Hard Rain (11 page)

The boy pulled up the leg of the flannel lounge pants popular among both sexes his age. The cut was open but the blood had coagulated, leaving a fresh, bright red strip. “Good. The bleeding has stopped. Stitches won’t be necessary.” She turned to the others. “There doesn’t seem to be any damage.”

“Except it was a foolhardy stunt to pull in the first place,” his mother pointed out once more.

The teenager grinned sheepishly. “C’mon, Mom, I’ll bet Grandma and Grandpa could tell me some stories about things you did when you were my age.”

“I didn’t surf during a hurricane warning and get knocked on my backside.” Clare rubbed her forehead and turned even paler as the events of last night hit home. “You could have drowned.”

“Well, I didn’t,” the boy mumbled in true adolescent fashion.

“Maybe next time you’ll use some of that sense the good Lord gave you,” Clare said, infusing her words with anger. “In the meantime, apologize to your Uncle Jesse and the doctor here. They were stuck on the coast last night, trapped by the storm, looking for you. Do
you realize what could have happened? Christmas, we were lucky.”

“I’m sorry,” the boy mumbled, the defiance dissolving a degree as he looked at his uncle and Amy.

“Now, finish up those potatoes,” Clare ordered. “After that, I’m sure your grandparents have some other chores for you to do.”

His disdainful expression returning, the boy picked up the peeler and the potato he’d been working on. Scowling at the vegetable, he began to peel it.

“Jesse, let me make you and the doctor something to eat. Like I said, we’re limited without electricity, but I can whip you up something.”

Jesse shook his head. “I appreciate it, Aunt Edna, but I can’t stay. It’s late now and I’ve got to get into town, see what has to be done.”

Amy nodded in agreement.

“Frank himself was talking about heading into town to lend a hand, but surely not much can be done until daylight without electricity.”

“They’ll have the generators running,” Jesse said. “Plus, I want to be on hand for any calls that come in.”

“Well, you’ve both got to eat or you’ll be no good to no one.” Jesse’s aunt moved to the cupboards. “I’ll start the coffee, put it into a thermos. I’ll wrap up some sandwiches for you to take with you. Clare, while I do that, you take Amy upstairs and see if you can find some clothes that might suit her. She looks about your size.”

“Thank you, but I have some clothes I can change into at the fire hall. I wouldn’t mind freshening up a
bit, though. If you have a spare toothbrush, I’d kill to brush my teeth.”

Clare smiled at Amy. “Sure. C’mon.”

Clare picked up a lantern and a flashlight, and the two women left the room.

“Nice-looking woman,” Jesse’s uncle observed. He looked at Jesse.

“Smart, too. A doctor,” Jesse’s aunt added. “And single.”

“She’s a little old for Michael, don’t you think?” Jesse said. The boy glanced up. Jesse winked at him in silent partnership. “You got an extra peeler or a paring knife, Aunt Edna?” He pulled out a chair opposite the boy and picked up a potato. Michael smiled.

“Of course she’s too old for Michael.” Edna handed a peeler to Jesse. “But not for you.” She patted Jesse’s shoulder maternally. “Time you settled down.”

Jesse picked up a potato. “I’m settled, Aunt Edna.”

“Settled with a woman. Start a family.”

Jesse peeled the thin skin off a potato. He didn’t argue.

C
LARE HAD LED
Amy to the bathroom in the upstairs hall. Placing the lantern on the counter, she set out towels, toothbrush and toothpaste. She opened the mirrored medicine cabinet and told Amy to help herself to anything else she might need. She was sitting on the bed, waiting for her, when Amy returned.

“I feel like a new woman.”

Clare smiled. “Looks like you got thrown around some by the storm.”

Amy looked down at the bruises and scratches on her body, the cut on her knee. “Nothing serious.”

Clare stood. “He’s a good man.” She sent a sidelong look at Amy. “Jesse.”

Amy didn’t answer. She didn’t need to be sold on Jesse.

“My boys adore him.”

“So I gather. He was lucky to have family to take him in after the accident.”

Crossing her arms, Clare leaned against the door-frame. “So he told you about that?”

“It was a long night. We had lots of time to talk.”

“He doesn’t talk about it much. The other men that were there told my dad about it, how Jesse ran into the explosion to save his father. His dad was already dead, of course.”

Amy frowned. “I thought Jesse was with his dad when the explosion occurred?”

