Refuge in His Arms

By Lizzie Ashworth

Strangers meet in a cataclysmic crisis and despite their prickly acquaintance, circumstances force them to cooperate. Not what Mackenzie expected or ever wanted. Not what David could have ever imagined, and yet here they are fleeing Los Angeles together. Bad turns to worse as a geomagnetic storm wipes out the power grid and stops the car, leaving them stranded in Flagstaff.

In this journey in search of food and shelter with her faithful German Shepherd Captain by her side, Mackenzie Kilpatrick denies her attraction to this man. He’s forced himself on her, an opportunist who only needs what she has. He might be the most gorgeous man she’s ever seen, and he might have hidden talents, but she’s totally not interested. Is she?

Tumbling down from his rock star success, David Evans thought he’d found bottom. But this is worse, dependent for his very survival on an angry woman who barely tolerates him. He’s hanging on, trying to do right, but how can he ever meet her impossible standards? He just wants to hold her, wrap his arms around her and ease her pain.

Is there a place for them to find safety?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lizzie Ashworth
• Release date: Nov 15, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370246045

Lizzie Ashworth

I love to write! Which is a good thing, because no matter what I'm doing, my brain edits sentences, selects or discards words, equivocates over paragraph formation. My file cabinet is stuffed with folders full of ideas, scenes, and half-finished work.My favorite part of writing is description. I want my readers to see, smell, hear, and feel what is going on in the story as if they are there. I can't think of many things as wonderful as those hours when words are pouring through my head and spilling out onto the page, creating a physical world full of passionate people!Other pursuits have taken up parts of my life--a technical profession for a career, children, questionable progress in learning to watercolor. I enjoy cooking, gardening, and time at the Pacific coast. Sunrise and sunset create special moods for me, the twilight between two worlds--fully of creative energy. Most of all, I love snuggling up with a good book.

Book preview

Refuge in His Arms

A Contemporary Romance

Lizzie Ashworth

Refuge in His Arms

By Lizzie Ashworth

Copyright © 2017 Lizzie Ashworth

Revised Edition © 2021

Background in cover image by Matt Affolter

(QFL247), CC BY-SA 3.0 https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=14715849

Smashwords Edition

All rights reserved. This book is copyright material and must not be copied, translated, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any form without prior written permission of the author, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorized distribution, circulation or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s rights, and those responsible maybe liable in law accordingly.

This book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Printed in the U.S.A.

ISBN: 9781370246045

"Love is the only force capable of

transforming an enemy into friend."

Martin Luther King, Jr.

Chapter 1

Sweat soaked Mackenzie’s faded green t-shirt as she rounded the corner onto her street, her feet hitting the pavement in a steady rhythm. Halfway down the block, she cut back to a gradually slowing walk, cooling down. Captain raced ahead, his black and brown coat jostling in his steady trot. Mac popped the iPod buds out of her ears and let them dangle.

During her run, traffic had picked up, more cars backing out of driveways and heading toward the main roads for the job commute. Overhead, another August day, a normal haze of ocean fog mixed with Los Angeles smog, partly obscuring the dusky blue San Bernardino Mountains along the north and east horizon. As always, the air smelled faintly of kelp. She inhaled deeply.

She pulled off the damp gray sweat band and pushed back loose strands of her dark hair as she crossed the yard toward the garage door, punched the door lock code, and walked into her house, ushering Captain ahead of her.

Are you hungry, baby? She dug the scoop into the bag of kibble and dumped it in his bowl, then ran fresh water in his drinking dish. He drank greedily, glancing up at her and shifting those expressive German Shepherd eyebrows. His expressions made her smile. Goofy dog.

In efficient moves, Mackenzie unlaced her athletic shoes and left them on the laundry room floor, then peeled off her shorts, shirt, and underwear and tossed them on the washer. Her moist skin chilled slightly as she walked naked through the kitchen toward the bathroom. In the shower, hot water poured over her body as she slid the large soapy sponge over her skin. Her hands paused over her breasts where the brush of the sponge reminded her of arousal, what it was like to be touched there. What it was like to feel desire.

With the sponge firmly set aside, she briskly rinsed and turned off the water. Her plans for the day did not include dawdling over sex memories. Eight boxes waited in the garage, supplies for the classroom where she’d teach another year of impatient middle schoolers the basics of science—periodic tables, specimens in formaldehyde, a plastic skeleton, charts showing osmosis and cell division and the solar system. She looked forward to organizing her room, anticipating the coming week when classes would start. One box would go to her office in the gym where she’d lead pubescent girls in exercises and, in the process, earn their hearty disdain and—she hoped—their lifelong appreciation. The squeaks of athletic shoes on the gym floor would crowd everything else out of her mind as she shouted and ran alongside the girls.

