E-mail from: Mitch Kannon, fire chief,

Turning Point, Texas

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

I had to weigh in with my conscience on this one, Dan, but I promised to let you know how things were going with the volunteers you sent down.

What’s got me concerned is that I’ve lost track of your emergency nurse, Cheryl Tierney. She’s a real professional, that one, and since she’d pretty much finished setting up the triage area in our temporary shelter, I sent her out on a call. Went to splint a little kid’s arm a few miles out of town.

Rain’s coming down like I’ve never seen it before, and visibility’s poor. The family she went to help said Cheryl left there a while ago and was headed for a shortcut back to town. Trouble is, the shortcut crossed over a bridge, and news is that the bridge washed out.

I’m not too worried. I figure Cheryl’s holed up somewhere safe to wait out the storm. I’m hoping she might have made it as far as Noah Arkin’s place. Noah’s our local vet, and if she’s with him, he and his menagerie will keep her safe. The power’s starting to go out in places and cell phone service is spotty, but as soon as I get word on Cheryl, I’ll let you know come hell or high water.

About the Author

CAROL MARINELLI

was born in England and following her nursing training worked for a number of years in a phenomenally busy Accident and Emergency department. Taking a year off to backpack around Australia had rather more far reaching consequences than Carol had anticipated: marriage, three wonderful children and emigration (not in that order!).

Writing had always been a dream, though one she’d never quite followed through on. With her husband’s endless encouragement, gradually the story that had lived in her head for way too long found a new home on her computer and finally became her first book. Now she writes for Medical Romance and Presents and is thrilled to have been asked to write a book for the wonderful Code Red series!

Washed Away
Carol Marinelli

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Dear Reader,

Writing can be lonely at times, so I was thrilled to work with so many wonderful authors on the Code Red series. It has been a real roller-coaster ride for me—getting to know not just my own hero and heroine, but my coauthors’, as well. On top of that, I loved corresponding with the other authors and working out all the little nuances of the interlinked characters that made them so real. In fact, by the time I’d finished the book, they were so real to me, I half expected to meet them walking down the street!

I was equally thrilled to finally have a valid excuse (if ever I needed one!) to travel from Australia, where I live, to America and finally witness firsthand all the wonderful images that I’d only seen from my television screen.

On the downside, I’ve now got permanently itchy feet and miss the buzz of working on a linked series.

Still, I’ve got the other fifteen books to add to my “to-be-read pile,” which can only mean a happy ending!

Happy reading,

Carol Marinelli

For Damian, Ronnie, Hagen,

Erin and Lara Burns.

With love and thanks.

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

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER ONE

“YOU KNOW WHAT this is called, don’t you, Cheryl?” Chief Mitch Kannon asked as he walked into the fire station headquarters, where a lonesome Cheryl Tierney was rather dispiritedly stocking a shelf with bandages in the makeshift triage area she was setting up—alone.

Cheryl and three other volunteers had flown in from Courage Bay, California, to Turning Point, Texas, to help receive the massive number of evacuees from the more northerly city of Corpus Christi, where a category four hurricane was due to hit.

All four of them had put their hands up without question when the request for assistance came in. All four of them had been keen to get there, ready for action the minute they arrived. They were emergency personnel after all. This was the type of drama they lived for!

And three of them were already out there in the thick of it. They’d been sent out on calls by Mitch, which left Cheryl to set up the area, alone and frustrated.

Cheryl gave a small shrug in response to Mitch’s question; she had no idea what he was going on about. Maybe another lecture was about to ensue. She’d barely set foot in Turning Point, a touch shaken after a turbulent flight but more than ready to get started, only to be told by the fire chief in no uncertain terms that the operating room scrubs and runners she was wearing weren’t “suitable” wet-weather gear. He’d promptly handed her a massive oversize pair of navy trousers and a cotton shirt that had seen better days, topped off with a huge pair of woolly socks and steel-toe boots—which she’d quickly changed into—then headed to the chief’s briefing. Mitch had instructed the gathered emergency teams as to their various roles and the types of damage and injuries they were to expect when the category four hurricane hit. She’d accepted his directions about the triage area for the expected casualties without question, and even smiled sweetly when Turning Point’s retired school nurse, Florence Templeton, who was eighty if she was a day, had chided her about the way she folded blankets. But if Mitch Kannon was about to offer advice on how to set up the equipment in her triage area, then he had better brace himself for a less-than-welcome response.

Cheryl was an experienced trauma nurse, exactly what Mitch Kannon had requested when he’d called on his old friend and colleague Fire Chief Dan Egan in Courage Bay and asked for a crack team to be sent. Advice about her clothes and her role in the disaster plan Cheryl would happily take, but if the fire chief was about to tell her how to stock the triage area, then it had better be with reasons he could back up. Trauma was Cheryl’s baby; emergency nursing was what she did best in this world, and she’d argue her side of things till she was blue in the face if that was what it took.

“I’ll tell you what they call this, Cheryl,” Mitch carried on easily, ignoring her rigid movements as she continued setting up. “This is what they call the lull before the storm.”

He laughed loudly at his lame joke, and for the first time since arriving in Turning Point, Cheryl found herself warming to the man.

Smiling even.

Since Dan Egan had called her, Cheryl had been running on pure adrenaline, but as the hours ticked by and everyone except her was out on a call, she was beginning to feel curiously deflated.

Nate Kellison, a paramedic with the Courage Bay fire department, had been sent to assist in the delivery of a baby. His colleague, Dana Ivie, a firefighter and Emergency Medical Technician was flying off to search for a group of Boy Scouts and their leader who’d been involved in a car accident. And ER resident Amy Sherwood, who’d been helping Cheryl, had set out with the sheriff, Jessie Boone, to assess the rescue center for evacuees that was located in the local high school.

Cheryl would love to be dealing with any one of those assignments, yet here she was, still setting up the triage area. The only other thing she’d done was give a couple of firefighters their tetanus boosters.

“I’ve been ordered to take a coffee break,” Mitch told her.

“I thought you were the one who gave the orders around here.”

“Usually.” Mitch grinned. “But when Ruth, my dispatcher, tells me it’s time for a break, I know better than to argue. Come join me for five minutes.”

The rain was pounding on the roof now as Cheryl accepted the mug of coffee Mitch was pouring for her from a thermos. She took a sip, screwing up her face as she did so. “No sugar.”

“I figured you wouldn’t take it.” Mitch winked as he pulled a couple of sachets out of his pocket and handed them to her. “A skinny thing like you.”

“Too skinny,” Cheryl corrected. “I need all the sugar I can get, but even I don’t carry supplies in my pocket. Although,” she added shaking her head as he unwrapped a mountain of a sandwich, “I do bring my own lunch.”

“You’re not serious.” Mitch grinned as Cheryl put down her coffee and rummaged in her backpack pulling out a plastic container. Peeling off the lid, she revealed a large cheese and lettuce sandwich.

“That bread must have taken a whole field just to produce the grains loaded into it,” Mitch teased her. “You’ll upset the Women’s Auxiliary if you go spurning their sandwiches. We do eat in Texas, you know. We were intending to feed the volunteers.”

“I know. I just wasn’t sure when we’d get time to stop, so I figured it was easier to bring my own. I’ve got dinner in there somewhere, but don’t worry. I’ll tell the ladies that their sandwiches are the nicest I’ve tasted.” Her cheeky smile was rewarded with one of Mitch’s.

“So what’s a girl from New York doing in California?” Mitch asked. “You’ll never lose that accent, you know.”

“I don’t want to,” Cheryl admitted, stirring her coffee with the end of a pen, and avoiding the fire chief’s eyes, not quite ready to go there at the best of times and certainly not with someone she’d barely met. “Or, you could ask, ‘What’s a trauma nurse from California doing in Turning Point, Texas?’”

“Good point,” Mitch said lightly, realizing she didn’t want to talk about her past. But his curiosity was piqued. There was something that didn’t add up with Cheryl Tierney. Sure, she seemed to know what she was doing, was poised and assertive as well, and that long dark hair neatly tied back spelt Confidence with a capital C. But there was a sadness in those dark brown eyes, a slight aloofness behind that perfect smile that told Mitch all wasn’t as well as it seemed. And even though he had plenty of other things to be worrying about today, he was also a dad. Jolene, his daughter, was around the same age as Cheryl, and if he came across as nosey or a bit interfering, Mitch wasn’t making apologies. He looked out for his staff, and today, Cheryl was one of them.

“So where in New York are you from?”

“New Rochelle,” Cheryl answered stiffly, taking a slug of her coffee and effectively ending the conversation.

“How long have you been in Courage Bay?” Mitch persisted, despite Cheryl’s obvious reluctance.

