Hard Rain

by Darlene Scalera

  “Problem?” he asked her, one brow lifted in inquiry.

  She shook her head, declining to explain. She could have secrets too.

  They passed a motel, three-quarters surrounded by a stucco half wall. A wooden sign inscribed Dolphin Inn swung madly. A middle-aged man hammered plywood across a window beneath the building’s overhang. He stopped and turned as he heard the vehicle approach.

  Jesse pulled into the drive. “I’m going to check to see if he’s seen a bunch of teenagers riding by. I’ll be right back.” He jumped out of the Bronco and sprinted across the drive.

  The rain pelted the windshield. If the boys were down here, Amy doubted they were still surfing. The winds were too high, the waves so powerful that even the most experienced surfers would risk injury. She scanned the shore, trying to see past the storm for something, anything that would lead them to the boys. She saw Jesse point toward the boardwalk. He had removed his hat so he wouldn’t lose it. The wind swept his hair away from his forehead, exposing a clean profile, an intense, grim gaze. The man shook his head. They spoke a few seconds more. Again the man shook his head. Jesse offered his hand before leaving. He clasped the man on the shoulder as they shook.

  When he came back into the van, he smelled of rain and wind and dampness. His shirt clung to his chest, outlining firm muscle that must have taken years of intense, painful workouts to restore after his obviously serious accident. She stared at his chest and found herself wondering how long it had taken for medical science and sheer will to put this man back together.

  He turned and reached in the back for his hat. He pushed back his damp, dark hair, made even blacker by the rain, before he settled the hat on his head, shadowing his features and whatever emotions they might expose.

  “Did he see anything?”

  “Said he saw a car with surfboards on the roof earlier today. It was headed in the direction of the point.”

  “Did he see the boys come back through?”

  “No, but he says that doesn’t mean they didn’t. He was in and out all afternoon, boarding up the motel. The boys could easily have passed by again without him seeing them.” Jesse turned the vehicle toward the Point.

  “Has the man heard any recent reports on the storm?”

  Jesse shook his head. “Storm took electricity out about an hour ago. Last the man heard, the storm was still heading north, past Corpus Christi.”

  “The reports we heard sounded as if it had weakened, turned south.”

  “Without radio contact, it’s hard to know.”

  Amy looked over her shoulder and saw the man wave to them as they pulled away. “I’m surprised he’s still here.”

  “He’s not planning on going anywhere. Tried to talk him into heading up to Turning Point. Told him about the shelter at the school, but he wouldn’t hear of it. Said he’d never left yet, and he wasn’t about to start. Said the beach was his home. He’s seen four hurricanes already and lived to tell about them. Said he and a few others even had a party the night Hurricane Harriet rolled in.”

  “Foolishness obviously doesn’t end with the teenage years,” Amy noted.

  “Amen.” Jesse watched the road, scanning the surroundings as he drove. Amy did the same. “He’s probably not the only one down here who ignored the evacuation order. He said there’s a drive-in a few miles south on the bay that generally remains open for the residents who stay behind and the plain curious who sneak in to see the storm. The boys might have stopped there to get something to eat.”

  Most of the buildings they passed were boarded with plywood. The houses on the beach stood on stilts, towering optimistically above the sea’s surge. Decks had been cleared, but the odd wicker chaise and bamboo rocker flew by, thrown about by the wind. The trees bent low, threatening to break.

  They came to the drive-in. The neon lights trimming its flat roof were dark. As the man had predicted, several vehicles were parked in the lot. The picnic tables were chained, their umbrellas removed. A half dozen people clustered under the drive-in’s overhang, facing the sea, sharing a twelve-pack of beer. They turned toward the Bronco as Jesse pulled into the lot. Their gazes narrowed as they noted the sheriff’s star on the vehicle’s door. This time Amy followed Jesse. He shot her a look as she stepped outside but didn’t try to stop her. Heads nodded in response to Jesse’s greeting but expressions remained cautious.

