Oklahoma Storms (Dead Man’s Ranch #2)

Prologue

Thirty years old

Living in a wide-open space comes with its share of caution.

There’s a freeness to being in a field of wheat, watching the long strands sway back and forth, brushing together to create white noise that’s a lullaby to the restless mind.

It’s peaceful.

Yet deadly.

There’s nowhere to hide when a storm comes. And it will come. They always do.

Like right now, to the west, a haunting possesses the sky.

I know my brother is going to want to chase it.

I’ve known that adrenaline addict nearly my entire life.

Banks and I met when we were placed in the same foster home.

Our foster parents ended up adopting us, and we were able to live a pretty good life considering what the alternative could have been.

They passed away a few years ago, since they were an older couple, and left us the small ranch they had.

I’d love to buy the surrounding land one day if it ever becomes available, so I can expand.

I want to do more with this property and use it to its full potential.

I don’t know what it would all entail. All I know is dreams are as limitless as the fields of wheat before my eyes.

“Oakley! This storm is definitely going to give us something. Want to come with us this time?” Banks shouts from behind me, the screen door slamming shut in his rush.

He stops at the driver’s side door of his green truck that has more gadgets in it than I could ever possibly name.

I should say no. Storm chasing isn’t what I like to do in my spare time. We’re getting into tornado season, and Banks is going to be chasing every second of the day he can. Which means I’m going to be stressed out and worried about his safety until it’s over.

“As long as you don’t kill me.” I jump down from the fence post, taking one last look at the rage-filled sky.

“Ah, I’ve kept you alive all this time, right?” He smiles.

I always get nervous about storms. Today feels different. The air is warm and heavy. The winds are becoming stronger. The wheat is swaying harder.

“Do you feel that?” Banks shouts in excitement, swinging open the truck door. “Come on. I don’t want to miss it. I’ve already let my team know. They are on the way.”

I dust off my cowboy hat before placing it back on my head. My boots slam against the ground, the short blades of grass crunching under every stomp.

When I get to the passenger side of the truck, Banks is grinning like he’s about to win a million dollars. His dimples show, making him look younger than he really is. He’s only a few years older than me, yet I’m the buzzkill in this relationship.

I’m cautious. Always have been and always will be. I have to be for both of us because Banks clearly doesn’t give a shit about his life. All it will take is the wrong storm to take him from me.

The hardest part of being on the sideline while he lives his dreams is not knowing when I’ll get the phone call telling me my brother is dead. The unknown certainty is a weight on my chest, waiting to suffocate me with the cruelty of losing him.

I hate unknowns. I spiral, trying to figure out every scenario in my head. I have to be prepared for all outcomes. Scenarios that are so far-fetched that they probably wouldn’t ever happen. My heart knows how ridiculous it sounds. My mind finds peace even if the constant overthinking exhausts me.

“You know the drill.”

I roll my eyes and secure the harness across my chest just as he does. He double-checks his mirrors. He’s got everything in here. GPS, radio, camera gear, emergency kits, and nonperishable food items for communities in case a tornado has affected them.

I know why he does this. He wants to warn people ahead of time. The tornado warning systems out here only give people a few minutes. That is hardly enough time to get to safety. Banks’ goal is to give them up to twenty minutes warning to get into a storm shelter.

I know the reason behind his obsession, too.

Banks chases ghosts. His parents died in a tornado when he was a little boy. That storm went down in history. An F-5 ripped through his neighborhood, shredding homes to useless debris. He told me that when rescuers dug him up from the remains of what used to be his home, he was the only one found.

“This system is going to be a good one, Oakley. I think we will see a rope.” His eyes drop to the barometer, and he slams his hand on the steering wheel.

“See that?” Banks taps the device. “Pressure has dropped. Doesn’t mean a tornado will form, but the outcome is in our favor. It means the conditions are good.”

I wouldn’t call this “good.”

My heart rate kicks up a notch, the same feeling I get when I ride a horse or when the bull breaks from the pen.

Adrenaline.

A dangerous mistress that can easily take your life.

Banks slams on the gas, the engine roaring as we speed down the road. The closer we get to the storm, the darker the sky becomes.

“Do you see the striations on that?” Banks whistles, peeking through the windshield. “She is a beauty.”

Over the years of learning his language, I know he is talking about the grooves in the formation of the clouds.

He’s right. It’s beautiful, but while he sees a storm formation, I see fury waiting to be unleashed.

