Hard Rain (10 page)

The men brought them in by a bridge where groups of people had already gathered, walking, wading across the rubble, only to be met by military jeeps forming a barricade to the beach. They looked as weary and confused as Amy felt, their faces bleak, stunned, disbelieving.

“They want to see if their homes still stand,” one of the boatmen said. “And protect them if they do against the rains they’re forecasting for tonight.”

“They’ll have a long wait,” the other said. “Too dangerous to have residents traipsing through the flood waters. There’s already been enough damage.”

“No deaths, though,” the other noted.

“Not yet,” his companion said with a fatal air. “It’ll stay that way if people don’t lose their heads.”

Like the men, Amy knew that often more deaths occurred after the actual storm than during it, due to human error. The dangers from the storm were far from over.

The boat pulled up to the shore. “Sheriff and doctor from Turning Point,” the man told his colleague as he approached the boat. “Found them out on Padre Point.”

The man looked at the couple. “And you lived to tell about it? Good for you. Bastard of a storm, excuse me, miss.”

“I have to agree with you,” Amy reassured the man.

Another man in military fatigues came up and joined the circle. “Sheriff Boone. Sorry to see you
under such circumstances, but glad you’re in one piece.”

Jesse shook the man’s hand. “Good to see you, Hamp. Must be bad to bring you from the base.”

“It’s a mess but it could be worse,” the man said. “My men and I came to lend a hand.” He cast a quizzical glance at Amy.

“Amy Sherwood.” She extended her hand.

“Captain Hamilton Voss, ma’am.” He lightly took her hand. Amy grasped his in a firm grip. “But you can call me Hamp.”

“Amy is a doctor with the Courage Bay emergency team that came into Turning Point yesterday to help out.”

Hamp gave Jesse a speculative gaze. “How’d you end up on Padre Point?”

“We got caught in the storm when we went looking for my cousin’s boy and his friends. There hasn’t been news of any others found out on the beach?”

“No reports I’ve heard of.” He looked at the other men. They shook their heads. “But communication is still down.”

“Hope that boy used some of the sense the good Lord gave him and headed back when he saw it was getting rough,” Jesse said.

Hamp cracked a wry grin. “He’s probably hoping the same thing about you.”

“We were on our way back when my vehicle got flattened by a tree. Fortunately we weren’t in it at the time.”

“You’ve shown Miss Amy here quite a time. This will be one trip you’ll not likely forget, right, ma’am?”

“It has been memorable, Captain.” She exchanged a look with Jesse.

“Problem is, now we need to get back to Turning Point,” Jesse told the men. “Our emergency services were stretched thin before the storm. That’s why we brought in back-up from Courage Bay. I’d like to get back to my people as soon as I can.”

Amy heard the term
my people,
which told her that Turning Point was home to Jesse. From what she’d seen of the residents, he fit in well—stubborn as sin and full of pig-headed pride. He’d made a life here, as she had in Courage Bay.

Hamp scrubbed a hand across his face. Amy suspected that, like the rest of them, he’d had little or no sleep.

“Travel is tough. Most roads are blocked. They’ve started clearing some of the major routes, but it’s slow going. Could take a good four to five hours to go ten, twenty miles. I can get you a set of sturdy wheels, but I’m not certain how far you’ll get. Even if the trees and debris have been cleared, flooding could be a problem.”

Jesse hesitated. A glance her way told Amy it was out of concern for her.

“We’ll take our chances, Captain,” she said. “If the roads need clearing, we’ll have to clear them.”

Hamp gave her the amused look of a man who thought females were a separate race and should be relegated to sitting prettily or serving pleasingly, not running around disaster sites with lawmen. “The little lady has made known her wishes, Sheriff. What do you say?”

“If you can spare a vehicle, the doctor,” Jesse put extra emphasis on Amy’s title, “and I will be on our way.”

Hamp frowned. “Let me see what’s available.”

“He’s not a bad guy,” Jesse said as the other man moved out of earshot. “Just old-fashioned.”

“I’ve dealt with men like the captain and lived to tell the tale.”

“I have no doubt.” A grin pulled at the corners of Jesse’s mouth.