  “I’m looking for a group of teenage boys,” Jesse told them. “Came down here to surf on the big waves brought in by the storm. I was hoping they stopped here or one of you saw them.”

  Everyone seemed to relax. “Ask Marnie,” one man said, cocking his head toward the drive-in window. Others nodded. “If they stopped for food, she would have served them.”

  Jesse went to the wide window where orders were placed. A heavyset woman was packing supplies into cupboards.

  “Ma’am?” Jesse said at the window.

  “No orders,” she barked, her back to the window. “Electricity’s been out and the generator’s almost out of juice. I’m packing up and heading inland myself.” She turned, took in Jesse’s uniform.

  Jesse touched the brim of his hat. “Sheriff Jesse Boone, ma’am. Come down from Turning Point.”

  “Sorry, Sheriff.” Wiping her hands on a towel, she came toward the window. “What can I do for you?”

  “We’re looking for a group of teenage boys might have passed through here. They were heading to the shore to surf the big waves brought in by the storm.”

  “Never fails.” The woman folded her towel, set it on a cardboard box. “Get a group of young yahoos every time, wanting to prove themselves by downing a case of beer and riding the waves. I don’t know who’s worse—them or the ones who head here and order hot fudge sundaes as if it were a Sunday outing.” The woman looked out at the group, her expression resigned.

  Her gaze returned to Jesse and Amy. “A group of boys did come by, but it was earlier, after lunch. I’d say one, one-thirty. They ordered burgers, onion rings, milkshakes to go. They were keen to get on their way. There were four of them, I think. They had their surfboards strapped to the car.”

  “You hear them say where they were heading?”

  The woman shook her head. “They drove off south. Probably heading for Padre Point. That’d be my guess. Popular spot with the young set.”

  “How far off is it?”

  “About ten miles.”

  “And you didn’t see them come back through?”

  “They didn’t stop here if they did. But that’s not to say they didn’t ride a few big ones, have their fun and head home.”

  Jesse glanced at the group gathered under the overhang. “What about these people?”

  She shrugged. “There’s always a few who come out, thinking it’s fun and games. Damn fools.”

  “What about you?”

  “I’m heading to my sister’s in Three Rivers soon as I close up here.”

  “Might want to make that soon.”

  “As soon as I shut down the generator, I’m on my way.”

  “Glad to hear it.” Jesse touched the brim of his hat again. “Thanks for your help.”

  “Wish it was more,” the woman told them both.

  Jesse and Amy moved away from the window, back to the group. “There’s an evacuation center set up at the Turning Point high school.”

  “Last report said the storm shifted to the southwest,” an elderly man said. “We’ll see the wind and the rain, but down by the Mexican border will get the brunt of it.”

  “That report was a while ago. Anything could have happened since communication went down. Even if the storm did turn, you’d be safer on higher ground.”

  “Thanks, Sheriff. Good to know if things get too wild round here.”

  “It’ll be too late by then.”

  The older man, his face narrow and cheeks sunken by age, took a long pull on his beer. “Then I’ll be here to meet it.”

  “Damn fool.” Jesse echoed the drive-in owner’s decla
ration beneath his breath. To the group, he said, “If any of you change your mind, we’ll be coming back through here after we check out the point. You can follow us or there’s room in the back if you want a ride.”

  “Thanks, Sheriff, but if things start to get too wild, we’ll head to Hank’s house. Sixteen feet above ground, it’s plenty high enough not to worry about being washed away should the tidal surge hit.”

  “What are you going to do when the winds rip the roof off?”

  “We’ll be fine, Sheriff. Come on back down after this thing passes through. Bring the pretty lady and we’ll all have a beer together and raise our bottles to Damon.”

  “If I do, I expect you all to be here.”

  “It’s a promise, Sheriff.”

