Ross locked the door on the room where he kept all his veterinary pharmaceuticals and supplies.
“Come on, Cookie. Let’s get in the truck.” Ross snapped his fingers and headed for the stairs with the attentive cream-colored Labrador retriever who was never far from his heels.
As he walked through the main floor of the house to ensure that everything in the clinic area was as secure as he could make it, Ross noticed he’d left the television on in the front room. Normally, this space served as a waiting room for his patients and their owners, but today—like much of the rest of the island—it was empty. He put his suitcase down and walked over to catch one last glance at Rick O’Connell’s report on National Weather News, the country’s leading twenty-four-hour weather network.
When Rick O’Connell showed up, that was shorthand for a storm that meant business.
Ross had seen enough excitement for a lifetime. After serving as an Army veterinarian in Iraq—where he’d saved a burned and bloodied Cookie after his handler was killed by an IED—Ross was done with drama. He’d moved to Port Provident a few years ago and wanted nothing more than to practice a more mundane form of veterinary medicine, punctuated by watching sunrises and sunsets over the Gulf of Mexico from the widow’s walk porch that crossed the roof on the back of the hundred-year-old house from which he operated his veterinary clinic.
Cookie was already waiting at the back door which led to the garage at the back of the lot on which the distinguished Victorian house sat. Ross could hear the muffled thumps of Cookie’s thick tail as it popped rhythmically on the hardwood floor.
Then Ross heard another thump from the front of the house—a pounding on the front door.
Who would be coming to a vet clinic in the middle of a hurricane evacuation?
Ross opened the door and couldn’t believe what stood on the porch in front of him. One of his favorite patients...and one of his least favorite people. But Becca Collins did not own Polly McCaw.
“What are you doing here?” Ross knew his greeting sounded more like an outburst, but he was confused and running out of time. There wasn’t really an opportunity for pleasantries. Not that anything was ever pleasant when stubborn, head-in-the-clouds Becca Collins was involved.
“Well hello to you too. I figured you’d be gone by now.”
As usual, she made virtually no sense. “So why are you here? And what are you doing with Polly? Where’s Eloise McCaw?”
A wind gust freed several strands of hair from the front of Becca’s dark ponytail and blew them across her face. She tucked them behind her ear, where they promptly blew askew again. “She’s on a bus to San Antonio with her granddaughter. They wouldn’t let her take the dog.”
“So someone from the city called the shelter?” Ross kept watching the flutter of the wayward locks of hair.
“I volunteered. I was behind them in line. Polly’s owner wouldn’t go unless she knew Polly was safe. But she’s in bad health and couldn’t stay behind with Polly. The shelter is closed. The last dog left the island earlier today, headed up to a shelter in Montgomery County. I was following behind.”
“On the public evacuation bus?”
She pursed her lips and nodded briefly. “Yes. We don’t all make a doctor’s salary. Some of us have to take advantage of other available resources sometimes.”
Ross could hear the bitterness in her words. It was like listening to a lemon.
“What do you need from me?” Now he knew how Becca and Polly came to be together. He still wasn’t sure, though, why they were on his clinic’s porch.
She reached into a bag at her feet and pulled out a folded-up white bag. “Dog food. They didn’t leave me with enough kibble and I’d rather not change Polly’s food if I can avoid it since she’s on a special diet.”
“Dog food? That’s it?” This was far less complicated than most of the plans Becca dreamed up. “I’ve got some in the back. You two can come inside if you’d like.”
Becca shrugged, then leaned over and picked up the bag at her feet. “Okay.”
Ross held the door open as the pair walked in, then went back to re-open the storage room he’d just locked. When he came back, carrying two bags of Polly’s prescription food, he saw Becca standing in front of the television in the waiting room. Her shoulders slumped under the straps of the backpack. Her whole demeanor changed from what it had seemed to be only moments before.
Ross placed the bags at Becca’s feet, and Polly gave each a hearty sniff.