Amy had been independent for so long a time, she’d forgotten how a man could make her go soft and needy. She and her ex-husband had functioned more as a team. They’d coordinated their schedules and shared companionship, but she hadn’t been made to feel “need.” Twenty-four hours with Jesse and all that hard-fought independence had dissolved in a matter of minutes. She didn’t know what the future would bring for the two of them, but she did know Jesse had moved into her heart again, lock, stock and barrel. Except this time, she was not so naive as to believe love was all that mattered. And what about Ian? How could she bring Jesse into his life without knowing where their own relationship was going?

Hamp returned. “I’ve got an all-wheel drive with a V-8 that should plow through anything. Still can’t promise how far you’ll get.”

“I don’t ask for promises, Hamp. Thanks for your help.” Jesse shook the man’s hand, clapped his upper arm.

“Thank you, Captain.” Amy offered her hand.

“You two be careful. There’s as much danger now as during the storm.”

“You and your men take care of yourselves also,” Amy said. “Doesn’t seem to be any short supply of heroes in these parts, but I’d still hate to lose one.”

The captain cracked a grin. “Heroes come in all shapes and sizes, Doc. Some even come in pretty packages.”

“Are you flirting with me, Captain?” Amy smiled back, knowing she’d won over the man.

“Since when was telling the truth a sin? C’mon, you two, let’s get you on your way.”

The trio walked to the SUV. The captain opened the door for Amy. Smiling at him, she pulled herself up into the seat, then let him close the door behind her.

“Thanks again, Hamp.” Jesse patted the steering wheel. “I’ll see she gets back to you as pretty as she left.”

“Just see you get this one back to Turning Point as pretty as she left.” The captain winked at Amy.

Jesse pulled out slowly, heeding the people milling around the bridge.

“He’s a charmer, huh?” Amy referred to the captain. “I believe he fancies himself one.”

She gave Jesse a grin before returning her attention to the road, which was narrowed by branches and tree trunks lining its sides. The road was one lane until they reached the highway, where four lanes had been reduced to two. Fortunately there was little traffic.

They fell silent, taking in the landscape. Uprooted trees, snapped tree trunks, buckled concrete, ripped power lines. The wind had shorn so many trees, signs
and buildings that the vista looked barren and alien. They were rerouted several times due to closed roads. The detours forced them to head northeast instead of west to Turning Point.

“We’ll have to go up to the areas not hit by the storm, circle back and come down from above.” Jesse fiddled with the radio’s buttons. The reception was becoming clearer as they neared the untouched areas of the northern coast. Reports of the disaster monopolized the broadcasts. In some of the hardest-hit areas, power was already predicted to be out for a week or more. Clean-up would be much longer. Relief efforts were already underway, and residents were urged to stay where they were. The reports continued; the stories repeated. Occasionally a new item was added.

It was past sundown when they reached the areas barely touched by the storm’s heavy rains and winds. Jesse reversed their direction to head southwest toward Turning Point. He spoke little, anxiety evident in his expression. Amy studied his profile, thinking of the revelations of last night. And the secret that still lay between them. She had to tell him, but now was not the time.

As they headed back into the area hit by the hurricane, the roads became flooded in spots, high enough to stall an ordinary vehicle, but the all-wheel drive sailed through the waters, parting them cleanly down the middle and leaving a foaming trail in its wake. Debris blocking the roads slowed their progress. Sometimes they were able to pull over and clear the heavy branches, but if not, they were forced to backtrack to an alternate route. At last they neared the county line.

Amy recognized a road sign, except now it was bent flat to the ground. She saw level land where a barn with a high silo had stood the day before. They passed a gas station, its storefront blasted clean off. She glanced at Jesse. He concentrated on the road, his lips pressed in a straight white line. She turned back to the view outside her window. The Turning Point she’d arrived in yesterday was no more.

C
APTAIN
V
OSS
had been right. Turning Point hadn’t been hit as hard as the coast, but it was all a matter of degree.
Destruction
had become a relative term in southwestern Texas. The floodwaters hadn’t arrived here with the slamming force of the surge, but the nearby river and its creeks had flooded. The waters were receding now, leaving behind mud, silt, drywall crumbled by dampness, insulation only good for mold-breeding spores.

