Hard Rain

E-mail from: Mitch Kannon, fire chief, Turning Point, Texas

To: Dan Egan, fire chief, Courage Bay, California

I felt it in my bones all along, but now I know for sure. Hurricane Damon is headed straight for us. This is the last message I can get to you until this demon storm blows through. We’re looking for a hit sometime around midnight.

Amy Sherwood, the doctor you sent down to help us, is worth her weight in gold. She’s been out on rescues with Sheriff Jesse Boone, and I’m hoping she’ll be back to deal with any injuries in case those damn meterologists are right and this hurricane is as powerful as they’ve predicted.

Trouble is, I don’t know where Amy is right now. Turns out she and Jesse set off to find Jesse’s nephew. He and his fool teenage friends headed down to surf the giant waves in the Gulf.

The lights are flickering now, and the wind is so loud I can’t hear myself think. Damon is only a few miles away. I may have lost contact with the brave emergency personnel you sent to help us—Nate, Dana, Cheryl and Amy—but I know as sure as my name is Mitch Kannon that they’re all okay. Trust me on this, Dan. And as soon as the storm is over, I’ll track them down, and you’ll be the first to know they’re safe.

About the Author

DARLENE SCALERA

made her publishing debut with A Man for Megan in February 1999 for the Harlequin American Romance line. Since that time, she has continued to sell to Harlequin Books, celebrating her tenth sale in 2003, and has been published throughout North and South America, Europe and the Far East. Her May 2002 release, Help Wanted: Husband? was a Romantic Times Reviewer’s Choice Finalist for Best Harlequin American 2002. In 2004, Darlene ventured into the realm of mystery, murder, mayhem and, of course, romance with her first Harlequin Intrigue, Unmarked Man. A native New Yorker, Darlene graduated magna cum laude from Syracuse University with a degree in public communications. Darlene lives happily ever after in upstate New York with her husband and their two teenage children. Visit her at www.darlenescalera.com.

Hard Rain

Darlene Scalera

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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Dear Reader,

Not all angels have wings. We call them doctors, nurses, firefighters, EMTs, officers of the law—people who day in and day out serve and safeguard society. Some have devoted their professional lives; others volunteer their personal time. Many of you reading this now are members of these selfless ranks. You are the inspiration behind the Code Red series.

I was honored to work with so many talented Harlequin authors and editors to bring you these stories of angels on earth. In Hard Rain, a dedicated single-mom doctor and a courageous small-town sheriff battle not only disaster but also their own hearts as they face their greatest professional and personal challenges. I hope you enjoy their journey as they learn that some forces of nature can’t be fought.

I’d love to hear from you. Simply log on to my Web site at www.darlenescalera.com to leave me an e-mail, check out my news, enjoy an excerpt from my latest release or get a sneak preview of what’s coming up.

All my best,

Darlene

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

EPILOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

THE DAY began gray and cloudy. The birds still sang. The grasslands bowed to the breeze. Seven hundred National Guard troops had been put on alert by the end of yesterday. The governor had already proclaimed a state of emergency.

Sheriff Jesse Boone turned onto a side road, then another, avoiding the main road through Turning Point.

Bulletin. Advisory Number Eighteen. National Weather Service Miami Florida… The center of the tropical storm was located near latitude 27.4 north…longitude 98.1 west.

Coastal and low-country residents had begun evacuating yesterday. The interstate was bumper to bumper. Forty miles inland, Turning Point was part of the evacuation route. In twenty-four hours, the town’s population had swelled.

The system is moving toward the northeast near six miles per hour…nine kilometers per hour…

The storm was crossing the Gulf leisurely, gathering strength.

Tropical-storm-force winds extend outward up to 115 miles from the center…maximum wind speeds reaching 125 miles per hour.

The fury was small but ferocious. Its name was Damon.

The voice of Fire Chief Mitch Kannon came over the radio, cutting short the advisory. Like the majority of Turning Point’s emergency services, Mitch was a volunteer.

“Dan’s crew from California got here. Flew into Corpus Christi around dawn. Damn lucky. Last commercial flight to come in. Others are being cancelled or rerouted because of the watch.”

Doc Holland, the town’s only doctor, had suffered a heart attack and was recovering in a Houston hospital. The fire department’s one paid EMT had recently married and moved to North Dakota. Even before the hurricane warning was issued, Turning Point’s emergency services had been stretched thin. When the hurricane watch became a warning and coastal residents began heading inland, Mitch had contacted Dan Egan. Dan was fire chief in Courage Bay, a small coastal city in southern California, but he’d been born and raised in Turning Point.

“Took us a while to get here from Christi with all the traffic,” Mitch grumbled. “I hadn’t even finished briefing them before the calls started coming in. Lily Browning went into labor. Never fails when the pressure drops. Of course, Gabe’s out of town. Jolene had just come in and was manning the radio until Ruth got here. Minute she heard the news about her neighbor she jumped on the call. I made her take the paramedic that came in from California with her up to the Rock-a-Bye Ranch.”