“What’s wrong?” He asked.
Becca waved a hand at the TV screen. “They just closed the Causeway. We’re stuck.”
“No, they aren’t closing the Causeway until four. TxDoT had a press conference a couple of hours ago. They won’t close it until the wind hits a certain speed.”
She shook her head and pointed at Rick O’Connell. “It wasn’t the wind. It was the storm surge. Provident Bay is rising faster than they expected. The waves and current are proving to be too much for the Causeway. They are saying there may be structural damage below the surface of the water now. It’s definitely closed. We’re trapped.”
Trapped. He thought back to Iraq and one particular ride in a convoy where he felt the eyes of insurgents on the back of his neck at every turn. He’d never felt more trapped in his life—a sitting duck, just waiting for whatever was going to happen. The memory poked at the deepest corners of his stomach, filling his whole body with a sense of unease.
Instantly, his thoughts turned to Cookie. Cookie had seen more and lived through more in Iraq than Ross had—and suffered the effects of it. Staying through a hurricane wasn’t an option for Cookie. It would be more stress than Cookie could handle.
“There has to be an option.”
“There isn’t. Listen to the report. There’s the head of TxDoT being interviewed. And that’s the mayor standing next to him.” She turned and looked Ross straight in the eye. “Do you have to disagree with everything I say?”
“You’re picking the wrong fight on the wrong day.”
“I’m not picking a fight. I’m reading the crawl at the bottom of the screen—also known as the very clear writing on the wall. It is what it is, whether you like the fact that I’m the one who told you or not.” Becca leaned over and shoved one of the food bags in with the half-empty bag she’d been given by the McCaws. She slung the blue carrying bag over her shoulder and picked up the second bag Ross had handed her and tucked it in the crook of her arm. Becca gave the purple leash a tug. “Come on, Polly, let’s go. We’ve got to figure out a plan.”
Even loaded down with dog food and Labrador, she still looked like the same stubborn Becca that she was at every single board meeting for the Port Provident Animal Shelter. She carefully reached one hand out as far as she could without toppling her carefully-balanced load and turned the door knob. The heavy, solid wood door blew back in her face.
Polly jerked off to the side and Becca lost her footing, tumbling to the floor in a pile of bags.
“Are you okay?” Ross didn’t like her, but he certainly didn’t want her hurt. Especially not with a hurricane coming.
“I’m fine.” The syllables were short and static. She adjusted the mess around her, propped herself up carefully, then stood.
Ross watched her struggle with rearranging her load and grabbed a bag of dog food and returned it back to its place.
“What’s your plan?” he asked.
“My plan?” She cast a glance over her shoulder as she stood in the doorway.
“Yeah, where are you going?” Watching her fall to the floor made Ross realize he needed to set aside his usual opinion of Becca for a few moments. As much as he wished the breaking report on TV wasn’t true, the simple fact was that they were both in the same boat now. Stuck on Provident Island. Stuck in the crosshairs of Hurricane Hope.
They weren’t stuck together—thankfully, because he knew he couldn’t handle that—but he did need to make sure she was going to be okay for the hours
to come. That was the right thing to do.
It was the honorable thing to do.
He’d been out of the Army for a while, but honor and duty still remained the backbone of who he was. That was true in the dustbox of Iraq, and it was no different here in Port Provident.
The leash pulled tight as Polly kept trotting along while Becca didn’t.
“I don’t really know,” she said, shoulders rounding again. “Plan A was to take the city-organized evacuation bus. So was Plan B. And Plan C. I don’t think I can go home.”
Her voice had softened and it made Ross take note. This wasn’t the combative Becca he so often encountered.
“Where’s home?”
She turned to face him. “A studio apartment at the back of the shelter.”
The Port Provident Animal Shelter backed up to one of the marshiest spots on Provident Island. Stuck between Harborview Drive and the harbor itself, there was virtually no doubt that the building would take on water, and probably a lot of it.