The road Jesse and Amy traveled was awash in a foot of water, which the vehicle easily sliced through. Amy figured they were heading to the firehouse, but then Jesse took a turn in the opposite direction. The houses were spread farther and farther apart, the surrounding fields large ponds, and any crops were ruined. The waters rose higher until Amy feared they could go no farther, but then they leveled out over the fields, forming a wet wasteland. A farmhouse, a barn, several outbuildings sprung up along the horizon. Jesse swung into the farm’s long drive.

“This is my Uncle Frank’s place. Clare moved in here with the boys a few months ago. She tried to hang
on to her house after her husband left, but things got too tight on her cashier’s salary. She started waitressing on the weekends, but then Michael started giving her trouble and she didn’t like the idea of leaving the boys unsupervised on the weekends. She moved back in with Uncle Frank and Aunt Edna about two months ago. She’s still got her hands full with that older one, though.”

“I gather that from what little I know of the boy,” Amy remarked.

They pulled up in front of the large farmhouse, untouched by the storm except for several shallow puddles the size of small ponds across the front yard. The light from several lanterns or oil lamps glowed in the windows. Amy and Jesse got out of the vehicle.

“Two weeks ago, he threatened to run off to his father’s in California. Clare said she had to bite her tongue not to tell him that if his father wanted him for more than one month of fun and games over summer vacation, he would have made it known.”

Amy shook her head. “Teenagers. They’re a trial and a half.”

“I know I was no angel.” He fell silent, the reference to the past dropping an uncomfortable tension between them that broke Amy’s heart.

“Luckily I straightened you out.”

Jesse lifted his hand as if to touch her, but then returned it to his side. He stepped toward her, narrowing the space between them.

“Did I ever thank you for that?” His breath warmed her damp flesh.

“I doubt it. You were an ungrateful cuss then, with a chip on your shoulder big as Seattle.”

“Then I met you…”

Amy looked at him.
Then you left me.
The unspoken words remained between them, as tangible as the summer heat.

“Thank you, Amy.”

“You’re welcome.” She felt ridiculous, unsettled by the hammering in her chest and the need shooting through her veins as if they had not lain together only hours ago, meeting each other’s needs until both were too sated to move, to do more than breathe in the other and feel blessed.

“If you’re as tough on your seven-year-old as you were on me, he won’t stand a chance—”

“Uncle Jesse.”

A child’s call interrupted the moment. Jesse turned, smiled and waved at the youngster splashing through the puddles to be scooped up into his strong arms and held high above his head.

Amy watched Jesse lift the boy, the child’s expression adoring.

“He’s not seven, Jess,” she said softly, although she knew Jesse was out of earshot. “Our son is thirteen.”

A young woman stepped out onto the porch. The sallow color of her complexion and the severe style of her hair, pulled back off her face, left her just short of pretty. She folded her arms across her waist, cocking one hip as she watched Jesse and the boy. A smile crept across her face, and Amy saw that she had been very pretty at one time. The woman looked past Jesse to
Amy, the smile still on her face. She stepped down off the porch. As she passed Jesse, she rubbed his arm. She reached Amy and extended her hand.

“I’m Clare, Jesse’s cousin, and you must be the doctor from California. Thank you for coming to Turning Point. I’d heard you went looking for my son?”

Amy nodded. “Jesse was worried sick the boy and his friends would get caught in the storm.”

“Michael’s here, safe inside, thank the Lord. Not that he didn’t get a good tongue-lashing when he got home. But I’ve been wearing out the floorboards worried about you and Jesse. You both are a sight for sore eyes. My boys and I, well—” Clare looked away, then back at Amy. “We’ve had quite a year. If anything had happened to their Uncle Jesse or to you, I wouldn’t have been able to forgive myself.”

Amy did not want to add any more weight to the burden this woman already carried on her slight shoulders. “We’re fine. Just fine.”

Clare surveyed Amy, seeing the scratches, bruises and ill-fitting clothes. “Bet it was a hell of a night.” She smiled faintly.

