by Gemma Snow
Table of Contents
Books by Gemma Snow
Title Page
Legal Page
Book Description
Dedication
Trademark Acknowledgements
Prologue
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
Chapter Sixteen
Epilogue
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About the Author
Totally Bound Publishing books by Gemma Snow
Triple Diamond
The Lovin’ is Easy
Wild Flowers
Most Wanted
Triple Diamond
HEART OF THE STORM
GEMMA SNOW
Heart of the Storm
ISBN # 978-1-78651-825-5
©Copyright Gemma Snow 2019
Cover Art by Erin Dameron-Hill ©Copyright September 2019
Interior text design by Claire Siemaszkiewicz
Totally Bound Publishing
This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Totally Bound Publishing.
Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Totally Bound Publishing. Unauthorised or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.
The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.
Published in 2019 by Totally Bound Publishing, United Kingdom.
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the authors’ rights. Purchase only authorised copies.
Totally Bound Publishing is an imprint of Totally Entwined Group Limited.
If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book”.
Book four in the
Triple Diamond series
Cade and Sawyer might be Hollie’s biggest risk yet…
Ten years ago, Hollie Callihan left her best friends Cade Easton and Sawyer Matthews in the middle of the night for fear of breaking their hearts—and broke her own instead. She’s spent her whole life chasing adventures on distant shores, but spring floods in the Black Reef Mountains force Hollie, Region VIII FEMA Response Director, to return to Wolf Creek, the town where she left her heart in two.
Cade and Sawyer are now Wolf Creek’s chief of police and fire captain, Hollie’s first line of defense in emergency response…making them unavoidable. Her former friends are all grown up now and have been totally at odds since she left.
Hollie knows she should stay as far away from temptation as possible. After all, Wolf Creek is a temporary stop and there’s no place for the daydreams or nightly fantasies she has about Cade and Sawyer—the same ones she’s been having for the last ten long years.
But facing genuine destruction and danger alongside Cade and Sawyer helps Hollie learn that vulnerability and trust aren’t dirty words. If she’s brave enough to let Cade and Sawyer in on what had her running all those years ago, Hollie might just find that taking the biggest risk of her life leads to its biggest adventure—three hearts beating as one.
Dedication
To all the readers who followed this series, I am eternally grateful. Thank you for joining me on another Triple Diamond adventure and for everything.
Trademark Acknowledgements
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:
Bronco: Ford Motor Company
Captain America: The Walt Disney Company
Dr. Doolittle: Hugh John Lofting
Ford: Ford Motor Company
Hallmark: Hallmark Cards, Inc.
iPad: Apple, Inc
Jack Daniel’s: Brown-Forman Corporation
Cherokee: Fiat Chrysler Automobiles N.V.
Wakanda: The Walt Disney Company
Narnia: C. S. Lewis
Spider-Man: The Walt Disney Company
Viagra: Pfizer Inc.
Ziploc: S. C. Johnson & Son, Inc.
Prologue
“Why can’t Casey go?”
Hollie’s voice was resolute and she did her best to keep the panic from rising further up her chest and into her throat, where it would inevitably clog her speech and undermine the powerful, capable persona she had been carefully crafting for nearly a decade.
“Casey isn’t the Response Director for Region VIII, Callihan. You are.” Debra Lewitt was a damn good boss to have for people who traded in emergencies, but Hollie really wished that the woman’s icy exterior would melt just a little right now.
Which was a rather poor analogy, considering that Hollie wouldn’t be in this situation if the Black Reef Mountain Range wasn’t about to drop a historic amount of snow runoff into Lewis and Clark County.
“We need you in Montana by Sunday night at the latest.” Lewitt dropped the folder onto Hollie’s desk and folded her arms, giving Hollie the expression that she had clearly given hundreds of subordinates and superiors over the years. Hollie got it. Of course she did. Working in any government agency as a woman was challenging enough—she could only imagine how much more difficult it would be to find respect as a woman of color. But she wasn’t being an asshole for asshole’s sake, she just…
She was just terrified to go back.
The moon would have been better. Hell, Los Angeles or New York would have been a fine substitute, because they were farther away, and farther away was preferable because Hollie’s cozy office in downtown Denver suddenly felt far, far too close to the mountains of Wolf Creek, Montana. And everything else she would find there.
Everyone else.
“Callihan.” Lewitt bent down over her desk. “Where’s your head?” This was said with a modicum of emotion, which meant things had to be pretty bad. Hollie never had been very good at hiding what she felt.
“There’s a lot of history for me in Wolf Creek, ma’am,” Hollie managed. “I haven’t been back to that town for nearly a decade.”
