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

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

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

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

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

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

About the Author

DARLENE SCALERA

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

Hard Rain

Darlene Scalera

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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Dear Reader,

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

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

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

All my best,

Darlene

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

EPILOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

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

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

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

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

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

The storm was crossing the Gulf leisurely, gathering strength.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“There’s a problem?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Amy shook her head.

“He should be right here.”

Amy counted bandages by twos.

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

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

“That’s what I pray.”

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

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

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

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

“Hey, Mitch.”

She stopped.

“Hey, Sheriff. How’s the roads?”

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

Amy listened to the voice. Her body was still.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She saw a stranger.

“Nice to meet you, Sheriff.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ready, Doc?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is this your first time in Texas?”

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

“Yes, it is.”

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

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

“No, ma’am.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you like the job?”

“Yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

She looked at the man beside her, thought of the boy she’d loved as she studied this man who bore the same name. As if her thoughts compelled him, he looked her way. Their gazes locked.

“Lots of things don’t turn out the way you expect them.”

Something shifted in his eyes. The blue stone splintered. She glimpsed a longing, ageless and deep. A longing she herself had known.

Could it be?

He turned away, taking whatever she’d imagined with him. She turned back to the contours of the land, the ground hard from the August sun, the heat in the air as thick as fog.

And told herself no.

She had not acted the fool since she was eighteen. At thirty-two, she had no intention of doing so again.

JESSE HAD FEARED he could not break the gaze. He’d seen the confusion, the plea in her expression as she’d searched his face. God help him, for a second he’d prayed. See me.

He dragged his gaze away, saw the fresh skid marks farther up, careening from the left to the right side where the road pitched down. He slowed, saw the mid-sized car upside-down, tilted against a tree trunk. He called the accident in as he veered to the shoulder and slammed the engine into Park. Before the Bronco came to a complete stop, Jesse and Amy leapt out of the vehicle and were scrambling down the ditch’s steep slope. They heard the scream as they reached the vehicle.

“Mommy!”

A blond-haired girl not more than three, strapped in a safety seat, hung upside-down in the back of the car. The vehicle must have rolled over several times. The front half of the roof was creased in, and the driver’s door was crumpled. The child, seated on the opposite side, was trapped in a pocket formed between the front seat and the side of the car crushed against the tree. The child writhed against the seat constraints, terrified but appearing unharmed. An unconscious young woman was slumped half on the front seat, half on the floor, wedged in beneath the dashboard. Fluid leaking from the front of the vehicle formed a slick puddle across the ground. A thin rise of smoke snaked from the hood.

The child screamed again.

The car was a two-door. Jesse wrestled with the driver’s door but the mangled metal wouldn’t budge. The smoke was thickening.

He looked around. Grabbing a large rock, he slammed it against the side window until the glass shattered. “The mother is blocking the way to the girl. We’ll get her out,” Jesse said as he crawled through the window. “Then the child.”

Smoking engine…gas leaking from the vehicle.

The child screamed again.

Amy saw several small flames shoot out from beneath the front hood as Jesse pushed his way into the car. He slipped his arm beneath the woman’s arms and pulled. The woman moaned, semi-conscious, incoherent. She fought against Jesse’s grasp. Suddenly an anguished cry came from her lips. Her struggling movements stopped. The woman was injured. Fortunately her twisting and writhing indicated her spine was intact.

“Don’t fight me. Help me,” Jesse told the woman as he pulled her from the wreckage. Small flames flared from beneath the car’s hood. He felt a resistance, saw her leg was pinned beneath the dashboard. He pulled harder but he needed more leverage to free the limb. The woman’s body, in response to the pain, had gone limp again. He released her and eased himself out of the car. He heard the child crying in the back.

“Her leg is pinned,” he told Amy. Bracing his weight against the vehicle, he leaned as far into the car as he could and gripped the woman again under the arms. He pulled. The body resisted. He widened his stance, took a deep breath of hot air and smoke, and with an animal howl, he yanked on the woman with all his might. The body broke free. Jesse dragged the woman until he could take her into his arms and carry her several yards away. As he laid her on the hard ground, he saw her leg was twisted at an odd angle, the bone popped out of the flesh.

