“Just stay there,” he said. “Winnie, do you hear me? Don’t pull out. Don’t drive. You won’t be able to see.”
Her labored breathing came through the line, and she said, “No, I can’t see anything.”
“During a dust storm, they tell everyone to pull over and stay put,” he said. “You just have to stay right there in the parking lot,” and pray that the wind didn’t break a window.
Ty pressed his eyes closed to say that mental prayer, all while listening to the fear in his girlfriend’s breath.
He knew where the hospital was in Amarillo, as he’d been there many times in the past couple of years. From Lone Star, it was probably a twenty-minute drive on a clear, sunny day, and he couldn’t believe he was contemplating leaving the shelter of the tack room and trying to make the driveintothe dust storm to get to Winnie.
Every part of him wanted to do that, though, and he glanced around at all the other cowboys in the room with him. Surely they all had loved ones somewhere too who they wanted to get to, and help, and protect. It would do no good to get himself killed while he went to help Winnie.
A sense of deep resignation started in his gut and moved up through his chest. “Listen, I’m going to get there as soon as I can,” he said.
“Where are you?” Winnie asked, and it sounded like she had calmed down a little bit.
“I’m still at Lone Star, sweetheart,” he said. “They assigned us shelter stations. I’m in the North Stable, right where I park. I’m okay.”
“I’m okay too,” she said, though her voice broke on the last word.
It shattered Ty’s heart, and he realized in that moment just how deeply he felt about Winnie.
“Will you stay on the line with me?” she asked.
“Of course,” he said.
“Tell me something.”
Ty realized that she needed a distraction. He wasn’t exactly loquacious and known for his storytelling capabilities, but he would do anything he could to ease Winnie’s worries.
“I don’t think I’ve told you about Marigold,” he said. “She’s my favorite horse at Courage Reins, and the one I always try to work with if I can. Now, we’re going riding there tomorrow, and I don’t want you tryin’ to steal her from me.”
Winnie half sobbed and half giggled, and a tiny smile touched Ty’s face. He had no idea if he and Winnie would actually be able to ride at Courage Reigns tomorrow—not if the dust storm caused a lot of damage—but he launched into the story about the first time he’d worked with Marigold after his third surgery, doing everything he could to keep his voice steady and even.
It calmed him at the same time it did Winnie, and he’d just finished the story when the walls of the stable started to rumble. Cries of surprise filled the room, and Ty looked around at his coworkers, then up to the ceiling, as if it might cave in on them.
“Let’s say a prayer,” Flint said.
Ty relayed the message to Winnie. “I’m going to put you on speaker,” he said. “So you can hear the prayer too.”
“Okay,” she said. “Thank you, Ty.”
He moved into the circle and kept his phone in his hand as he joined the men he worked with. Flint stood in the center, and he spoke in a powerful voice as he said, “We’re going to be okay, men. We’ve got each other and good sense. Now, if we can get the Lord on our side, nothing can harm us.”
Murmurs of assent moved through the crowd, and Ty found himself nodding.
“I know you’ve got loved ones you’re worried about,” Flint said. “And for now, we still have service, so we should be grateful for that.” He reached up and pulled his cowboy hat off his head. Ty did the same, barely getting his down before Flint said, “Dear Lord, we come before Thee as Thy sons, knowing that we still have much to learn inour lives, and maybe something from this dust storm itself. But we pray for safety—for ourselves, our friends and family, all of our horses here, all of their owners, and all of our facilities. We know Thy hand is strong and constantly outstretched toward us, and we pray for this blessing in Thy name, amen.”
“Amen,” Ty said.
No one moved and no one spoke, and Ty had never felt such a powerful spirit in his life. He stood there, marveling in it, feeling the protective hand of God come over him, and a keen sense that, yes, God was aware of him, and always had been.
And yes, he was a son of God, whether he could walk well or had a limp, whether he could hear with both ears or just one.
Someone shifted, and the mood did as well. Ty backed up to lean against the wall again, and he glanced at his phone. It had gone dark.
He tapped quickly and said, “Winnie?” lifting it to his mouth.
But the call had disconnected.