“Two years now,” Cheryl answered, obviously feeling safer now that she could shift the conversation to work. “Heading up the trauma room.”

“A tough job?”

Cheryl gave a rueful smile. “Which is exactly how I like it.”

“What about your parents? Are they still in New Rochelle?” He watched her shoulders stiffen, heard the long pause before she answered way too lightly for a woman with pursed lips.

“My mom is. My dad moved out to…” She gave a tight shrug, took another sip of her coffee. “Look, I’d better get back to it—thanks for bringing the coffee over.”

“You haven’t even drunk it,” Mitch pointed out. “Or eaten your lunch. You’re allowed to have a break, you know.”

“I can eat and work at the same time,” Cheryl responded. “It won’t be the first time.”

“Take a break while you can, Cheryl. Things will soon pick up.”

“I hope so.” Cheryl sighed, then checked herself. “Not that I want anyone to get injured or anything,” she added.

“Oh, come on, Cheryl,” Mitch laughed. “You’re a trauma nurse. You get your kicks the same way I do. I’ve been in this game more years than I care to count, but I still get a thrill when the emergency bell goes, still get that high as we screech out of the station on the way to a fire. It doesn’t mean I want someone to be hurt or trapped, but if someone is, then I know one thing for sure—I want to be the guy to help.” He shot a look at Cheryl. “Are you gonna try and tell me you don’t feel the same?”

“No.” Cheryl grinned. “I guess we’re just good at what we do, Mitch.”

“Which is why you want to be out there,” Mitch said perceptively. “Which is why you want to be in the thick of things, not stocking up a few shelves and shuffling around in clothes that don’t really fit. Though you’ll be glad of them later!”

“I’m sure you’re right,” Cheryl conceded, warming by the minute to Mitch. He was down-to-earth, straight talking with a sense of humor—but more to the point, he also possessed a quiet air of leadership that demanded respect, and no doubt got it.

Mitch Kannon, Cheryl decided, was the type of guy that got the best out of a team, because, quite simply, he gave it himself. The type of guy who had taken five minutes out of his undoubtedly hectic schedule to get to know a member of the team he was leading, safe in the knowledge he would be rewarded tenfold later.

Cheryl knew that, because it was the way she herself worked.

Okay, she wasn’t the social butterfly of Courage Bay Emergency. Truth be told she kept pretty much to herself. But her patients always came first. No hidden agenda, no massaging egos to further her career. She gave her best and expected no less from those around her.

“It’s hard to believe we’re in the same country sometimes,” Mitch sighed. “Thanks for being so good with Florence, by the way. The old school nurse,” he added when Cheryl frowned as she tried to place the name. “I’ve asked her to man the high school where most people are being evacuated to. She’s going to deal with minor cuts and bruises once the place starts to fill. I figured she’d be happier over there, and judging by the way she took off, I reckon I was right. Florence might come across as fierce, but she’s a sweetheart really. She’s been around longer than anyone else I can think of. There’s not a single person who lives in Turning Point who hasn’t had their heads personally checked by Florence for nits.”

“And she makes a mean bed,” Cheryl said, “with hospital corners.”

“The bedspread is so tight you could bounce a dime off it,” Mitch agreed. “But she’s a good sort, and even if she comes across as bossy, she knows she’s not up to dealing with a major incident. She’s glad you’re here, really.”

“You could have fooled me,” Cheryl quipped.

“She is,” Mitch said firmly. “We all are. This is a great place to live, a great place to raise a family, but at the end of the day, it’s a rural community stuck in the middle of nowhere. When trouble happens, everyone’s more than willing to pitch in, but sometimes the job’s just too big. We get by for the most part using good old common sense, and there’s a lot to be said for it, but at times like this, a bit more is needed. The people of Turning Point and Corpus Christi deserve it. This storm’s going to devastate a lot of people. That’s why I called my old friend Dan Egan and asked him to see about sending help. The only doctor in Turning Point, Dr. Holland, had a heart attack a few weeks ago. He’s still in hospital in Houston. I had an EMT on staff but she just moved to North Dakota….”

“Which leaves you and Florence?”

“And a mighty team of volunteers—but you can see why I’m more than happy to have help arrive. Now, have you got everything you need?” Mitch asked, before draining the last of his coffee in one gulp.

“Pretty much.” Cheryl looked around and nodded. “We brought a lot of equipment with us. Mind you, it depends on how many casualties arrive. Amy wanted to see about getting a couple of oxygen saturation monitors from Dr. Holland’s clinic, so if someone can get into it and get them, that would be great, and a few more IV poles wouldn’t go unused. I’ve set up some hooks on the back walls, so anyone needing IV therapy will have to stay over there.” She pointed to the far wall, and Mitch gave an approving nod.

“You’ve done an amazing job. It looks like a real minihospital. There’s still a bit more equipment to come. Noah, the local veterinarian, is heading over—should be here anytime now. He said he’d bring over some stuff we might need, though don’t ask me what. I’ll have to leave the medical side of things to you.”

Which was just the way Cheryl wanted it.

“Well, so long as he doesn’t expect to set up shop here, as well,” Cheryl laughed. “I know it’s an emergency, but I don’t relish the idea of working alongside roaming horses and low-flying birds.”

“You don’t have to worry. Noah’s just bringing the gear over and heading straight back to his clinic. He has his own work cut out for him. I’ll go and see about getting someone into Doc Holland’s rooms for you.”

“That would be great.” Cheryl smiled. “Then all I need is a patient.”

“Your turn will come soon enough, Cheryl,” Mitch said knowingly, his eyes turning back to the window, his brow creasing as he looked outside. “And when it does…” His voice trailed off, and Cheryl found herself frowning, too. She had only met Mitch Kannon a few hours ago, but something in his stance, his voice, told her there was more on his mind.

“What is it, Mitch?”

“Nothing.”

He gave a brief shrug and flashed a smile Cheryl was sure was false. She just stared right back at him.

“I’m not going to fool you, am I.”

“I know that look,” Cheryl said, “and I know that voice, too. You’re right Mitch. We’re both in this game for a reason. So what’s on your mind? What’s worrying you?”

“I don’t know.” He shook his head. “The evacuation’s going really well. The old school is filling up, more busloads are arriving from Corpus Christi as we speak, I’ve got extra staff in, just as requested—so why have I got…?”

He peered back out the window at the trees bending in the wind, the rain lashing so fiercely now that it didn’t even make it to the ground, just hit the windows at right angles. Taking a deep breath, he moved his hand to his chest, rubbing it slowly, and for one awful moment Cheryl thought he was going to tell her he had chest pain. That Mitch Kannon, chief fire officer and lynch-pin of this whole evacuation plan, was having a heart attack. “I’m not going to keel over and die on you,” Mitch said, seeing her worried expression.

“I wouldn’t let you die,” Cheryl assured him. “I’m all stocked up and ready to go, bar a couple of IV poles. Still, I have to admit I don’t much fancy working that radio you were showing us earlier.” Her voice grew more serious. “What is it, Mitch?”

“Have you ever been in a hurricane, Cheryl?”

She shook her head. “No, and I don’t think I want to be. If it’s like this here where people are being evacuated to, I can’t imagine how bad it must be in Corpus Christi….” Her voice trailed off. “You don’t think Hurricane Damon’s going to hit here, do you? Is that what’s worrying you?”

She waited for a reassuring smile, a dismissive flick of his hand, but Mitch just stared right back.

“But surely the weather bureau would know,” Cheryl protested.

“We’re dealing with Mother Nature here,” Mitch told her. “And even with the brightest brains, the best equipment, the latest scientific techniques, there are no guarantees as to what she’s got up her sleeve.”

“But it can’t hit here.” Cheryl’s voice was barely a whisper, her brain reeling at the possible consequences. “It just can’t. Everyone’s been moved to Turning Point to get away from the storm. If it comes here, if it hits the school…” Turning her head, she eyed the triage area she had set up. She had anticipated casualties coming in, and till now had felt prepared for any eventuality. But if the storm changed track and descended on Turning Point, then in a matter of hours this area would resemble a war zone—

“I could be wrong.” Mitch broke in to her thoughts. “The experts all think I am.”

“You’ve told them?” Cheryl asked. “You’ve told them your concerns?”

“For all the good it did.”

She could hear the bitter note in his voice.

“I’ve lived here all my life. I know the land like the back of my hand, the shifts in the weather, the signs anyone who didn’t know the place would miss—but will those folks at the weather bureau listen to me?” He shook his head. “Look, Cheryl, it’s just a gut feeling at this stage, and I hope to God that I am wrong, but I have to admit I’m starting to get worried.”