“Amy,” he yelled. He turned back to the car and saw Amy crawl into it.

The child screamed for its mother as Amy approached her. “It’s all right. Everything’s going to be fine.” Amy continued the reassurances even though the child could not hear her, knowing they were as much for her as the girl. Behind her, she heard Jesse ordering her out of there, swearing as she ignored him. She could hear the flames licking beneath the hood. She pushed herself up. Pain shot up her thigh as her knee pressed into something sharp. She pushed herself into the narrow opening in the back, twisting her body to shield the child. She unclasped the safety belt, the child kicking against the restraints and Amy. She pulled the girl toward her, clasping her against her chest as she slid out of the tight space. The inside of the car was radiating heat. Strange pop-ping noises came from beneath the hood. She twisted, pressing the splinter of glass deeper into her knee. She passed the child to Jesse. He hugged the child to his chest and held her with one arm. His other arm reached for Amy.

“Take my hand.”

“Go,” she screamed.

He reached in, gripped her arm and yanked her toward him. Her foot had slipped and was caught between the console and the passenger seat. She heard a loud whoosh. Flames leaped from the engine skyward, receded.

“Go,” she screamed.

Jesse turned away. Someone else must have arrived at the scene, because when he turned back, the child was gone from his arms. “I’m not leaving you.” Both his hands reached in, grabbed her upper arms. The heat was like a living thing now. Amy felt her head going light. Fresh flames surged, higher, closer. Jesse crawled into the car, the sweat streaking his face.

“Get out!” she screamed.

He moved toward her, his hands reaching until they slid around her. She heard him expel a breath, then inhale sharply as he jerked her toward him. Her body lurched forward an inch, then resisted. He twisted her torso toward him and yanked again. She gasped for oxygen, black spots dancing in front of her eyes. She blinked, struggling against the blackness. Jesse’s face came into focus. His hat was gone, she realized. She would buy him a new one. A white one.

Then the world exploded.

CHAPTER TWO

SHE LANDED on top of Jesse, their bodies hitting the earth with a thud, a scream dying on her lips. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight against his chest. For several moments, they did not move, but lay there like two lovers. Amy lifted her head, looked down at the man beneath her. The tip of her tongue moistened her dry lips. The muscles in the man’s throat rippled as he swallowed. Men’s terse voices sounded at the edges of her consciousness. They were not alone.

“Thank you,” she whispered. Whoever you are, she thought. She rolled off him and sat up, dusting herself off. Trickles of blood from the cut on her knee had already dried on her leg.

Jesse sat up beside her, looked at her leg with concern. “You cut yourself.” His hand curved around her calf as he leaned over to inspect the injury.

“Just a small cut.” Her voice trembled at his touch. He raised his gaze to her and their eyes met. She swallowed.

“You two all right?”

Jesse drew back from Amy. Mitch Kannon looked down at them. Firemen had extinguished the flames of the burning car before the wind spread the fire. Their hoses, fed by the pumper truck and fat with pressure, were still aimed at the car, giving it a final wash.

Jesse looked up at the chief. “I could use a beer.”

He stood, reached for Amy and pulled her up beside him. “I’m fine, Chief,” she assured Mitch.

“She cut her knee,” Jesse pointed out.

“Nothing tweezers, a little disinfectant and a Band-Aid won’t take care of,” Amy insisted. “In fact, I’m going to get my bag now and do exactly that.”

She walked over and picked up her medical kit, but instead of treating herself, continued to the young mother flat on a stretcher as emergency workers stabilized her leg.

“She’s a spitfire, that one,” Mitch noted, casting a sidelong glance at Jesse.

She always was, Jesse thought. “The mother say anything about how they landed upside-down in a ditch?”

“The child was drinking from her sippy cup—”

“Her what?”

“Sippy cup. One of those small plastic cups with a cover and spout so kids don’t spill their juice. You know?”

Jesse looked blankly at the fire chief.