“You’re right. That’s probably not an option.”
“I guess they’ll open up the high school as a shelter. I’d heard some city officials talking about that as I waited in line. Councilwoman Angela Ruiz was there with her daughter and she said there would be some place safe for families to go.”
Ross looked past Becca and Polly, to the almost totally deserted curb and street. “Where’s your car?”
The rain had picked up significantly just in the few minutes they’d been inside. The curbs in this area of town had been laid during an era where the residents of Port Provident traveled in horses and buggies and carriages and needed a higher edge to step onto.
Ross could clearly see the water puddling over the top of the tall curb—which meant anything on the street was about to flood and be useless.
“I had a spot at the highest point in the parking lot over at the high school, so I left the car there. You weren’t too far away and the rain wasn’t too bad, so Polly and I walked. But look at the storm now.” She bit her lower lip and twisted it slightly between her teeth. “There goes Plan D. And probably my car. This is getting a little too real, too fast.”
“Tell me about it.” Ross watched the motion of the gray clouds overhead and the sustained shaking of the branches in the trees. “How about I drive you over there? I’ve got a truck with four-wheel drive. That should be able to get us through this. The high school isn’t too far away.”
A small light caught in her eyes. They were a rich velvet brown. Ross had never noticed that before.
“You’d do that for me?”
“For Polly,” Ross said, then grinned broadly. “She’s one of my favorite patients.”
In the time that Becca had been gone to Ross’ office, another line had formed at Port Provident High School, this time leading up the front steps to the entrance of the school.
The rain slapped against the windshield of Ross’ truck and the wipers beat out a fast tempo, but couldn’t wipe away the water fast enough. In the last hour, things had really taken a turn for the worst—a harbinger of things to come. There wasn’t just wind and rain in the air, there was a thick shroud of tension. Becca could feel it in every cell of her body.
She hadn’t been this nervous about anything in a long time. Certainly not since she left Milwaukee.
Cookie and Polly huddled together on the bench-style seat behind Becca. Canine intuition. The dogs knew something was coming, too.
“You can wait here for a second until the line goes down if you want,” Ross offered. “It looks like the line is starting to move faster, but there’s no reason to stand outside in this mess.”
“I think we’ll be okay.” Becca reached down toward the floorboard, where she’d placed her backpack and all the dog food. “Thanks again for bringing us over here. Good luck to you, Dr. Reeder.”
Becca stuck out her hand, feeling somewhat ridiculous—but not knowing exactly what to do here. She and Dr. Ross Reeder were never on the same side of anything. It felt a little awkward to know they were basically in the same boat right now—figuratively speaking—right down to a companion Labrador retriever for each of them.
Ross took her offered hand. Becca never thought she’d have expectations of a handshake with Ross Reeder, but it definitely took her by surprise that she noticed how smooth his hands were.
“You sure you’ll be okay here?” He looked at the door to the high school, then back to Becca.
“Here? Of course. You wouldn’t believe what I’ve seen in my life. A hurricane doesn’t scare me.” She put one two fingers behind the door latch and tugged, popping the door open. “Well, not that much.”
Polly hesitated after Becca got out then opened the back door. She wiggled her big brown nose and sniffed at the rain-soaked air, giving Becca a look of chocolaty wariness.
“Come on, Polly. I’m getting soaked.” Becca gave the leash a tug, and Polly pushed up from her seated position and placed one paw slowly in front of the other, then hopped.
Becca closed both doors quickly and gave a quick half-wave back at Ross and Cookie as she headed straight for the open glass door, Polly in tow.
“Stop, ma’am. The dog can’t come in here.” A police officer stood at the top of the steps and held up his hand.
“Can’t come in? This is the shelter of last resort. Where else am I supposed to go?” A feeling like claustrophobia began to crowd in on Becca. She couldn’t breathe properly.
“You can go right on in. The dog can’t.” The police officer didn’t even crack a sympathetic smile.
