Washed Away. Carol Marinelli

be too hard to keep this area for more serious cases.”

      “They build them tough here, then?” Cheryl smiled.

      “Yep, they’re a tough old lot. More worried about others than themselves. Which is why, if everything’s set up, I’m going to have to pull you away from here for now.”

      “Pull away.” Cheryl grinned, eager to get out in the field and finally do what she was trained for.

      “Hal, one of my young firefighters, is trying to keep his mind on the job, but he’s got a wife and five-day-old baby at home. They live a few miles out of Turning Point.”

      “Poor guy,” Cheryl murmured. “No doubt he’s worried how they’re coping.”

      “Not only that,” Mitch continued, “they’ve got a seven year old, as well, and apparently he’s fallen over and hurt his arm. Beth, Hal’s wife, reckons that the arm could be broken. That’s why she called Hal, to see what she should do. The roads are too bad to be driving with a sick child and a new baby, but the little guy’s in too much pain just to be left. Now, a firefighter with his mind wandering is the last thing I need today. If I can tell Hal that you’re going out to check on them, it would put his mind at rest. I’ve called the weather bureau again, and they’re still adamant I’ve got nothing to worry about. And even if my hunch is right, by all reports, nothing much is going to go down for a few hours yet.”

      “I’d be happy to go,” Cheryl assured him, already packing her backpack with the equipment she would need to deal with the little boy’s arm as Mitch gave her directions and a map. “I might as well see a bit of Texas while I’m here.”

      “Well, no stopping to get postcards,” Mitch laughed, carrying on the joke. “I want you straight back here.” He handed her a massive navy waterproof jacket, which Cheryl accepted gratefully. “All the fire vehicles are in use,” he told her as they ventured outside.

      The rain lashed at her cheeks, the wind catching in her throat, and it took an effort just to walk the short distance to the large dark Jeep parked across the street at the side of the fire station.

      “You can use this,” Mitch shouted, wrenching open the door and none-too gently pushing Cheryl inside.

      “Whose is it?” Cheryl asked.

      “It’s my personal vehicle.” Leaning over he pulled open the glove compartment to reveal a large stash of candy. “Help yourself, but save me a few.”

      She fiddled with the controls for a moment, checking the gears and the wipers.

      “That’s the demister,” Mitch pointed out, unwrapping a candy and popping it into his mouth. “I reckon you’ll be needing it, and you’d better get some gas, too,” he added, looking at the gauge. “There’s a station just down the road.” Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out some bills and handed them to Cheryl.

      “Is gas more expensive in Texas?” Cheryl asked with a wry smile. Mitch had given her enough cash to fill the jeep ten times over.

      “Nope.” Mitch grinned. “But I’ve just realized that we’re low on one essential—chocolate.”

      “Very essential,” Cheryl agreed.

      “Get as much as you can when you get the gas, Cheryl. I admit to having a sweet tooth, but it’s also a great pick-me-up for the crews.”

      “And a good bribery tool for the kids,” Cheryl added. “I’ll keep a bar in my pocket for my house call.”

      “You’re sure you don’t mind doing this on your own?” Mitch said. “If I could spare anyone, I’d send them out with you. I don’t really like the idea of you out there on your…”

      “I can read a map, Mitch.” Starting the engine, she waited as Mitch stepped back. Then, after taking a final moment to familiarize herself with the controls, she waved to the fire chief and drove off into the lashing rain.

      She found the gas station easily. Jumping down, Cheryl huddled inside the waterproof jacket. Mitch had been right. Her hospital scrubs and flimsy linen jacket would have been less than useless in these conditions. Dashing across the pavement, she ran into the small shop, groaning inwardly when she saw the lineup. Everyone was clearly out on a last-minute spree, stocking up on batteries and flashlights. Cheryl grabbed the last basket, filling it with chocolates before joining the line to pay. Just for the hell of it, she reached over and picked up a couple of postcards.

      CHAPTER TWO

      “SETTLE DOWN, GUYS.” Noah Arkin shouted above the stamping feet and whinnying coming from the back of his van. “Just the gas to get, then only one more stop at the fire station and we can finally head for home.”

      His words had no effect, but then Noah hadn’t really expected them to. Still, it didn’t stop him from trying. The truck was jammed with medical equipment, cages and animals. He’d only gone out to drop supplies off to Mitch and should have been back at his clinic ages ago, but as usual, he’d been delayed. No way could he drive by his patients’ homes without checking that they and their owners were okay. Of course he’d ended up battening down hatches and offering to evacuate people’s pets to his clinic so their owners would have one less thing to worry about during the storm.

      The last two days had been hell. Sure, farmers knew how best to prepare for a storm. They’d been through it often enough, after all, and this was their livelihood they were protecting, but there was still a lot of work for Noah: updating immunizations, helping ranchers move cattle to safer pastures. Unlike Mitch, who was dealing with the two-legged specimens, once the storm really took hold, Noah could sleep—crash in the little studio apartment attached to his clinic and catch up on some rest before the real work started. The worst time for veterinarians came after the storm. Apart from the inevitable casualties and missing animals, the power lines would be down and the water levels up, hindering rescue efforts.

      But instead of being at home, Noah thought, stifling a yawn then raking a hand through his damp brown hair, instead of catching up on some rest, he still had the supplies to drop off and a van full of pets to sort out.

      He had to toughen up.

      Filling up the truck at the main station in town, Noah listened as the animals kicked at the side of his vehicle, the howls and barks growing louder now. As if he didn’t have enough to do already without taking this bunch on. As if he didn’t have enough to organize without acting as an unpaid baby-sitter for half of Turning Point’s pets. And it would be unpaid, Noah knew that for sure. But the money side didn’t worry him. His ranching clients provided his real bread-and-butter. The pets that had found their way into the back of his van were the jam on top.

      Literally!

      After the storm passed, he’d have umpteen more jars of jam to line his already heaving cupboards and enough farm eggs to start his own store.

      No, it wasn’t money that was the problem, it was time.

      Over and over, that very precious commodity seemed to slip away from him. But how could he say no to Mrs. Gessop when she asked him to look after her budgerigar, and how could he tell Old Mary that her beloved, overweight and extremely spoilt miniature horse Georgina was the very last thing he needed to deal with right now?

      He couldn’t.

      Schmuck! That should be his middle name. Pulling the nozzle out, Noah replaced the gas cap before running into the shop.

      Noah Schmuck Arkin.

      Jeez, Noah thought, looking at the long lineup in the store, he’d be in here for ages.

      He eyed the basket of the customer in front of him, then did a double take. The basket was almost bursting with every type of chocolate and candy bar available. Someone clearly didn’t believe in rationing! And the woman was idly reading postcards as if she had all the time in the world. But there was something else about her that caught Noah’s attention. Something that made her stand apart from the rest of the people