Hard Rain. Darlene Scalera

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      “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 СКАЧАТЬ