Lewitt’s features softened almost imperceptibly, but Hollie had been working at Debra Lewitt’s side for nearly five years, and she had become an expert at reading the micro-emotions.
“Maybe it’s the right time for you to take this trip,” she said, giving Hollie a far too discerning gaze.
Or maybe even the idea of those old haunts makes you feel vulnerable.
Or maybe.
“I’m not so sure everyone there will agree.” Hollie half-whispered, unsure whether she was speaking to her superior or to herself. It also wasn’t necessarily true
. She had no idea what the reception would be upon her arrival. Hell, they could have forgotten all about that night. All about her.
The idea that such a defining moment in her life could be so easily replaced with a white picket fence or two-point-three children didn’t sit well with Hollie, but she had made her choices and she would make the same ones given the chance. She hadn’t regretted her decision to leave in years.
Much.
“Then don’t go to make friends,” Lewitt replied. “We deal in emergencies every day, Callihan.”
She took a deep breath and released it very slowly. “Hollie, look at me.”
Hollie looked. They’d been in their fair share of shit-show situations together, on the ground and in the ‘war room’, as they affectionately called working in disaster and emergency relief for one of the snowiest, wettest, driest and most-tornado-y regions in the country. That sort of life-or-death environment could really bring people together, and it had, in its own way. Still, Lewitt was hardly prone to intimate address. So Hollie looked.
“You know what a real emergency looks like,” she began. “You know what it’s like to wonder if you’re going to survive the next five minutes or the next five hours or the next five days. Ask yourself if going back to your hometown to ensure the region is safe and protected is really an emergency situation.” Another sigh. “I know what it’s like to work hard, Hollie. Trust me. But you don’t want to turn around in twenty years and realize you’ve done it all alone.”
Damn Debra Lewitt for being as perceptive at reading people as she was at anticipating emergency fallouts.
Because even if Hollie could have denied it, even if she could have looked her discerning boss right in the eye and told her that Wolf Creek, Montana, was just a place and nothing more, she didn’t get the chance. Lewitt tapped on the folder with one nail, raised her eyebrow and said, “Call me when you arrive on Sunday.” Without another word, she turned on her heel and strode out of Hollie’s office.
Be like Debra Lewitt and you might survive this. Might. Because as much as returning to a town she hadn’t called home in nearly a decade wasn’t the emergency she was used to, wasn’t the fires and the floods and the tornados, it was an emergency. And when she thought about returning, about facing down the memories and emotions she had been running from faster than a cyclone on the open plains, Hollie couldn’t help but wonder which was more dangerous.
Chapter One
And there goes the floor.
Sawyer always knew when the floor was about to collapse. In the din of the fire, the roar compounded by the fishbowl of his helmet and oxygen mask, he couldn’t hear much beyond angry, sharp sounds of chaos, a wardrobe falling over, glass shattering. He never heard the floor beneath his feet begin to give, but he damn near almost always felt it, and it precipitated a real bad scene each and every time it had happened to him.
Time to move ass, Matthews.
Because they were missing one of the Hemwick children and he’d be damned if he let anything happen to the kid on his watch. But he’d already been inside the ranch house for two, maybe three minutes and they hadn’t arrived on the scene for at least six or seven after the call had come in.
But Sawyer wasn’t the type to play at odds. A wrong-side-of-the-tracks, school-paid-lunches kid like him knew that placing any sort of belief in a higher system was bound to end in disaster. So he stuck to the cold—hot—hard facts and to the very tangible things he could do with the resources right in front of him.
Like walking down the hall and away from the cracking floorboards. The door at the far end of the hallway was shut and Sawyer hoped like hell that the missing child was in that room, and not any of the three open doorways he’d passed on his too-slow walk. If they had been, he was too late. He got to the door after what felt like an eternity and jangled the knob.
What’s behind door number four?
Hopefully, April Anne Hemwick.
Heat from the blaze around him had warped the wood and he came at it from the side, shoving the weight of his body against the door until it finally pushed free of the jamb. Thankfully, it didn’t break, and when one glance around the room told him that the fire hadn’t yet spread inside, he quickly pushed the door closed again. The air was smoky and thick, but there weren’t any discernable flames and that gave him hope. If April Anne had been in this room when the fire started, she might just be okay.
Just as with the crunch of the floorboard beneath his feet, it was intuition, instinct and experience, rather than a discernable sound, that pulled him to the far corner of the room. He crouched low and through the haze caught sight of a flash of pink and blue. He tapped her on the leg and she turned, thank fuck, and he realized she was holding something. Two somethings.
Kittens. Fucking wonderful.