Clare shook her head. “He was on his way down for supplies when the tank blew. He ran right into the blaze. No one could stop him. He dragged his father’s body out. Was trying to bring him down when the scaffolding went.” Clare shook her head. “My dad never had much use for his brother. Heck, I didn’t even know I had a cousin until Jesse came after the accident. But Jesse loved his father. That’s part of the reason he’s so good with my boys. He hates the thought of them growing up without a dad.”

Amy and Clare returned to the kitchen a few minutes later. Amy had brushed her hair and braided it at the back of her head. She’d washed her face, her cheeks
pink from the scrubbing. Even in the dim light, Jesse saw where the night had taken its toll. More than one purplish bruise marred her thighs. Long scratches cut across her arms. He hated the fact she’d been battered by the storm, but he sensed she wore those bruises and scrapes as triumphantly as he wore his own. She was talking to his aunt, when she suddenly turned and looked directly at him. For not the first time in the past two days, Jesse felt his heart stop, then start again.

They stayed long enough for Edna to pack them sandwiches, a thermos of coffee and a container full of homemade chocolate chip cookies. She packed a second basket of food for Frank and Michael, who decided they’d also head into town to see if they could help others who hadn’t been as fortunate as them. The women hugged Amy good-bye, and even Michael said thankyou without being prompted. The women and Shane stood on the porch to watch them off. Frank and Michael were putting supplies in a pickup truck as the SUV pulled away.

“It might be safer for them to stay put until more clean-up has occurred,” Amy ventured.

“I agree,” Jesse said, downshifting, “but try and tell Uncle Frank that. Better off not to argue. He’d go anyway.”

They fell silent as Jesse steered the vehicle around deep puddles. They had gone only a mile when he turned left, then left again and crested a hill. The view would be spectacular in the daytime, Amy thought. That image was marred as the car’s headlights illuminated a pile of rubble from what once must have been
a house. Walls had been ripped and shredded, exposing what was left of the contents. A refrigerator lay flat, thrown at least a hundred feet from the house. Heavy beams crisscrossed Sheetrock and piles of wet pink insulation. A lone tree trunk stood left of the rubble, its leaves and branches torn away. The tree had probably shaded the house.

Leaving the headlights on, Jesse parked and got out without a word, his gaze fixed on the wreckage. Amy followed him. She knew this had been his home even before she saw the mailbox ripped from its post and thrown carelessly amid the rubble, a number and road name stenciled on its side. Beneath the address, Boone.

Hopelessness fell on her hard, threatening to take her down. She might have been mired in the storm’s waters again, struggling not to be sucked under. She braced her shoulders and called up a righteous anger, blinking away the tears that welled in her eyes.

Jesse squatted down, his broad shoulders stooped as he sifted among the wreckage. He pulled out a brass doorknocker, staring at it as if it were a rare jewel. Amy stepped toward him over the bits and pieces of his life scattered among the ruins.

She crouched beside him. “Jesse, I’m so sorry. This was your house, wasn’t it?”

She placed a hand on his upper arm. He tensed beneath her touch, then straightened, moving away from her. He wouldn’t look at her. “It’s only a house. Wood. Glass.”

“It was your home.”

Still he did not look at her. “It was a house.” He
moved farther away from her, kicking at the rubble. She stared at his back and thought of what she’d learned from Clare only moments ago. How Jesse had tried to save his father, almost securing his own death in the process. Afterward, he’d sacrificed his own desire so that she could achieve her dream of being a doctor. Playing the hero came naturally to him. What was hard for him was accepting help from others.

She stared at his back.
Let me in, Jess.
She moved toward him, stepping gingerly among the timbers. He stepped away. He did not want her help. Not today. Not fourteen years ago. Thoughts of a possible future together seemed as vulnerable as the building that lay around them.

“We’d better head into town.” He gave a final soft kick to a beam. “I’m sure there’s plenty ways they’ll need our help.” He waited for her to start toward the vehicle.

She looked around. She had so many questions. Had he lived here long? Did he build this house or buy it? What color had he painted the kitchen walls? Had he brought lady friends here? Cooked them dinner? Led them to his bed? Fourteen years. A lifetime. She said nothing, just looked at him.
Let me in, Jess.

“Ready?” He started toward the vehicle without waiting for her. Perhaps, as he’d believed fourteen years ago, he was protecting her. And he had. But then, as now, he was also protecting himself.

She was almost at the edge of the wreckage when she saw a flash of bright green. She bent down and brushed away the damp splinters of wood until she
pulled out a small stuffed frog in a faded tuxedo. She smiled as she shook it out, dusting off dirt and tufts of insulation. She’d given it to Jess their first Valentine’s Day together attached to a big red heart balloon lettered My Prince. She remembered he’d blushed. Mr. Tough Guy.