“So am I, then.” Cheryl might have known Mitch Kannon for only a few hours, but she’d been around emergency personnel long enough to recognize that he wasn’t the type to make a fuss unnecessarily. Mitch would have seen enough drama in his time without needing to invent it. “If you’re right—I mean, if the storm does change course and end up hitting Turning Point, what will we do?” She gave a low laugh that to nonemergency personnel would have seemed out of place, but a dash of black humor was par for the course in this line of work. “Is there a plan B you haven’t told us about?”

“Plan B’s the same in Texas as it is in California, Cheryl. We just get on and deal with it.” Mitch gave a rueful smile. “That’s what we do best, isn’t it? Deal with the chaos life throws up every now and then, pick up the pieces no one was expecting to fall.”

Cheryl nodded grimly, already thinking ahead. “We’ll need more blankets. I know they’re setting up hot drinks and sandwiches at the school hall, the casualties that arrive here with their families might be cold and shocked. Can somebody organize extra coffee urns, soup…”

“I’ll get straight on it.”

Cheryl nodded gratefully. “And tell whoever you send in to Dr. Holland’s room to grab whatever else they can, I’d rather have too much than too little. I’d better get back to stocking up now.”

“You do that.” Mitch nodded, and as a fire truck pulled into the station, he replaced the cap on his thermos. “I’d better go see what’s up. It’s good to have you on board, Cheryl.”

“It’s good to be here.”

She set to work with renewed enthusiasm now. The triage area had been prepared to her liking. IV cannulas and swabs in kidney dishes, flasks of fluid hanging ready, neck collars, bandages, padding—everything was arranged to Cheryl’s liking, but Mitch’s ominous words had hit a note. Cheryl ran a couple of IVs through the lines so they would be ready as soon as a cannula was inserted into the patient. If the number of casualties was going to increase beyond her initial prediction, time would be of the essence. Cheryl knew she’d be grateful later for every second spent preparing for the victims now.

“I’VE GOT TWO GUYS heading over to Doc Holland’s office.” Mitch was back, running an approving eye over Cheryl’s emergency area. “How are you doing?”

“Good. Everything’s ready,” Cheryl reported. “There’s really not much more I can do here until patients start to arrive. This area’s for the seriously injured. I’ve got all the emergency resuscitation equipment set up here. The walking wounded will have to wait over there till Amy or I can get to them.” She gestured to the benches that lined the walls. “And anyone else will just have to wait their turn over at the school.”

“Texans are a pretty uncomplaining lot. You don’t have to worry about people lining up for a bandage they don’t need. It shouldn’t be too hard to keep this area for more serious cases.”

“They build them tough here, then?” Cheryl smiled.

“Yep, they’re a tough old lot. More worried about others than themselves. Which is why, if everything’s set up, I’m going to have to pull you away from here for now.”

“Pull away.” Cheryl grinned, eager to get out in the field and finally do what she was trained for.

“Hal, one of my young firefighters, is trying to keep his mind on the job, but he’s got a wife and five-day-old baby at home. They live a few miles out of Turning Point.”

“Poor guy,” Cheryl murmured. “No doubt he’s worried how they’re coping.”

“Not only that,” Mitch continued, “they’ve got a seven year old, as well, and apparently he’s fallen over and hurt his arm. Beth, Hal’s wife, reckons that the arm could be broken. That’s why she called Hal, to see what she should do. The roads are too bad to be driving with a sick child and a new baby, but the little guy’s in too much pain just to be left. Now, a firefighter with his mind wandering is the last thing I need today. If I can tell Hal that you’re going out to check on them, it would put his mind at rest. I’ve called the weather bureau again, and they’re still adamant I’ve got nothing to worry about. And even if my hunch is right, by all reports, nothing much is going to go down for a few hours yet.”

“I’d be happy to go,” Cheryl assured him, already packing her backpack with the equipment she would need to deal with the little boy’s arm as Mitch gave her directions and a map. “I might as well see a bit of Texas while I’m here.”

“Well, no stopping to get postcards,” Mitch laughed, carrying on the joke. “I want you straight back here.” He handed her a massive navy waterproof jacket, which Cheryl accepted gratefully. “All the fire vehicles are in use,” he told her as they ventured outside.

The rain lashed at her cheeks, the wind catching in her throat, and it took an effort just to walk the short distance to the large dark Jeep parked across the street at the side of the fire station.

“You can use this,” Mitch shouted, wrenching open the door and none-too gently pushing Cheryl inside.

“Whose is it?” Cheryl asked.

“It’s my personal vehicle.” Leaning over he pulled open the glove compartment to reveal a large stash of candy. “Help yourself, but save me a few.”

She fiddled with the controls for a moment, checking the gears and the wipers.

“That’s the demister,” Mitch pointed out, unwrapping a candy and popping it into his mouth. “I reckon you’ll be needing it, and you’d better get some gas, too,” he added, looking at the gauge. “There’s a station just down the road.” Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out some bills and handed them to Cheryl.

“Is gas more expensive in Texas?” Cheryl asked with a wry smile. Mitch had given her enough cash to fill the jeep ten times over.

“Nope.” Mitch grinned. “But I’ve just realized that we’re low on one essential—chocolate.”

“Very essential,” Cheryl agreed.

“Get as much as you can when you get the gas, Cheryl. I admit to having a sweet tooth, but it’s also a great pick-me-up for the crews.”

“And a good bribery tool for the kids,” Cheryl added. “I’ll keep a bar in my pocket for my house call.”

“You’re sure you don’t mind doing this on your own?” Mitch said. “If I could spare anyone, I’d send them out with you. I don’t really like the idea of you out there on your…”

“I can read a map, Mitch.” Starting the engine, she waited as Mitch stepped back. Then, after taking a final moment to familiarize herself with the controls, she waved to the fire chief and drove off into the lashing rain.

She found the gas station easily. Jumping down, Cheryl huddled inside the waterproof jacket. Mitch had been right. Her hospital scrubs and flimsy linen jacket would have been less than useless in these conditions. Dashing across the pavement, she ran into the small shop, groaning inwardly when she saw the lineup. Everyone was clearly out on a last-minute spree, stocking up on batteries and flashlights. Cheryl grabbed the last basket, filling it with chocolates before joining the line to pay. Just for the hell of it, she reached over and picked up a couple of postcards.

CHAPTER TWO

“SETTLE DOWN, GUYS.” Noah Arkin shouted above the stamping feet and whinnying coming from the back of his van. “Just the gas to get, then only one more stop at the fire station and we can finally head for home.”

His words had no effect, but then Noah hadn’t really expected them to. Still, it didn’t stop him from trying. The truck was jammed with medical equipment, cages and animals. He’d only gone out to drop supplies off to Mitch and should have been back at his clinic ages ago, but as usual, he’d been delayed. No way could he drive by his patients’ homes without checking that they and their owners were okay. Of course he’d ended up battening down hatches and offering to evacuate people’s pets to his clinic so their owners would have one less thing to worry about during the storm.

The last two days had been hell. Sure, farmers knew how best to prepare for a storm. They’d been through it often enough, after all, and this was their livelihood they were protecting, but there was still a lot of work for Noah: updating immunizations, helping ranchers move cattle to safer pastures. Unlike Mitch, who was dealing with the two-legged specimens, once the storm really took hold, Noah could sleep—crash in the little studio apartment attached to his clinic and catch up on some rest before the real work started. The worst time for veterinarians came after the storm. Apart from the inevitable casualties and missing animals, the power lines would be down and the water levels up, hindering rescue efforts.

But instead of being at home, Noah thought, stifling a yawn then raking a hand through his damp brown hair, instead of catching up on some rest, he still had the supplies to drop off and a van full of pets to sort out.

He had to toughen up.

Filling up the truck at the main station in town, Noah listened as the animals kicked at the side of his vehicle, the howls and barks growing louder now. As if he didn’t have enough to do already without taking this bunch on. As if he didn’t have enough to organize without acting as an unpaid baby-sitter for half of Turning Point’s pets. And it would be unpaid, Noah knew that for sure. But the money side didn’t worry him. His ranching clients provided his real bread-and-butter. The pets that had found their way into the back of his van were the jam on top.

Literally!

After the storm passed, he’d have umpteen more jars of jam to line his already heaving cupboards and enough farm eggs to start his own store.

No, it wasn’t money that was the problem, it was time.

Over and over, that very precious commodity seemed to slip away from him. But how could he say no to Mrs. Gessop when she asked him to look after her budgerigar, and how could he tell Old Mary that her beloved, overweight and extremely spoilt miniature horse Georgina was the very last thing he needed to deal with right now?

He couldn’t.

Schmuck! That should be his middle name. Pulling the nozzle out, Noah replaced the gas cap before running into the shop.