Wrapped in a towel, she stood at her closet and pulled on clothing automatically—no nonsense panties, sports bra, a long-sleeved cotton pullover, jeans, athletic shoes. She paused at her dresser to comb through her wet hair then leaning forward to examine the faint lines at the corners of her mouth. And under her eyes.

Enough of that. Of course she wasn’t getting any younger, but what did it matter? She turned off the light and headed to the kitchen, making it halfway down the hall when the phone rang.

Mackenzie? Honey, did you see the sky last night? Her mom’s voice sounded strange. A low hum on the line distorted the words. Did you hear?

Mom? What’s going on?

It’s a thing—a CME, her mom said, enunciating the letters carefully. She could hear her dad’s deep voice in the background.

What are you talking about? she said.

The phone jostled. Mac? Loud and gruff, her dad’s words came in broken syllables.

Dad, we’ve got a bad connection. What is it? Is something wrong with you or Mom?

Her mind raced. Her parents had been in good health, but at their age, anything could happen. Is it Mark? Her younger brother, fine the last time they talked, a new job, another fresh start.

Her dad cleared his throat. Honey, listen, it’s all over the TV. Every station. It’s one of those sun things. Corona something, ejection. Sky all different colors last night. It’s coming this way. … government announcement …

Static broke through his next words. Her mind raced. CME… coronal mass ejection? A flood of facts She crammed the phone against her ear as she hurried into the living room and turned on the television.

Not much time, her dad said. … few hours … come home, Mac.

The line went dead. Dad?

She caught her breath as she punched in her parents’ number. No dial tone.

Faintly, Mac became aware that her mouth had dried. The television screen materialized in pixelated images. Parts of newsmen with anxious faces, maps, then nothing. She held down the button, clicking through channels. All static.

Was it possible that a coronal mass ejection actually spewed directly toward earth? Hard to believe something that rare was happening, but she’d been dimly aware the cycle of solar activity was peaking. In her class study plan for this year, she’d planned to teach a full unit on space weather and all the ramifications. Now this?

Yes, if a massive solar flare had erupted strongly enough and aimed in the right direction, the government would issue warnings. The thought sent a ripple down her spine. She needed coffee. With any luck, she’d get through to her folks in a few minutes. The coffee maker dripped and popped as she stood at the kitchen window and punched in their number. No signal.

As she let the phone slide onto the counter, Captain rubbed against her legs, whining.

You too, Cap? she said.

He sat, watching her expectantly as his tail thumped. Much as she wanted to think positively, she had a bad feeling about this. If the power grid fried … she bit her lip, watching birds hopping in the back lawn. Everything looked the same out there, the neighbor’s sprinklers catching the sun and sending tiny rainbows through the air. She poured steaming black liquid into a mug and sipped, burning her lip.

Highly unlikely, Cap, she announced to the attentive dog. Yet as much as she might mouth reassurances, a deeply unsettling scenario kept building in her mind. If it was a CME, if it was so bad that her electronics were already short-circuited…

Her folks were two hours ahead of her. They wouldn’t make this up. She could hear the fear in their voices. What the hell had the news said to scare them so badly?

A CME wasn’t something newscasters would lie about, even if they might exaggerate. Most people knew nothing about CMEs. Did it make sense to prepare for a drive back to Oklahoma? She worried about them, and their voices had been full of distress. She tried the phone again without success, then hurried into the living room and stared at the television. Black screen. As an afterthought, she grabbed her laptop off the desk and perched on the couch while it powered up. After five minutes of frustrating notices that she had no internet service, she slammed it shut and stared out the front window.

Nothing had changed out there, the same hazy blue sky she saw every morning, the same profile of neighborhood rooflines, the same faintly displaced feeling she had experienced since leaving Oklahoma and moving to California so many years ago. The world had always seemed different out here, almost a world apart with its Pacific shore and fault lines and a liberating sense of autonomy.

Her breath came in short huffs as she struggled with her choices. She refused to panic. Common sense said she should take this seriously and prepare, even if it turned out to be a false alarm. Better to be prepared and have nothing happen than to be unprepared and have something happen. Especially something like a CME.