“That’s right,” Mitch said. “You don’t have kids. Well, when you do, you’ll bless the person who invented the sippy cup. Anyhow, the kid dropped hers, and the mother, fearing it was still full and was leaking all over the floor, reached into the back but couldn’t find it. She swears she turned her head for just a second to see if she could see where it rolled. When she turned back, she was heading to the other side of the road. Panicking, she twisted the wheel too hard, losing control of the car as it hit the shoulder.”

Jesse expelled a breath. “Thank God no one was killed.”

“Someone could have been.”

Jesse caught Mitch’s glance.

“I don’t know if jumping into a burning car like that is the most heroic or the most moronic thing I’ve ever seen two people do,” the chief said.

“We got them out.” Jesse watched Amy as she squatted beside the child, who was lying on a stretcher next to her mom. She’d unclipped the stuffed frog on her stethoscope and slipped it on her finger. She moved it slowly across the child’s line of vision, testing the girl’s responses. She smiled when done. The stuffed frog did a jig atop Amy’s finger before it grazed the child’s cheek in a pretend kiss. The girl broke into a smile, the anxiety erased from her young features.

Pride surged through Jesse. He’d always known Amy would be a great doctor. She’d been brilliant as well as beautiful. He, on the other hand, had been nothing but brawn and brash, born with a natural athletic ability that he’d known was his only ticket to a college education. Until the accident…

He looked at Amy and her patient. He did not regret the decision he’d made fourteen years ago. Nor the one he had made minutes ago.

“In the future—” Mitch’s voice cut into his thoughts. “Try to stay out of burning cars about to blow. The world doesn’t have enough good men. Or women,” he added. “We can’t afford to lose two more.”

Jesse half smiled as he watched Amy. “I can’t promise you anything. Especially with that one. She puts her mind to something, best you just get out of her way.”

“Sounds like you know her pretty well.”

His eyes met the chief’s. “Just an observation.”

The chief smiled. “Same here.”

Mitch headed toward his men. Jesse walked over to Amy and her patient. “Hey, Sunshine.” He squatted at eye-level with the child. “Not only are you the most beautiful little one I’ve ever seen, I believe you’re the bravest.”

The child smiled shyly, averting her gaze.

“Your mommy and you are going to be just fine.” He glanced at Amy for confirmation. She nodded.

The rescue workers came over to the child. “She’ll ride with her mother?” Jesse asked. The men nodded.

“These nice men are going to give you and your mommy a ride in a big shiny car, Sunshine. Do you like ice cream?”

The child nodded.

“Chocolate?”

The girl shook her head. “B’nilla,” she said.

Jesse’s smile widened. “Well, these two men are going to make sure you get all the b’nilla ice cream you can handle. Deal?” He offered his hand.

Her eyes round and solemn, the girl put her small hand into Jesse’s and nodded.

“Ice cream!” The stuffed frog, his voice supplied sotto voce by Amy, nuzzled the girl’s cheek once more. “I love ice cream. Can I come, too? Huh, can I?” The frog danced atop Amy’s finger.

Smiling, the girl nodded. Amy unclipped the stuffed animal and attached it to the girl’s T-shirt. “Freddy, you’re so lucky to have a friend as pretty and brave as Caroline. She’ll take good care of you.” Amy leaned in, pecked the stuffed animal, then the girl, on the cheek. The girl smiled. Amy and Jesse waved as the rescue workers carried the child away.

Amy nodded.

“How you doing?” Jesse asked.

She gave him a sidelong glance. “I could use a beer.”

For the first time, Jesse Boone smiled at her.

“How ’bout a Band-Aid?” he said, glancing at her knee. “And a cup of coffee?”

“IN ADDITION to powerful winds, Hurricane Damon is expected to spin off destructive tornadoes, drench the region with up to ten inches of rainfall and hit the coast with a storm surge that could measure ten to fifteen feet.” The veteran forecaster on the diner’s television screen leaned toward the camera. “Evacuation and preparation times are diminishing.”

Amy and Jesse walked toward the counter at the far end of the diner, but neither sat on the cracked leatherette stools. A few customers were seated in the booths that lined the wall, but most of the patrons sat at the counter, backs hunched, elbows propped. Several glanced away from the television screen to give Jesse a nod hello. Their gazes flickered questioningly at Amy before the weather report consumed their attention again.