Jesse half smiled as he scanned the road. “Not without a fight I’ll bet.” Jolene was Mitch’s daughter and as headstrong as she was fearless and loyal.

“She was none too happy about it. Afraid the poor paramedic—Nate Kellison—will bear the brunt of it, but Jolene’s along five months herself now. I don’t like the idea of sending anyone out on a call alone if I can help it, and especially my pregnant daughter. But with all these people coming into town, the calls are starting to follow.”

“Don’t you worry about Jolene. She can take care of herself.” As she’d proved to everyone in Turning Point after the tragic death of her husband almost five months before—only days before she learned about her own pregnancy. “So, everyone’s out on calls already?”

“The team’s EMT just left to fly up with Micky Flynn in the turboprop to pick up those scouts and their leader. But there’s a trauma nurse and an ER resident getting ready to start setting up a triage area.”

“I’m on my way to check out things at the high school. It’s filling up pretty quickly. If a member of the team is available, I’d like one of them to come with me to assess the setup, look over the school nurse’s station and suggest any other supplies or equipment that should be brought in.”

“You bring another nurse into Flo’s territory, she’s going to get huffy.”

Jesse smiled. The school nurse, Florence Templeton, was two years from retirement and had spent a lifetime soothing students and defusing catastrophes. She did not take kindly to outside interference.

“Maybe not if it’s a doctor,” Jesse suggested. “How about I swing by the station after I check in at my office, pick up the doctor and bring him over to lend a hand?”

As Jesse spoke, a broken tree limb spun crazily across the road. He turned the wheel, swerving to avoid the branch. It moved on into a field. The wind was picking up. The temperature was dropping. Jesse could feel it in his bones.

“It’s a—” Static crackled over the line, cutting short the chief, as the rising wind played with the communication waves.

“What’d you say?” Jesse asked the chief once the channel cleared.

“I said the doctor is a woman. Dr. Amy Sherwood.”

The four-wheeler swerved once more, although the road was straight and clear.

AMY TURNED to Fire Chief Mitch Kannon as he stepped out of the dispatch office into the station’s main area. “Change of plans, ladies.”

Amy glanced at her colleague, Cheryl Tierney, a trauma nurse from Courage Bay Hospital. They had both flown in from California with their two colleagues, Nate Kellison and Dana Ivie, this morning. Chief Kannon had already sent the paramedic and EMT out on calls. The chief held out an opened bag of chocolates, but both women shook their heads. For Amy, the adrenaline had already kicked in. She hadn’t been able to get down the homemade cinnamon buns the chief’s daughter had brought the volunteers before the call came in about the woman in labor. Fortunately Amy’s colleagues had had no problem enjoying them.

“Sheriff would like to swing by, take you, Doc, out to the high school with him.”

“There’s a problem?”

The chief unwrapped the candy, popped it in his mouth. He chewed slowly. “No problems yet, but like I told you, the school’s been set up as an evacuation center and it’s filling up fast. Although major injuries can be handled here, the sheriff would like you to have a look at the first-aid supplies and equipment at the school in case of minor emergencies. He should be here in a minute or so.”

Cheryl Tierney, a trauma nurse, picked up a box of the supplies the team had brought with them from California. “I’ll start setting up. It shouldn’t take long.”

“I can help you carry the supplies while I wait.” Amy headed toward the other box.

“I’ll get that.” The chief set the bag of candy on the table and hoisted the other box. “One of my men is manning the radio until our dispatcher, Ruth, gets in. If the sheriff shows up, give me a shout,” he told Amy.

As Cheryl and the chief headed for the far end of the firehouse, Amy opened her medical bag on one of the long tables near the kitchenette area. Although she knew everything was in order, she busied herself checking the bag’s contents once more. She hated feeling useless. Some would interpret it as a fear of feeling helpless. When a ferret-faced second-year psych intern had done exactly that, she’d told him to save his analysis for rounds.

The chief came back into the station house. “Sheriff didn’t show up yet?”

Amy shook her head.

“He should be right here.”

Amy counted bandages by twos.

“The oddsmakers are saying Damon will turn south, come ashore down by the border. Say it’ll peter out over the sea, bringing in no more than heavy rains and high winds by the time it makes landfall.”

“Is that what you think, Chief?” Amy checked the tops of several saline bottles to make sure they were secure.

“That’s what I pray.”

She glanced up at the chief, whose blue eyes didn’t miss a trick. Over six feet tall and with a width as much muscle as fat, he easily earned his title. The humbling touch of silver at his temples and the wink he now gave her told Amy he was a man who could comfort as well as command.

“I hope your prayer is answered, Chief.” She turned back to her bag.

