Читать книгу: «Washed Away»

E-mail from: Mitch Kannon, fire chief,

Turning Point, Texas

To: Dan Egan, fire chief, Courage Bay, California

I had to weigh in with my conscience on this one, Dan, but I promised to let you know how things were going with the volunteers you sent down.

What’s got me concerned is that I’ve lost track of your emergency nurse, Cheryl Tierney. She’s a real professional, that one, and since she’d pretty much finished setting up the triage area in our temporary shelter, I sent her out on a call. Went to splint a little kid’s arm a few miles out of town.

Rain’s coming down like I’ve never seen it before, and visibility’s poor. The family she went to help said Cheryl left there a while ago and was headed for a shortcut back to town. Trouble is, the shortcut crossed over a bridge, and news is that the bridge washed out.

I’m not too worried. I figure Cheryl’s holed up somewhere safe to wait out the storm. I’m hoping she might have made it as far as Noah Arkin’s place. Noah’s our local vet, and if she’s with him, he and his menagerie will keep her safe. The power’s starting to go out in places and cell phone service is spotty, but as soon as I get word on Cheryl, I’ll let you know come hell or high water.

About the Author

CAROL MARINELLI

was born in England and following her nursing training worked for a number of years in a phenomenally busy Accident and Emergency department. Taking a year off to backpack around Australia had rather more far reaching consequences than Carol had anticipated: marriage, three wonderful children and emigration (not in that order!).

Writing had always been a dream, though one she’d never quite followed through on. With her husband’s endless encouragement, gradually the story that had lived in her head for way too long found a new home on her computer and finally became her first book. Now she writes for Medical Romance and Presents and is thrilled to have been asked to write a book for the wonderful Code Red series!

Washed Away
Carol Marinelli

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Dear Reader,

Writing can be lonely at times, so I was thrilled to work with so many wonderful authors on the Code Red series. It has been a real roller-coaster ride for me—getting to know not just my own hero and heroine, but my coauthors’, as well. On top of that, I loved corresponding with the other authors and working out all the little nuances of the interlinked characters that made them so real. In fact, by the time I’d finished the book, they were so real to me, I half expected to meet them walking down the street!

I was equally thrilled to finally have a valid excuse (if ever I needed one!) to travel from Australia, where I live, to America and finally witness firsthand all the wonderful images that I’d only seen from my television screen.

On the downside, I’ve now got permanently itchy feet and miss the buzz of working on a linked series.

Still, I’ve got the other fifteen books to add to my “to-be-read pile,” which can only mean a happy ending!

Happy reading,

Carol Marinelli

For Damian, Ronnie, Hagen,

Erin and Lara Burns.

With love and thanks.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER ONE

“YOU KNOW WHAT this is called, don’t you, Cheryl?” Chief Mitch Kannon asked as he walked into the fire station headquarters, where a lonesome Cheryl Tierney was rather dispiritedly stocking a shelf with bandages in the makeshift triage area she was setting up—alone.

Cheryl and three other volunteers had flown in from Courage Bay, California, to Turning Point, Texas, to help receive the massive number of evacuees from the more northerly city of Corpus Christi, where a category four hurricane was due to hit.

All four of them had put their hands up without question when the request for assistance came in. All four of them had been keen to get there, ready for action the minute they arrived. They were emergency personnel after all. This was the type of drama they lived for!

And three of them were already out there in the thick of it. They’d been sent out on calls by Mitch, which left Cheryl to set up the area, alone and frustrated.

Cheryl gave a small shrug in response to Mitch’s question; she had no idea what he was going on about. Maybe another lecture was about to ensue. She’d barely set foot in Turning Point, a touch shaken after a turbulent flight but more than ready to get started, only to be told by the fire chief in no uncertain terms that the operating room scrubs and runners she was wearing weren’t “suitable” wet-weather gear. He’d promptly handed her a massive oversize pair of navy trousers and a cotton shirt that had seen better days, topped off with a huge pair of woolly socks and steel-toe boots—which she’d quickly changed into—then headed to the chief’s briefing. Mitch had instructed the gathered emergency teams as to their various roles and the types of damage and injuries they were to expect when the category four hurricane hit. She’d accepted his directions about the triage area for the expected casualties without question, and even smiled sweetly when Turning Point’s retired school nurse, Florence Templeton, who was eighty if she was a day, had chided her about the way she folded blankets. But if Mitch Kannon was about to offer advice on how to set up the equipment in her triage area, then he had better brace himself for a less-than-welcome response.

