Riding the Storm. Julie Miller

go into Alice or Kingsville. Or, if there are complications, we fly them up to Corpus Christi. But I don’t have an ambulance or driver to spare to take anyone anywhere right now. And nobody’s flying north. Nobody’s flying anywhere once the heavy rains hit. So no babies, got it?”

      “We’ll tell the mothers to cross their legs until the storm blows over, okay?” Even Mitch smiled at Dana’s ludicrous suggestion.

      As they stopped at a crossroads near the center of town, Nate turned the conversation back to practical information about the hurricane. He was feeling more responsible by the minute for his team’s response. “When you say heavy rains, how much are we talking about?”

      The light turned green and Mitch drove on toward the half brick, half vinyl-sided building with lettering that read Turning Point Fire Department. “Six to ten inches, on average, from the outer bands or leading edge of the storm. Sometimes thunderstorms or even tornadoes spin off inland along the storm’s track as well.”

      Mitch pulled into the parking lot in front of the building. He pointed out the garage doors marking the three bays where Turning Point’s emergency vehicles were stored. “We’ve got one ambulance and two engines, all fully-equipped. But most of our volunteers use their own vehicles when responding to a call. I’ll make sure you’re partnered up with someone who knows the area. Or I’ll let you use the Suburban and give you directions if it’s here in town.”

      Parking by the front door, Mitch killed the engine. The first ominous drop of water plopped onto the windshield with a portentous splash. All five of them stared at the tiny puddle for an endless moment.

      The storm was on its way.

      Nate wondered if he should trust the dull throb in his rebuilt leg the way Mitch seemed to trust his instincts. If that was the case, he had a feeling this was going to be one very long, very wet day.

      The second raindrop hit. Then the third. Soon there were too many to count. Like an alarm bell, the sudden change in weather spurred the five travelers into action.

      Nate adjusted the bill of his cap low on his forehead and opened the door. The cleansing scent of ozone filled his nostrils as he inhaled a deep, recharging breath and mentally prepared himself for the anything and everything Mitch had warned them about.

      He circled to the back of the Suburban and met Mitch, who’d opened the doors to start unloading supplies. A splash of rain hit the bill of Nate’s cap and dampened his cheek. The light shower seemed deceptively gentle. “Looks like things are pretty dry around here. I imagine a heavy rain could lead to some flooding?”

      Mitch nodded, balancing three crates against his stocky chest. “The Agua Dulce River flows south of town, straight into the Gulf, so we might get some back-flow from the storm surge. Plus, we’ve got a web of lakes, creek beds and man-made irrigation ditches crisscrossing the farmland and ranches west of here. I’m expecting a few road washouts, especially in the countryside.”

      “Is there high ground we should direct people to?”

      “These are the flat, Texas coastal plains. High ground around here is the back of a horse or a rooftop.”

      Nate was beginning to understand Mitch’s skepticism about Corpus Christi sending its evacuees to Turning Point. He grabbed three more crates and followed the chief inside, past the front office and dispatch room. Things weren’t improving. Both rooms stood dark and empty. Where was Mitch’s crew? This had to be the craziest disaster preparedness setup he’d ever seen.

      Mitch flipped on a light switch as they entered a large room, which appeared to be a general meeting area. Cabinets, shelves and a small kitchenette lined one wall, and tables and chairs were scattered about the room. Following Mitch’s direction, Nate set the crates down on one of the countertops and followed the chief back outside, passing Dana, Cheryl and Amy in the hall along the way. Each carried equipment and supplies.

      “I can read the doubt in your eyes.” Mitch might be a blustery worrywart, but Nate had already realized he possessed a lot more depth than his good-ol’ boy facade let on. “You’re thinking we’re some backwash little town with more heart than common sense.”

      “I didn’t say—”

      “I’ll have you know we’ve got an ample supply of both.”

      Mitch shoved a couple of paramedic kits into Nate’s hands. “We aren’t as slick an operation as Dan runs back in California. We don’t have the resources or the personnel that you’re used to. And, yeah, I’m worried. This is my town and these are my people who are at risk.”

      He picked up the last kit himself and closed the vehicle doors. When Mitch stopped to look him in the eye, Nate realized the barrel-chested man stood as tall as his own six feet. “But make no mistake. We’re tough here in Turning Point. Resourceful. My staff might not have your formal training or wear a uniform or keep a regular schedule. But when the chips are down, you can rely on ’em.”

      The pride and certainty in Mitch’s tone and posture brooked no argument. Whatever doubts this man had about the storm—about the next several hours of this dull, drizzly day—he had none regarding the people of his community.

      Nate wasn’t sure if the chief’s remarks had been a dressing-down or a pep talk, but he got the idea.

      Maybe he should have a little faith, too.

      “All right.” He nodded his head in lieu of a salute. “I promise I’ll keep an open mind about the way you run things here in Texas.”

      “Just do your job, Kellison.” Mitch’s gruff expression eased into a grin as he headed for the station door. “Just do your job.”

      “Not a problem.”

      The splash of tires over wet pavement ended the discussion. Nate turned at the sound of two quick honks of a horn and saw a dark green, extended cab pickup truck zip into the parking lot. The driver of the pickup spun into a space opposite Mitch’s Suburban and jolted to a stop.

      Nate admired the brawny truck while bemoaning the merciless treatment of its shocks. “Looks like your first volunteer.”

      “Oh, no.” Mitch didn’t sound nearly as relieved as a man in dire need of help should be when the cavalry started to arrive. “No, no. Not today, baby.”

      Baby?

      Mitch shoved the paramedic kit into Nate’s already full arms and hurried over to the truck, where a sunny-haired woman in a pair of baggy overalls and scuffed-up Lacer boots climbed out. Instead of politely excusing himself and joining the rest of his team inside, Nate stayed on the front sidewalk and adjusted his load, half-hidden by the translucent mist as he watched the scene unfold.

      He was scoping out the volunteers he’d be working with, he rationalized. Staying close to offer Mitch whatever backup he might need, since this woman’s arrival had obviously upset him. Nate narrowed his gaze to take note of every detail that weather and distance allowed him to assess.

      The woman wore her butterscotch cream hair pulled back in a straight, practical ponytail. The long strands hung past the collar of her man-size, bright green polo shirt. She might be a tad on the skinny side, though her bulky clothes and above-average height could be playing tricks on his perception. She had a definite spring to her step.

      And quite possibly the bluest eyes he’d ever seen.

      As she circled to the rear of the truck to greet Mitch, her face came into sharper focus. Nate’s fine-tuned senses responded with something more than curiosity. Her eyes were as cool and blue as a pristine mountain lake. She was pretty enough, he supposed, in an un-adorned, girl-next-door kind of way. But those eyes made her unforgettable.

      How could her arrival be a bad thing?

      “Hey, Dad.” She braced one hand on Mitch’s shoulder and rose up on tiptoe to exchange a kiss. So this was the daughter from the Double J Ranch that Mitch had been worried about.

      “Honey, we talked about this.” Mitch