Noah Schmuck Arkin.

Jeez, Noah thought, looking at the long lineup in the store, he’d be in here for ages.

He eyed the basket of the customer in front of him, then did a double take. The basket was almost bursting with every type of chocolate and candy bar available. Someone clearly didn’t believe in rationing! And the woman was idly reading postcards as if she had all the time in the world. But there was something else about her that caught Noah’s attention. Something that made her stand apart from the rest of the people in the lineup. A certain aloofness that held him entranced.

She was tall, too.

Okay, Noah admitted, he liked tall women, and since he was six foot four himself, it wasn’t hard to see why. But it wasn’t just her height that made her stand out. It wasn’t even the appalling baggy clothes she wore. Something told him that under that hideous jacket was a well-toned body. She carried herself regally, her back as straight as a ballet dancer’s. And even though her long dark hair was pulled back in a ponytail, the lush heavy locks, wet from the rain, were straining to escape.

His eyes flicked down to her hands. They were well-groomed, he noted, the nails neat, not too long, an immaculate French polish the perfect touch.

She was, quite simply, beautiful.

“Just the gas, Noah?” Bill asked, seeing the bulging basket of the mystery woman, who was now at the counter, and rudely shouting over her.

Normally Noah would have shaken his head, said something along the lines of “No rush, Bill. Go ahead and serve the lady first.”

And she certainly was a lady, Noah decided as she turned her head and he got a glimpse of velvety brown eyes framed with dark lashes, full dark lips pursing in indignation as he stepped forward to pay. Noah felt his heart skip into overdrive, his brain processing a million details in an instant. Take away the working man’s clothes, take away the heavy boots, and underneath he knew, just knew, she was all woman.

All woman, a certain piece of his anatomy confirmed. But even if she was the most gorgeous woman to hit Turning Point in as long as he could remember, even if Bill’s offer to serve him first could throw him an opening line here, Mother Nature was the only woman who could be on Noah’s mind today.

He needed to out of here.

“Thanks, Bill,” Noah said, handing over his money. “Thanks,” he repeated to the woman, giving her an apologetic smile. And he waited—waited for a shrug, a wide Texas smile and an easy “No problem.” Instead she was frowning, two vertical lines forming on the bridge of a deliciously snubbed nose. “I’m the local vet,” he offered by way of explanation, but her frown only deepened.

“Gotta look after the animals,” Bill chimed in, handing over Noah’s change. “Especially with the storm coming.”

“Oh, sure!” Chocolate Girl bristled. “Don’t mind me.”

Even Bill started at her confident New York accent and almost menacing velvet eyes. “I’m only here to look out for the humans.”

Geesh!

Looks and attitude.

For a second, Noah found himself intrigued. He wanted to prolong the conversation, to see those angry lips move again, to catch another glimpse of those delicious eyes and find out just what this woman was doing in Turning Point. A reporter perhaps? Yeah, that seemed to fit. There were always reporters sniffing around for a story in a crisis. They’d be focusing on the human aspect of the storm, filling a lull in the hard news with some sixty-second human interest story. Noah could certainly picture the camera loving this woman.

But as stunning as she might be, Noah wasn’t about to be spoken down to. “Hey, thanks for being so understanding,” he shot back as he took his change from Bill. Even though his sarcasm was delivered with a wide smile, her frown deepened and he knew he’d ruffled her feathers.

“I’m not,” she bristled, turning around to face him full-on.

If the side view had held Noah entranced, looking directly into her face took his breath away.

She was gorgeous.

Seriously so.

“I know you’re not,” Noah replied in a clipped tone. As gorgeous as she was, her stern gaze had him recovering quickly, and despite his earlier interest, Noah changed his mind. Even if time had allowed, he had no desire to have to justify his work to some uptight city babe who simply didn’t get it—The ringing of his cell phone saved him from thinking up a smart reply, and he chose to move to the relative quiet of the back of the store as Bill unloaded Chocolate Girl’s basket.

“Calm down, Jack.” Noah’s firm voice had the whole store turning to look at him. “No, stay the hell out of the stable. You’ll get yourself killed if you go in while he’s like that. I need you to calm down and tell me just how badly injured he is….”

Everything moved in slow motion for a moment, Bill’s hands running up the total on the till, his eyes trained on Noah, the locals in the lineup holding their breath and hoping that somehow they’d got it wrong, that somehow they were misinterpreting the one-sided conversation. Jack and Sara had pooled everything on the prize stallion, a shining light in their tough times. He couldn’t be going crazy in a stable on the other side of town, badly injured.

“I’ll come now….” Noah said, trying to calm Jack down, to keep the note of fear out of his own voice. And it was genuine fear. A brute of an animal deranged with terror in a confined space wasn’t the ideal combination. His voice trailed off as Jack made his decision, the toughest of calls, and handed the phone over to his wife.

The stallion might be a brute of an animal, but its legs were as fragile as glass, and from Jack’s description, the fracture he had sustained was beyond repair.

Closing his eyes, blocking out the watching audience, Noah listened intently, his voice softer when he spoke next. “I’m right here, Sara. You just make sure Jack’s safe in there….”

There was a long pause. And even though no one in the store heard the shot, everyone knew what had happened. Running a hand over his forehead, Noah spoke again, his voice deep, calm and reassuring.

“I’m sorry, buddy, really sorry. And I know it won’t help now, but you know that you did the right thing.”

Maybe he was out of line, but at that moment Noah was hurting. He wanted to lash out at someone, and it was Chocolate Girl’s eyes that met his as he snapped the phone closed and replaced it in his pocket.

“Oh, well.” He gave a shrug. “I guess it was only a horse.”

MAYBE HE’D BEEN too harsh.

Okay, Noah conceded as he leaned against the truck and took a few deep breaths, he had been harsh. It wasn’t her fault if she didn’t understand how much animals really mattered here in Turning Point. He’d had no right to imply she didn’t give a damn.

She probably didn’t, though, Noah thought, but without malice now. How could anyone, unless they lived on the land, understand the delicate balance between man and beast; contemplate that without the animals, Turning Point would be a virtual ghost town. Sure, there was agriculture, acre after acre of rich soil providing vital crops, but the animals were the beat of the land.

Climbing into his van, he started the engine, watching as the woman ran across the pavement, her long limbs breaking into an effortless sprint as if she were some beautiful thoroughbred. Her long dark ponytail streaming behind her, she held the plastic bags to her chest as if they contained some sort of treasure, and Noah held back the sudden urge to climb out and run over to her, to apologize for his behavior. But what would be the point? he reasoned, pulling away from the pumps and signaling right, glancing in his rearview mirror and seeing her blinker indicating left. No doubt she’d forgotten the whole incident by now and was driving off to wherever the action was, off to report on other people’s misery….

“Hey, Madge.” He smiled as his faithful old dog nuzzled at his hand for a stroke. Dark eyes stared back at him—endearing eyes, but not nearly as endearing as the woman who had just breezed in and out of his life and whirled up a ministorm of her own. His cell phone was ringing again and Noah forcibly pushed the image of Chocolate Girl out of his mind; he had enough to be getting on with today without daydreaming about some woman he’d barely said two words to. That thought was further confirmed as he put the call on to Speaker, frowning as the anxious voice of another usually laid-back farmer filled the van, intermittent bleeps indicating that yet another caller was trying to get through….

And a feeling that had been creeping up for a couple of hours now took hold of Noah. Gripping the steering wheel as he drove into town, he wished he possessed some sort of virtual dream catcher, something that could trap the uneasy thoughts that were flooding his mind now, quash the fears that were starting to take hold….

…halt an approaching nightmare.

“HEY, NOAH!” Mitch Kannon came running over as Noah started to unload the equipment. “Been picking up a few strays on your travels?”

“I wish.” Noah shrugged, but his moment of self-pity was wasted on Mitch Kannon. The fire chief would be in no mood to hear about some stranger Noah had almost met in a gas station. A stranger who Noah simply couldn’t quite manage to push out of his thoughts. There was something about her that had him enthralled, something about her elusiveness that served to drag him in. Sure, she hadn’t exactly been endearing, hadn’t exactly bowled him over with her charm. And yet…

“Is business so bad that you need to pick up strays?” Mitch asked with a grin.

“I’m driving with blinkers on from now on,” Noah admitted. “Strays are the last thing I need right now.”

“Trouble?” Mitch asked perceptively, helping Noah unload the van and carry the equipment into the building.

“I took a call from Jack Sawyer half an hour ago.”

“And?”

“Had to listen as he put a bullet through Blaze….”

“What?” Mitch shook his head, genuinely appalled at the news.

