Riding the Storm

by Julie Miller

  “Sorry, sir. I mean…sorry.” Wes’s cheeks actually turned pink beneath the shaggy brown hair that mud and water had plastered to them.

  “There’s only one tow truck in Turning Point,” Jolene informed him. “Riley Addams’s rig. And he’s one of the volunteer firefighters who works for Dad. Dad’s going to want to keep him on hand in case there’s a fire or injury emergency.”

  “What about the sheriff’s department?”

  Jolene shrugged. “You heard the dispatch. Most of them are busy directing traffic into town.”

  Nate propped his hands on his hips. Just dandy. More screwball Texas organization. But if these two were old enough to get married, then they were mature enough to accept some responsibility. He schooled his patience and offered a plausible alternative. “Maybe you could just sit tight, and we’ll pick you up on the way back—after we check Mrs. Browning’s condition.”

  “I’m not spending another minute with this twerp!” Cindy argued.

  “Honey, you agreed with me this morning—”

  “That was three hours ago.” She whirled around and stamped her silver-sandaled foot in the mud. “Before the rain. Before my gown was ruined. Before your brother’s stupid car fell apart on us.”

  “That wasn’t my fault!”

  She spun back to face Jolene and Nate. So much for maturity. “We’ve been planning this wedding for two months. You’d think he’d at least have the sense to make sure his own car was running.”

  “It was running last night.”

  “First, my beautiful sunrise wedding gets ruined by this stupid weather. Then the car doesn’t work. And by the time we left Chapman Ranch, the highway was packed with people headed for Turning Point. So Wes took a detour. Now we’re stuck. No hotel. No hot tub.” She glared at her husband. “No honeymoon.”

  Wes looked embarrassed and exhausted. Not to mention drenched to the skin. “We don’t have a cell phone or I would have called for help. We blew the right rear tire and spun out. I tried to fix it, but it’s too muddy for the jack to work. We tried to drive out, but obviously, that didn’t work, either.”

  Cindy was on a roll. “Obviously. If you’d listened to me, we’d—”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Nate held up his hands in a T for time-out. “We’re on an emergency call.” But half of the we had already circled around the car to inspect the flat tire. “Jolene?” Hell. This just got better and better. Nate resisted the urge to shake his fist at these crazy fools. Somebody needed to be the sensible grown-up here. “I’ve got a woman in labor on the Rock-a-Bye ranch, so we can only spare a few minutes. If we can get you up and running in that time, we’ll do it. If not, we call it in and you stay put until that tow truck can get here.”

  “But that could be—”

  He cut off Cindy’s whine in his most decisive, do-not-mess-with-me voice. “You go sit in the truck. Warm yourself up for a few minutes while I see what I can do. Wes, you’re with me.”

  Cindy wanted to speak, but closed her mouth, wisely thinking better of it. With a huffy sigh, she marched around to open the truck’s door while Wes shyly held out the tire iron. “You’ll need this, sir.”

  “Don’t call…” Oh, hell. Let the kid be a little intimidated. Maybe it’d knock some sense into him. Nate took the tire iron and winked a bit of reassurance. “Come on.”

  With the pouting bride safely tucked away inside the truck, Nate tipped his face to the sky, searching for a break among the clouds, challenging the warm rain to cleanse his skin and deeper inside. He needed to rid himself of his frustrations, stay calm and in charge.

  Now he had more than Jolene and her baby to take care of.

  Swiping the moisture from his face, Nate hiked around the car and found Jolene kneeling in the mud, her red boot already heel-deep in ditch water. She had her shoulder wedged up against the wheel well of the car as she tried to pry the jack free.

  “Are you crazy?” Nate dashed the last few feet. He grabbed her by the upper arm and pulled her away from the potential danger. He raised his voice to be heard over the sound of raindrops slapping against the earth. “That whole thing could come crashing down on you. Get back in the truck. Wes and I will handle this.”

  Jolene jerked her arm from his grip, but not before his fingers memorized the sensations of delicate bone structure and sinewed muscle beneath her baggy sleeve. Not before his pulse leaped in response to the appealing combination of softness and strength.