Cheryl was an experienced trauma nurse, exactly what Mitch Kannon had requested when he’d called on his old friend and colleague Fire Chief Dan Egan in Courage Bay and asked for a crack team to be sent. Advice about her clothes and her role in the disaster plan Cheryl would happily take, but if the fire chief was about to tell her how to stock the triage area, then it had better be with reasons he could back up. Trauma was Cheryl’s baby; emergency nursing was what she did best in this world, and she’d argue her side of things till she was blue in the face if that was what it took.

“I’ll tell you what they call this, Cheryl,” Mitch carried on easily, ignoring her rigid movements as she continued setting up. “This is what they call the lull before the storm.”

He laughed loudly at his lame joke, and for the first time since arriving in Turning Point, Cheryl found herself warming to the man.

Smiling even.

Since Dan Egan had called her, Cheryl had been running on pure adrenaline, but as the hours ticked by and everyone except her was out on a call, she was beginning to feel curiously deflated.

Nate Kellison, a paramedic with the Courage Bay fire department, had been sent to assist in the delivery of a baby. His colleague, Dana Ivie, a firefighter and Emergency Medical Technician was flying off to search for a group of Boy Scouts and their leader who’d been involved in a car accident. And ER resident Amy Sherwood, who’d been helping Cheryl, had set out with the sheriff, Jessie Boone, to assess the rescue center for evacuees that was located in the local high school.

Cheryl would love to be dealing with any one of those assignments, yet here she was, still setting up the triage area. The only other thing she’d done was give a couple of firefighters their tetanus boosters.

“I’ve been ordered to take a coffee break,” Mitch told her.

“I thought you were the one who gave the orders around here.”

“Usually.” Mitch grinned. “But when Ruth, my dispatcher, tells me it’s time for a break, I know better than to argue. Come join me for five minutes.”

The rain was pounding on the roof now as Cheryl accepted the mug of coffee Mitch was pouring for her from a thermos. She took a sip, screwing up her face as she did so. “No sugar.”

“I figured you wouldn’t take it.” Mitch winked as he pulled a couple of sachets out of his pocket and handed them to her. “A skinny thing like you.”

“Too skinny,” Cheryl corrected. “I need all the sugar I can get, but even I don’t carry supplies in my pocket. Although,” she added shaking her head as he unwrapped a mountain of a sandwich, “I do bring my own lunch.”

“You’re not serious.” Mitch grinned as Cheryl put down her coffee and rummaged in her backpack pulling out a plastic container. Peeling off the lid, she revealed a large cheese and lettuce sandwich.

“That bread must have taken a whole field just to produce the grains loaded into it,” Mitch teased her. “You’ll upset the Women’s Auxiliary if you go spurning their sandwiches. We do eat in Texas, you know. We were intending to feed the volunteers.”

“I know. I just wasn’t sure when we’d get time to stop, so I figured it was easier to bring my own. I’ve got dinner in there somewhere, but don’t worry. I’ll tell the ladies that their sandwiches are the nicest I’ve tasted.” Her cheeky smile was rewarded with one of Mitch’s.

“So what’s a girl from New York doing in California?” Mitch asked. “You’ll never lose that accent, you know.”

“I don’t want to,” Cheryl admitted, stirring her coffee with the end of a pen, and avoiding the fire chief’s eyes, not quite ready to go there at the best of times and certainly not with someone she’d barely met. “Or, you could ask, ‘What’s a trauma nurse from California doing in Turning Point, Texas?’”