He was waiting for her at the driver’s door. His gaze took in the stuffed frog in her hands. Fourteen years fell away.

I
T WAS AROUND MIDNIGHT
when they reached the center of town. They were silent as they passed blown-out storefronts, a pickup truck tipped on its side, yards littered with an absurd array of objects. Amy saw a rocking chair, an ironing board. A few roofs had been carried off; others had lost only their tiles, leaving them with a bald look. Silhouetted in the darkness, a man and a teenaged boy, both in hip boots, were sloshing their way through puddles. Their flashlight beams were pointed toward a barbershop at the end of the street. An uprooted elm had missed the roof but sheared off the metal awning. It lay thirty feet away, flung against the front of the post office. Amy remembered the gaily-striped barbershop pole that had caught her attention as they’d come into town yesterday. It was nowhere to be seen.

Jesse released a long breath. His features revealed defeat before they altered into an expression of somber determination. He slowed the vehicle as they reached the man and boy, then parked, and got out. Amy did the same. Jesse turned at the sound of her door opening. “There’s no need.”

“Maybe not.” But she hadn’t come here to sit and watch from the sidelines. He should have learned that by now. She rounded the vehicle, meeting Jesse at the other side. He flicked a glance at her and shrugged his shoulders as if to say “Suit yourself,” but she saw the grudging respect in his gaze.

The boy and man came toward them, the same firm set to their shoulders as Jesse wore.

“Tom. Alex.” Jesse laid a large hand for the briefest moment on the teenager’s knobby shoulder.

“Sheriff.” The man nodded toward Jesse. “Ma’am.” For a moment, no one spoke, as if there were no words adequate.

The man put his hands on his hips and looked around. “It could be worse. Heard it practically leveled territories along the coast.”

Jesse nodded. “It did.”

Jesse’s answer brought a long look from the man. “You were there?”

“We went down looking for Clare’s boy Michael and his friends. Michael’s brother, Shane, had called to let me know the boys had taken off for the coast with their surfboards strapped to the car’s roof.”

The older man glanced at his son. “You know anything about that?”

“A few of the boys were talking at football practice the day before, saying if the storm came, they should ditch practice and ride some big ones.” The boy shrugged. “But practice was cancelled anyway yesterday. That’s all I heard.”

“And you two got stuck on the coast?” The man
shook his head. “I’m glad you made it back to us in one piece, Sheriff. And you too, ma’am.”

Amy extended her hand. “Amy Sherwood.”

“Dr. Sherwood came in with the others from Courage Bay to give a hand during recovery,” Jesse explained.

“God bless ya, Doc.” The man pumped her hand. “We do pretty good on our own two feet but are always glad to have another pair of willing hands. I’m Tom Roscoe and this is my eldest, Alex. Wasn’t much Chief Kannon and the volunteers could do last night when the storm reached us, but Turning Point will sure be grateful now for every extra pair of hands we can get.”

“How’s your house, Tom? Storm do any damage?”

“Knocked an elm on the shed and tried to shake the house off its foundation, but thank God, she stood firm. Helen didn’t wait to see if the storm would turn or peter out into a tropical. As soon as she heard Category Four, she grabbed the girls and they headed to her sister’s house in Charlotte. Alex and I stayed behind to haul things to the upper floors, nail plywood over the windows.” He looked at his shop. “All in all, we were pretty lucky, I’d say. How’d your property make out?”

Jesse shook his head. “Not so well, I’m afraid. Not much left but a lot of waste to be hauled away.”

“Sheriff, I’m sorry to hear that you were hit hard.” Tom’s eyes darkened with concern.

“Houses can be rebuilt.”

“That’s right. We’ll gather up all of Turning Point and have an old-fashioned barn-raising. We’ll have a roof over your head in a weekend.”

Jesse smiled. “In the meantime, how about I give you a hand cleaning up?”

“Thanks, Sheriff, but I’ve got the boy here. We can manage just fine. I’m sure Chief Kannon needs you more than we do.”

“That’s where we’re heading,” Jesse said. “Dr. Sherwood will be at the first-aid station set up at the firehouse if you come across anyone requiring medical attention. I’m going to check in at the firehouse, then head back out.”

“Doesn’t look like Gladys made out too good,” the barber observed, pointing out the twisted metal frames once filled with plate-glass windows. Diva Dominion—the sign Amy had enjoyed yesterday as they’d passed by in the van—was gone. Domed metal hair dryers lay across the street among two-by-fours and shattered glass, their helmets upside down and full of water.

