“Shit!”

The word escaped my mouth before I could stop it.

“Aurora Miller! You watch your tongue, miss,” Elsie’s mom exclaimed, shooting me a disapproving glance.

“Sorry, Mrs. Armstrong,” I responded quickly. I could see Elsie suppressing a smirk next to me. “I’ve got to head home to my folks.”

I gave Elsie a hug goodbye and mounted Chestnut, my heart racing. We were used to tornadoes in these parts, but it never got easier dealing with them. Mother Nature had a mind of her own, and you just never knew what kind of havoc a storm might wreak. People lost crops, livestock, and their homes to tornadoes every year. Sometimes, they lost their lives. It was pure dumb luck whether that dark cyclone cloud hit your property or not.

“Let’s go, girl,” I said, giving Chestnut a nudge with my heels; she took off at a canter. The wind whipped my hair back from my face as we flew across the open fields. Chestnut, sensing my urgency, didn’t even slow down at the creek. I buried my hands in her mane and held on tight as she cleared the water with a single leap.

As we crossed the tree line, I saw my big brother Jamie out in the corn field. I slowed Chestnut down to a trot and called out to him.

“Tornado coming!”

Jamie’s face darkened with worry as he replied,

“I’ll just finish up here, and then I’ll come back to help get ready.”

“Don’t take too long. Mrs. Armstrong says it’s due in two hours.”

Jamie nodded, and I urged Chestnut onward, back to the stables. After I got Chestnut safely in her stall, I took off her saddle and halter and wiped her down, drying the sweat off her heaving sides.

“Good girl,” I murmured, giving her a quick kiss on the nose before heading to the farmhouse.

My younger brother, Peter, was out in the front yard, playing with Isaiah—the baby of the family, just three years old.

“‘Wowa!” Isaiah greeted me happily, toddling toward me, arms outstretched. I smiled as I scooped him into my arms. Isaiah couldn’t get the R sound of my name yet. As I cuddled the toddler, I turned my attention to Peter. At nineteen, he was just a couple years younger than me, but I always felt a sort of protective instinct over him. He was no baby, like Isaiah, but he’d always be my little brother, no matter how big he got.

“Peter, there’s a tornado coming. We’ve got to get everything ready.”

“Everything’s still battened down from yesterday,” he replied with a shrug. “Not much to do. No need to get all worked up about it.”

I rolled my eyes as I set a squirming Isaiah back down on the ground and headed inside. Mama was in the kitchen, making lunch.

“Hi, honey, you have a nice ride? I saw you racing across the fields on Chestnut like the devil himself was after you,” she said, her mouth twisted with slight disapproval.

“Mrs. Armstrong said there’s a tornado due, and I wanted to make sure you all were ready,” I shot back, feeling annoyed that nobody seemed to be taking the incoming storm seriously. “Peter is just playing with Isaiah out front, like it’s no big deal, and Jamie is out in the fields, working like nothing’s happening.”

“Well, what else do you expect your brothers to do, honey? We’re as ready as we can be, and God will take care of the rest and protect us,” Mama replied calmly, wiping her hands on her apron. “Why are you so worked up, Rora? It’s not like you to worry about a tornado like this.”

I gave a shrug. I sure as heck couldn’t admit the real reason for my disgruntled attitude: I was sexually frustrated. Mama eyed me expectantly. Dang her and her maternal instincts. She could tell something was wrong. I racked my brain, trying to think of an excuse.

I was saved by the crash of the screen door slamming shut.

“Lunch ready, Mama?” Peter shouted, stomping into the kitchen, Isaiah toddling after him.

“On the table,” she replied with a nod to the big table in the center of the kitchen. On top of the red-and-white checkered tablecloth was a giant pitcher of iced tea, a platter of sandwiches, an enormous bowl of potato salad, and a plate of crispy fried chicken.

Just then, Isaiah tripped over his shoes and started to stumble toward the table. I reached down, but before I could grab him, he reached for the tablecloth to steady himself—and pulled the entire lunch down to the floor with a clatter of clashing cutlery.

“Well, I take that back,” Mama said. “Lunch was on the table. Now it’s all over your little brother.”