“There was nothing I could do—he’d gone crazy, taken fright and fractured his leg. It was a severe fracture. Even if I’d been there, I don’t doubt for a second that the outcome would have been the same. Jack had no choice. It was the humane thing to do. Must have hurt like hell, though,” he added as they headed back to the van, unloading the last of the supplies. The animals caged in the back made frantic noises.

“They’re pretty worked up,” Mitch commented as a loud thud sounded against the side of the van, causing the fire chief to jump.

“You should try driving with them,” Noah said, heaving the last of the supplies out of the truck and following Mitch back to the station. “Either it’s the mother of all storms about to hit Corpus Christi, or the predictions are wrong and it’s heading this way!”

It had been a joke—sort of.

Mitch set the large box he carried down onto the floor inside the station. Noah did the same.

“You’re well set up,” Noah said, staring around the room.

“It wasn’t me.” Mitch shrugged. “The team from California are efficient to say the least, and believe me, right now, I’m more than happy that I sent for reinforcements when I did.” He took a deep breath. “What makes you think the storm could be heading this way, Noah?” Mitch’s voice was serious, his question delivered in his usual direct way with not a hint of scorn attached, which told Noah his concerns were being taken seriously.

“The animals are going crazy,” Noah said. “I know that’s not much to go on. I mean, they always get upset by storms, and I’m used to them acting weird at times for no reason, but you should hear them back at the clinic, Mitch. They’re climbing the cages, pacing like crazy. Look at what’s just happened to Blaze, and it’s not only him. I’ve had a couple more farmers calling to tell me the animals are starting to panic. They’re acting just as they did last time a big storm headed this way.”

“It’s not heading this way, though.” Mitch shook his head.

His voice was firm, but something in his eyes told Noah that the chief didn’t believe his own words.

“I’ve just been on to the weather bureau, and they’re still convinced it’s heading for Corpus Christi.”

“Still convinced? So you’ve already been on to the bureau and told them that you’re worried.” When Mitch didn’t answer, Noah persisted. “Which means you’re thinking along the same lines as me, doesn’t it.”

“Yep.”

“Damn, we’ve got the school filling with evacuees from Corpus Christi, we’ve got busloads still heading in….”

“And my daughter’s out there.”

Mitch never played the emotion card, and seeing the chief’s worried eyes, Noah felt as if he had been hit in the chest with an iron fist.

“What do you want me to do, Mitch?” Noah respected Mitch, and if there was anything he could do to help, then Noah would do it. “Do you want me to call the bureau, tell them how the animals are reacting?”

He half expected Mitch to laugh, to tell him that the bureau wasn’t about to listen to some veterinarian with a half-baked idea that his animals were talking to him, but when Mitch gave a worried nod, Noah’s heart sank.

“It’s worth a try.”

It took forever for Noah to get through. No doubt half of Turning Point was trying to contact the bureau, as well. These people knew their land, knew the shifts in the weather. They’d been through enough hurricanes and floods to know when trouble was in the air, and it was in the air now, Noah could feel it. The rain was pelting down and the wind howled angrily; even inside the fire station Noah was forced to shout into the phone just to be heard.

“What did they say?” Mitch asked as Noah replaced the receiver in its cradle.

“That by their calculations we’ve got nothing to worry about. That we’re to carry on with the evacuation protocol as outlined.”

“Damn!” Mitch banged his fist down on the desk in exasperation. “We’re like sitting ducks. The storm’s getting worse by the minute, I’ve got teams out there doing rescues. I’ve even had an emergency team flown in to the area, when I should have been getting everyone the hell out. I’ve sent them on rescues—”

“You didn’t know at the time the storm was heading this way,” Noah said. “We still don’t know for sure, Mitch.” Taking a couple of breaths, he willed himself to stay calm. There was no point losing their heads. “We still don’t,” Noah said again, but more firmly this time, and Mitch nodded back, his face taut with tension but back in full control now.

“Noah, I know your animals mean everything to you. And I know that at times like this you’re supposed to be at the clinic….”

“They’re not humans, Mitch.” Noah knew what was coming. He loved his animals and his old house that was attached to the sparkling modern clinic he had built from the ground up. The veterinary clinic was his life. Every waking moment of his day was filled with caring for animals. But he was highly skilled and trained in medical procedures, and if he and Mitch were right and the storm was heading this way, then Noah knew that his skills would be put to better use right here in town.

Saving human lives.

“I’m going back to the clinic, Mitch. I’ll secure the animals that I’ve got in the van and make sure the rest are okay, then I’ll lock up and come straight back to town.”

“I hate to ask this of you, Noah.”

“You didn’t ask.” Noah gave a wry smile. “I offered. Let’s just hope I’m not needed. Let’s just hope we’re both worrying about nothing.”

“Let’s hope, huh?”

Noah was running toward the exit now, racing to get back to the clinic and tend to the animals so he could return to town and help. But something stopped him at the door, a feeling he couldn’t identify.

“What’s up, Noah?” Mitch asked, coming over to him.

Noah stood there, eyeing the rows of equipment all neatly set up, and the sense of foreboding that had niggled now, churned his stomach.

“If you didn’t know the area, Mitch, didn’t know just how bad the storms and floods can be here, what would you do?”

“Find out the hard way, I guess.” Mitch started to joke, but when he realized Noah was serious, he changed tack. “There’re announcements every few minutes on the radio, Noah. I’ve got teams out there guiding people to the evacuation centers. Even if you didn’t know the area, you’d soon figure out what was coming and find somewhere safe.”

“I guess so.”

“What’s on your mind, Noah?” Mitch asked.

“I don’t know.” Noah gave a shrug, embarrassed to find Mitch eying him with concern. How could he explain to this down-to-earth guy this strange fear that seemed to be clutching his heart?

It wasn’t just his belief there was a storm heading this way that was making him feel so edgy. He thought of those velvet brown eyes that had held his for a moment in time.

Chocolate Girl was out there in a town that was turning more dangerous by the minute, and for reasons he couldn’t rationalize even to himself, it terrified the hell out of him.

CHAPTER THREE

“I’M THE LOCAL VET!” Pulling a face, Cheryl did a pale imitation of Noah’s voice as she drove angrily along. Even with a few miles safely between them, she was still stinging from the encounter at the gas station, still smarting from the local vet’s remarks as well as her own part in the exchange. She wished she could hit the rewind button on that awful conversation. Why hadn’t she just turned and said “No problem” when Dr. Perfect jumped the queue?

That was what normal people did. Cheryl sighed. That was exactly what her response would have been two years ago: she would have shrugged and given an easy smile, bitten her tongue over a minor annoyance, instead of charging like a bull at a red flag, provoking confrontation…erecting barriers.

It was almost second nature to her now, putting up protective screens around her heart the second she felt her guard was down. One look at the local vet and her guard had fallen around her ankles like a pair of panties without elastic. Good-looking, friendly and able to deflect her barbs—a heady combination, and the very last thing she needed right now. The very last thing she needed full stop, Cheryl thought, forcibly pushing all thoughts of the handsome stranger out of her mind. Pulling over to the side of the road, she checked her map. The directions and landmarks that had seemed so straightforward when Mitch had given them to her were almost useless now with the wipers going at full tilt and visibility down to near zero.

If the weather had been bad an hour ago, it was dire now.

She had to be near her destination, Cheryl reasoned, running a finger along the map, following her journey from Turning Point. There was the garage where she’d filled up the Jeep, there was the crossroad where she’d swung left, and over there…Wiping the side window with the sleeve of her coat, Cheryl glanced over at the swollen river gushing rapidly alongside the road, its dirty gray surf rolling more like waves on an ocean, before she turned back to the map. She’d followed the instructions to the letter, so where the hell was the farmhouse? She thought about calling Mitch, but decided to leave that as a last resort. Mitch didn’t have time to hold her hand today. Maybe she could wave down a passing car. But knowing her luck, it would be that smug vet that stopped to help. His already overinflated ego would be pumped up a touch further when he saw the scrape she was in….

“Stop it,” Cheryl scolded herself. Why was she allowing herself to dwell on something so irrelevant? Wiping down the windows again, she was about to reach for the phone and admit she was hopelessly lost, when a driveway she could have sworn hadn’t been there a couple of moments ago appeared in her sideview mirror. Cheryl allowed herself a triumphant smile.

She’d made it on her own!

“THANK YOU SO MUCH for coming out to us.”

As Beth ushered her into the hallway, the first thing to hit Cheryl was the delicious smell of home baking.

“You have no idea how much I appreciate this,” Beth said. “I know how busy everyone is today.”

“It is Beth, isn’t it?” Cheryl asked, shaking the woman’s hand briefly. “I’m Cheryl Tierney. Mitch told me you’ve got a little guy in a lot of pain who needs to be seen.”