  “I know how to change a tire,” she insisted, slicking her hair behind her ear and leaving a blemish of mud on her cheek. “The car’s resting on the ground, not the jack. Once we get the jack unstuck, we could put some grass or gravel underneath it to keep it from sinking in again. Then we could lift the car, change the flat and get those two underway.”

  “That’s your plan?” Actually it wasn’t a half bad one, given the circumstances. Nate tamped down his sarcasm. Time was a factor, and Jolene’s idea was as good as any. But he didn’t want her messing with the tire. The danger of the car shifting might be minimal, but it was a danger, all the same.

  “All right,” he conceded. “Grab the hubcap while you’re at it. We can use it under the jack to get firmer footing, too.”

  Hope or excitement or some other wonderful thing blazed in her eyes, making Nate feel like a prince for half a moment. Basking in the fleeting glory, he couldn’t seem to stop himself from reaching out and flicking the smear of mud from her velvety cheek. A startled oh rounded her lips when he touched her, but she didn’t pull away. Still, he didn’t allow himself to linger. He was determined to be the prince of practicality. “I’ll work on the tire. You gather whatever you can find to give us traction.”

  Jolene ran to the truck and came back with a hatchet and shovel. She handed the shovel to Wes and asked him to dig up gravel while she started hacking down handfuls of ground cover from either side of the ditch. Meanwhile, Nate flipped his cap around backward so the bill protected his neck, and he hunched down to inspect the tire for himself. The thing wasn’t just flat; it was shredded.

  Wes had loosened the bolts, but hadn’t got much further. Ignoring the ache in his bum knee, Nate used the tire iron as a lever to free the jack from the mud. The next step was to lighten the back of the car.

  Wading in up to his ankles, he took note that the water in the ditch was deep enough to form an eddy around his boots. The ground was too dry and hard to soak up the rain as quickly as it was falling. This had to be runoff from the flat cattle land. That meant the water would continue to rise—exponentially—in low-lying areas, even if the rain slowed or stopped, which Nate doubted was going to happen any time soon.

  He had to work fast to get the honeymooners on their way. Faster, to pick up Lily Browning and get her back to Turning Point for the medical care she and her baby would need.

  Nate hauled out two garment bags and a toiletry kit from Wes and Cindy’s trunk and carted them up to the road.

  “Those two don’t believe in traveling light, do they,” Jolene joked, cutting through a stubborn weed.

  Nate set the items down beside her and headed back to retrieve two large suitcases.

  “Joaquin and I never had a honeymoon. He was already sick when we got married. He used to promise that when—”

  Her voice stopped abruptly and her wistful gaze sharpened and darted up to Nate’s, as if surprised that she’d said the words out loud. Or maybe just surprised that she’d said them to him.

  He looked down at her over the corner of a suitcase. That long strand of hair had worked loose from her ponytail again, and the rain had glued it to her face. “Joaquin was your husband, right?”

  She nodded, but offered no more. She pushed to her feet, carrying the pile of weeds with her. “I’ll go see if this is enough.”

  He watched her golden ponytail bob out of sight. Taboo subject. Painful one, at least. In the few hours he’d known her, it was the first thing that had come up that she wouldn’t talk about with him.

&
nbsp; Which made Nate all the more curious. He wondered what kind of man Joaquin Angel had been. What kind of man would Jolene love? How would she love? Full speed ahead like everything else she did, no doubt. Probably unlike any woman he’d ever known.

  Of course, he’d never really been in love himself, so he had nothing to compare. But he’d listened to enough tales of passion rushing couples into mistakes they later regretted. He’d nursed enough family and friends through their heartaches. He had no interest in Lady Disaster.

  None whatsoever.

  So why was he still standing here, soaking up the rain, trying to figure her out?

  “Hell.” Nate set down the suitcases and went back to work.

  The rear end of the car teetered upward a couple of inches when he removed the last suitcase. He ignored Cindy’s muffled cries and gesticulations from the cab of the truck. He was making some hard choices here. If she and Wes wanted to get to San Antonio, then their things were going to get wet.