“You should sit, Doc, while you have the chance.”

She hadn’t come here to sit. She was used to taking care of others, not the other way around. She appreciated the chief’s concern though. “Thanks, Chief, but I had my share of sitting on the flight down.” She flashed him a reassuring smile and turned her attention back to her supplies for a final time. She was zipping the bag closed when she heard a new voice behind her.

“Hey, Mitch.”

She stopped.

“Hey, Sheriff. How’s the roads?”

“Not bad if you stay off the main routes. You ought to see the lines stretching out of the stores, though.”

Amy listened to the voice. Her body was still.

“Bet by noon there’s not an unbought jug of water or case of beer in the whole county,” the chief said.

“Turning Point residents may be stubborn but they aren’t stupid.” A low chuckle came from the newcomer. Something clutched inside Amy.

She swung around, looked directly into the newcomer’s eyes. A fiercer blue than the chief’s, deep and dark as midnight dreams, revealing even less.

“Sheriff, this is Dr. Amy Sherwood,” Mitch said. “Flew into Christi this morning with the others from Courage Bay to give us a hand. Doc, Sheriff Jesse Boone.”

Amy heard the name. It repeated inside her. She felt dizzy. She forced herself to breathe, told herself it could not be. Just as swiftly she asked, could it be? Could this man before her be the boy she’d loved? Her mind said no. Her heart begged yes. She forbade herself to remember. She’d had fourteen years to forget.

Still, she was about to whisper, “Jess?” when the newcomer touched his hat brim and said without expression, “Ma’am.” Their eyes locked. Neither one of them moved.

She didn’t answer. All she could do was stare at him, her eyes ruthlessly searching. He did not turn away.

The face was not ugly, nor was it handsome. It was rugged and scarred as though once shattered and stripped and put back together. The features were slightly asymmetrical, and the skin stretched tight along the jaw, leaving no appearance of softness. Her professional eye saw that the necessary procedures had been numerous and painstaking. Her personal eye saw a strength in the jagged facial lines and the set of bones that came from the man, not modern medicine.

She saw a stranger.

“Nice to meet you, Sheriff.”

She offered her hand. He didn’t hesitate to take it but his touch was light. She felt the thick pad of his palm, the skin worn by hard work. She looked down at their clasped hands, felt heat flood her face. Just as if it were fourteen years ago.

“Call me Jesse, ma’am.” His voice was as rough as the hand she held.

“Thank you…” She raised her eyes to the scarred face and said too softly, “Jess.”

Something sparked in those blue eyes before they went flat again. His features masked, he let go of her.

“Is that your equipment?” He nodded toward the table behind her. When she nodded back, he started toward it. His gait did not reveal that his injuries had gone beyond his face, although she suspected they had. He had the admirable height of the boy she’d known, but not his bulk. Beneath his clothing, this man’s body was sleek. He picked up her bag, his arms whipcord muscles and taut sinew, the fit of his uniform indicating the rest of him followed suit. A body honed to its lean limits. Whatever had been broken had been mended. Only his haunted eyes as he turned and looked at her told Amy this man had not healed.

“Anything else you need to take with you?” he asked.

She shook her head as she reached for the bag. “I can carry it.”

“Not a problem, Doc.” He turned to Mitch, whose own keen blue eyes had been on the couple. “Coffee, milk, sandwiches, other supplies are being brought into the high school. The traffic’s heavy on the main routes, but most are heading farther inland to Laredo or the San Antonio area. But with every motel in the county full already, the high school is starting to fill up. We can accommodate a few hundred, more if necessary.”

“The women’s auxiliary are gathering blankets, flashlights, batteries, board games—anything that can help. As soon as they’re done, they’ll be over to help.”

Jesse nodded. “I’ll take the doctor over now.”

Both men looked at Amy. She had not moved. The fire chief glanced at Jesse, but Jesse’s gaze stayed on Amy.

“Ready, Doc?”

Gentleness had slipped into that last syllable. Amy doubted he intended it to be voiced. Annoyance flashed across his face, confirming her suspicion, darkening his features. She had not considered she might tumble until then. Whether the man before her was the boy she’d known fourteen years ago did not seem to matter. One soft, simple address, and her heart knew a loss she had thought long buried.

She had no choice but to move toward him. He waited until she passed him, then followed her. He reached around her to open the door and held it as she walked outside. The sun had not welcomed them when she and the rest of the Courage Bay team arrived in Turning Poont, only a heat that wrapped around, sat heavy on a body. Thickening clouds had come, and the winds were picking up.

The sheriff set her bag in the back of the Bronco, which was already stocked with a first-aid kit, flashlights, flares, blankets, jugs of water. A surge of wind came up, spun around them. They both looked to the sky as if seeking answers, saw the low, gray stillness that hovered before a hard rain. The air felt almost prickly, a smell of dust and clay in the breeze.