“It had its moments,” Amy said softly as Jesse joined them. The child resting his head on his uncle’s shoulder examined Amy curiously. Clare rubbed Jesse’s arm again. Amy could see these people loved Jesse. She was grateful that after his accident they had been there to care about him.

Jesse put his arm around Clare’s narrow shoulders. “C’mon, Clare, don’t be getting all mushy on us, right, Shane?”

“Mushy, yuck.” The child agreed with a firm nod.

Clare gave the males a tired smile. She leaned against Jesse, accepting the support he offered.

“So, your brother’s here?” Jesse asked.

The little one nodded. Clare’s smile vanished.

“A group of them, Michael, Lenny Driscoll, Pete Abbott, Nick LaPierre, drove down to the coast to catch some waves.” The boy’s mother shook her head in a gesture familiar to all parents of teenagers. “They caught them, all right.”

“We found a part of a surfboard along the side of the road.”

“They had trouble securing the boards as the winds got stronger. Michael lost control of the board coming in on a wave. Got a nice gash on his leg from the rudder and slammed good on the head. Fortunately one of the other boys was nearby and pulled him to shore. Thank God, the tow didn’t take him. He used the beach towels and his own shirt to stem the bleeding.”

“He was knocked unconscious?”

Clare nodded. “Maybe it slammed some common sense into him.”

“He’s alert now?” Amy asked.

“Oh, he’s alert all right. And complaining because there’s no electricity. Child goes into withdrawal without video games or a computer. Only thing he’s happy about is there’ll be no football practices for a while.”

“No signs of abnormal sleepiness?”

Clare looked at Amy. “He’s a teenager. The boy could sleep around the clock if allowed.”

“What about blurred vision, nausea, vomiting?”

Clare shook her head.

“Sounds like he just got a nasty bump on the head, but I’d like to check him for a concussion or head injury.”

New worry etched the other woman’s face. “Yes, of course. Let’s go in.”

As they turned to the house, Amy saw a tall man with the look of a life of hard physical work and simple pleasures in his calm gaze. He came down the porch with an easy gait, a man comfortable in his body and his surroundings. He met the group halfway to the house and put his hand on Jesse’s shoulder.

“Son, I’m happy to see you whole and in good health.” The man nodded at Amy. “You too, ma’am. When we learned you went looking for Michael and hadn’t been heard from since, it was a long night waiting.”

“Uncle Frank, this is Dr. Amy—”

“I know who she is.” The man’s face wrinkled with welcome as he smiled at Amy. “Nice to meet you, ma’am. Edna says for you all to come inside. No electricity, of course, but I got the kerosene grill going, heating up a kettle right now.”

“That’s where we’re heading, Pop,” Clare said. “The doctor wants to take a look at Michael.”

The older man turned to Amy.

“I’m sure he’s fine,” Amy reassured him, “but any time there’s a blow to the head, you want to watch for concussion or a head injury.”

The group moved inside. “Of course,” Frank agreed. “Category Four storm and the damn fool goes surfing into the middle of it.”

“He’s sixteen, Uncle Frank,” Jesse said. “That’s all.”

“That’s enough.” The old man sighed. “Not that I’m so old I don’t remember pulling a few crazy stunts myself.”

“We’ve all got our stories to tell, Pop,” Clare said as they stepped inside. The farmhouse had a well-lived-in air. Even in the dim light, Amy could see that the fabrics on the furniture were faded, but the pillows were plump and piled high. Family photos decorated one wall and a large quilt covered another.

“The storm skipped you then?” Jesse said.

“We were some lucky,” his uncle said. “A few tiles on the roof popped and the winds were like the hounds of Hell, but the house is still standing.”

“We’ll be saying extra prayers tonight,” an older woman said as she came into the room. Her plump, sturdy figure and kind face with its deep laugh lines revealed she shared her husband’s ease with life. She wrapped her arms around Jesse and the child he still held. She moved on to Amy without hesitation, enveloping her in a strong embrace.

She stepped back, her hands still clasped on Amy’s shoulders. “A couple of those prayers will be for you,” she told her with a smile. “I’m Edna Boone, Jesse’s aunt.”

“Amy Sherwood.”