“Interstates are closed to all shorebound traffic. While coastal residents are making their way inland to evacuation shelters inside schools, churches and courthouses—” the screen flashed an aerial view of traffic snaking its way up the highway “—inland residents are stocking up on water, batteries, candles, matches, nonperishables and kerosene.” The screen filled with equally long lines at checkout aisles.

Jesse raised a halting hand to the waitress as she set thick white cups before Amy and him. “Make it to go, darlin’.”

Ignoring the sheriff, the waitress poured from the pot she wielded with the expertise of a professional gun slinger. “Can’t live on caffeine in a cardboard cup, Sheriff. That storm isn’t going to do much in the time it takes to fill your stomach.

Jesse looked at Amy.

“The chief’s daughter brought us home-made cinnamon rolls when we got to the station.”

Jesse smiled. “I thought I smelled them. Figured it was just wishful thinking.”

“I only had coffee, though. I have a hard time choking anything else down before noon.”

“That settles it, Sheriff.” The waitress slapped menus on the counter.

“You are right, darlin’. As always.”

The waitress smiled. “You learned a long time ago not to argue with me, didn’t you, Sheriff?”

“Or any woman, for that matter,” Jesse said as he slid on the stool and raised the steaming cup to his lips.

One of the men seated at the counter, watching the television screen with a satellite picture of the gulf, an angry-looking orange-red mass in the middle, turned to them. “I say it slows, veers south, burning itself down to rain and wind by the time it hits the coast. What do you think, Sheriff?”

Jesse watched the screen. “Never been a gambling man, Gunther.”

He regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth. A simple off-the-cuff remark. Unless, of course, your father had been Jesse Boone, Senior, a man who, once the sun rose in the morning, would have taken odds on whether it’d set that night. Jesse sipped the steaming black brew and was not disappointed by the bitterness that bit the back of his throat. Amy’s gaze turned his way and again he cursed his own stupidity. Behind those gorgeous green eyes, he feared the wheels were turning.

He’d arrived in Amy’s town a bad boy, “troubled teen,” the child welfare worker would term it, but unlike his father, he’d always stopped short of breaking any “official” laws. Still, he’d grown up with the guilt of the wrongs his father had done. His career choice was obviously one way to atone for his father’s sins. He didn’t need a hundred-fifty-dollar-an-hour shrink to figure that one out.

And Amy, her eyes still on him, sure as hell didn’t either.

“Darlin’?”

Amy looked blankly at the waitress. Her thoughts were a lifetime away on the teenager who’d rolled into a small Washington town with his father and no mention of other family or roots. Suspicion from the townspeople at the sheer fact that he was a stranger was a given, and the boy had done little to calm their fears. On the contrary, with his wild ways and sexy looks, Jesse Boone had seemed determined to prove the townspeople right. But Amy had believed in him, even after people cursed his father for moving on with their deposits for contracted repairs never begun. Jesse wasn’t his father, Amy had told herself. He didn’t break promises. No one could convince her otherwise. Until one night, dressed in her senior prom gown, which had cost her mother far too much, she’d waited until dawn for a boy who never came.

“Coffee, right, Doc?” the sheriff asked her, bringing her back to the present.

The waitress waited patiently. A name plate pinned above a well-supported bosom read Lurie.

“I’m sorry,” Amy said.

“No problem, honey.” The waitress hoisted the pot from hip level, angled it toward Amy. “Coffee?”

Amy looked at the inky black liquid and shook her head. “Just herbal tea, please. And honey if you have a jar in the back.”

“Uh-oh,” Jesse muttered into his cup as the waitress rocked back on her heels and gave Amy a good once-over. “There goes your cover.”

“You’re from the California crew that came in from Christi this morning, aren’t you, darlin’?”

“Lurie, this is Dr. Amy Sherwood,” Jesse introduced.

The waitress shifted the coffeepot to her other hand and extended the free one. “Welcome to Turning Point, Doc.”

Amy took the hand with its inch-long fingernails decorated with silver crescent moons. “Thank you. I’m glad I could come in to lend a hand.”

“Not as happy as we are. Now, let me get your tea, but between me and you, darlin’—” the waitress leaned in “—I’d get the caffeine in my system while I can.”