It was challenging enough bringing a four-year-old down from the second story of a burning house, but add kittens to the mix?
Doesn’t matter.
It didn’t matter. He lifted April Anne from the ground and pressed her face into his chest, the kittens squished between them, before walking three short steps to the window. Most of his team was down below and he pushed the window open easily enough, drawing attention to their position with a quick wave. One of the engines was brought quickly to the other side of the house and Jensen was practically halfway up the ladder by the time it hit the window. He took April Anne from Sawyer’s arms and Sawyer scooped the two kittens from her hands so that she could properly hold on to Jensen on the descent. Then he, too, began climbing his way back down until he felt the hard, sold metal of the engine under his feet, then the ground below that.
By the time he got his helmet off, a challenge with the squirming kittens now both held by their scruffs in one hand, April Anne was in her mother’s arms and the six Hemwicks had gathered together in a massive hug before turning to watch the second floor collapse and the house begin to implode right before their eyes.
“It’s okay.” Daniel Hemwick was holding his son’s hand and stroking his wife’s back. “We’re all okay. The things are just things, but we still have each other.”
It wasn’t an unfamiliar sentiment to hear at a site like this one, but it still made something in Sawyer’s belly clench in an uncomfortable way, and he tried not to focus on all the reasons that might be. Waiting until he would no longer interrupt the moment, he walked over to the family and knelt before April Anne, then extended the two kittens in his hand.
She pulled free of her mother’s grip and caught him around the neck, hugging him so tightly that it nearly knocked Sawyer to his ass. This little girl had just gone through hell and she still packed a powerful punch—he only hoped he’d be so lucky one day.
“Thanks, Spider-Man,” she said, then took the two kittens and hugged them close before handing them to her mother. He’d take Spiderman. It was one of the most recent superhero blockbuster films, and with long red hair and freckles to his hairline, he hardly passed for the King of Wakanda. He pulled his gear off his hand to ruffle her hair, then turned to her parents.
“I’m sorry about your house,” Sawyer said. It was true—he may have been a brusque, cynical s.o.b., but it was hard to feel anything other than sympathy for a family who had just lost so much.
“Nothing to be sorry about,” Daniel Hemwick said. He extended his hand and Sawyer was surprised to find the man’s grip was strong, despite everything their family had experienced that night. “You saved our April Anne. That’s the only thing that matters, Chief.”
The Spiderman praise from a four-year-old, he could handle. This was edging on too gushy for him, but Sawyer held the man’s gaze, nodded to Jenny Hemwick, whose eyes were glassy with unshed tears, then turned away from the family to head back to his engine. Jensen was sitting on the back bumper, chugging a bottle of water, and he handed one to Sawyer, who drank it down greedily.
Before they had the chance to exchange a word, however, Jensen’s eyes sparked at something behind him and Sawyer’s hac
kles rose.
“Chief.” This was not said in the same tone that Daniel Hemwick had used. Sawyer bit the inside of his lip, not bothering to hide his grimace when he turned to face Cade Easton.
Lewis and Clark County Sheriff Cade Easton was the day to Sawyer’s night, if day and night enjoyed squirting each other in the eye with lemon juice and rubbing it in with salt. Where Sawyer’s hair was long and red, Cade wore his just shy of military style. Where Sawyer made a habit of running into burning buildings—quite literally playing with fire—Cade ensured that law and order were upheld, to a nauseating degree in their tiny, nearly crimeless county. Cade was a stickler for rules Sawyer had never had any trouble breaking, and the only time Sawyer had seen him behave as anything less than a proper fucking gentleman was when he was poking at Sawyer’s bruises that would otherwise have healed a long time ago.
“Sheriff.” This in a very specific tone from Sawyer, who had very little difficulty stooping to Easton’s level where pettiness was concerned.
“Glad to see the kittens of Wolf Creek remained unscathed,” Easton said drily. “I have to get your statement.”
Instead of replying, Sawyer took a long drink from the water bottle Jensen had handed him, taking some perverse pleasure in making the sheriff wait. Cade didn’t need his statement right now any more than they needed a match, but he liked making a show of being the big gun in town, as if Sawyer’s team were the cleanup crew and he owned the mansion.
“You’ll get my statement tomorrow, Easton,” Sawyer said after an intentionally long pause. “Just come on down to the station to pick it up.”
Easton didn’t miss a beat. “Now, Chief,” he said. “Don’t make this harder than it needs to be.” They were in each other’s faces now—for fuck’s sake, how did they always end up in each other’s faces?—and Sawyer only realized he was clenching his jaw when it began to throb in time with the pounding of his heart.
