Riding the Storm. Julie Miller
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E-mail from: Mitch Kannon, fire chief, Turning Point, Texas
To: Dan Egan, fire chief, Courage Bay, California
Sky’s gray, rain’s starting to come down and the main roads are jammed with traffic. Hurricane Damon is on its way to Texas.
Haven’t got much time, Dan, but I wanted to let you know your crew arrived safely—the least I can do after you sent me four of your best to help out. One day I hope to return the favor—but what would California’s finest emergency team need from a small-town fire chief?
I picked up the four this morning at Corpus Christi airport and they’ve jumped right in to help. We’re hoping we just have to deal with a flood of evacuees, but having a doctor, nurse, paramedic and EMT handpicked by you sure makes me feel better.
I’ve already sent out the paramedic with my daughter to see to a woman in labor. Nate Kellison looks as if he could handle just about anything. Jolene figured she could go on her own, but no father would let his pregnant daughter set off in this storm alone–even such a determined and capable girl as my Jolene.
Gotta run, Dan. The wind’s really picking up now. I’ll keep in touch unless the power’s off. Don’t worry about us down here. You know we Texans are tough. Just say a prayer Hurricane Damon realizes that and heads back out to sea.
About the Author
JULIE MILLER
attributes her passion for writing romance to all those fairy tales she read growing up, and shyness. Encouragement from her family to write down those feelings she couldn’t express became a love for the written word. She gets continued support from her fellow members of the Prairieland Romance Writers, where she serves as the resident “grammar goddess.” This award-winning author and teacher has published several paranormal romances in addition to her beloved romantic suspense. Inspired by the likes of Agatha Christie and Encyclopedia Brown, Julie believes that the only thing better than a good mystery is a good romance. Born and raised in Missouri, she now lives in Nebraska with her husband, son and smiling guard dog, Maxie.
Riding the Storm
Julie Miller
Dear Reader,
I grew up in the heart of America’s Tornado Alley, so when Harlequin asked me to write a story set in the midst of a hurricane, I almost panicked. I mean, when was the last time a hurricane hit the flat plains of Nebraska?
When I put out a help message on the loops, I received several responses from friends and fellow writers. One grew up on the Texas Gulf Coast, another survived Hurricane Andrew, and yet another talked about East Coast hurricanes. The coolest part was that every person I contacted was willing to share personal stories—funny, graphic, inspiring and practical.
By the time I’d completed my research, I felt I could give my story an authentic tone. I had the facts about heavy rains and scary winds and spooky calms. But I could also imbue my characters with realistic reactions and emotions. I could feel that hurricane coming to life.
So as you read Riding the Storm, keep in mind all the real-life stories and adventures that went into creating the characters and the disaster they must survive. A few of you might even see something familiar.
Stay warm and dry—and enjoy!
Julie Miller
www.juliemiller.org
CONTENTS
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
PROLOGUE
“KELLISON. YOU AWAKE?”
Paramedic Nate Kellison scrubbed the sleep from his eyes and blinked at the clock on the bedside table into focus: 10:00 a.m.
“Yeah?” he snapped into the phone.
It was an amazingly civil response, considering he’d just gotten home late from a thirty-six hour sleepless shift with the Courage Bay, California, Fire Department an hour ago. A shift where he’d worked several car wrecks and a house fire. A shift where he’d helped save a handful of lives—people whose names and faces blurred in his sleepy memory except for one little girl. Her features had been serene and unblemished, even as he’d unbuckled her dead body from the car seat and tried to resuscitate her. That tiny face was etched as clearly as a photograph in his mind, and Nate knew it would stay there forever.
“Dan Egan here.”
Nate sat up, springing to attention. Troubling thoughts were instantly pushed aside as he answered the call to action as surely as he did every time the alarm sounded. “Chief. What’s up?”
“I know you had a rough shift and should be asleep.” Chief Egan’s gruff concern put Nate on alert.
Caution dampened the adrenaline sparking through each nerve ending. Surely his boss hadn’t wakened him to offer condolences or counseling. The department had a counselor on hand for that kind of stuff. And Nate had his family to turn to if the emotional baggage got too heavy to deal with.
Or rather, he used to have a family to turn to.
Grandpa Nate had been gone for years now. And his older brother and sister, Kell and Jackie, had moved on to families of their own. Nate glanced around the small bunkhouse turned studio-style apartment. Hell. This wasn’t even a home for him anymore. It was just a place to sleep between his shifts with the fire department and work on the ranch.
“I’m okay, Chief.” Nate scratched at the dark, stubbly growth of beard on his jaw, and tried not to feel anything as he asked the next question. “You’re not calling to tell me the mother in that crash didn’t make it through the night, are you?”
“No. She’s still in stable condition at the hospital. They’ve located the father and he’s with her right now. Last I heard, the chaplain’s there, too.” Last he heard. Nate almost smiled at that one. Dan Egan had probably just gotten off the phone with the hospital. The man was nothing if not thorough.
“So why’d you call me in the middle of my beauty sleep?”
The chief laughed. But when he spoke, his words were deadly serious. “I just got a call from an old buddy of mine in my hometown of Turning Point, Texas.” Nate knew the chief was a transplanted Texan. “We used to work together at the fire department there. He was a mentor of mine—about five years older than me. He taught me the ropes about fighting fires and public safety. His name’s Mitch Kannon.”
“Sounds like a good man.”
“The best.”
Sensing the urgency in Dan’s voice, Nate flipped back the sheet and swung his legs over the side of the bed. The shiny scars from reconstructive knee surgery after he’d shattered his right leg eight years ago gleamed against his tanned skin. “So what does Mitch Kannon want from us?”
He could imagine Chief Egan’s grin. “You’re reading my mind, Kellison.”
“That’s why they pay me the big bucks.”