  But he couldn’t ignore the water swirling past the top of his brown work boot and soaking the hem of his pantleg. “That’s rising an inch a minute,” he muttered, doing a quick calculation.

  The clock was ticking way too fast.

  Nate closed the trunk and climbed out of the ditch. Blinking the moisture from his eyelashes, he knelt beside Jolene, tugged the handle of the jack from her grasp and inserted it into the base. “Go back to the truck. I’ll finish up here.”

  She tugged back. “I can do this.”

  He separated her hand from the jack and held on to both. “Go back to the truck and call this delay in to your father.”

  “You call it in.”

  “Damn it, lady, I’m not going to argue—” Temper gave way to a bone-deep awareness of danger gushing toward them.

  “California?”

  With only a splash of sound to alert him, the rear of the car rose and shifted toward them, carried on the current of water like a log on a flume. Time was up. “We’re out of here.”

  With nearly a ton of metal sailing their way, Nate picked up Jolene, jack handle and all. He reached beneath her arm and cinched her between the swells of her breasts and belly. He ignored the protest of his knee and pushed to his feet, carrying her up to the center of the road.

  “Put me down.”

  The instant she wiggled in protest, the instant the curve of her rump twisted against his crotch, the instant he realized she hid a distinctly feminine shape beneath her shapeless clothes, he set her on her feet. But he didn’t trust her to keep moving. Switching his grip to her arm, he hurried her toward the truck.

  “What are you doing?” she demanded, fighting him every step of the way. “The water’s rising. We have to fix that car now.”

  Wes trailed after them, dragging the shovel and pointing to the floating car. “But my brother’s—”

  Nate didn’t have time to argue with either of them. “Get your bags and toss them in the back. You’re coming with us.”

  “But—” Jolene protested.

  “Do it!”

  “California—”

  “Yes, sir.” Wes tossed the tools into the bed of the truck and ran back for his and Cindy’s things.

  Nate opened the driver’s side door and half urged, half lifted Jolene up onto her seat. He met her gaze, glare for glare, and closed the door behind her.

  He pulled off his cap, swatted it against his thigh, then plunked it back onto his head with the bill shading his eyes. Grabbing a blanket from the supplies in back, he dodged out of the way as Wes loaded the suitcases. Once the young man was inside beside his wife, Nate gave him the blanket and climbed in after him, squeezing the four of them in like sardines to shut the door. “Drive.”

  Jolene gripped the steering wheel in both hands and leaned forward to make eye contact across the couple sandwiched between them. “I do not have to follow your orders.”

  Nate veed his fingers and held them up. “Two words. Lily Browning.”

  The reminder was enough to get her to slam the truck into gear, though her chin still tilted at that defiant angle.

  “What about driving to San Antonio?” Cindy whined.

  “In a couple of hours this road isn’t going to be here,” Nate advised. “Being late for your honeymoon might be the least of your worries.”

  There. She was finally scared enough to be quiet. And though Nate felt as guilty as hell for his bullying tactics, if that was the only way he could keep these people safe, then that was what he was going to do.

  As Cindy sank back into her seat and snuggled beneath the blanket, Nate reached across Wes to get the radio and report in. It took a couple twists of the dial to find a clear line, and there were still glitches of static by the time he got through to Mitch Kannon.

  “Yeah, Mitch. Nate Kellison here.” He felt Jolene’s wide-eyed gaze beseeching him to keep her accident a secret. He pointed down the road, silently telling her to drive, avoiding those blue eyes. Defiance he could handle. That look sucker-punched him in the gut and turned his thinking erratic. “We just stopped to pick up a couple of…” He almost said kids, but Wes’s earnest expression changed his mind. “A young couple. Their car ran off in the ditch.”

  “Any injuries?” Mitch asked, his tone conveying a mix of authority and concern.

  “Negative.”

  “Thank God.”

  “But the car needs more help than we can give them. So we’re transporting them to the Rock-a-Bye Ranch with us.”