  Amy and Jesse headed back to the Bronco. Jesse took a final look at the group as he started the engine. Several waved. He released a frustrated sigh.

  “Crazy old goats,” Amy said with such vehement disgust that Jesse half smiled as he steered into the storm. “Drinking beer and sitting around swapping fish stories as if this were no more than a Friday-night poker game. I hope they get the damn pants scared off them when the storm hits.”

  “If it does hit, they’ll lose more than their pants.”

  “Couldn’t you arrest them? Force them to take shelter?”

  “Technically, they aren’t breaking any laws.”

  “We should have strung them up like rodeo bulls, thrown them in the back of the Bronco and hauled their stubborn butts back to Turning Point.”

  Jesse’s smiled widened against his wishes. “They’re men, not livestock.”

  “Well, a rock’s got more common sense than the lot of them.”

  “Maybe, but I’ve lived long enough in Turning Point to know when a man’s mind is made up, there’s little chance of changing it.”

  Amy crossed her arms over her chest and huffed an indignant breath. “Sometimes stubborn is another word for plain pigheaded.”

  He turned his face away, hiding the smile he’d concealed several times already. She’d been as fervent and fiery at eighteen, her passion no small part of her appeal. He’d had no doubt when she’d come to tutor him that she saw him as a quest, a confirmation of her fervent belief that any human being with enough grit and guts could accomplish anything. What he hadn’t realized was that she would make him believe it too. She would have sacrificed her dream for him. It was why he’d sacrificed his.

  Jesse examined the sky again. Amy followed his gaze.

  “There’s time,” she told him.

  But neither knew how much.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  AMY ALLOWED five minutes of silence before she began questioning Jesse again. His attempts to avoid answering her earlier questions had only increased her curiosity. She was determined to learn as much as she could about the sheriff.

  “So, you never married?” she asked point-blank.

  He gave her a long, level look.

  “You didn’t think I was going to let you off the hook that easy?” She smiled. He didn’t.

  “According to Lurie, you’re the catch of the county and the ladies are willing to wait in line for their turn.”

  Jesse frowned, vertical lines forming between his brow. “I warned you not to put much stock in Lurie’s tales. She’s a great gal, but what comes from between those lips tends to be embellished, if you know what I mean.”

  “She said you’re harder to hogtie than a prize-winning bull, but you let the ladies know that up front. A real gentleman. Only that makes them try all the harder.”

  Jesse shook his head. Then, as if in surrender, he released a low chuckle. Amy smiled despite her realization he was charming her as easily as he had the female population of the lower Texas quadrant.

  “Lurie thinks once you find the right girl, you’ll fall faster than a twenty-one-year-old at his first happy hour.”

  “For once Lurie is right.”

  Amy was surprised by his rare frankness. Encouraged, she continued. “You’re not afraid of commitment. You just haven’t found the right girl yet?”

  “I didn’t say I hadn’t found the right girl yet.” He stopped as if realizing where the conversation was heading. “Are you always so damn nosy?”

  “No,” she said, so self-righteously a smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. He caught himself and continued scowling. However, she’d glimpsed the good-natured man beneath the frown. She suspected the sheriff was deliberately putting on an alternative face for her. She intended to find out the reason.

  “Why the twenty questions?”

  She ignored his question to ask one of her own. “So you found the right girl?”

  He kept his attention on the highway, ignoring her.

  “You did find the right girl but you didn’t realize it at the time?”

  He gave a long sigh. She had decided he wasn’t going to answer, when he stared out into the fierce storm and said, “I realized it.”

  His features seemed to give way and his strong face, handsome even in its scowling mask, filled with pain. As quick as it came, it was gone.

  “What happened?” she said in almost a whisper.

  “She was married,” he said without looking at her.

  “And…” Amy hesitated. He glanced at her as if waiting. “There’s never been anyone else?”

  “No,” he stated.

  “You will never marry?”