“I do. His name’s Flynn.”

“Flynn.” Cheryl smiled at the small boy lying on the sofa as Beth showed her through to the living area. The smell of baking gave way to that delicious new-baby smell, the powdery, milky scent of innocence. Cheryl glanced over to the crib in the corner. A tiny precious bundle lay sleeping quietly there. She turned back to the boy. His arm was elevated on a cushion, his green eyes staring up at her, and for a tiny guilt-tinged moment, Cheryl felt something so alien it took a second to register. The feeling that seemed to reach out and knot her stomach in one single-handed motion was jealousy. If Cheryl had made a blueprint of her life ten years ago, this was where she would have liked to be at the ripe old age of thirty-one.

At home with her babies.

Not a visiting nurse, frozen to the core, hair plastered to her scalp. Not a newly divorced, slightly brittle career woman, with a fitness regime that would rival that of any sports professional. Okay, Turning Point wasn’t exactly New York, and her ex-husband Joe was a lawyer rather than a firefighter, but the home Beth had created had Cheryl’s throat tightening. Long suppressed dreams momentarily surfaced as she glimpsed the life she had thought she’d be leading, and she felt a pang of homesickness for a city she still missed and a family that had fallen apart.

Oh, she’d fallen in love with Courage Bay. She’d embraced the healthy outdoor lifestyle with open arms, joined a gym within a few weeks of arriving and shopped till she’d dropped on rather too many occasions. Fashion was a newly discovered passion of Cheryl’s, now that her salary wasn’t tied up in Joe’s education. And she loved the challenges of her work as a trauma nurse at Courage Bay Hospital.

But as happy as she was, as fulfilled as her life might be, every now and then her loss hit her as if it had all happened only yesterday. Anything could set her off. An elderly couple walking hand in hand along the beach reminded her of her parents, a hotshot lawyer on a TV show resembled her ex-husband Joe, a baby sleeping in its pram recalled lost dreams. And now a seven-year-old boy named Flynn, with green eyes and blond hair….

“Hi, Flynn.” Cheryl smiled at him, pushing her own feelings aside, remembering in an instant why she was here. “My name’s Cheryl.”

“Are you a doctor?” he asked in a lisping voice.

His two front teeth were missing, and his eyes were so suspicious Cheryl found herself smiling.

“No,” she answered. “There wasn’t a doctor free to come out, so I’m afraid you’ll have to make do with me. I’m a trauma nurse.”

“What’s that?”

Cheryl didn’t mind the questions a bit; at least they took Flynn’s mind off his injury as she gently examined it. “Well, I work in the emergency department of a hospital in Courage Bay, California.”

“So you see lots of injured people, then?” Flynn asked his eyes widening. “Do you see guts hanging out and legs falling off?”

“Flynn!” Beth broke in. “Where did you learn to speak like that?”

“Oh, that’s okay.” Cheryl winked at her small patient. “It’s a perfectly good question. I see lots of things,” Cheryl replied assuredly as she examined his arm, wincing inside as Flynn bit back a yelp. She decided to prolong the rather gory conversation just to keep Flynn’s mind off his pain as she gently palpated the swollen wrist. “Lots of blood and guts, though I haven’t seen too many legs falling off.”

“Oh.” Flynn gave a disappointed shrug. “Hanging off, then?”

“Hanging off?” Cheryl frowned, as if she was thinking hard. “Yep, now you mention it, I’ve seen a few of them.”

“Sick!” Flynn exclaimed, and from his enthusiastic smile, Cheryl assumed that meant he was suitably impressed.

“Apparently sick’s the new word for cool.” Beth sighed as Cheryl finished her examination and gently placed the boy’s arm back onto the pillow. “Normally, I’d never worry Hal when he’s out on call.” She was ringing her hands in concern as she watched her son. “But Flynn’s been in agony since he fell, though you wouldn’t think it to look at him now. I gave him some painkillers, but if you’d seen him before…”

“The painkillers would have kicked in by now—and now he’s not moving his arm and he’s sitting quietly, which is why he’s not upset. He had good reason to make a fuss and you had every reason to call your husband.” Cheryl looked up at Beth. “He’s broken his wrist.”

“Sick!” Flynn shouted, as Beth promptly dissolved into tears.

“Now, how about you lie there quietly for a moment, Flynn, while I speak to your mom, and soon I’ll be back and we can see about making your arm a bit more comfortable.”

“I’m sorry,” Beth gulped as they reached the kitchen. “I know it’s only a broken wrist and you probably think I’m overreacting. It’s just that…”

“It’s the last thing you need right now,” Cheryl said as Beth nodded slowly. “You’ve got a new baby, Beth. It’s no wonder you’re upset that Flynn’s broken his arm. Any mother would be.”

“I suppose.” Beth didn’t sound particularly convinced or comforted. “Do you have kids, Cheryl?”

“No.” Cheryl gave a small smile. “But I’ve seen enough moms in my line of work to know that your reaction to Flynn’s injury is perfectly normal. There’s nothing wrong with shedding a few tears.”

“Oh, don’t mind me.” Beth forced a smile. “I’m fine. The kettle’s just boiled, Cheryl. Can I make you a drink before you get started?”

“Not for me, thanks. I’d best get started on setting that wrist.”

“Well, after then,” Beth suggested. “I’ve made some cookies….”

But Cheryl shook her head, keen to get the job done and return to town.

“I think Mitch will want me to head straight back. If you can find me a bucket that would be great. I’ll also need some warm water for the plaster and a few towels.” Taking her cue, Beth scurried out of the kitchen, and Cheryl unloaded her backpack on the freshly scrubbed table. Come to think of it, everything was freshly scrubbed—the place was spotless.

Immaculate even.

So why didn’t it sit right? Cheryl wondered.

“Are you going to put on a cast?” Beth asked, returning loaded with towels and a bucket.

Cheryl shook her head. “Just a temporary back slab, but that should be enough to provide some relief for Flynn. His wrist doesn’t look displaced.” As Beth frowned, Cheryl checked herself and spoke in layman’s terms. “I’m pretty sure it’s just a small break with no deformity, but it will need to be confirmed by X ray. Given the weather, I think your chances of a trip to the hospital are slim. So for now, we’ll stick with the back slab. First, I bandage the arm with cotton wool, then put on a slab of plaster of Paris, which I’ll mold to his arm and attach with a bandage. It’ll come off easily when he gets to the hospital, but that will give him a lot of support and take care of his pain till then. Just keep his wrist in a sling, and once the storm is over, you can take him for an X ray and no doubt they’ll put on a more substantial cast.”

“And he’ll be fine,” Beth said firmly, flashing a smile, but the sparkle of tears in her eyes didn’t go unnoticed by Cheryl.

She narrowed her eyes in concern. Something told her that no matter how much she was needed back in Turning Point, for a moment or two she was needed here, as well.

“Is there anything else on your mind, Beth—apart from Flynn, I mean? Anything else worrying you?”

“Oh, you haven’t got time to listen to my moans,” Beth said airily. “Mitch will be wondering where you’ve got to.”

“Mitch can wait awhile,” Cheryl said gently. “Sometimes it helps to talk….”

“Oh, what would you know?” Beth’s voice was brittle. “I suppose you think it’s easy. I suppose you think that keeping house is child’s play compared to what you do.” Aghast, Beth clapped her hands to her mouth. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. You’ve been nothing but nice and I…”

“It’s all right, Beth.” Cheryl kept her voice calm. Beth’s words might have stung but they weren’t aimed at her personally. Cheryl had been nursing long enough to know when someone was near the edge. Beth’s defensiveness and passive-aggressive responses were signs that needed to be heeded before Cheryl left this vulnerable woman alone with two small children. Tears were flowing freely now, and in the absence of tissues, Beth wept into the towel she was holding, her shoulders heaving as she let out whatever it was she had been keeping in. Instinctively Cheryl headed around the table, dragging a chair over and sitting by Beth.

“I’m so sorry,” Beth sobbed.

“Forget it,” Cheryl said gently. “What’s going on, Beth?”

“You haven’t got time for this.”

“That’s for me to decide,” Cheryl said firmly, taking the pressure off Beth while assuring her patient that she was in control. At the same time Cheryl was painfully aware that she didn’t have the luxury of sitting for hours. It was up to Beth. If she needed help, then she had to reach out now.

“I’m so worried, I can’t sleep, can’t sit down.”

Still Cheryl said nothing, just held the other woman’s gaze.

“Hal says that I’m being stupid, that there’s nothing wrong with Paul.”