“Good point,” Mitch said lightly, realizing she didn’t want to talk about her past. But his curiosity was piqued. There was something that didn’t add up with Cheryl Tierney. Sure, she seemed to know what she was doing, was poised and assertive as well, and that long dark hair neatly tied back spelt Confidence with a capital C. But there was a sadness in those dark brown eyes, a slight aloofness behind that perfect smile that told Mitch all wasn’t as well as it seemed. And even though he had plenty of other things to be worrying about today, he was also a dad. Jolene, his daughter, was around the same age as Cheryl, and if he came across as nosey or a bit interfering, Mitch wasn’t making apologies. He looked out for his staff, and today, Cheryl was one of them.

“So where in New York are you from?”

“New Rochelle,” Cheryl answered stiffly, taking a slug of her coffee and effectively ending the conversation.

“How long have you been in Courage Bay?” Mitch persisted, despite Cheryl’s obvious reluctance.

“Two years now,” Cheryl answered, obviously feeling safer now that she could shift the conversation to work. “Heading up the trauma room.”

“A tough job?”

Cheryl gave a rueful smile. “Which is exactly how I like it.”

“What about your parents? Are they still in New Rochelle?” He watched her shoulders stiffen, heard the long pause before she answered way too lightly for a woman with pursed lips.

“My mom is. My dad moved out to…” She gave a tight shrug, took another sip of her coffee. “Look, I’d better get back to it—thanks for bringing the coffee over.”

“You haven’t even drunk it,” Mitch pointed out. “Or eaten your lunch. You’re allowed to have a break, you know.”

“I can eat and work at the same time,” Cheryl responded. “It won’t be the first time.”

“Take a break while you can, Cheryl. Things will soon pick up.”

“I hope so.” Cheryl sighed, then checked herself. “Not that I want anyone to get injured or anything,” she added.

“Oh, come on, Cheryl,” Mitch laughed. “You’re a trauma nurse. You get your kicks the same way I do. I’ve been in this game more years than I care to count, but I still get a thrill when the emergency bell goes, still get that high as we screech out of the station on the way to a fire. It doesn’t mean I want someone to be hurt or trapped, but if someone is, then I know one thing for sure—I want to be the guy to help.” He shot a look at Cheryl. “Are you gonna try and tell me you don’t feel the same?”

“No.” Cheryl grinned. “I guess we’re just good at what we do, Mitch.”

“Which is why you want to be out there,” Mitch said perceptively. “Which is why you want to be in the thick of things, not stocking up a few shelves and shuffling around in clothes that don’t really fit. Though you’ll be glad of them later!”

“I’m sure you’re right,” Cheryl conceded, warming by the minute to Mitch. He was down-to-earth, straight talking with a sense of humor—but more to the point, he also possessed a quiet air of leadership that demanded respect, and no doubt got it.

Mitch Kannon, Cheryl decided, was the type of guy that got the best out of a team, because, quite simply, he gave it himself. The type of guy who had taken five minutes out of his undoubtedly hectic schedule to get to know a member of the team he was leading, safe in the knowledge he would be rewarded tenfold later.

Cheryl knew that, because it was the way she herself worked.

Okay, she wasn’t the social butterfly of Courage Bay Emergency. Truth be told she kept pretty much to herself. But her patients always came first. No hidden agenda, no massaging egos to further her career. She gave her best and expected no less from those around her.

“It’s hard to believe we’re in the same country sometimes,” Mitch sighed. “Thanks for being so good with Florence, by the way. The old school nurse,” he added when Cheryl frowned as she tried to place the name. “I’ve asked her to man the high school where most people are being evacuated to. She’s going to deal with minor cuts and bruises once the place starts to fill. I figured she’d be happier over there, and judging by the way she took off, I reckon I was right. Florence might come across as fierce, but she’s a sweetheart really. She’s been around longer than anyone else I can think of. There’s not a single person who lives in Turning Point who hasn’t had their heads personally checked by Florence for nits.”

“And she makes a mean bed,” Cheryl said, “with hospital corners.”

“The bedspread is so tight you could bounce a dime off it,” Mitch agreed. “But she’s a good sort, and even if she comes across as bossy, she knows she’s not up to dealing with a major incident. She’s glad you’re here, really.”