“Well, c’mon in the kitchen,” Edna said, slipping her arm around Amy’s shoulders, “and we’ll see if we can find something to feed you. We’re limited without electricity so we’ll have to be more clever than usual.”

“Where’s Michael?” Clare asked.

“In the kitchen also.” Edna led Amy toward the hall. “I set him to peeling some potatoes. K.P. duty. He’s mumbling about it, but busy hands do a boy good.”

Edna led Amy into an open, airy room with high ceilings and a chrome table. Chrome chairs with vinyl seats circled the table. The kitchen set had been copied and called retro in California, but this one was original, enjoyed for its function rather than funky charm. “Your husband must be worried sick about you, Amy.”

“I’m not married.” Amy gave the woman the answer she was fishing for. She recognized the boy at the table from the photos in the other room. Even though he was sitting, she could see he was lanky like his grandfather, but not fully grown. His body fit him like a too-big suit, forcing him to hunch his shoulders over the pile of peelings in a stainless-steel bowl that matched the table legs. A mean red welt primed to blacken had already risen on his forehead.

The boy glanced up, his expression the sullen, disinterested mask universal to teens and criminals about to be interrogated. He took in Amy without curiosity.

“Michael, this is Dr, Sherwood,” his grandmother introduced. “She came all the way from California to help out during the hurricane. She and your Uncle Jesse went to Padre Point searching for you last night before the storm made landfall.”

“Two more people who were worried about you,” Clare chastised.

The boy gave his mother an impatient look. Clare crossed her arms across her chest as if donning protective armor in preparation to do battle. “Not only did
you put yourself in danger with your foolish antics, you put them in danger as well.”

The boy glanced at Amy and Jesse. “Sorry,” he mumbled, lowering his gaze to the potatoes.

“I’d like to take a look at your forehead, Michael,” Amy said. “Check to make sure that bump is just a bump.”

Setting down a potato and the peeler, the boy watched her as she rounded the table to where he sat. She pulled out a chair, met him eye level.

“Face me, please,” she instructed. “Any blurred vision?” She felt the boy’s forehead, along his neck and glands for swelling.

The boy shook his head.

“Nausea, vomiting?”

Again the boy shook his head.

“Headache?”

“A surfboard cracked my skull. It wasn’t pretty.”

Amy smiled. “Was the pain sharp, shooting?”

“Nah. Just like I got dropped on my head.”

“Has the pain increased or subsided since you got beaned by the board?”

“It’s dull now.”

“Take any medication?”

“Nah.”

“Good. In case of a head injury, even a simple aspirin could have consequences. Abnormal sleepiness?”

The boy looked at her. “My mom thinks so.”

Again Amy smiled. “Outside of normal teenage sleep patterns, which do tend to be excessive.”

The boy shook his head. “You’re from California?”

“Courage Bay,” Amy answered. She moved the small oil lamp on the table closer. “Follow my finger with your eyes, please. Look up. Look down. Stand, please.”

Amy rose with the boy to find he was several inches taller than she was.

“Is that on the coast?”

Amy nodded. “Right on the ocean. Not far from Los Angeles.”

“You surf?”

“No, sir. Not enough hours in my day, but I have some friends who do. Put your arms out at your sides, please. What was the biggest wave you caught yesterday?”

The boy smiled, the wave gaining size in his memory. “Had to be fifteen feet easy. But it was an even bigger one that took me out.”

“How’d your friends fare?”

“They got bounced around, probably sore as sh—”

He caught himself. He glanced over at Clare, who glared at him. From the corner of her eye, Amy saw Jesse swallow a smile.

“But you got the worst of it.”

“Lost my board, but my dad will buy me a new one.” He chanced another look at his mother, who remained silent, arms crossed.

“Raise your arms to your sides,” Amy instructed. “Close your eyes. Touch your right finger to your nose. Now your left. Great. You can open your eyes. Your mom said you got a good cut on your leg?”

“When I lost control of the board, the water was
rough. I tucked my head, pulled in my legs like my dad taught me—”

Amy heard Clare sigh.

“But the water was like mad-crazy and the rudder gashed my calf. I wrapped a towel around to stop the bleeding.”

“Did that work?”

“Yup.”

“I’d like to take a look at it.”