“How close are you wanting to get?” I ask just as his radio crackles.

“Banks. You there?”

I know that voice. It’s his friend Kai, one of the meteorologists from his team.

Banks snags the receiver and clicks the button. “Banks, here.”

“We can’t go. Flat tire. Engine won’t start. Make sure you get as much data as you can, okay? This storm is going to be a nasty one. I’ll help how I can from here for yo—” Static overcomes the radio. “Ba—ks?”

“Kai? Kai? Can you hear me? Do you copy? Kai?”

“Stay….to…” The static continues to break the connection. “Storm.”

The connection dies, filled with stagnant, broken frequencies that don’t allow us to communicate with the team.

“That’s okay. We’ll be fine,” Banks says.

I can’t get past the tone in his voice. He sounds like he is trying to convince himself.

We’re much closer to the supercell than I thought we would be. I can’t tell where the storm system ends and begins now.

“Banks. I think we need to turn around. We need to find shelter. Something doesn’t feel right.” I rub my chest, hoping the warning ache fades.

“We’re fine, Oakley. You do this every time.”

“Well, every time you get me too close for comfort.”

A loud roll of thunder interrupts us, followed by a wave of hail that bullets against the truck. They are the size of fucking baseballs. One after the other, they slam into the vehicle, his windshield cracking under the pressure.

I can’t see any rotations above us. The clouds and rain mix, making it impossible to see what is ahead.

“Turn around, Banks! You’ve taken us directly into the bear’s cage. We could be inside a tornado any fucking second,” I yell at him, a sheen of sweat breaking out over my forehead.

Being in a bear’s cage is dangerous. It’s when a tornado is rain-wrapped, hiding inside the precipitation. At any moment, a funnel could drop directly in front of us, and there would be nothing we could do.

“I—I—that’s not possible. The winds, the radar that I saw, I was following a good path, Oklahoma. I wouldn’t put us in danger like that. It’s just a brief wave of hail. That’s all. It’s normal in conditions like this.”

He never says my full name unless it’s serious.

A low, teeth-licking growl sounds so loud, my ears ring. The truck shakes, thunder rolls overhead, followed by long bolts of lightning that showcase my worst fucking nightmare.

Banks slams on the brakes, gasping as the vortex drops directly in front of us.

“Holy shit,” Banks whispers.

I’ve never seen a tornado this wide. The debris wraps around the twisting funnel; the clouds are menacing and hungry for more.

I slap my brother’s arm. “Go. Go. Go! Banks, go. Fucking drive!”

The urgency and fear in my voice yanks him out of his trance.

Banks curses, “Fuck!” Then yanks the gearshift into reverse to get us out of here. “I’m so sorry. I thought I knew. I thought—”

“Just drive, Banks. Let’s get out of here. Let’s find some type of shelter. Maybe we can make it home. We aren’t far, and we have a storm cellar.”

Banks rips the steering wheel to the right and whips the truck around. The tires skid against the pavement, the sharp scent of burning rubber drifting through the vents. My brother yanks the gearshift into drive and presses on the gas, his foot meeting the floorboard.

“Oklahoma, I don’t know if I can outrun it. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry,” he says over and over again.

“No. Don’t talk like that.” I turn around to look out the back window, the air leaving my lungs when I see how much the tornado has grown in just a short amount of time. “We will be okay. You’ll make sure of it.”

The debris field is wider, swallowing the sparks flying off the telephone poles to our right and left. Similar to fireworks, the ink-filled clouds glow with pops of reds and oranges.

It’s ironic how beautiful a murderess can be.

I’m staring at her now, waiting for her to lift me into where I’ll be forgotten for all years to come.

“Go faster!” I shout in panic, the truck sliding from left to right, getting pulled by the strong wind.

“I’m going as fast as I can. We aren’t going to make it home. We have to find another option if we want any chance of survival.”

I turn back around, staring through the cracked windshield. Chunks of large scraps fall in front of us, causing Banks to make sharp and quick turns. A hay bale drops to the left of us, and tons of straw smacks against the windshield, blocking our view.

Banks flips on the wipers, clearing the glass that we can barely see out of anyway because of the cracks webbing across it.

Narrowing my eyes, I point to a small gas station to the right. The outside seems dusty, as if it hasn’t had a patron come by in quite some time. A ribbon of faded blue paint wraps around the canopy covering the gas pumps.

Banks’ brown eyes peek into the rearview, his throat moving when he gulps.