Despite her resolve, a shiver of fear raced down her spine. A CME. It had been years since that term crossed her mind, a subject in one of her science courses among many other subjects with slim to none chance of ever impacting her life. She couldn’t shake the feeling that this was some kind of prank.

But no, not a prank considering the evidence so far. And if she was anything, she was a scientist albeit only a science teacher. What did she need to do?

Mackenzie pushed up from the couch and walked across the hallway into the kitchen where she set the coffee mug on the counter. Her folks wouldn’t have called if they hadn’t seen or heard something important. Much as she hated to make decisions based on such slim evidence, the fact that her phone, television and laptop supported what they said made the decision easier.

She had to go.

She marched through the mudroom and slammed into the garage and looked around, trying to prioritize while her mind still argued. Everything would have to line up exactly for a truly devastating CME to wreak havoc on the planet. One random extrusion of solar energy that happened to precisely target earth’s position? The chances were like, what, one in a million? A trillion? Solar interference happened more than anyone realized. A few days of interrupted phone service and staticky television, then back to business as usual.

Her neck hair stood up as her old astrophysics professor’s words suddenly echoed in her mind. One in eight chance, Dr. Johnson had said. The stout professor appeared in her mind’s eye, striding across the platform in front of the arena-style classroom, stroking his neatly trimmed gray goatee. One of the most underrated risks we face today, he said, his pale blue eyes glaring at the class from behind his heavy-rimmed glasses.

His words had sent a chill through her then and had the same effect now. One in eight. Not as rare as she had wanted to believe. Her gaze swept over the light green car, around the storage shelves and random assortments of tools, mowing equipment, and automotive paraphernalia before riveting on the backpacks she and Sid kept ready for their long backcountry hikes. Over the years, they had become almost invisible to her, not something she wanted to think about.

A strange calm settled over her as she began making decisions. If she assumed this was real, she needed to be prepared. The packs would be backup if she got stranded somewhere on the way to Oklahoma. As best she could remember, no one really knew exactly what would happen if a massive solar flare actually made a direct hit. But one in eight…

More memories of that class popped into her mind as stood staring at the backpacks. There was the so-called Carrington event in the mid-nineteenth century, well before electricity, cell phones, and other modern inventions. Even then, the geomagnetic storm fried telegraph lines and even caused some telegraph papers to combust.

Seized with a sudden sense of urgency, Mackenzie hefted one of the heavy backpacks from its wall hook, brushed off cobwebs, and popped open the back of the Outback to shove it inside. A quick retrace of her steps brought the other pack to nestle beside it and for a moment, she hesitated, swimming through a torrent of memories and emotion. Finally she braced herself and opened Sid’s pack where he’d kept the Ruger nine millimeter. The heavy gun sat black and menacing in her hand, loaded and safety on. She could see him clearly, showing her how to load, how to grip. She clutched the pistol in a moment of indecision—would she really need this?

Yes. She could hear Sid say the word. Always be prepared.

Mackenzie rounded the car and shoved the gun into the front console then ran back to the kitchen and gulped coffee before making a face and pouring the rest of the tepid liquid into the sink. Cap followed her every step, still whining. She squatted beside him.

Cap? It’ll be okay, buddy. Whatever you’re worried about, we’ll take care of it. Okay?

She ruffled his coat then hurried to the lower cabinets. Squatting, she peered into the corner space reserved for earthquake emergencies.

Thank God, she whispered to herself. She grabbed the two gallons of stored water and the first aid kit then headed back to the garage.

What else? Damn it, think, she muttered under her breath as she scooted the heavy containers against the backpacks.

The more she hurried, the more nervous she got. Why hadn’t she noticed anything off this morning? A geomagnetic storm of that magnitude would have illuminated the sky. There would have been auroras, multicolored swirls in the air visible even at lower latitudes. But then, the night sky around LA always radiated light from millions of street lights, businesses, and automobiles. Plus, it had already been dawn when she woke up.

The warning would have gone out as soon as NASA scientists tracking solar activity had determined that the path of the ejection pointed straight to earth. It could hit in as little as fifteen hours, or not for a couple of days. What else had the newscast said?

She snatched her phone off the kitchen cabinet and tried again, mildly concerned that her hands were shaking. She powered it off then on in case there was some glitch. As the same non-response occurred, she briefly wondered if a landline would have better results. Unfortunately, she had terminated her landline service a year ago in one of her budget-trimming urges. Her pulse sounded in her ears. If television and cell phone signals were already impacted, the geomagnetic storm was already hitting.

