Washed Away Read online

“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 lar
ge 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.