Taken by Storm by Angela Morrison Page A

snivel fest. i’m trying to be strong.” i pull her close against me, kiss her hard and urgent. “i need to dive.”
     
    She hides her face in my chest, breathless, clinging to me. “It’s not safe.”
     
    “How about this”—i tangle both hands in her hair—“you do one pool dive, just easy resort course stuff to try it out, and i’ll cry on your shoulder the whole next day.”
     
    She tilts her head back and glares. “That’s so sincere.”
     
    “It’s just a pool.” i glare right back. “We’ll have a dive instructor with us. What more could you ask for?”
     
    Her eyebrows draw together. “What does Gram say?”
     
    i stroke Leesie’s cheek. “She doesn’t need to know.”
     
    She pulls back. “I draw the line there.”
     
    “Crap, Leese.” i lean over her. “Why do you have this compulsion to make everything difficult?”
     
    “I’m just trying to do what’s right.”
     
    She squirms, but i don’t let her loose. “One day you’re going to wake up and realize it’s all wrong.”
     
    She stops twisting. “Where will you be on that day?” Her voice is so sad it makes me hurt. “Cheering as I crash and burn?”
     
    i rest my forehead against hers. “How can you say that, babe?” i swallow hard. “i’ll be waiting to catch you.” i try to convince her with my lips, but she breaks it off.
     
    She leads me to the barn and opens the door. i balk at the smell.
     
    “Don’t be a wimp.” She pushes me inside the hot barn.
     
    The place reeks like a giant outhouse. A pig snorts.
     
    Leesie gives me a smile to brave me up. “Heat lamps and mama pigs.”
     
    My eyes water. “This better be good.”
     
    “Relax.” Her voice has that authoritative tone she uses when she’s on a rant at school. “You won’t smell it after a minute.” She drags me down the aisle to where a big, fat mama pig, basking in the glow of a heat lamp, stretches on her side and feeds a bunch of squirming, pink, rat-like babies.
     
    Leesie grins and leans over the pen. “There’s eight. Good litter. Shoot, Dad’s cut their tails already.”
     
    A bucket at my feet holds a razor knife and a pile of tiny tails.
     
    My stomach foams into the back of my throat. “This is making me sick.”
     
    “I thought you’d like to see them. The piglets. I didn’t know about the tails.”
     
    i rush outside. Inhale. Blow it out. Inhale again.
     
    Leesie follows. “You’re just a squeamish city boy, aren’t you?” She fakes a laugh. “Guess I better not tell you what else Dad cuts.”
     
    “Should i be afraid?”
     
    Her grin evaporates.
     
    “Is this some kind of a twisted warning?” i kick a mound of clean pine shavings.
     
    “Of course not.”
     
    “i’ve heard about shotguns, but a farm dad with a razor knife? i don’t need that.”
     
    “We’re not hillbillies. My dad doesn’t want to hurt you.”
     
    “Right.” The guy tosses around fat mama pigs all day. Compact but powerful. He could break me like a toothpick. “He looks at me like i’m Jack swiping his favorite goose.”
     
    “Golden eggs? That would come in handy. Maybe he could get a new combine. Too bad you are totally delusional.”
     
    “He scares the crap out of me.”
     
    “My dad is the sweetest man on earth. You’ll see when you and Gram come out next week for Thanksgiving.”
     
    “Can’t we just eat at Gram’s?”
     
    “You want to make Gram cook? She’s psyched. I promise you all the pie you can eat.”
     
    “Freak, Leese, pie isn’t the answer for everything.”
     
    She reaches for my hand. “Don’t get upset.”
     
    “Why shouldn’t i be upset?”
     
    “You’re right.” She lets go and steps back. “Throw a fit. It’ll be good for you.”
     
    Instead i lunge up to her, pull her tight to my body, kiss her until we’re both hotter than is good for us. She calls it quits when i shove my tongue into her open, trusting mouth.
     
    We walk back to her house in silence. i drive