  Pain flickered across his features again. “It would be cruel to marry one woman when I loved another.”

  “Did she love you?”

  His voice softened. “She did.”

  “Did she know you loved her?”

  The smallest smile curved his mouth. “She did.”

  “But she married someone else?”

  The smile faded. “It wasn’t her fault.”

  “Do you ever see her?”

  He turned and looked at her. “Yes.”

  “Is she happy?”

  Their eyes met. “Yes,” he said. “She is.” He smiled as if the woman’s happiness was his.

  Amy studied the man beside her. Several seconds of silence passed. “I’m sorry,” she told him.

  He looked at her again, smiled softly. “It wasn’t your fault.”

  They drove in silence. They were almost to their destination when Amy said, “I was married once, but it didn’t work out.”

  “Jesus.” For the first time, the wind won. The Bronco swerved toward the road’s shoulder. Jesse’s arm shot out protectively across Amy. His other hand regained control of the vehicle and eased it back onto the highway.

  Her simple statement had hit him like a shot to the chest. His heart hammered against his ribs. The storm surged around them. The winds shrieked. The sky darkened in warning. Don’t hope, Jesse.

  He waited until he was certain his voice wouldn’t reveal him. “We must almost be at Padre Point.”

  She smiled. “I’m not worried, Sheriff.”

  He waited another minute before he could ask, “So, you’re divorced?”

  “About four years now.”

  His heart turned over. Four years. He kept his tone mildly interested. “What happened?”

  She glanced at him as if surprised by his interest.

  “Malcolm was a good man. Older than me, but then again, I’ve always been mature for my age.”

  She threw in a wry smile that Jesse could not return. Four years, he thought.

  “He was a professor.”

  Jesse raised a brow.

  She mocked his expression. “Don’t be shocked, Sheriff. He was only thirty-eight when we met.”

  “How old were you?”

  “Twenty-four.”

  Jesse raised his other brow, causing her smile to widen.

  “It wasn’t easy from the first. My friends found him dry and boring. I thought his friends pompous. But Malcolm represented everything I one day hoped to be—settled, established and successful in his career. And wise. Bottom-line, he was stable. And stab
le was everything I desired.”

  Why? Jesse asked silently. Because it was safer than having your heart shattered by an insensitive teenager who had promised you the world and then disappeared. His own heart, which he had kept under lock and key for so long, contracted, confirming what he had feared when he’d stepped into the firehouse and set eyes on Amy. The heart he’d held still for so long had begun to beat again.

  “Malcolm had lost his wife several years earlier to pancreatic cancer. He was kind and tragic. I was a struggling student, very serious. I was fortunate to have the support of my family, especially my aunt, who I lived with at the time, but…”

  Her eyes turned vague, and a flatness had come into her voice. For a moment, Jesse feared she wouldn’t continue.

  “We were both lonely, Malcolm and I. We respected and cared about each other, but loneliness is not a good foundation for a lifetime together. We thought we could give each other what we both craved.”

  She stared out into the storm as if seeing her own past. “We were wrong,” she finished simply.

  “How long were you married?”

  “Let’s see.” She thought. “We married over the semester midwinter break in February. I was in my fourth year of medical school. I was twenty-five.”

  They had just been newlyweds, Jesse realized. It had been more than seven years and countless operations before he had been strong enough to look for Amy. And after three months of searching, he’d finally found her. He’d called her telephone number in Courage Bay, California, his heart slamming wildly with each ring. Her husband had answered.

  That had been March seven years ago. What if he had called a month, six weeks earlier?

  “Three years later, it was over,” Amy continued. “But it was an amicable divorce. Actually we’re still really good friends. He often comes and spends holidays with Ian and me.”

  Jesse’s heart bottomed out. Amy had been divorced four years. She was a beautiful, smart, successful woman. Of course she’d be involved with someone else. Still, spending the holidays with your ex-husband and your new lover sounded a little too contemporary…even for California.