Hard Rain (6 page)

“I’m fine,” she whispered.

He looked deeply into her eyes as if to determine the truth. Her past seemed to rise like the storm outside. Two people locked in a vortex of emotion, communicating without speaking. Her shaking did not subside. The face was different, but the eyes, the emotion were familiar. “Jess?”

He pulled back as if struck a blow. His eyes went flat, and he schooled his features into their familiar mask. She pushed herself up to a sitting position, her gaze still not releasing him. He stood and offered her his hand. She wrapped her fingers around his, and something as fierce as the power they’d just witnessed ignited between them.

Once she was on her feet and steady, he let her go. He crossed to the windows. She followed him, brushing off the sand and sawdust clinging to her wet clothes.

The tornado had cut a random path of destruction. It had missed the building where Jesse and Amy sought shelter, but a tree ten feet away had been ripped up by its roots. If it had fallen in the opposite direction, it would have sliced the building right down the middle.

She heard Jesse swear and saw the source of his distress. The Bronco’s front end lay beneath a fallen tree, its windshield smashed, the top of the roof flattened.

“Looks like we’re stuck here for a little while. Until communication is restored. There’s no way we can
look for the boys in this. Fortunately we’ve got shelter.” He studied the sky. “Tornado must have spun off from the storm. Onshore tornadoes often sprout from the outer rain bands.”

“Do you think that’s the end of it?”

He lowered his gaze to Amy. She saw his hand rise as if to brush her cheek. “God willing.” He turned away, not touching her. “More likely than not, that’s it. The storm must have continued southwest, a tornado or two breaking off to the north. The heavy rains and high winds will probably continue and result in inland flooding, but that may be the worst of it.” He moved toward the door. “The tree missed the back of the Bronco. I’ll go…get some supplies.”

Amy followed him.

“I can handle it.”

“I don’t doubt that,” she said.

When she continued to the doorway, he placed a hand on her arm to stop her.

“You’ll be safer inside.”

That remained to be seen, she thought as she felt the heat of his palm against her flesh, the hum between them.

“Stay here.” He stepped outside.

“Like hell.” She followed him into the storm. The earth had lost its trembling fury, but the wind and the rain had not gentled. On the contrary, as if inspired by the force that had just passed, their power seemed to have heightened.

Jesse swung up the Bronco’s rear door. Leaning in, he pulled out a box and handed it to Amy.

“It’s light,” she yelled above the wind and rain. “Pile some things on top of it.”

He added a plastic bag of items. “Go, I’ll get the rest.”

She easily ran the distance back to the building even with the additional weight. She vowed never to curse her daily three-mile run again. Jesse followed behind her and set another box and her medical bag on the long counter that ran the length of the building’s front room, which must have served as a dining room.

“Is there more?” Amy asked as she released her barrette. She pushed back the damp tendrils from her forehead and finger-combed her hair before twisting it up once more and refastening the barrette. She swung her gaze and caught Jesse watching her, his eyes dark. She blamed their intensity on the shadowy light.

He swallowed, the muscles of his throat working. “Some bottled water, blankets, pillows.” A huskiness came into his voice as if his throat were dry. He swallowed again.

“There’s food, a portable light.” He indicated the box he’d brought in. “I’ll go get the last few things out of the Bronco.”

She watched him go, then turned her attention away from the man who had mystified her since he’d stepped into the firehouse this morning. As she moved toward the boxes, she inspected the temporary shelter. The building was not large but wide at the bottom, narrowing to a peak at the top. An open banister revealed a loft, where people must have sat to enjoy the view of the sea. The building looked long-unoccupied but at
one time probably had served as a small restaurant. A few tables and chairs and three counter stools were stacked along one wall. A swinging door on the other side of the counter opened to a narrow kitchen with shelves and cupboards and wide gaps along the wall where commercial appliances once stood. She moved into the cooking area, opened a cupboard or two, a drawer here and there. Her search revealed an assortment of utensils, odd cups and plates, a half bottle of vinegar and the unmistakable droppings of mice. A heavy door revealed a walk-in storage room off the kitchen, its generous shelves empty except for an opened roll of paper towels and an industrial-size plastic jar of mayonnaise.

She went back into the main room and opened the boxes. Inside the first she found peanut butter, crackers, a can of nuts, a can of juice, paper cups and plates, plastic silverware and napkins. Beneath the paper supplies was a bag of cookies and a box of pink-and-white candy-coated licorice known as Good & Plenty.