“Better get going,” Jesse said, unsmiling.

When they reached the fire station, they found it unharmed except for the water covering the parking lot. The other town buildings had also escaped damage.

Amy and Jesse parked and waded through the deep puddles. The buzz of generators greeted them, and they saw that the bays for the emergency vehicles were empty.

“They’re either responding to calls or out patrolling, looking for downed power lines, sewage and water main breaks. No one should have been on the road, but still, motorists could have gotten caught in the flash flooding,” Jesse noted.

In the front hall of the station house, several men slept on cots. Ruth, the dispatcher, set down a coffee cup and rose to meet Amy and Jesse.

“Damn, now there’s a sight for sore eyes. After you two headed to the coast, all hell broke loose. Good to see you, Sheriff. Doc.” Smiling broadly, Ruth looked from Jesse to Amy. “How you two doing?”

“We survived,” Jesse answered. “How’s things here?”

“Emergency workers have already been mobilized, heading out to the harder hit areas. Our squads are out now assessing the situation. Not much we could do last night when Damon hit but head for shelter, sit on our behinds and curse the damn storm. And that’s exactly what we did, although I had to practically threaten to go out and hogtie that stubborn chief of ours before I could get him to head to the shelter.”

“If there’s anyone he’d listen to, it’d be you, Ruthie,” Jesse said.

Amy saw a faint blush steal across the stern lines of the woman’s face.

“Storm wasn’t even supposed to strike here, but guess it got a good look at us and decided to say howdy. We only got the tailwind but that was enough.”

“What about serious injuries?” Amy asked. “Any casualties?”

“Had to chopper Bill Thompson out to the hospital in Alice to check his heart, but the only casualties reported so far have been material,” the dispatcher answered. “Had a scare with a member of your team.” She looked at Amy. “The trauma nurse.”

“Cheryl?” Amy felt the blood drain from her face.

“She was coming back from a call and got lost trying to take a shortcut. She was on that old bridge not far from where the Hansen barn burned down ten years ago.”

Jesse nodded in recognition.

“She was on the radio to the chief, trying to get directions. He told her to get off the bridge. He heard something cracking, the woman screaming. Then we lost the connection. Chief was afraid the current had taken her. He and a team searched for hours.”

“Oh, my God.” Amy covered her mouth with her hand in horror. “But she’s all right?”

Ruth nodded. “Noah Arkin got through on the radio just a little while ago. He was heading to his clinic with a truck full of animals when he saw the car being swept down the river. He jumped in and pulled her out just before the vehicle went under. Says she was unconscious, but her pulse and breathing were steady. The road back to town was already washed out so he took her to his clinic until the storm passed.”

“I thought Turning Point’s only doctor was in Houston recovering from a heart attack?” Amy asked, confused.

“He is. Noah’s a veterinarian,” Jesse explained. “You say the woman’s okay?”

“Noah said she was disoriented when she finally came to. Hit her head pretty hard in the fall and at first couldn’t remember anything. Not even her name.”

“Amnesia?” Amy asked.

“Only temporary. By the time Noah was able to radio in, he said her memory was starting to return.
Other than a few bruises, he says she’s okay, but the roads are still flooded out, making travel impossible. Hope they’ll be clear by morning.”

“What about the other members of the team?” Amy asked.

“The paramedic that went up with Jolene to Rock-a-Bye Ranch—”

“Nate?”

“Don’t remember the fella’s name—”

“Nate Kellison,” Amy said.

“They had a little trouble when they got to Lily’s. The baby was breech, but between the two of them, the delivery turned out successful. Little girl. Weighed more than nine pounds.”

Jesse whistled low.

“And Lily fretting about bringing their prize bull in before the storm hits.”

“The one Gabe just brought home?”

Ruth nodded. “The animal was out on the open range. They lose him and there goes the breeding program. Jolene told Lily she’d bring the bull home. The paramedic thought both of them were crazy, but he was determined to go out with Jolene to search for the animal. Then the storm hit. We haven’t heard anything since, but ten chances to one, they saw the storm coming in and holed up at Jolene’s ranch next door. Don’t worry, Doc, if your friend is with the chief’s daughter, he’s in good hands.”

“And vice versa,” Amy added.

“Good enough.”

“Still, the chief must be worried sick about his daughter.”

“I’m sure he is, but he’s not one to let on.”

“What about Micky Flynn?” Jesse asked.

“He and the female firefighter—”

“Dana?” Amy interjected.