“But she’s old and she has health problems. I can’t leave her alone in a hurricane. She could die.”
The man shifted slightly, positioning himself more directly between Becca and the door. “I’m very sorry about your dog, ma’am, but those are the rules. For a number of health and safety reasons, animals of any kind are not allowed in the shelter.”
Rain started to blow almost sideways, throwing a wall of water directly under the overhang where Becca and Polly were attempting to stay as dry and calm as they possibly could.
It wasn’t working.
Nothing was working.
Suddenly, Polly sneezed, coating the back of Becca’s leg with a fine sheen of dog-mist. Becca barely noticed.
Becca’s heart squeezed. She couldn’t let Polly’s family down.
She couldn’t let Polly down.
Since the minute the worn purple leash had been placed in Becca’s hand, Polly had been a trooper. She’d remained calm and had looked up at Becca with deep brownie-colored eyes filled with warm trust. She’d instantly sensed that Becca would help her, would take care of her.
Becca took the trust of dogs seriously.
A loyal basset hound named Rupert had taught her that valuable life lesson almost two decades ago.
She knelt down in front of the creamy-colored dog and put a hand on either side of Polly’s face, then leaned down so her forehead touched the wide, flat top of Polly’s head. Becca’s grandmother, Bess, prayed about everything. But Becca hadn’t seen much use in it. Her childhood had shown her that prayers went unanswered.
But maybe just this once...
Her tears mingled with the drops of rain soaking Polly’s fur. “Please God, I don’t even know what letter we’re on anymore, but we need a plan. A real one. One that works for both of us.”
A horn honked in the distance. Beep. Beep. Beep-beep-beeeeeep.
Becca broke her prayer off and hoped that God wouldn’t hold the impatience of some jerk in the parking lot against her. She’d tried to pray a real prayer. It clearly just wasn’t meant to be. She hadn’t even gotten to say “amen” or any of that stuff you had to do for the prayer to count.
She heard another beep and looked up, turning her head toward the sound.
The headlights on Ross Reeder’s truck were flashing on and off, then on and off again. As she stared, the truck drove toward the door. Ross rolled down the window.
“Wh
at’s going on? You need a Plan E? Or is this Plan F? I can’t keep track anymore.”
Becca looked at Polly, then up at Ross, then back at Polly again. The dog stared soulfully, then pointed her muzzle toward the door of the car and stood.
Becca stood too, wiping her forearm across her cheeks, trying to get rid of the tears that had snuck out.
“I think this might be G,” she said.
Ross nodded. “You may be right. At any rate, grab that dog food and let’s G-O.” He pointed at the clouds in the sky, lined up in gray rows for as far as the eye could see. “I don’t think we’ve got much time to lose.”
SOMETIMES THE PERSON STANDING IN YOUR WAY IS YOUR ONLY HOPE
As the director of the Port Provident Animal Shelter, Becca Collins had devoted her life to helping the furriest residents of Port Provident. When a special Labrador retriever, Polly, needs her help on the eve of Hurricane Hope, Becca can’t say no—even if it means she’ll have to ride out the hurricane on Provident Island. When she shows up on the doorstep of local veterinarian and Army veteran Dr. Ross Reeder, Becca throws a wrench into Ross’ plans to evacuate himself and his combat-weary former service dog, Cookie.
Ross and Becca are used to disagreeing with one another, but they soon realize the only way they’re going to survive the wrath of Hurricane Hope is to put their differences aside and work for the good of the animals who depend totally on them. As they discover they have more in common than they thought and work to rebuild the Texas beach town where they’ve both put down roots, Becca learns secrets about her past that threaten to change the whole direction of her life.
As Becca struggles with love, faith, and lies, will she still need the shelter she’s found in Ross’ arms or will the aftermath of the storm take away everything they’ve worked to build?
Hurricane Hope: One storm changes
First Kiss Fireworks Page 9