She pulled out the box. As a teenager, she had never sat through a movie without devouring a king-sized box of the candy. Jesse had teased her about her addiction.

The door opened, announcing Jesse’s return with a blast of rain and wind. He set down the last of the supplies, stripped off his rain gear, and removed his hat. Water puddled about him. Outside, broken limbs slapped the building.

“There’s an electric line down not far from here. It was snapping like a hungry gator, but it should go dead soon.

The power grids today have a programmed safety feature that kicks in during a disaster, shutting down everything.”

It was seven o’clock. The weather forecasters had originally predicted if it did hit, Hurricane Damon would make landfall around midnight.

Amy faced Jesse, still holding the candy in her hands. Another coincidence? She had five hours to find out. She didn’t realize she was shaking until she heard the candy rattling against the box.

Five hours to learn the truth.

J
ESSE LOOKED
at the Good & Plenty box in Amy’s hands and knew he’d made a mistake. “That’s my part-time clerk’s idea of survival food.”

“I’ve never gotten through a double feature without a box.” Amy watched Jesse’s face.

He avoided her gaze, instead inspecting their surroundings as she had done. “Myself, I’m a Mallomar man, but I doubt my clerk had the foresight to pack any of those.” He bent toward the box and lifted out a large portable light and a smaller flashlight.

“The Jesse Boone I knew, the one I was talking about earlier, now he liked jelly doughnuts. Would eat a dozen and a half of them for breakfast, then polish them off with a quart of chocolate milk.”

“Sounds like a real charmer.” An edge of impatience purposefully crept into his tone.

“Actually, he was more the surly sort when I first met him. I didn’t really care for him much in the beginning.”

“That so?” Jesse said with the deliberate flatness of the disinterested.

“But I came around. To the point where I fell in love with him.”

Jesse looked up at her. When she smiled, his heart broke all over again. He bent his head and busied himself testing the flashlight, searching in the box for extra batteries.

“I think he was in love with me the first time he laid eyes on me.” There was a teasing lilt in her tone.

He switched the larger portable light on and off with several sharp clicks. “I’m sure the tales of your teenage romances are fascinating, but we’re going to be here awhile, so I hope you have a wider range of conversation than your adolescent crushes.”

She turned the box of licorice over and over in her hands. “He liked to play the tough guy, you see. I saw right through it.”

“You were remarkably insightful for your age.”

“Focused and mature also.”

Jesse’s lips tilted involuntarily. He stopped before he smiled. But she was right. As a teenager, she’d been no-nonsense, serious, bookish except for a mischievous streak and a smile that turned pretty into beautiful. He’d never understood what she’d seen in him, a boy who’d been brought up to think with his fists first, who’d been taught that any chance of success would have to come from his physical prowess, not his intellectual capabilities.

Until he met Amy. She’d taught him something that no one ever had before. She’d taught him that he wasn’t dumb.

“What were you like at seventeen?” She interrupted his thoughts as if reading them.

He leaned down to inspect the portable battery-op
erated radio he’d taken out of the boxes, fearing the emotions stirred by his memories were revealed on his face. “The same fun fellow I am now.”

She laughed, the sound lovely in the dark surroundings. “That’s about what I figured.”

He felt her study. He lifted out an oil lamp, filled it, trimmed its wick. If the hurricane did hit, they would rely on flashlights, but for now, the lantern’s glow would help to soften the room’s shadows, lessen fears. He lit the wick, then adjusted it to a controlled flame. He felt its glow coloring his skin, knew its fire was reflected in his eyes. The light spilled out into the darkness. He made his mouth a straight, hard line as he took in the glow coloring her skin, reflecting in her eyes.

A broken tree limb crashed against the window. Amy jumped. When he looked at her in concern, she set her mouth in the same hard line as his. Even at seventeen, she’d hated to reveal any vulnerability. She’d thrived on caring for others, but she’d despised being put in a similar position of needing assistance. He’d seen right through her, too, he remembered. One kiss and he’d stripped her soul bare. And she’d been right. She had had his from the beginning.

“Be good if those windows were boarded up,” he said. “Best I can do is duct tape though.” He looked up to the second floor. “Have you been upstairs yet?”

She shook her head. “Just in the kitchen. There’s some cooking utensils, dishes, not much else. A walk-in storage room, but it’s pretty much empty except for a few odds and ends.”

