Read Online Storm Warned (The Grim Series) by Dani Harper - Free Book Online
Authors: Dani Harper
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lightning struck close by, and instinct had him diving for the floor behind the couch just as something exploded in the yard. Before he could take another breath, thunder battered his senses until he had to clamp his hands over his ears. The floor beneath him vibrated, and shards of glass and wood rained down around him. And something huge, dark, and heavy came crashing down beside him, narrowly missing him.
When the tumult finally died away, lightning continued to flare and flicker, enabling him to see part of a tree impaling the living room wall, stripped of all branches like a giant’s spear—and right where Brewster the Mooster had always hung. Uncle Conall’s ancient trophy had been named by a three-year-old Liam and was practically part of the family. Now the searing flashes of light revealed the enormous stuffed head upside down, mere inches from Liam’s hiding place. Its monstrous antlers had been driven into the floorboards, and one glass eye hung free like something out of a horror movie.
Every window in the room had shattered, and the force of the wind drove the rain sideways through the opening, the furious drops soaking everything.
Cautiously, Liam rose and felt his way to the kitchen, where a collection of candles, flashlights, and battery-filled lanterns collected dust on top of the fridge. He grabbed a lantern and tucked a small penlight in his pocket, but with the near-continuous flashes from the storm, he quickly realized there was little point in turning either light on. No point going upstairs either—the sound alone was enough to tell him that the windows were gone up there as well, and he couldn’t do anything more about that than about the broken glass blanketing the living room. Without warning, the house shook hard enough that pictures fell from walls in every room—this was no ordinary thunderstorm. Tornadoes were rare here but not unheard of, and Liam decided to err on the side of caution, taking shelter in the bottom of a solidly built hallway closet. Whose bright idea was it to put the door to the damn cellar on the outside?
The door of the closet was heavy, made of thick hardwood, and he left it open a couple of inches so he could still keep track of his surroundings—but Liam also kept one hand firmly on the knob, ready to slam the door shut. Heaven only knew what was happening to his poor goats. Panicked, no doubt. He’d put them all in the barn for the night as always—the forty dairy does and the twenty-odd yearlings that were slated to be the next generation of pedigreed milkers. But the barn might not be enough. Hell, at this rate, even the damn house wasn’t going to be enough. Worse, he had thirty-five head of Red Angus cattle out on summer pasture, and his two Appaloosa horses, Dodge and Chevy, were with them. There was an open-sided shelter at the base of the ridge for them, but it would be worse than useless in this maelstrom—and the mare was heavily pregnant.
He kicked the closet wall in frustration. There wasn’t one single damn thing he could do to help any of his animals right now. At least you’re not here, Homer. Liam’s German Shepherd had been his best bud for just over sixteen years, but during that long canine life, the big goof had always been reduced to wedging himself under a bed during a storm. This time, Liam might have been tempted to do the same. Multiple lightning strikes continued to hammer the area as if the storm system had parked itself directly over Steptoe Acres. The strobing light that pierced the darkness surprised him with its colors—green, blue, even red, as if the aurora borealis had turned violent and was attacking the earth. Thunder slammed again and again until Liam’s head pounded painfully, but he was thankful for what he didn’t hear: the unbroken roar that might have signaled a twister.
It was a relief when he could finally count more than a couple of seconds between a flash of lightning and its partnering peal of thunder. He
When the tumult finally died away, lightning continued to flare and flicker, enabling him to see part of a tree impaling the living room wall, stripped of all branches like a giant’s spear—and right where Brewster the Mooster had always hung. Uncle Conall’s ancient trophy had been named by a three-year-old Liam and was practically part of the family. Now the searing flashes of light revealed the enormous stuffed head upside down, mere inches from Liam’s hiding place. Its monstrous antlers had been driven into the floorboards, and one glass eye hung free like something out of a horror movie.
Every window in the room had shattered, and the force of the wind drove the rain sideways through the opening, the furious drops soaking everything.
Cautiously, Liam rose and felt his way to the kitchen, where a collection of candles, flashlights, and battery-filled lanterns collected dust on top of the fridge. He grabbed a lantern and tucked a small penlight in his pocket, but with the near-continuous flashes from the storm, he quickly realized there was little point in turning either light on. No point going upstairs either—the sound alone was enough to tell him that the windows were gone up there as well, and he couldn’t do anything more about that than about the broken glass blanketing the living room. Without warning, the house shook hard enough that pictures fell from walls in every room—this was no ordinary thunderstorm. Tornadoes were rare here but not unheard of, and Liam decided to err on the side of caution, taking shelter in the bottom of a solidly built hallway closet. Whose bright idea was it to put the door to the damn cellar on the outside?
The door of the closet was heavy, made of thick hardwood, and he left it open a couple of inches so he could still keep track of his surroundings—but Liam also kept one hand firmly on the knob, ready to slam the door shut. Heaven only knew what was happening to his poor goats. Panicked, no doubt. He’d put them all in the barn for the night as always—the forty dairy does and the twenty-odd yearlings that were slated to be the next generation of pedigreed milkers. But the barn might not be enough. Hell, at this rate, even the damn house wasn’t going to be enough. Worse, he had thirty-five head of Red Angus cattle out on summer pasture, and his two Appaloosa horses, Dodge and Chevy, were with them. There was an open-sided shelter at the base of the ridge for them, but it would be worse than useless in this maelstrom—and the mare was heavily pregnant.
He kicked the closet wall in frustration. There wasn’t one single damn thing he could do to help any of his animals right now. At least you’re not here, Homer. Liam’s German Shepherd had been his best bud for just over sixteen years, but during that long canine life, the big goof had always been reduced to wedging himself under a bed during a storm. This time, Liam might have been tempted to do the same. Multiple lightning strikes continued to hammer the area as if the storm system had parked itself directly over Steptoe Acres. The strobing light that pierced the darkness surprised him with its colors—green, blue, even red, as if the aurora borealis had turned violent and was attacking the earth. Thunder slammed again and again until Liam’s head pounded painfully, but he was thankful for what he didn’t hear: the unbroken roar that might have signaled a twister.
It was a relief when he could finally count more than a couple of seconds between a flash of lightning and its partnering peal of thunder. He
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