“We’d better go,” Jesse said. The gruffness had come back into his voice as if he felt uncomfortable. His face remained impassive.

She climbed into the red-and-white vehicle with the star across the driver’s door. In the cab’s narrow space, she became even more aware of the man beside her, his size, his warmth, his smell like a new day. He put the vehicle into gear.

“So, how long have you been sheriff of Turning Point?”

“I was assigned three years ago to the county satellite office over at the town hall.”

He answered her questions, his gaze forward. She studied his features, which were shadowed by a black Stetson.

“I thought the good guys got to wear the white hat.”

He looked at her, his eyes navy-blue beneath the hat’s brim. Something stirred deep inside her.

“I’ve met a lot of good guys. Never saw one of them with a white hat.” He turned out of the firehouse parking lot, avoiding the main route in favor of a less-traveled back road.

“I once knew someone named Jesse Boone. He didn’t wear a white hat either.”

He glanced at her a second longer this time. She’d caught the surprise in his eyes before they went blank again. He said nothing. The firm set of his mouth caused the thin scar along his jaw to stand out in relief. The radio was tuned to the weather channel. The National Weather Service reported Damon’s leading edge was two hundred miles from the coast. Seventy-five miles back it had wavered ninety degrees and started inching south. At fifty miles it had done the same. But each time it had come back to the northwest course.

“It was a long time ago I knew Jesse Boone. Fourteen years. I was a teenager. So was he.”

The man’s eyes stayed locked on the road, his mouth tight. He shrugged. “I suppose the name Jesse, even Boone, isn’t uncommon. At least not here in Texas.”

“This Jesse Boone lived in Washington for a while. I grew up there in a small town outside of Seattle. He moved there my junior year, went to my high school. He left senior year.” She was silent for a moment. “I never saw him again.”

Jesse couldn’t look at her. She was beautiful still, with her thick brown hair and delicate build that belied a strength and determination that most people only aspired to. He’d driven to the firehouse, telling himself he could handle this. Amy would recognize the name but not the man. The plastic surgery required because of his injuries had altered his features so even he had had to look twice in the mirror for a long time. She would be in Turning Point a few days at the most until the worst of the disaster was over. Then she would return to California to her life…to her husband.

He could handle it. He’d had himself convinced. Then he’d walked into the station and looked into those eyes. Those soft turquoise eyes.

And there, less than five feet away, was the dream that had dominated his life.

The silence stretched out between them. Frustrated, Amy turned to the window, focusing on the Texas town passing by. She knew Turning Point, like all small towns, was defined by its inhabitants as much as by its warm creeks and catfish ponds—people who were born here, who grew up here, whose stubbornness and self-righteousness stemmed from a deep sense of place and community. She doubted that any of them, even if ordered, would head to higher grounds.

“Is this your first time in Texas?”

The sheriff surprised her. He did not seem one for small talk. Amy wondered if he was deliberately changing the subject. Or like her, did he need a distraction from the thoughts churning inside his head?

“Yes, it is.”

“Shame it’s a storm that brings you here.” He did not look at her.

“Believe me, living on the California coast, we have more than our share of wild weather. A storm only a few months back had Courage Bay Hospital packed. Ever been to California?” She steered the conversation back to him.

“No, ma’am.”

“Please…” She lifted her hand to touch his bare forearm. It was the first time she’d ever hesitated. “Call me Amy.” She dropped her hand in her lap.

“No, I’ve never been to California, Amy.”

It was his first lie. Jesse knew there would be many more before the disaster was over.

“Did you grow up here in Turning Point?” She continued to question him.

He kept his profile to her. His hands gripped the wheel as if he were fighting the wind. “My family has a farm here.”

“Lived here your whole life?” She too could have easily been making small talk.

“I’ve seen some other parts of the world. Turning Point is home.”

“And you’ve been sheriff here about three years?”

“Yes, ma’am…Amy,” he corrected himself.

“Do you like the job?”

“Yes.”

Amy smiled, unfazed. She was used to difficult patients. Some would even say she relished the challenge. “What do you like about it?”

He breathed in as if suppressing a sigh. “These are good people in Turning Point. I like helping them. How ’bout you? You like being a doctor?”

Counterstrike, she thought. “It’s all I ever wanted to do.” She’d been born with an innate need to help others, a need reinforced fourteen years ago when she’d discovered it was safer to care for others than to let someone care for you.

His gaze shifted to her. There was something undefinable in his features. “Is being a doctor everything you dreamed it would be?” he asked quietly.

It was not the usual question asked by someone she had known only five minutes. She didn’t answer right away, as if considering the question for the first time herself. She was competent and not without compassion, but she was cautious with her emotions. Many of her colleagues envied her detachment, a skill necessary not only for success but for survival in the medical world. Amy feared she would never love again.