Jesse eyed the loft. “The higher ground might be useful if there’s a sea surge.”

Amy nodded. She remembered news stories of past hurricanes and the rushing water walls formed by the storms’ force that could wipe out everything in its path. She had read about fish found three miles inland, moored boats flung against city street lights as if a drunken sailor had gotten confused while waiting for the tide to come in. Like Jesse, she hoped the tornado and maybe some flooding were the worst this part of Texas would experience from Damon. But both of them had been involved in enough emergencies to know only a fool didn’t prepare for the worst.

“That is if the winds don’t take the loft first,” Jesse said. Picking up the small flashlight, he moved toward the stairs and climbed to the second story. Effectively evading any more of her questions, Amy realized.

“You’re not getting off that easy,” she muttered. She marched toward the steps and climbed to the open upper floor. The room had a sloped ceiling that formed a high peak in the center. It was empty except for some boxes piled in the corner. Amy walked to a row of windows, touching one of the panes to tell where the inside stopped and the outside began, now that the darkening dusk had gone from gray-green to gray-black. She felt the glass tremble with the force of the rain and the wind, heard the roar of the storm, the sounds of unsecured objects crashing against the building. With all the windows shut, the hot air had risen to the loft and it was hard to breathe.

Amy stared past the sheets of rain into the disorient
ing darkness of the storm with a strange, sinking feeling that the worst was yet to come. She turned to Jesse, stooped beneath the slanted ceiling along one wall.

“These windows should be duct-taped as well,” she said.

“We’ll want to move most of the supplies up here too.”

Amy nodded. If a Category Four hurricane hit on this coast, it was unlikely the building would withstand the winds. If it did, the sea would follow with its own drowning fury.

“The sea surges in California can cause more damage than the initial storm.”

“We haven’t heard a report in hours. Damon could have easily turned as they predicted, gotten caught up in a tropical depression and become no more than nasty rain and wind.” But the eyes he now turned away from Amy said otherwise.

A pile of boxes was stacked in the corner. Jesse bent down, opened the top one and shone the flashlight inside. “Just some old papers.” He pulled out a handful, aimed the flashlight at the top one, read it, then the one below it and the one beneath that. “Looks like old bills, business papers.” He dropped the bundle back into the box, rifled among the rest of the pile. “Tax returns, business receipts, stuff like that.” He opened another box. “Canceled checks in here, some old bills.”

When he straightened, Jesse found Amy standing right beside him, a strange expression on her face as if she’d just seen a ghost. A ghost of the past, he feared. He stepped away from her. “Nothing in here to help us.”

As he spoke, he replayed the last few minutes to determine if he’d done or said something to spark such intent interest. He had been about to tell her the truth when the tornado hit. Now he was not sure how to begin. If the hurricane was still heading to the coastal plains, it was predicted to make landfall around midnight. He glanced at his watch. It was just after seven. He had five hours. Five hours to tell her the truth.

“It’s going to be a long night,” he told her.

She nodded as if understanding.

“We should unpack, get settled in.” He aimed the flashlight’s beam toward the stairs, lighting them for her safe descent.

Amy walked to the stairs and climbed down. The sounds of the storm, the clatter, the muted light and, most of all, the man above her, made her feel she had stepped into a dream. She watched Jesse make his way down the stairs. As he’d looked over the papers in the boxes, she’d seen his lips move while he read. The Jesse Boone she’d known fourteen years ago had had the same habit.

So did thousands of other individuals, she told herself. Was she truly seeing signs to confirm her suspicions, or were these ordinary coincidences fueling her fantasy?

Jesse headed to the boxes of supplies, turning his well-shaped backside to her, and Amy found herself admiring his impressive anatomy.

She mentally shook herself and walked over to join him.

Jesse gathered up the blankets and pillows. “I’m
going to take these into the storage room, see if the shelves slide out. If Damon does hit, it’s the safest spot.”

“I’ll carry some in,” Amy said, taking half the bedding from his arms. “I want to get that roll of paper towels in there to clean up a little out here.”

In the storage room, Jesse removed the shelves. Amy spread out the blankets, propped the pillows against a wall. She took the paper towels to the sink. The faucet whined as she turned its handle, releasing only a small amount of water before the pipes emptied. When she returned to the main room, she saw Jesse had filled and lit another lantern. The room’s glow heightened to almost cozy.

She took the damp towel and brushed off the front counter’s layer of dust. As she worked, she hummed a tune, trying to concentrate on remembering the song’s words instead of analyzing Jesse’s every mannerism.