Ruth nodded. “They brought that bunch of Boy Scouts in. Micky made Dana go back to his place for a break. You just missed them. Most of the rest of the volunteers are out also. It’s slow going. The outer areas to the south were hit hardest by the flooding.”

“I’m heading out myself now,” Jesse said. “Uncle Frank and Clare’s boy Michael were on their way in when I left their place.”

“How’d they make out from the storm?”

“It missed them.”

“There’s good news. How ’bout your place?”

“Well…I was always talking about remodeling. Now I’ll have the chance.” Jesse downplayed the loss of his house, uncomfortable with other people’s concern.

A burst of static sounded from the office off the main room. “We got the auxiliary radio going but it goes in and out, uncooperative as my first husband.”

As if on cue, the radio crackled again. A disembodied male voice filled the room. “One of the volunteers slipped with a chain saw. Avulsion to the lower left extremity. Tissue torn away from the body. Possible nerve damage.”

“Let them know I’m back,” Amy instructed the dispatcher. “Have him ambulanced here to the first-aid station.”

Ruth complied, relaying the instructions to the rescue worker on the other end of the call. When he signed
off, Ruth turned to Amy and Jesse. “They’re on their way.”

Amy started toward the door.

“I’ll be right back,” Jesse told the dispatcher. He followed Amy. Once outside he called her name. She stopped and turned to him.

“I’m going to head out myself shortly,” he said. He moved toward her. “If you need anything, have the dispatcher radio me.”

She nodded.

“I’ll see you when I get back in. I’ll probably be bunking down in my office temporarily. You’ll be here?”

She nodded again. He stood as if he had something more to say. She waited for him to continue. He gazed at her but said nothing.

“Amy…” He could not continue.

She smiled and laid her palm on his cheek, dark with a day’s growth of beard. “I know, Jess. We need time to talk. Time we don’t have right now. I hope we’ll have a whole lifetime to figure this out.”

He leaned down and kissed her lips.

“In the meantime,” she whispered to him, “I’ll be here, waiting.”

They heard the siren’s wail. He kissed her once more, deeper, harder, then let her go.

An appetizing smell surprised Amy as she opened the door where Cheryl had set up the first-aid station. A large pot of soup simmered on a camp stove. Amy familiarized herself with the triage area, finding bandaging and splinting equipment, examination in
struments, tubing, catheters, oxygen, saline. She had finished scrubbing up and was pulling on sterile gloves when the rescue squad members wheeled in the patient, giving Amy his vitals as they brought him in.

“Direct pressure didn’t stem the bleeding,” one of the attendants said. “We had to use a tourniquet.”

Amy checked the pressure and placement of the cuff, then cleansed the skin around the wound with a hydrogen peroxide solution and irrigated the deep gash with saline. She looked for any shards of glass or wood embedded in the cut and tested for nerve, artery and muscle function. The man’s color was pale but his blood pressure and pulse were stable.

From the supplies, Amy extracted a syringe. “I’m going to give you something for the pain,” she said, deftly filling the needle and administering the medication. “Then I’ll numb the wound itself and close it with stitches. There is some damage to the connective tissue envelope around the muscle so I’ll stitch that up as well.” She looked the man directly in the eyes. “Afterward, you’ll need to keep the area clean and dry to prevent infection. The stitches will come out within a week to ten days, but it takes six weeks or more for the cut to heal fully. And you’ll need a tetanus shot.”

She saw the man’s facial muscles relax as the painkiller took effect. “Any questions?” She smiled her reassurance.

“Just fix me up, Doc, and I’ll be grateful.”

“All right.” Amy reached for the local anesthetic. “Let’s do it.”

Shortly after she’d finished stitching the man’s
wound, other patients began to arrive. Many came grudgingly, prodded by a spouse’s nagging. Most were certain they didn’t need a doctor’s care and were only wasting time when they could be useful elsewhere. Amy pointed out more than once that they would be useful to no one if they neglected their health. Fortunately, most of the injuries were easily treatable. Any life-threatening injuries had already been choppered out to the Houston trauma center. Amy was kept busy treating the garden variety of general traumas common-place after a disaster. She saw cuts, abrasions and muscle tears, a few mild cases of hypothermia, neck and back complaints from minor accidents when drivers lost control of their vehicles. In between cases, she’d check with the dispatcher or try to catch a quick nap, only to lie on the cot wide awake, listening to the constant buzz of generators and chain saws in the distance. Sitting up after another failed attempt at sleep, she saw the night paling. Shortly before, Mitch had stopped in to see how everything was going and if she needed anything.