She stood in her bedroom doorway, trying to focus. She took a deep breath and reassessed. When she’d experienced her first earthquake after moving to LA, she had made sure to prepare. Now, after many such slight rolls of the floor, she had become nonchalant about the occurrence. Yet now, with this invisible assault from the sun, her heart beat in her throat.

How does one dress for an apocalypse? She snorted as she dug through her dresser drawers. This wasn’t going to be an apocalypse. Probably a bunch of drama over nothing. But her folks were scared, and she hadn’t visited in a year, so she’d go. A few changes of clothes. Underwear. Another pair of athletic shoes. She stuffed a sweater into the crowded clothes bag. In the bathroom, she grabbed her toothbrush and other necessities.

Draining the contents of the still-warm coffee pot into her mug, Mackenzie stood at the kitchen sink staring at the tidy backyard. The birds had gone, leaving the place strangely empty. She forced herself to compose a mental checklist. Twenty hours to Oklahoma if she drove straight through. And hauled ass. She could do that.

Minutes later with bread, fruit, and other essentials crammed into a shopping bag, she carried it, her clothes bag, and Captain’s food sack to the back of the Outback. She didn’t feel ready to go. She needed order and everything seemed wildly out of order. The coffee sat in her stomach like a fist, and Captain trailed her from room to room, increasingly agitated.

One last round, Cap, she said, walking from the spare bedroom to her bedroom where she stood for a moment staring at Sid’s faded photo at the corner of her dresser top. In its plain dark wood frame, his image in full dress uniform stared back at her with that familiar resolute posture, his dark eyes defiant. He’d been a soldier at heart, proud of his athletic prowess, reticent about his many medals—marksmanship, meritorious service, medals for serving overseas and so many others she could never remember. He might have been away from her a lot, but she always knew he cared. Whatever happened, she wanted to hold onto that.

Clutching the picture against her chest, she made a quick stop at the living room. It would probably look just like this when she came back. All this shaky hyperventilating would be for nothing. With the doors and windows locked and curtains closed, Mackenzie urged Captain into the car’s back seat, tucked the photo between the backpacks then slammed the back down, and hit the garage door switch. She was probably leaving things she needed, but she could buy more later. Throwing herself into the driver’s seat, she remembered.

Gold. Could she possibly need the coins Sid had hoarded? A sense of urgency seized her, and her fingers unsteadily punched the door code twice before she managed to get it right. She tore the door open and ran back through the house to dig into the bedroom closet, dragging out the shoebox where the coins had sat untouched for years. Hefting the small leather pouch in her hand, she ran back through the house, re-locked the door, deposited the pouch next to the gun, slammed the console shut, glanced around at the familiar garage, and fastened her seat belt.

Her heart had set up a harsh tattoo as she put the car in reverse and started backing up. Surely this would even out, this gaspy nervous shaky feeling. As soon as she got on the highway, she would relax.

She inched the car backwards, squinting against the bright morning outside the dim garage. Yes, this was entirely unlike her, dashing off with less than an hour’s preparation. She felt so scattered.

The car wobbled, causing her to ease off the accelerator. Did she have a flat? How could that happen? She’d just driven the previous afternoon when she bought groceries for the week. But there it was again, an unsettling sideways movement.

Not a flat.

Her stomach knotted as another awkward shift confirmed her realization that an earthquake was rolling through the ground. With a tap on the accelerator, she backed up more as the rear of the car emerged into morning sunlight. Suddenly the walls on either side of the garage door shifted violently and the heavy garage door crashed down on the top of the car.

Holy shit!

Cap barked furiously as she crammed down the gas pedal, cringing as the garage door scraped along the top of the car then dropped to crunch the hood as she backed out from under it. The car tilted, making her slightly seasick.

Damn damn damn, she muttered. It’s a big one, Cap.

He barked then whined again, standing close so that his head and neck extended over the console.

The ground moved more violently, lifting the car at odd angles as the Subaru rolled into the street. Palms lining the long street swayed heavily back and forth. Walls fell away from houses, sending up clouds of dust. People ran into their yards, escaping buildings that disintegrated as she watched.

She looked back to see if her home remained standing. The garage door stuck out at a weird angle and part of the roof sagged. She swallowed through a dry throat. This was no minor jolt, or even one of those occasional six-point events that damaged a few structures. Whatever the Richter scale said, she needed to get out of here.

