Riding the Storm. Julie Miller
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worked odd hours as a mounted police officer. And after a disastrous first marriage, ending in her husband’s suicide, his sister had finally found a good, solid man to love in Casey Guthrie. Jackie no longer needed Nate’s shoulder to cry on. She had a husband to listen to her troubles now.
Hell. There were no more troubles. Not for Kell, not for Jackie. After their grandfather’s death, Kell had been the father figure. Jackie had looked after their home. As the youngest sibling, Nate had wound up being the listener—a sounding board for his brother and sister. But the role that had defined him for so many years had eroded beneath his feet.
He’d have to deal with his own troubles now.
Almost like an empty-nester, Nate felt alone for the first time in his life. All the personal relationships he’d knowingly or subconsciously put on hold in order to be there for his family and friends had passed him by. It was time for him to move on—like the evacuees seeking a haven in Turning Point from the approaching storm.
But like that fictitious man without a country, Nate felt adrift at sea. His future seemed uncertain, and except for his work as a paramedic, he’d yet to find anything to spark his passion or earn his loyalty enough to convince him to make a change.
Nate plucked at the collar of his dark blue uniform shirt and settled his cap down over his short, dark hair. He turned his focus back to the older man beside him. Enough self-analysis. His personal life might be in a state of flux right now, but his work had always been there for him. And right now, his work was here in Texas. As self-appointed leader of this band of volunteers, it was his responsibility to have all the facts in place so their team could make the most efficient use of the supplies they’d brought, and utilize their skills and talents where needed most.
“It was my understanding that the hurricane’s due to make landfall sixty miles northeast of here.” Nate didn’t have to be psychic to sense the older man’s tension. “But you sound as if you’re expecting casualties.”
“I’m expecting anything and everything,” Mitch said. “You should, too. My old bones are sending me a different message than the weather service.” Old was a figurative term, Nate decided. Mitch Kannon couldn’t be a day over fifty. And though he was apparently well-fed, the stocky fire chief was in good shape. “Mark my word. That storm’s gonna turn.”
“You think the hurricane will hit farther south, closer to us?” came an energized voice from the back seat. “Will we be able to see it this far away from the coast?” Dana Ivie, a firefighter and EMT who worked at the Courage Bay station with Nate, was known for her enthusiastic approach to her work. “I’ve never seen a hurricane before. Except on TV. Now I wish I’d brought my camera.”
Nate couldn’t hide his indulgent smile. He and Dana had shared more than one middle-of-the-night chat over a cup of coffee at the station house, relishing the excitement and bemoaning the hazards and heartbreaks of their chosen career. “You’ve never seen an avalanche or tornado before, either,” he teased. “Maybe you’d like to take the scenic route on the way back home.”
Dana laughed. “Very funny, Kellison. I’m trying to have a positive attitude here. I’m looking at this thing as an adventure, not a tragedy waiting to happen.”
“I hope you’re right.” Mitch didn’t sound convinced. He killed the siren and stopped at what appeared to be one of the town’s few traffic lights, then turned right past a sprawling brick building easily identifiable as a school. They slowed as they passed the football field and headed toward a residential area. “We plan to put up as many evacuees as we can here at the high school. If that doesn’t hold them all, then we’ll have to ask people to open up their homes. My brother-in-law, Hank, owns the hardware store downtown. He’s donated all the cots, sleeping bags, lanterns and water jugs he has on hand. Beyond that, the townsfolk have pitched in blankets and pillows and food. We kept some at the firehouse, but like I said, we’re nowhere close to being able to provide for a big influx of evacuees.”
“Sounds like you have a real sense of community here in Turning Point.”
Nate cocked his head to make eye contact with the brunette seated behind him. Cheryl Tierney, a trauma nurse from Courage Bay Hospital’s E.R., was as detail-oriented as Dana was impulsive.
“But if your evacuees are scattered all over town, we won’t have a reliable way to track them,” Cheryl pointed out in her ever-practical tone. “And since we’re not familiar with the area, we could be delayed trying to answer individual calls. Wouldn’t it make more sense for us to set up at the school instead of in town?”
Mitch shook his head. “I’ve scheduled a briefing for you down at the firehouse at 8:00 a.m. I’d like to ask you and Dr. Sherwood to set up a triage center at the station.” Amy Sherwood was the fourth volunteer from Courage Bay. “That’ll free up Kellison and Ms. Ivie to handle the more routine calls. I’ll give you a tour of our facilities, such as they are, and a map of the county. Right now, all our emergency calls come through the station, so we’ll use that as our command post. As we get the weather updates, we’ll have a better idea of what we’re facing and whether or not we need to move to an alternate site.”
“Will we be meeting your staff then?” Cheryl asked.
Mitch huffed a sound that wasn’t quite a laugh. “My staff consists of a dozen or so volunteer firefighters who are scattered around the county right now, shoring up their own homes and making sure their families are safe. We’ll see who shows up for the briefing.”
Volunteers. Who might or might not show up for duty assignments. Who might or might not be properly trained for the potential range of emergencies brought on by a hurricane.
Reassuring? Hardly. Nate stared out the window to hide his scowl. No wonder Mitch had had to call Chief Egan for backup. This had to be the craziest, most haphazard, seat-of-the-pants rescue operation Nate had ever been a part of.
Dr. Amy Sherwood, a first-year E.R. resident at Courage Bay Hospital, raised her voice to be heard from the third seat. “Chief Kannon, perhaps you could tell us a little more about what to expect, weatherwise, with a hurricane.”
“I will if you call me Mitch.” He paused to turn on the wipers, clearing the condensing moisture from the windshield. “Damon is classified as a category four hurricane. If he hits Corpus Christi and the northern Gulf Shore like he’s supposed to, we’ll miss the brunt of the one hundred thirty to hundred fifty mile-per-hour winds.”
“Whoa!” Dana’s expletive said it all. “Maybe I don’t want to see a hurricane, after all.”
Mitch answered with a told-you-so shrug. “Generally August gets pretty hot and sticky around here. But if you noticed the chill in the air, that’s the barometric pressure dropping ahead of the storm.”
That explained the ache in Nate’s knee.
“Joy and rapture,” Dana groaned.
Amy knew what had triggered the sarcastic remark. “Ah, yes. The barometric pressure drops and pregnant women near their term go into labor. Remember the storm that hit Courage Bay a couple months back? We delivered three babies in the E.R. that night.”
Nate remembered it well. He’d brought in one of the mothers who’d gone into premature labor. Mitch’s white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel warned Nate that their temporary boss didn’t find Amy’s story amusing.
“I hope to hell you’re wrong about that,” the fire chief muttered.
Mitch turned onto a wide road aptly named Main Street. Though it was nearly deserted at this hour of the morning, the number of businesses—in brand-new buildings as well as remodeled historic structures from the early 1900s—indicated this was the town’s commercial hub. A few of the storefront windows had been boarded up, but more had been left uncovered in defiance of the hurricane.
Or, in spite of Mitch’s gloomy prediction, in the belief that Damon would stay true to his predicted course and blow past this sleepy little town.
They passed a