  “Understood.” Static cut out part of Mitch’s answer. “…quite a few evacuees. We’re getting more reports of…stranded.” Nate was ready to ask him to repeat his message, but the tenor of Mitch’s voice changed. “How’s Jolene?”

  “A little damp.”

  Mitch laughed. The tension inside the truck ratcheted down a notch as Nate sensed Jolene relax. He breathed easier, too, feeling a bit more like a prince than a bully again. “Do you have an update on the weather?” Nate asked.

  He already guessed Mitch’s answer.

  “I hate it when I’m right. The hurricane turned…report says it’s going to make landfall farther south…heading straight for Turning Point.”

  Nate could fill in the static blanks himself. So could the other three passengers in the truck, judging by their grim expressions.

  “The hurricane’s going to hit us?” Cindy asked, her meek voice more frightened teenager than disgruntled bride now. She reached for Wes’s hand. He took it, put his arm around his wife, squeezed her tight. Good kid.

  Good man, Nate amended. He looked across the cab at Jolene to offer her what silent comfort he could—if she’d take it.

  She nodded, then patted Cindy’s knee and explained in a calm, succinct voice, “Turning Point’s forty miles inland, so it won’t be hit by the full force of the storm. We’ll feel the brunt of the winds and the rain. Damon might spawn some thunderstorms or even tornadoes. But we’ll get you someplace safe. You’ll be fine.”

  “Wes?” She snuggled closer to her husband.

  “I’m right with you, honey. If Mrs. Angel says we’ll be safe, we’ll be safe.” He betrayed his confidence by turning to look at Nate. “Right, sir?”

  “Right.” Nate pressed the talk button again. “Mitch, we’re en route to the Rock-a-Bye again. We’re at…” He looked to Jolene for a location.

  “About five miles out.”

  “We’re about five miles from our destination,” he reported. “Any update on Mrs. Browning’s condition?”

  “Yeah.” More static. Or was that papers rustling? “Ruth! Where’s the…Browning?” There was another pause, then, “Her contractions are about ten minutes apart. You’d better book it…her and the kids.”

  “Did he say ten minutes?” Jolene asked.

  Nate felt the truck picking up speed. “Get us there in one piece, Andretti,” he warned.

  She didn’t slow.

  “We’re on it.” Nate had one more question he needed an answer to, just so he’d know how mu
ch worse things were going to get. “When is Damon supposed to make landfall, Mitch?”

  Mitch Kannon’s grave warning filled the cab of the truck. “We’re predicting it’ll hit us around midnight.”

  More static warned them that the storm was building in intensity. Electricity in the atmosphere was already playing havoc with the radio waves.

  “Unless that baby’s already here, y’all might have to hole up and ride out the storm at the ranch.”

  “Roger that, Mitch. We’ll check in when we can. Kellison out.”

  He hung up the radio. The only sounds were the grinding of the truck’s twisted axle, the spray of gravel and mud beneath the tires, and the endless staccato barrage of rain coming at them from every angle.

  Hole up and ride out the storm.

  Crazy Texans.

  They’d be riding out a damn hurricane.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  THUNDER RUMBLED in the distance, mimicking the fusillade of silt and gravel hitting beneath the floorboards of the truck. The rain was steady now. Relentless. Inescapable. The ditches were overflowing and it was only a matter of time before the wind or something worse swept across the flat Texas plains.

  But right now the world outside seemed more inviting than the world inside the cab of Jolene’s truck.

  The humid air swallowed up her pensive sigh.

  He was rubbing his knee again.

  Jolene watched the subtle, yet methodic clench and release of Nate’s hand as he dug into the muscles around the joint. It probably didn’t help that they were wedged in so tightly that his knee banged against the door with every bounce and jolt.

  Not that Nate Kellison had complained.

  Of course, they were less than a mile from the Rock-a-Bye’s front gate and he hadn’t said a word about anything. Not one, despite the chatter among the newlyweds and herself.

  He was watching again, studying the movement of the storm, taking note of the dark sky along the horizon to the north—toward her own ranch. He watched Wes and Cindy, too. He’d even reached over to crank up the heat after noticing how Cindy shivered in her sodden wedding dress.