Second Chance Sweethearts

Chapter Two (#ulink_c0c60809-1725-5e9a-b92b-5755bbe72a0f)

After dropping Gloria, her bike and her patient off at Gloria’s house to gather some things and then get to safety, Rigo headed back to his office in the Provident Island Beach Patrol headquarters. Located on the top floor of a three-story concrete behemoth of a building that sat directly on the sand about fifty feet back from the shoreline, it looked out on an empty beach today.

He dug through a few piles of papers, looking for a set of ATV keys, but paused and picked up the small framed picture of his mom that was still sitting on the corner of his desk. He’d always loved this picture of the two of them at a baseball tournament in his youth. Cancer took her when he was just eighteen, but it hadn’t robbed him of the memory of her steady, sweet smile.

First Gloria, now his mom. Too many old memories were coming back to his mind today.

Chances were that if Hurricane Hope truly came in as a strong category 3 hurricane, much of the island would be ruined. Storms like that brought feet upon feet of storm surge, and very little on the island would not be touched by it in some way, Rigo feared. The way Provident Island looked today would likely become a bittersweet memory, just like his mother and those carefree high school days when he was in love with Gloria.

He shoved the picture in his pocket, turned off the light and locked the door.

He didn’t know if he’d ever unlock it again.

Taking the ride back down the elevator, Rigo realized it would probably be one of the last rides he’d get to take for a while. He held out absolutely no hope for the squeaky old elevator, which had to basically be overhauled at the end of every season because the saltwater in the air rusted out just about every part and sand wedged in every nook and cranny. No way it would survive this hurricane.

“Goodbye, old girl,” Rigo said as he got out of the elevator and gave the buttons a small tap. He quickly tossed the picture of his mother on the front seat of his truck and headed back to the storage area underneath the Surfside Beach Pavilion to move the ATV.

The wet sand made the ATV’s tires a bit sluggish, but Rigo was able to get some traction and speed as he headed toward the main road leading to Gulfview Boulevard.

At the stoplight, Rigo tightened the hood of his rain jacket around the baseball cap he was wearing to keep the water out of his eyes as much as possible. This particular ATV had a sun cover on it, and while there wasn’t a drop of sunshine in the sky anymore, it did keep some of the rain out. Just not much.

Kind of like Gloria. Now that he’d seen her, had talked to her, the sound of her voice and the look of her face played in his mind like a video loop. He couldn’t shake her from his thoughts, not even with all he needed to do to finish securing the island’s beaches and providing support for water rescues before Hurricane Hope arrived.

As he jammed the ATV in gear as hard as he could, pushing the little green four-wheeler through the rising water, Rigo noticed a small waterspout twisting out of the harbor and hopping easily onto the waterlogged street. Hurricane Hope wasn’t playing games. A gust of wind knocked into the waterspout, shearing the little twister and stopping its momentum.

Thump. Thump.

What on earth?

He felt like he was just one step ahead of being swept away or blown away, but since he hadn’t seen a car on the streets since he’d left the beach, Rigo quickly stopped the ATV, knowing he needed to make sure that whatever fell on him wasn’t going to put him in any further danger.

He stood in the middle of the street, checked the cover above him and saw two sand trout on top of the soaked brown canvas. They’d been sucked up by the waterspout and dropped on top of the ATV when the spout died out.

Wow. It was raining fish.

A fishnado. He didn’t even know what to think about that.

Static crackled and then Rigo heard a voice. “Chief Vasquez, can you give me a 10-8?”

Rigo pulled his radio out of the plastic bag he usually carried it in to protect it from water while out on patrol. Service on the radio frequencies had been spotty all afternoon and was getting worse.

“This is Vasquez. I’m near Fifteenth, heading for the Park Board lot to drop off the last ATV. Can someone pick me up when I get there and take me back to my truck?”

“Not right now, sir.” Rigo could barely pick out enough syllables through the crackling to understand what the dispatcher was saying. “All of our available officers are being directed to the causeway to begin shutting it down.”

“They’re what?”

“Closing the causeway. The winds have come on much stronger sooner than anyone expected, and they are now too strong for cars to be at the top of the bridge.”

Even the pounding of the rain and the static on the radio couldn’t drown out the one thought in Rigo’s mind.

Gloria.

She’d called him to help keep her patient safe. He doubted they’d had enough time since he dropped them off to get Gloria’s things together and subsequently get off the island. With the causeway closing, they’d both be stuck here, and the young woman was in labor. Rigo had to think of something, and fast.