“You could have fooled me,” Cheryl quipped.

“She is,” Mitch said firmly. “We all are. This is a great place to live, a great place to raise a family, but at the end of the day, it’s a rural community stuck in the middle of nowhere. When trouble happens, everyone’s more than willing to pitch in, but sometimes the job’s just too big. We get by for the most part using good old common sense, and there’s a lot to be said for it, but at times like this, a bit more is needed. The people of Turning Point and Corpus Christi deserve it. This storm’s going to devastate a lot of people. That’s why I called my old friend Dan Egan and asked him to see about sending help. The only doctor in Turning Point, Dr. Holland, had a heart attack a few weeks ago. He’s still in hospital in Houston. I had an EMT on staff but she just moved to North Dakota….”

“Which leaves you and Florence?”

“And a mighty team of volunteers—but you can see why I’m more than happy to have help arrive. Now, have you got everything you need?” Mitch asked, before draining the last of his coffee in one gulp.

“Pretty much.” Cheryl looked around and nodded. “We brought a lot of equipment with us. Mind you, it depends on how many casualties arrive. Amy wanted to see about getting a couple of oxygen saturation monitors from Dr. Holland’s clinic, so if someone can get into it and get them, that would be great, and a few more IV poles wouldn’t go unused. I’ve set up some hooks on the back walls, so anyone needing IV therapy will have to stay over there.” She pointed to the far wall, and Mitch gave an approving nod.

“You’ve done an amazing job. It looks like a real minihospital. There’s still a bit more equipment to come. Noah, the local veterinarian, is heading over—should be here anytime now. He said he’d bring over some stuff we might need, though don’t ask me what. I’ll have to leave the medical side of things to you.”

Which was just the way Cheryl wanted it.

“Well, so long as he doesn’t expect to set up shop here, as well,” Cheryl laughed. “I know it’s an emergency, but I don’t relish the idea of working alongside roaming horses and low-flying birds.”

“You don’t have to worry. Noah’s just bringing the gear over and heading straight back to his clinic. He has his own work cut out for him. I’ll go and see about getting someone into Doc Holland’s rooms for you.”

“That would be great.” Cheryl smiled. “Then all I need is a patient.”

“Your turn will come soon enough, Cheryl,” Mitch said knowingly, his eyes turning back to the window, his brow creasing as he looked outside. “And when it does…” His voice trailed off, and Cheryl found herself frowning, too. She had only met Mitch Kannon a few hours ago, but something in his stance, his voice, told her there was more on his mind.

“What is it, Mitch?”

“Nothing.”

He gave a brief shrug and flashed a smile Cheryl was sure was false. She just stared right back at him.

“I’m not going to fool you, am I.”

“I know that look,” Cheryl said, “and I know that voice, too. You’re right Mitch. We’re both in this game for a reason. So what’s on your mind? What’s worrying you?”

“I don’t know.” He shook his head. “The evacuation’s going really well. The old school is filling up, more busloads are arriving from Corpus Christi as we speak, I’ve got extra staff in, just as requested—so why have I got…?”

He peered back out the window at the trees bending in the wind, the rain lashing so fiercely now that it didn’t even make it to the ground, just hit the windows at right angles. Taking a deep breath, he moved his hand to his chest, rubbing it slowly, and for one awful moment Cheryl thought he was going to tell her he had chest pain. That Mitch Kannon, chief fire officer and lynch-pin of this whole evacuation plan, was having a heart attack. “I’m not going to keel over and die on you,” Mitch said, seeing her worried expression.

“I wouldn’t let you die,” Cheryl assured him. “I’m all stocked up and ready to go, bar a couple of IV poles. Still, I have to admit I don’t much fancy working that radio you were showing us earlier.” Her voice grew more serious. “What is it, Mitch?”

“Have you ever been in a hurricane, Cheryl?”

