
Hatch was brushing his teeth when a sound like someone kicking in his front door reached his ears. He ran to the door and opened it. The toothbrush still in his mouth, a towel wrapped around his middle, his hair wet and on end. His eyes popped wide at Nick's wild appearance.
“We have to go to Kentucky,” Nick yelled as he looked for the remote to turn on the television.
Hatch swallowed the foamy paste in his mouth as he watched Nick fiddle with the buttons. “Why? What the hell happened?”
“
That's
what already happened. Listen to the commentator. That killer storm is headed straight for Lexington. Blue Diamond Farms is in the path of the storm.”
Live video cam shots of massive destruction in Alabama appeared on the screen. “Damage is estimated in the billions. Stay tuned for further live coverage.”
“My God,” Hatch said, his face draining of all color. “Give me five minutes to get dressed. I talked to your mother around four o'clock and all she said was they were bracing for a storm. When was the last time you tried calling?”
“Around six-thirty or so, but I couldn't get through. I was watching the evening news. The lines are down,” Nick shouted so that Hatch could hear him in the bedroom. “You can fly us there, can't you, Hatch?”
“I can try.” Hatch bent over to tie the laces of his sneakers. He felt light-headed, dizzy, and suddenly sick to his stomach.
Please, God, don't let anything go wrong. I can't lose her. She's my life. Please, please, don't take her the way You took Sela and my son
. When he straightened up he got a sudden head rush. He held on to the edge of the chair, shaking his head to clear his thoughts. “Okay, kid, let's go.”
 
 
In Las Vegas, Sage Thornton took his eyes off the closed-circuit television to risk a glance at the incoming bulletin on the television set on his desk. He blinked once, then twice. “Birch! Come look at this!”
“Oh, my God! How soon can you be ready to leave?”
“I'm ready right now. Call Mom and Marcus and everyone else. Put the word out on the street. I'll tie things down here and meet you in the garage.”
“I swear to God, sometimes I think this family is cursed,” Birch muttered as he picked up the phone. He closed his eyes, remembering the day Sunrise Mountain burned. His shoulders straightened when he remembered how Metaxas Parish had shown up, along with every able-bodied man from the Strip, to rebuild his mother's beloved mountain. As he spoke into the phone he heard the television announcer's high-pitched words:
lightning strikes
. His insides started to shrivel when he thought of the horses that could be killed or injured if fires broke out.
Ten minutes later he was riding the elevator to the basement level, where his twin brother Sage waited for him, the engine of his Range Rover racing.
“They were talking about lightning strikes, Sage. All I could think of was the day Mom's mountain burned. All those magnificent horses.”
Sage nodded grimly as he peeled up the ramp and out to the access road that would take him to the main road and the private airfield where he kept the company's corporate jet.
 
 
Nealy stood outside Flyby's stall, rubbing the big horse's head. Emmie stood next to Shufly doing the same thing. They spoke soothingly as they watched the weather through the opening at the end of the breezeway.
“What kind of storm is this, Mom? There's no rain. Just wind and thunder. We never had a storm like this that I can remember.”
“Those winds, according to Dover, are close to fifty miles an hour. Small hurricanes usually have winds like that but with rain. I simply don't understand. Just hours ago it felt like it was going to snow and now this.”
It was twelve minutes past midnight when mother and daughter saw the first lightning strike. It hit the main barn with such force the ground trembled under their feet. The second strike hit minutes later—the mare barn. The third and fourth strikes followed minutes apart. A tongue of flame licked up from the eaves and quickly set the roof on fire.
Nealy ran through the barn, Emmie on her heels, as they struggled against the driving winds. Holding on to one another they fell repeatedly as they fought their way to the main barn. Crawling forward, Emmie hanging on to her ankle, Nealy reached the barn, where they scrabbled to their feet to get inside and lead the horses to safety. “Call the fire department,” someone could be heard shouting. An answering response was that the phone lines were down and Blue Diamond Farms was the last and farthest farm from the firehouse. Off in the black night, hundreds of fires could be seen lighting up the dark sky.
“Get those horses out now!” Nealy screamed as she banged into one of the stalls to lead a frightened horse out to the breezeway. “We have to get them away from the barns. They're frightened, and that makes them dangerous. Be careful.”
“Keep filming! Keep filming! Get everything. Shoot as much as you can. Jesus, this is just like Atlanta burning!” Mitch Cunningham shouted. “Get those horses on film!”
“I told you to get out of my way!” Nealy shouted. “Move those damn cameras and help us! Don't just stand there! Do something!”
“Yes, ma'am! Keep filming but stand back. What can I do, Ms. Clay?”
“Find some goddamn water,” Nealy shot back.
“Mom, there's no water to fight the fires,” Emmie cried as she, too, led a horse to safety outside the barn.
“We can rebuild barns. We can't breathe life into a dead horse. Move, people! Move!” Nealy shouted as she did her best to drag a balking horse into the swirling wind. “Just get them outside. We'll be able to round them up later.”
They worked steadily, hour after hour, as the barns burned around them. Exhausted, soot-blackened, Nealy raced from barn to barn, always keeping her eyes on the main house and the stallion barn where Flyby and Shufly were safe inside their stalls.
She saw them coming, men carrying ropes and gear, but she couldn't tell who they were. Nor did she care. Help was help. She looked up, saw the lightning bolt rip downward, and knew immediately that it was going to hit the stallion barn. She ran then, wings on her feet just as the front end of the barn crashed downward. Someday when this was all over, she was going to try and figure out how the barn literally split in two. She heard her beloved horses, heard their agonized and frightened cries, or were they her own? Her arms up to shield her face, she ran inside, through the flames, calling out to the horses. She reached Flyby first, opened the stall door, reached for his halter, and struggled to pull him toward Shufly's stall. More frightened than his daddy, Shufly balked at being led from the barn. It was then that Nealy realized her clothing was on fire, and her hair was burning. Flames shot upward as she shouted to the horse to follow her. Shufly reared back, pawed at the ground and at the wooden slats, but he did move, racing past her and out into the night. She tried to beat at the smoldering shirt covering her arms and knew it was melting into her flesh. She had to get Flyby outside. Her hands were black and raw with blisters. All she could see were flames around her. There was no way out but through the raging fire. “Down, boy, down. I have to get on your back. Do it, Flyby, do it for me.” The horse lowered his head as he bent his front legs for her to slide on his back. “Now
RUN!
” she screamed, with her last ounce of strength.
“Are you getting this? Don't stop! Tragic as this is, it's the stuff movies are made of,” Mitch Cunningham shouted at the top of his lungs. “Oh, God, oh, God! It's Ms. Clay. Keep filming. Get everything.” He waved to his film crew to indicate they were to keep working. “I have to help out here. You know what to do.”

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