The waitress moved on down the counter without waiting for a reply, refilling mugs before she set the coffeepot back on the burner plate.

“There was Bret in ’99, but that was mainly wind and rain by the time it came in to Christi,” a man several stools away was saying.

But Amy’s thoughts went much farther back. Fourteen years back to when Coach Lasher had called her into the athletic office and asked her to tutor one of the football players. It was Coach Lasher who’d clocked Jesse in phys ed at a six-minute mile and saw a natural quarterback in the boy’s speed and grace. Coach Lasher also knew the exercise would help to channel the boy’s restless energy, relieve an inner anger that seemed to burn through him; the practices and structure of the sport would help to teach the boy discipline. But as well as the boy did in athletics, he did poorly in school work. School policy stated no athlete failing a subject could compete in sports. Jesse was failing three. Amy, president of the National Honor Society, tutored classmates during study hall. She hadn’t known the term dyslexia then. All she knew was that Jesse had a hard time reading, studying gave him tremendous headaches, and many times he wrote his letters backwards. He’d been called lazy and stupid for so long, he’d believed it was the truth. Amy showed him otherwise. For the first time, he’d wanted something so badly he’d put in the hours of frustration and work. Amy thought it was football he wanted. Later she learned it was her. They were together one year, and she’d loved him so deeply, the memory of it slammed her heart against her chest.

Lurie brought her tea but Amy kept her gaze on the man beside her. She looked at him so hard the waitress copied her pose. He turned away from the weather coverage and faced her, allowing her to study him openly. If it was the Jesse Boone she’d loved all those years ago, they both knew he owed her that much.

Was it him? Amy asked herself for what must be the hundredth time that day. Was it the man to whom she’d once freely given her heart, too young to know any better, too blinded by love to heed her mother’s warnings? She looked for an answer. Was it him?

And what if it was? What then?

Lurie pulled a jar of honey out of a deep apron pocket and set it down on the counter with a slight bang. Amy started.

“There’s your honey, honey.” Lurie flashed a smile. “The usual, Sheriff?” Her smile widened. Her turquoise eye shadow had settled into the creases of her eyelids but the candy-apple red on her lips had a fresh sheen.

Jesse nodded. Lurie scribbled something on a small green pad, glanced at Amy, her pencil poised above the pad.

“Doc?”

Amy looked at the plastic coated menu. “I’ll have a grilled cheese sandwich, please. Could you put a slice of tomato on it?”

Lurie nodded, noting it on her pad.

“On whole wheat if you have it.”

Lurie nodded again.

“And I’d prefer Swiss cheese instead of American.”

Lurie looked up at her.

“If you have it.”

“We have it.”

“And instead of fries, could I have extra coleslaw on the side? In a separate dish so the dressing doesn’t spread to the sandwich and make it soggy?”

“Not a problem. Anything else?” Lurie’s pencil tapped the pad.

“An extra pickle?”

Lurie was shaking her head as she took their orders into the kitchen.

“I can’t help it,” Amy said as she swiveled toward Jesse. “I love dill pickles.”

Jesse’s head tipped to the side as he looked at her, an amused smile on his face.

Amy sighed. “I know. High-maintenance.”

“Seems like a control issue to me.” Jesse sipped his coffee, amusement still lighting the usual dark cast of his eyes.

“Really?” Amy smiled. She picked up her own cup of tea. “Of course, you’re right.”

“Of course I am.” He teased her easily.

“A symptom of that whole physician-as-god complex.”

“Exactly what I was thinking.” He was so handsome when he smiled. His eyes softened. His mouth curved, became accessible.

Amy looked away. “That’s what brings ninety percent of us to medical school in the first place. Joke’s on us when we learn that nine times out of ten, things are out of our control.”

“That’s not just in the medical field, Doc. That’s life in general.”

Amy stirred her tea, smiled. “Still, it doesn’t seem to stop us from trying like hell.”

He surprised her by clinking his cup against hers.

“I upset Lurie, didn’t I?” Her smile faded.

“I think it was the extra pickle that broke her.”

She laughed softly, finding it easy to laugh with him. “She has a crush on you.”