“The new baby?” When Beth nodded, Cheryl pushed further, feeling her way slowly, unsure of the real issue here but knowing that whatever it was, it was big to Beth. “So you’ve got two boys now,” Cheryl probed. She was careful not to offer congratulations, not to assume, as most people might, that this should make Beth happy. When the woman literally crumpled before her, Cheryl knew she had been right.

“It should have been three.” Beth’s voice was a pale whisper, and Cheryl held her breath, knowing that the instinctive murmur of sympathy on her lips was not what Beth needed right now. “I should have had three little boys, but my second son, Cody, died.”

“How old was Cody?” Cheryl asked softly when it was clear Beth wasn’t going to volunteer anything more. “When he died?”

“Eight weeks old.” Beth pressed her fingers into her eyes, taking a few gulping breaths before continuing. “Sudden Infant Death Syndrome. I put him down for his afternoon sleep in his room….” She shook her head fiercely, clearly not ready to relive the experience, yet desperately needing to talk. “Hal was out on the farm with Noah….”

“Noah?” Cheryl asked, the name familiar, answering her own question in her mind before Beth did.

“He’s Turning Point’s veterinarian.”

And local hero, to boot, Cheryl thought with a dash of bitterness as she recalled their encounter at the gas station. But Noah wasn’t the issue here, Beth was, and Cheryl listened intently.

“They heard me screaming and came straight in. Poor Flynn. He saw everything. He still remembers it. He has nightmares about it every now and then.” She gave a loaded sigh. “We all do.”

“I’m so sorry.” Her expression of sympathy was appropriate now, and Cheryl squeezed Beth’s hand to show it was heartfelt.

“The coroner said everything that could have been done, had been. Hal and Noah were amazing. He even said that if there had been a hospital next door, they couldn’t have done anything more for Cody.”

“Did that help?”

“Not at the time,” Beth admitted, “but it does a bit now, especially since we’ve got Paul. At least now I know that there was nothing we could have done to prevent Cody’s death. Everything possible was done to try to save him. But when it happened, I was beyond consoling. I fell to pieces for a while.”

“Which is understandable. How about Hal?”

“He was devastated, of course, but in a different way. He’d take himself off to the farm or out to the tool-shed out back for hours on end, fixing things up, building things we didn’t need. He just wouldn’t talk about it to me.”

“Men generally deal with grief in a different way, Beth. They tend to keep it in, whereas women like to talk.”

“Don’t we.” A watery smile trembled on her lips. “He didn’t want me to have another baby. He wasn’t sure I’d be able to cope, and it seems he was right. I can’t sleep, I can’t let Paul out of my sight, and now poor Flynn’s gone and broken his arm because I wasn’t watching him properly because I was too scared to leave Paul.”

Beth’s tears were starting again, and hating herself for her insensitivity, Cheryl sneaked a quick look at her watch.

“He’s a seven-year-old boy,” she said firmly. “And seven-year-old boys are notorious for breaking bones. Believe me, I see it every day. You need support, Beth.” Cheryl squeezed the other woman’s hand again. “Everything you’ve told me—how you’re feeling, Hal’s reaction, your fears for the new baby—are completely normal reactions, given what you’ve been through. Is there anyone here you can talk to?”

“I’ve got lots of friends.” Beth shrugged. “My mom’s nearby.” But her expression belied her positive words and she started to cry again. “They just don’t understand, though. Dr. Holland was great. He warned me I’d feel like this. He said he’d call in, and that I could phone him anytime day or night if I was feeling anxious.”

“He sounds nice,” Cheryl ventured. “He’s the one who just had the heart attack, isn’t he?”

Beth nodded. “He’s Turning Point’s one and only doctor, but he was more than a doctor to me, he was a friend. Noah’s good—the vet,” she added, and Cheryl nodded. “He comes round for a drink every now and then and lets me ramble on about Cody and that horrible day, but I know, even if he tries not to show it, that he’s not really into babies. Not the two-legged type anyway. He’s only interested in his career.”

“I know the type,” Cheryl said, deliberately keeping the edge from her voice. But she did know the type—she’d been married to one, after all.

“There’s no one I can really talk to about it, Cheryl. No one at all.”

Only then did Beth’s plight really hit Cheryl. God, how she wished she were at work. Piles of leaflets and phone numbers were available at the nurses’ station. A psychiatrist was just a telephone call away.

But there weren’t such resources here, and even her time was in short supply.

“Beth, if there was any way I could put things off I’d stay awhile longer, but I really do have to get back.” Cheryl squeezed her hand again. “I have to set Flynn’s arm and return to town, but please don’t think I’m just walking out on you. You really do need some help, and I’m going to do my best to see you get it. Do you want me to ask Mitch to send Hal home?”

Immediately Beth shook her head.

“Please, Cheryl, don’t. It will only make things worse. Look, I’m not about to do anything stupid. I just need some help.”

“Well, you’ve taken the most difficult step—admitting it,” Cheryl said softly.

“If I could just get a decent night’s sleep—”

“You need a bit more than that,” Cheryl broke in. “But it would be a good start. Look…” Standing up, Cheryl turned on a smile and hit Beth with a good dose of practical assertion. “I’m going to speak to Amy Sherwood about you. She’s a doctor who’s come to Turning Point to help with the evacuation. Now, I’m not going to lie and say she’s going to race over. We’re supposed to be here to deal with an emergency….” Cheryl’s voice trailed off as she realized her insensitivity. Okay, this wasn’t exactly the cutting edge of trauma nursing, but it was an emergency to this family at least, and as a nurse, as a woman, Cheryl knew that she couldn’t just dismiss this family’s problems, and neither would Amy. “She’s a great doctor, and once I’ve explained your situation to her, I know that she’ll want to help. Of course, we’ll first have to see how the storm pans out, but once it’s over, either you can come into town or Amy will come out to you before we head back to Courage Bay. We can get the ball rolling. Look, if you ask her nicely, she might even throw in a prescription for something to help you sleep.” That comment lightened the loaded atmosphere just enough for Cheryl to do the hard bit.

“I really do have to get back, Beth. I’m sorry I haven’t got more time….”

“I understand.” Beth nodded bravely, and Cheryl’s heart went out to her, every shred of nursing instinct telling her that this woman really needed help.

For the next little while Flynn was a model patient, asking endless questions as Cheryl applied the back slab. An incredulous smile broke out on his face as Cheryl bandaged over the plaster slab.

“It doesn’t hurt anymore,” he said.

“Great, isn’t it?” Cheryl grinned. “But keep it dry, or it will go all soggy.”

“Thanks so much again,” Beth said as she followed Cheryl to the hallway. “For everything, Cheryl.”

“Can Flynn have this?” Pulling a chocolate bar out of her pocket, Cheryl gave it to Beth who seemed to remember something and dashed off.

“Wait there!” she called, but was back seconds later with a large tin. “The cookies I baked.” She smiled, handing them over. “Share them around the crews, but make sure Hal gets a couple from me.”

“Will do, on one condition.”

“What’s that?”

“You get back inside and put your feet up. Forget the housework, forget the baking, concentrate on you and your boys for now.”

CHERYL WOULD HAVE RUN to the Jeep, but the wind was so strong, it was more a case of two steps forward, one step back. And as for breathing…Cheryl had no trouble getting air in. It whipped into her throat and pushed its way into her lungs uninvited—but breathing out was almost impossible. The driver door swung back in her hands as she opened it, and she had to battle the wind to close it once she was inside.

Starting the engine, Cheryl prepared to drive off. The rain was so loud on the roof, she at first didn’t register the pounding on the driver’s window, then frowned in concern as she saw a drenched Beth banging furiously on it.

Cheryl didn’t dare try opening the door again. Pushing the power window switch, she felt a moment’s un-ease, wondering what on earth could have forced Beth to leave her son and baby and run out in this weather.

“What’s happened?”

“The storm’s shifting course,” Beth shouted against the wind. “It just came over the radio….”

Cheryl felt her heart lurch. Mitch had been right!

“Is it going to hit Turning Point?”

“They’re not sure, but it’s swerved from its predicted course and it’s coming closer than they expected. A couple of nearby rivers have already burst their banks. You need to get back, and quickly, before the route back to town floods and you’re stuck here!”

Cheryl nodded. “Get inside, Beth.” The wind almost whipped the words out of her mouth. “Secure the house.”

“I will.” Beth nodded. “There’s a shortcut you could take.” She was pointing behind the house. “There’s a private road. Follow it down, then take a left at Hansen’s Barn.”

“Where?”

“Hansen’s Barn. You won’t be able to miss it. It’s an old, derelict barn. There’s a bridge…”

The conversation was becoming more difficult with every word, and Cheryl shouted over the wind. “The road behind your house?”

Beth gave a rapid nod. “Then swing a left.”

“Call Mitch,” Cheryl instructed her. “Tell him I’m coming. And Beth…get inside!”