Rigo turned back toward the beach pavilion to get his truck, consigning the four-wheeler to wash away with the eventual tide. As he struggled to drive the little utility vehicle, he bowed his head, not just against the force of the blowing rain, but in a silent prayer that he still had enough time to rescue Gloria and get her off the island.

* * *

Gloria knew she was running out of time. But she couldn’t stop herself from looking out the window and watching the storm clouds roll in. Tanna had the TV on in the living room, and as Gloria walked past, she recognized Rick O’Connell from NWN, the National Weather News channel, reporting live from the barrier wall that ran along the beach at Gulfview Boulevard. Rick O’Connell’s presence was the sign that the storm was going to be massive. He never went anywhere that wasn’t going to be a really big deal.

A heavy mist was falling on Rick and his bright yellow raincoat. He wasn’t wearing the hood, though, and his trendy longer haircut was blowing back and forth with the gusts.

It was weird to think this was all happening right outside her window—literally—and yet, she was watching the ever-heavier lines of rain and buffeting winds on TV, as though it could have been anywhere in the world.

She’d been through a number of hurricanes since her family moved to Port Provident from Mexico when she was a child. They’d lived on the Yucatán Peninsula, so she’d seen a few there, too. Gloria considered herself a hurricane pro at this point. Go to the local big box store. Buy plenty of batteries, bottled water, a new flashlight or two, and load up on the nonperishable food. She had a great mini propane stove that she’d boiled many a pot of water on to make posthurricane ramen noodles. She knew when to fill up the bathtub and had studied the required elevation survey of her lot before making an offer on the house. She had moving things to higher ground down to a science.

But this time, it wasn’t just about her. She had a pregnant teenager in her care—and that girl could go into the next stage of labor and become a mama at any minute.

“Gloria. You’re still here.”

She jumped at the sound of a deep voice as her front door opened.

“Rigo.” Ice caught in her throat at the reappearance of the man who’d kept popping into every thought she’d had for the past half hour.

“They’ve closed the causeway early. The wind is gaining speed fast.” He shut the door behind him with a soft click, then stood near Gloria in front of her only window that wasn’t covered with plywood to guard against flying debris. Tanna got off the couch to take a look, as well. They watched in comfortable silence for a few moments as the sheets of rain beat against the small window and loose palm fronds swirled in the streets below, blowing and tumbling in the wind. Suddenly, Gloria became aware that something was very wrong.

“Rigo! You’re dripping on the floor!” A puddle had begun to collect near the sturdy work boots he was wearing.

He shrugged, a sheepish grin catching the corners of his narrow lips. “I’m soaked to the bone, but that puddle isn’t me.”

“Gloria?” Tanna’s usually soft voice jumped an octave. “I think that’s me. I think my water broke.”

Gloria’s heart sank. A crack of adrenaline to match the lightning bolts outside shot through her body. “Okay, if we can’t get her to a hospital off the island, we’ve got to get her to Provident Medical Center, then. The clinic is closed, obviously.”

Rigo shook his head. “Can’t. I heard it on the radio on my way over here. They’re near the harbor and the water is higher there than anywhere else. Their power is already down and their main generator failed. They have only the absolute bare minimum amount of backup power. It’s a good thing they evacuated all the critical patients this morning and discharged everyone who could be sent home. They’re not accepting any patients right now. I’m afraid it’s going to get more dire before this night is over.”

Gloria settled Tanna back on the sofa, then quickly checked her rate of breathing and the time between the pulse of her contractions. Everything in Tanna’s body was kicking into gear.

So was Hurricane Hope. A gust of wind shook the front windows to the house.

Gloria looked around her little home. She’d never stayed on the island through a storm as big as what the NWN reporters were now saying Hope would evolve to. She thought back to the elevation certificate she and Felipe had to obtain as part of the home’s purchase. The home was behind the barrier wall that ran behind the beach and protected the majority of the residential areas of the city, but a generous storm surge would put several feet of water into her home, without question.

She’d made a career from out-of-hospital deliveries at the birth center. She was confident in her skills, no matter where she needed to use them. She knew Tanna was at low risk of any kind of complications, but even so, Gloria always operated from the vantage point of caution where mamas and babies were concerned.

And right now, caution had been thrown to the wind and blown miles away. The little home on Travis Place was no place for Tanna to labor and give birth.

Gloria paced, three steps forward, followed by three steps back. “But if the causeway is closed, we’re trapped on the island. I don’t want to take her to the shelter of last resort at the high school, either, if I don’t have to. Too many people. She doesn’t need an audience. Stress can slow down labor and complicate it, putting us in an emergency situation. This is stressful enough. I don’t want to add to it.”