“You trying to make me blush, Doc?”

“Is that possible?”

“We big, burly protectors of society have our sensitive sides.”

She liked seeing him smile. Not a polite smile, but one that relieved the flatness of his eyes and revealed warmth underneath.

“So…?” She angled a questioning gaze at him.

“So…what?”

Amy cocked her head toward Lurie at the far end of the counter. “So…” She aimed a pointed look at his hands, bare of rings. “I’m assuming you’re single if you’re going to flirt with pretty waitresses. If not, my illusion of a real-life Texas sheriff is going to be forever crushed.”

“Some might say my marital status is not exactly a pertinent issue here.”

“Is that a polite way of saying it’s none of my damn business?”

“In true Texas-sheriff fashion.”

She laughed, and he joined her. The scars stretched and faded. The pain that held his features tight eased. His laughter was like that of the boy she’d known, but then she’d heard a thousand similar laughs over the last fourteen years—across a room, on the street, in her dreams. For a moment, she was eighteen again and still believed all her desires would come true.

They were still laughing as Lurie arrived with their food. Amy saw the looks pass beneath the billed baseball caps of the men seated nearby, but she didn’t care. Right now, cows were lying flat in the fields and the rodents had burrowed for cover. Plywood strips were being fastened across windows and doors with three-inch nails. Generators were being checked, rugs rolled and pressed tight to doorjambs. Yet no one could ever be ready for what was to come. So for a few minutes at this counter, she would laugh with a man who bore the same name as a boy she had loved.

“Here you go.” Lurie set plates before them. Jesse’s “usual’’ was a king-size cheeseburger, a side of onion rings and a double chocolate shake. Lurie slipped a bottle of Tabasco sauce out of her apron pocket, put it beside his plate. Amy stopped smiling. She’d known only one other person in her lifetime who put hot sauce on his hamburger. She watched him unscrew the top, lift up the bun and splash the sauce on his burger. He replaced the bun, brought the burger to his mouth and took a big bite. He glanced at her untouched plate. “Something wrong?” he asked, chewing.

“The hot sauce on your hamburger…” She didn’t know what she was trying to say.

“Heavenly.” He took another big bite. “Obviously one of those true Texan habits that hasn’t hit the West Coast yet.” He tipped his head. Amy looked around. At every station, a similar bottle of hot sauce stood beside the catsup bottle. “Of course, when it does, you Californians will claim you all started the trend and take the credit.”

Amy smiled wanly, feeling foolish. She looked down at her food, but her appetite was gone.

“So, you’re married?” she asked bluntly.

He seemed to have trouble swallowing. “No, I’m not. Your image of a true Texas sheriff may remain intact.” He picked up an onion ring. “And I, darlin’, am free to flirt with whomever I want.”

Jesse didn’t ask if she were married. He didn’t have to. Still, sitting beside her, he wondered if she’d ever dreamed the things he had in the years they’d been apart. Had she dreamed of them holding each other, kissing in the soft moonlight? Dreamed of their naked bodies…?

He leaned back, wiped his mouth and dropped the napkin onto his empty plate. “Excuse me.” He rose from the counter and headed to the rest room.

Amy watched him, too many questions still forming in her mind. Lurie came over and picked up Jesse’s plate. Amy turned to her, pushed her own plate toward the edge of the counter. Lurie looked at the half-eaten sandwich as she stacked the plate atop the other. “Was everything okay?”

“Oh, yes, fine,” Amy assured her. “I’m just not terribly hungry.”

Lurie cocked a hip, balancing both plates in one hand as she gathered used napkins and Amy’s empty glass in the other. “I’ve been trying to get the sheriff to smile like that for two years.”

Amy looked at her, interested.

“Hell’s bells, half the single women in the county have been trying to get their claws into the good sheriff.”

“He doesn’t date?”

“Oh, he dates all right. Probably been through most of the single women in a twenty-mile radius and then some.”

“He’s charming…” Amy noted.

Lurie crossed her arms across her arresting bosom and gave a slow nod of agreement.

“But he doesn’t strike me as the playboy type,” Amy concluded.

