- -
- 100%
- +
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.