Her hands clenched tight on the steering wheel, she drove over uneven sections of pavement as she made her way out of the neighborhood and down a couple of side streets. Her mouth had dried, and her pulse pounded in her neck. Devastation met her gaze on every side, falling trees, buildings collapsing. All she could think of was getting to a safe place.

Where is safe? she said.

Could this possibly have something to do with the CME?

No. They couldn’t be related. They weren’t related. This had to be the most incredibly horrific coincidence ever.

How am I going to get out of here? She gripped the wheel with both hands as utility poles swayed drunkenly. The walls of the stucco complex at the corner of Woodley tilted before slowly caving inward.

Cap, you knew, didn’t you? she said, taking one hand off the wheel long enough to stroke the dog’s soft fur. Of course he knew. How many times had she heard stories about animals sensing an oncoming quake? He nuzzled her hand and whined.

We’ll be okay, I promise.

Mackenzie bit her lip as she realized a nauseating quiver had taken up residence in her stomach. Some promise. She had no idea if she could even get out of L.A., much less promise they’d be safe. It was a long way to Oklahoma. And she wasn’t the only one trying to escape. As she nosed into the mass of vehicles already on Woodley heading north, the unfolding disaster flowed in real time all around her. At every side, only parts of buildings remained standing. Dust hovered in low layers. People crowded along broken sidewalks and clustered in yards, shouting, pointing, some of them crying. Vehicles jammed the uneven roadways, slowing traffic to a crawl.

This had to be at least an eight-point quake. Or more. The ‘big one’ the experts had talked about for so long. The thought made her head hurt.

It was the worst possible time for an emergency with so many people on the road in the morning rush hour. Movement on the roadway moved in fits and starts as she inched forward. At least the ground lurching had stopped, meaning the quake had ended. Aftershocks would surely follow.

As she progressed through the clogged traffic, she studied collapsed piles of brick where storefronts used to be, trees standing at weird angles. None of the stoplights worked—people cooperated with stop and go crossings. At the overpass of Highway 118, traffic came to a standstill.

Dear God, the overpass had collapsed. There were cars with people under there. And on top of it. And mixed into the tangle of steel and concrete that shifted again as she watched. The car lifted slightly sideways. An aftershock.

Cold crept into her limbs. She swallowed nausea. People were dying. She knew it, felt it weighing her down like a heavy hand. Crushed cars and falling buildings held even more people who were trapped and injured, too horrific to think about. Was there something she should do? She grabbed her phone, anxious to connect with Brenda or Rachel or any of her friends or fellow teachers to see if they were okay. She thumbed the screen, stared at the blank glass, and tossed it back in the passenger seat. Damn it!

Chapter 2

What the …

David Evans’ eyes flew open as his bed lurched like a roller coaster ride. Cracks of light lined his window blind, enough light that he saw the lamp fly off his nightstand and land with a resonant crash. A deafening groan and splintering noise assailed his ears as he struggled to his feet.

"Fuck. Fuck."

Grabbing his boots and clothes lying on the floor beside his bed, David staggered to his bedroom doorway, slamming against the jamb as the floor rolled crazily to the left. Dishes crashed to the kitchen floor as he dashed through the living room. An ominous grinding sound permeated the air around him. The door stuck—he crammed his clothes under his arm and used both hands to jerk it open.

Ceiling tiles fell around him as he leapt down the short flight of stairs. Alarms clanged. Another horrific creak and sections of the stairs collapsed. He yanked open the exterior door and sprinted naked into the parking lot. The two-story apartment building caved in behind him, walls crumbling to the ground with a big ‘whoosh.’ Dull crashes echoed as brick tumbled down onto the cars parked there.

A choking cloud of dust rolled toward him as he hurried further from the destruction. The ground shifted under his feet. Other people stood nearby, staring at the cataclysm going on around them and holding each other for balance. Gravel hurt his bare feet, but only at that moment did he remember he was naked.

David’s hands shook so badly he could hardly drag his jeans up his thighs. He hobbled sideways as he slid his cold feet into the boots. Overnight ground mist chilled his chest as he elbowed into the threadbare tee. Halfway on, the shirt’s blood-stained neck reminded him of the night before.

He touched the corner of his eye. Swollen. Hurt like a bitch. His mouth didn’t work right either. His fingertips explored the lump beside his mouth. All the way to his cheekbone. A quick slide of his tongue over his teeth—the inside of his cheek felt like hamburger. The motherfucker must have kicked him because his ribs hurt, too.

Damn Kaitlyn Summers, that fucking bitch. He knew it was her—she had threatened as much. His gaze scanned