She shook her head. “No, and I don’t think I want to be. If it’s like this here where people are being evacuated to, I can’t imagine how bad it must be in Corpus Christi….” Her voice trailed off. “You don’t think Hurricane Damon’s going to hit here, do you? Is that what’s worrying you?”

She waited for a reassuring smile, a dismissive flick of his hand, but Mitch just stared right back.

“But surely the weather bureau would know,” Cheryl protested.

“We’re dealing with Mother Nature here,” Mitch told her. “And even with the brightest brains, the best equipment, the latest scientific techniques, there are no guarantees as to what she’s got up her sleeve.”

“But it can’t hit here.” Cheryl’s voice was barely a whisper, her brain reeling at the possible consequences. “It just can’t. Everyone’s been moved to Turning Point to get away from the storm. If it comes here, if it hits the school…” Turning her head, she eyed the triage area she had set up. She had anticipated casualties coming in, and till now had felt prepared for any eventuality. But if the storm changed track and descended on Turning Point, then in a matter of hours this area would resemble a war zone—

“I could be wrong.” Mitch broke in to her thoughts. “The experts all think I am.”

“You’ve told them?” Cheryl asked. “You’ve told them your concerns?”

“For all the good it did.”

She could hear the bitter note in his voice.

“I’ve lived here all my life. I know the land like the back of my hand, the shifts in the weather, the signs anyone who didn’t know the place would miss—but will those folks at the weather bureau listen to me?” He shook his head. “Look, Cheryl, it’s just a gut feeling at this stage, and I hope to God that I am wrong, but I have to admit I’m starting to get worried.”

“So am I, then.” Cheryl might have known Mitch Kannon for only a few hours, but she’d been around emergency personnel long enough to recognize that he wasn’t the type to make a fuss unnecessarily. Mitch would have seen enough drama in his time without needing to invent it. “If you’re right—I mean, if the storm does change course and end up hitting Turning Point, what will we do?” She gave a low laugh that to nonemergency personnel would have seemed out of place, but a dash of black humor was par for the course in this line of work. “Is there a plan B you haven’t told us about?”

“Plan B’s the same in Texas as it is in California, Cheryl. We just get on and deal with it.” Mitch gave a rueful smile. “That’s what we do best, isn’t it? Deal with the chaos life throws up every now and then, pick up the pieces no one was expecting to fall.”

Cheryl nodded grimly, already thinking ahead. “We’ll need more blankets. I know they’re setting up hot drinks and sandwiches at the school hall, the casualties that arrive here with their families might be cold and shocked. Can somebody organize extra coffee urns, soup…”

“I’ll get straight on it.”

Cheryl nodded gratefully. “And tell whoever you send in to Dr. Holland’s room to grab whatever else they can, I’d rather have too much than too little. I’d better get back to stocking up now.”

“You do that.” Mitch nodded, and as a fire truck pulled into the station, he replaced the cap on his thermos. “I’d better go see what’s up. It’s good to have you on board, Cheryl.”

“It’s good to be here.”

She set to work with renewed enthusiasm now. The triage area had been prepared to her liking. IV cannulas and swabs in kidney dishes, flasks of fluid hanging ready, neck collars, bandages, padding—everything was arranged to Cheryl’s liking, but Mitch’s ominous words had hit a note. Cheryl ran a couple of IVs through the lines so they would be ready as soon as a cannula was inserted into the patient. If the number of casualties was going to increase beyond her initial prediction, time would be of the essence. Cheryl knew she’d be grateful later for every second spent preparing for the victims now.

“I’VE GOT TWO GUYS heading over to Doc Holland’s office.” Mitch was back, running an approving eye over Cheryl’s emergency area. “How are you doing?”

“Good. Everything’s ready,” Cheryl reported. “There’s really not much more I can do here until patients start to arrive. This area’s for the seriously injured. I’ve got all the emergency resuscitation equipment set up here. The walking wounded will have to wait over there till Amy or I can get to them.” She gestured to the benches that lined the walls. “And anyone else will just have to wait their turn over at the school.”

“Texans are a pretty uncomplaining lot. You don’t have to worry about people lining up for a bandage they don’t need. It shouldn’t 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.