Perhaps the new relationship wasn’t that serious. Don’t hope, he told himself. But it had been hope that had driven him through the first seven years after the accident and played a large role in his remarkable recovery. The hope of being well enough, strong enough again to be the man Amy could love.
“And many times, Malcolm and Ian make plans and spend the whole weekend together. They’re both diehard Dodgers fans, while I’m afraid what I know about baseball could fit on the head of a pin.”
Jesse raised his brows. “Your ex-husband and your new boyfriend go to baseball games together?”
Amy released a sweet, soft laugh that made his blood hum. “Ian’s my son.”
Her son. Jesse’s hope spiked. Tiny shells and small pebbles being swept up by the wind clattered against the sides of the van as if echoing the confusion of emotions inside him. Maybe it wasn’t sheer coincidence that brought her to Turning Point. Maybe…
Don’t hope, Jesse.
He looked at the woman beside him. Too late.
“So, you aren’t involved with anyone now?”
“Are you always so damn nosy, Sheriff?” She pretended indignation, but her eyes twinkled like stardust.
“No.”
She looked out at the storm. Her smile disappeared. “No, I’m not involved with anyone. I learned my lesson.”
“What lesson was that?” He downshifted to maneuver a curve.
“Life doesn’t give you second chances.”
He had to tell her she was wrong. He had to tell her everything. When he had believed she was still married, he had feared the truth would have only served his own selfish needs and caused her pain and confusion. But now… His hand rested on the gear shift, close enough to take her hand in his. He opened his fingers.
“Jesse?”
He heard his name on her lips as if it were a dream. But her face was turned away to the window. She peered into the gray-green of the storm to the east. “Do you see something over there?”
He shifted his gaze the same direction as hers. A flash of red cut through the rain-whipped landscape. Slowing down, he steered toward the road’s shoulder to take a closer look. A large, long form was pressed flat against a tree. He peered into the vast gray scape, the rain making everything a blur. The wind took the object and tossed it easily. On the object’s underbelly, Jesse saw the design of red and blue flames.
“It’s Michael’s surfboard. What’s left of it.” At least a third of the board was missing. He scanned the area.
“The wind must have ripped it off the car’s roof,” Amy said.
He made no comment, slowly easing the van back onto the road, searching for a sign of the boy or his friends. The wind pummeled the van, forcing it back toward the shoulder. Jesse struggled to control the vehicle as it veered. Spitting gravel joined the shells and pebbles clattering against the sides. The winds were too high, too strong. They passed a small marker. Padre Point. One Mile.
“We’re almost there,” Amy said with an encouraging smile. Neither commented on the increasing fury outside. The rain continued to fall, and the van’s headlights shone into the grayness. Beach houses clustered several hundred yards back from the shore. As the van rounded a curve, almost to their destination, Jesse saw a small, weathered A-frame building with a faded painted sign proclaiming The Sea Shack. Two hundred yards away the flat land formed a point and disappeared into the sea. Waves rose and fell violently, colliding with each other. Above, a thickening bank of clouds merged into a dark gray wall. Jesse parked at the sand’s edge, the van’s headlights slicing through the gloom. Pieces of a surfboard, blue and red, lay scattered on the sand until the wind caught them and carried them several yards. Otherwise the beach was deserted.
Jesse reached for the door handle. “I’m going to take a closer look.”
Amy reached for her door handle.
“Stay here.”
The expression on his face stopped her from arguing. She let go of the door handle and watched Jesse, the rain and sand and shells pelting his body. He leaned into the wind as he made his way to the shoreline. She watched him several seconds, then a movement in the side mirror caught her attention. A cloud was coming from the same direction they’d just traveled. It hung low, sliding across the flat length of the beach, black and purple and darker than the sky that surrounded it. At first, she thought it an illusion, the blurred images of water, sky and storm playing tricks with her vision, fueling her imagination like a child seeing ghouls in the night’s shadows. She shifted to see the low, flying saucer shape stand on its end, reaching out a long finger to skim the beach. She leapt out of the van and ran toward the shore where Jesse stood. He turned as she screamed his name, catching her as she stumbled, and drew her to the hard solid wall of his chest.
“What the—?” His arms automatically circled around her and she stayed in his embrace as she pointed out the long-fingered shape. It touched down and pulled up, as if determining if it was in the right place, then suddenly detached from the cloud, driven by a life of its own.
They stood watching it for a moment, fascinated as the shape wobbled back and forth across the flat shore as if trying to decide which way to go. Not until it veered right, toward where they stood, did they move. Jesse’s arms still embracing her, Amy ran with him toward the A-frame two hundred yards from the shore. She glanced over her shoulder once, saw the long, spiny shape move up, touch down. They made it to the building, the world black around them. Jesse broke down the door and pulled Amy in. She swung around for one last look, saw a tree snap like a stick, felt the ground beneath the building tremble, then the building itself, the windows rattling in their frames. Jesse pulled her with him toward a door, looking for a crawlspace, but the building had been built on a slab.
“Lie down,” he yelled.
She did as he said, her body flat against the sand and grit that covered the floor. He arched over her, his body a breath from hers. She closed her eyes, the earth’s tremor moving through her. She listened to the sounds of things cracking and falling outside. She felt the wild thump of her own heart and that of the heart above her. Outside, the world roared like a creature in pain, its anguish eternal.
And then as swiftly as it had started, it was over. The world went still, the silence even greater after the fury. The only trembling was Amy’s involuntary shaking. Above her, Jesse shifted, rolled away from her. He laid a tentative hand on her shoulder and bent close.
“Amy? Are you okay?”
His breath whispered against her cheek, the concern in his voice thick. She tried to still the trembling, but her body would not cooperate. “I’m fine,” she said in a quivering voice.
“It’s moved on. It’s over for now.” He stayed close to her, his warmth welcome. She turned her head to find him. His mouth, a mere inch from hers, took in a swift breath.
“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 be
neath 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.
CHAPTER SIX
JESSE 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-operated 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 th
e 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.
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