Hard Rain. Darlene Scalera
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