Lurie leaned on the counter, settling in. “That’s exactly the problem, Doc. He’s a real gentleman and a wonderful date, but if things start heating up, getting too serious, he slows it down or calls it quits altogether. He refuses to go to the next level.”

“You and he…?”

Lurie nodded. “We dated. And he was upfront about what to expect from the first. He didn’t lead me on. He’ll let you know he enjoys your company and treats you right, but if a woman is looking for the cozy cottage and the rest of the enchilada, she’s got the wrong man. Of course, like most woman, I thought I could change him.” She paused, studied her fingertips with their crescent moons. “I didn’t.” She met Amy’s gaze.

“A lot of men are afraid of commitment, settling down, Lurie.”

Lurie shook her head. “It’s different with Jesse. I can’t explain. It’s like he lives with a ghost. When we were dating, he’d look at me, but I sensed he was looking at someone else. Or for someone else. And no matter how hard he looked, he couldn’t find her.”

The waitress straightened. “At least, not yet.” She gave Amy a wink, swiveled and sauntered into the kitchen, her hips swaying beneath her tight black skirt.

Jesse returned. He stood beside her stool. “Lurie giving you some good gossip?” He threw several bills down on the counter.

“Just girl talk,” Amy answered as she slid off the stool.

“She’s a good gal,” Jesse said as they moved toward the door. He nodded good-bye to the other customers. “But believe about fifty percent of what she says.”

“How do you know she didn’t say the same about you?”

“She probably said believe only ten percent of what I say.”

“Actually, she said you were a straight shooter. She’s a big fan. Like most of the single women in the county.”

Their eyes met. “Is that what she said?”

“That and some.”

He slowly shook his head, laughing under his breath.

“You don’t agree?”

He reached across her to the door, so close she could feel his warmth, sense his strength.

“You’ll have me blushing yet, darlin’,” he said in a low voice that made Amy hold her breath. She stepped away, through the door, and exhaled.

The clouds were denser and darker. The winds that had come were rougher, quicker, their hard edges hitting a person dead on. Rain broke through the sky with a furor that laid the field grass flat.

“Wait here,” Jesse told Amy beneath the shelter of the diner’s metal awning. “I’ll get the Bronco and pick you up.”

He was gone before Amy could protest. She watched him weave his way among the other vehicles in the parking lot. The drop in barometric pressure could cause joints to swell, deepen aches from past injuries. If that was the case, there was no indication in Jesse’s movements.

When the Bronco pulled up in front of the diner, Amy hurried to meet it even as Jesse jumped out the driver’s side and was rounding the vehicle to open the door for her.

True Texas-sheriff fashion, she thought as he swung open the door. She turned to thank him and found him close. She pushed back the hair the wind whipped across her face and gathered it in one hand. Her other hand clung to the side of the vehicle, steadying her while the wind and the rain and something equally elemental and powerful seemed to push her toward this man.

Jesse stepped back. He shut the door on her as she climbed inside. Her face turned to his, its questioning stare now blurred by the rivulets of rain across the window. The breath he released was a long shudder as he rounded to the driver’s door.

Inside the vehicle, the dark sky and rain pounding hard on the roof created an intimacy, closing them off from the outside world.

“Jesse?”

He felt her hand on his forearm, a thousand longings in the feel of her fingertips alone. She’d said his name too softly and with too much question. He feared to turn and look into those blue-green eyes that he had dreamt about for fourteen years, afraid that if she asked, he would not lie. He would tell her the truth and damn the consequences.

He looked down at her small hand on his arm. The ripple of a scar on his own flesh returned him to his senses. If she asked, he could say he was not the Jesse Boone she had known fourteen years ago. Nor was she the young girl he’d taken in his arms and loved with every ounce of his soul. Too many years had passed, too much time and too many changes had come between them, conspired to keep them apart.

He raised his gaze to her. She searched his face.

A dispatcher’s voice over the radio interrupted.

“Fire reported in the old fertilizer warehouse over by the railroad station. Pickup truck traveling at high speed skidded off the highway. The truck was carrying kerosene and exploded on impact. County emergency vehicles en route.”

Jesse switched on the lights, the siren and punched the gas pedal.

Disaster had begun.

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