He glanced at her several times with a furrowed brow. She hummed a little louder, not so much to spike his irritation but to drown out her suspicions, which insisted on gaining strength instead of being subdued. About fifteen minutes went by. Still she hummed. Jesse’s glances became more frequent, as if he were waiting for her to begin her inquisition anew and bracing himself for the next round. She hummed merrily in defiance of the storm’s fury surrounding them and the questions and confusion within her.

“What is that?” he asked abruptly.

“What is what?” she snapped, startled out of her own thoughts.

“That noise you’re making?”

“It’s a song.” She thought a minute before breaking into a smile. “But I’ll be damned if I remember the name.” She furrowed her brow in concentration and hummed a little louder, bouncing a bit to the beat as if to shake the memory from her subconscious.

“Is that necessary?”

She glanced at him. He seemed preoccupied.

“No. Outside of food, water and oxygen, little is necessary. But there’s a lot we can enjoy.”

“Your attempt at a musical interlude, Doc—I’m not enjoying it.”

The lines on his face had deepened, and the lanterns’ glow shadowed his features. Something was bothering the man.

She smiled, snapping her fingers as she bounced up and down on her toes. “Keep sweet-talking me like that, Sheriff, and I’ll sing for you.”

He turned back to the boxes as if surrendering. “We’ll wait to take these things upstairs. If Damon does hit, the wind will come first, then the water.” He lifted the box and set it against a wall.

Lord, she’d thought he would be thankful she wasn’t asking any more questions. Not that she was finished. She needed to be certain that the man before her was not the Jesse Boone she knew.

And what if he was?

Her humming stopped.

What if he was?

New thoughts caused chaos in her mind.

What if he was?

She had been so focused on determining if the man before her was the Jesse Boone who had broken her heart fourteen years ago or merely a stranger with the same name that she hadn’t thought any farther.

What if it was the same man she’d loved, and yes, she realized with a sobering, almost-terrifying wash of emotion, had never stopped loving?

He looked at her as she stopped humming, the intensity of the flames seeming to sharpen his features, darken his eyes. He watched her. His lips parted as if he had something to say.

What if it
was
him?

“Where’s the duct tape?” she asked with a sudden urge to stay busy.

“I’ll do that,” he said.

She arranged the food supplies, paper and plastic ware neatly on the counter, put a box of disposable cleansing towels from her medical supplies in the bathroom. Jesse finished taping the windows upstairs and down. He returned to the counter, where Amy had pulled over two stools and was wiping the dust off them. He took in her attempts to arrange the supplies. She looked at the large silvery Xs across the windows. Their eyes met.

She smiled as if amused by their efforts. “If Damon does hit, we don’t stand a chance in hell, do we?”

He smiled back, knowing she was right. “I’ll worry about that when it happens.”

Her eyes held steady on his. “What do we do now?”

“Wait.”

She barked a dry laugh, exposing the tension inside her. “I don’t do ‘wait’ very well.”

“Surprise, surprise,” he said as she straightened an already straight row of bottled water. “Unfortunately, the alternatives are slim.”

She moved out from behind the counter to a window as if watching would hasten what was to come.

“Are you hungry?”

Surprisingly she wasn’t, although it had been several hours since they’d eaten. Nor was she tired, the adrenaline from the day’s events overstimulating her system.

“I’ve got a deck of cards,” she heard him suggest behind her. She turned. Jesse had sat down on a stool and was slipping the cards out of their container. He shuffled. “Beats you singing to me.”

She sensed he was trying to make her smile. It worked. She walked over to the counter and sat on a stool. “Poker, five card draw. Up to four cards with an ace, three without an ace, jacks wild.”

He looked impressed. “And here I figured you for a ‘Go Fish’ kind of gal.”

She tapped the top of the deck. “Deal, cowboy.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he drawled.

She grabbed the box of pink-and-white licorice from the tidy stack of food, opened it and counted out equal amounts of the candy.

“We’re playing for Good & Plenty?” Jesse asked, amused.

“No fun unless the stakes are high.”

Jesse’s face sobered slightly. “Is that your philosophy in cards or life, Doc?”

“Both,” she said, picking up the hand dealt her.

Neither spoke as they reviewed their cards, their expressions serious as they arranged their hands. Amy settled on her stool, gave Jesse a low-lidded look. “What’s the ante?”