Cheryl could feel the adrenaline kick in as she drove off, only this time it wasn’t welcome. It wasn’t the usual surge of excitement that hit her when an alert came in. This was the first fluttering of real panic as she contemplated what they could be facing if Hurricane Damon hit this region full force. She thought of her colleagues, Dana, Nate and Amy, all out on calls.

Would they know?

Stay calm, Cheryl. The mantra pounded in her head, She had to get back to town. Once there, she’d have the answers. She’d be in a position to do something. She’d be back in control—

“Hell!” The curse slipped out of her lips as a dark bundle dashed across the road, too quickly for Cheryl to swerve. She slammed on the brakes, skidding to a halt just in time to avoid hitting the object.

Craning her neck, she peered out at the roadside, her heart rate slowly returning to its already accelerated state. A fox perhaps, running for shelter. Immediately she wished she hadn’t checked the rearview mirror and caught a glimpse of solemn eyes and a shivering mass of fur. If only she were one of those people who could just drive right on.

But she wasn’t.

Cheryl pulled up her collar and forced the door open. She had no desire to venture outside again into the driving wind and rain, but she had no choice now that she knew it was a dog.

“Come on, little guy.” She crouched by her vehicle. “You’re not looking at some sentimental animal lover here. This lady’s in a rush, so if you want a ride, this is your only chance.”

What was she doing? A category four hurricane was about to hit, and here she was, trying to coax a stupid dumb mutt into the van. What was Mitch’s reaction going to be when she arrived back at the station with an extra passenger?

“Last chance,” she warned, shaking her head in exasperation when the little dog refused to move. She had to walk away and head back to town. But as she climbed inside the Jeep, the smell of Beth’s fresh-baked cookies was the first thing to hit her.

“Very last chance,” Cheryl corrected wryly, stepping back down from the Jeep and holding out a cookie, which was fast dissolving in the rain, to the shivering mutt. “Come on, little guy.”

It wasn’t going to work, and even though Cheryl wasn’t the world’s greatest animal lover, it tore at her heart to turn her back. But a lost black dog must surely be way down on her list of priorities.

He might not be lost, Cheryl consoled herself as she resumed what was becoming a familiar struggle to close the car door. He was probably hotfooting his way back to his home right now. But suddenly, with an indignant yelp, a wedge of wet fur clambered furiously onto Cheryl’s lap, then whining in protest as she pushed him over to the passenger seat. He agreed to stay put only when Cheryl placed a pile of Beth’s cookies on the seat beside her.

“Somehow, I don’t think you were heading for home, little guy,” she said sadly, feeling the skinny ribs under the matted black fur. But there was no time for sympathy now. Slipping the emergency brake off, Cheryl glanced over at her companion, who was munching away, looking up every now and then with grateful eyes.

“What shall we call you, huh? You need a name.” He was chomping away with gusto, somehow whimpering with delight at the same time. “Buster,” Cheryl said out loud. “We’ll call you Buster.” The dog looked up for a second and met her eyes. “Hey, Buster, save a couple of cookies for Hal.” Cheryl grinned as she drove on. “Or Beth will never forgive me.”

There was the barn, just as Beth had said.

Letting out a sigh of relief, Cheryl peered over the flat landscape at the massive, deserted barn Beth had assured her she couldn’t miss.

“Where to now, huh?” Despite the demister, the windows were steaming up at an alarming rate. She wiped the windshield with the back of her hand and drove slowly, visibility decreasing with every slow lurch forward.

She’d have to call Mitch and tell him she was lost. As if that wasn’t just what the guy needed right now! But Mitch must have been thinking along the same lines, because before she’d even pulled out the cell phone he had given her, it rang shrilly in her hand.

There’s a bridge. Beth’s instructions played over in her mind as Cheryl pressed the answer button. There was a bridge, but not for much longer, Cheryl thought darkly, watching the swollen river rising, torrents of water sweeping along the banks, huge branches circling like tiny twigs as the current swept them along.

Pressing the phone to her ear, she braced herself for a few sharp words from the fire chief.

“Where the hell…” He got no further before his voice broke up.

Cheryl shouted back, not sure whether he could hear. “I’m five minutes away, Mitch. Beth told me that the storm’s heading this way!” She was at the edge of the river now, and pulled open the glove compartment. Finding a rag inside, she took a moment to wipe the windshield clear. “She told me a shortcut. I’m at Hansen’s Barn. I’m just coming over the bridge, so I should be with you soon.” Although she strained to hear, there was only a crackling noise, broken by occasional fragments of Mitch’s words.

“I won’t be much longer, Mitch!” Cheryl shouted. “I can’t hear you, you’re breaking up. I’ll be back soon.” Putting the phone down, intending to resume the conversation once she was safely across the river, Cheryl edged the vehicle forward, her nose practically against the windshield now as she strained to see. She chewed her lip nervously as she eyed the rickety bridge. From what Cheryl could make out, the wooden structure looked about as stable as old Hansen’s Barn.

But surely Beth would know, Cheryl reasoned. She was a local, for goodness’ sake, and already her directions had cut Cheryl’s journey in half.

The windshield wipers might just as well have been off now. The river was rising with each passing moment and Cheryl’s mind flicked back to the triage area she’d set up at the station. Victims of the storm might already be there, injured and needing help.

Urging the vehicle slowly forward, she glanced over at her little friend. Trusting, wide eyes looked back at her. “Almost there,” she said bravely, more for her own benefit than for Buster’s. “Almost there,” she said again. There was no thought of looking down. She was too damn busy concentrating on keeping the vehicle straight on the narrow bumpy bridge. As the Jeep lurched violently sideways, her first thought was a blown tire.

Terrified, she forced herself to look out the window and actually witnessed the side rails of the bridge snapping like taut string. Buster started barking in frenzied terror, and only then did the inevitability of what was about to happen finally register. Cheryl heard herself scream as the vehicle took a nosedive toward the water.

She’d expected to witness drama and excitement here in Turning Point, and inevitable casualties, but not for a second had it entered her head that today she might die.

CHAPTER FOUR

HE’D LEAVE THE RADIO ON.

Loud.

It was the only thing Noah could come up with, the only thing he could think of that might offer some comfort to the animals while he went back into town to help Mitch.

It was almost beyond his comprehension that he would be leaving them. These animals were so much more than his livelihood, so very much more than a job to him. But people came first, he knew that deep down. And today he had no choice.

But, Noah thought now as he drove toward the clinic, the radio announcer might start getting anxious, and any urgency in his voice would only worry the animals. Perhaps CDs instead?

Wiping the foggy windows with the back of his hand, he thought about all the jobs he had to get through when he finally made it home—locking up the animals, giving out some drugs, filling their water bottles and bowls, leaving out food. Yes, he’d stack some CDs on the portable player for them, a mixture of rock and dance, a couple of classical golden oldies for Georgina the miniature horse. He’d switch the CD player to batteries and leave it on low for them.

“Mabel!” He shouted the name out loud as it sprang into his head, sending the animals in the rear into a frenzy. But Madge didn’t even turn a hair, more than used to her master’s occasional eccentricity.

“She’ll freak,” Noah exclaimed, thinking of the massive pig in his shed due to farrow her first litter at any moment. “She’s going to freak, Madge.”

Madge raised one tired eye and Noah swore the old girl shook her head, reassuring him just as she always did.

They’d be fine.

“No!” This time his shout was instinctive, guttural, his body rigid with disbelief. Madge was immediately standing on the passenger seat and barking, her ears pricking up.

“No.” The word strangled in his throat and his van skidded to an untidy halt as he slammed his foot down hard on the brake. His eyes widened in horror as the reality of what he was witnessing sank in.

Someone was on Hansen’s Bridge.

On Hansen’s Bridge, for God’s sake!

No one went on Hansen’s Bridge. It was derelict and had been closed off for as long as Noah could remember. There were Closed signs everywhere, a barrier even….

But in this weather, who could see them?

His eyes scanned the pounding water. The flimsy barrier wouldn’t have stood a chance against its force, but the locals knew it was a death trap.

Only a fool or a stranger in town would be nudging his vehicle along the bridge and hoping to make it over to the other side, but someone was doing just that! Inching his Jeep along the rickety bridge before Noah’s disbelieving eyes.

His hands raked through his hair, gripping it for a moment as he shook his head in horror. His breathing was so rapid he had to tell himself forcibly to slow it down, but he never even finished the thought. Instead he jumped out of the van, roaring at the driver on the bridge to get back. Although as he gestured furiously, Noah knew it was useless. There was no way the Jeep was going to make it. Already he could see the wood buckling. Any minute now, the whole bridge would collapse like a pack of cards.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.