by Julie Miller
“I’ll handle the situation report, California.” There. That got a rise out of him, judging by the quick jerk of his head as he glanced her way. But he studiously returned to his work, forgoing his insistence she call him Nate. Jolene felt no satisfaction, only more frustration. How many times did she have to tell herself she shouldn’t be feeling anything for a man who was destined to leave her? “I want to check on Dad, anyway.”
Biting her tongue to keep from asking what it was about babies that tore him up so, why he felt it necessary to be a robot when it came to revealing emotions, Jolene reluctantly lifted Amber Renee from Lily’s arms. She measured and weighed the girl. Put a cap and newborn diaper on her. Made a footprint and filled out the preliminary paperwork. By the time she’d returned the sleeping infant to her mother’s arms, Nate was cleaning up.
At Lily’s request, Jolene headed downstairs and informed Gabe, Jr., Aaron and Seth that they could go meet their new baby sister. They charged up the stairs with Cindy in tow. The storm outside grew noisier as the inside of the house quieted. Jolene found Deacon taking a well-deserved snooze in the recliner and covered him with an afghan.
Wes stamped in ahead of a gust of wind and rain and slammed the door in the mudroom off the back of the kitchen. “Man, it’s a bitch out there,” he complained, peeling off the poncho he’d borrowed from Deacon. When he saw Jolene standing there with a towel to dry off with, he turned three shades of pink. “Sorry, ma’am.”
“Don’t apologize. Come on in. Your wife made us all a late lunch.”
“Cindy cooked?”
Jolene bit back a smile at the stunned, hopeful look on his face. They were such newlyweds, and—she felt the tinge of an ache taking hold at the small of her back—so, so young. “Peanut butter sandwiches, I’m afraid. But there’s plenty of them.”
She tossed him the towel and returned to the kitchen to pour them each a glass of milk. “Did you get everything secured?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Wes took off the boots he’d borrowed and tiptoed into the kitchen. “I’m sure glad we’re here instead of stranded out on the side of that road. I hope my brother’s car hasn’t floated out to the Gulf yet.”
“Me, too. Here. Sit.” She placed two sandwiches, a stack of pretzels and an apple in front of him, then sat down to eat her own meal.
She’d set a place for Nate, but he was either still cleaning upstairs or simply avoiding her. Something had shifted between them as they’d worked together to deliver Lily’s baby. It had taken his skills and strength, her caring and alertness to bring Amber Browning into the world. But he’d dropped his guard for a few timeless moments; she’d glimpsed a man wounded in ways a simple limp could never explain.
And she’d wanted him. Needed him. Cried out for him because she’d been scared and Nate Kellison seemed like the most solid, reliable anchor she could cling to in the midst of all the chaos around her. And when he’d held her hand and rejoiced in the moment of Amber’s birth, when he’d touched her cheek and cared about her tears, she’d wanted to turn to him for something more.
She’d wanted him to hold her. To kiss her. To truly smile.
But he’d closed up, given her an order and walked away instead.
Jolene gulped down half her milk, concentrating on the cold liquid sliding down her throat, cooling her frustrations and curiosity. Damn the man, anyway, for making her care. He was welcome to take his attitude and his hurts and those soulful brown eyes back to California and get the heck out of her life before she got to thinking how nice it might be if he really would stay.
Her life would be a lot easier if she went back to relying on herself and worrying about the one man who had never let her down.
Crossing to the phone beside the mudroom entrance, Jolene lifted the receiver. Nothing. No dial tone, no busy signal. Nothing.
She hung up and glanced over at Wes Mathis, who was making quick work of the lunch she’d served him. “Are the phone lines down?”
“Mmm…” Wes swallowed the last of his apple. “Yeah. Deacon said service went out about an hour ago. As hard as the wind’s blowing, I’ll bet there are lines down all over the place.” He got up and carried his plate to the sink. “I’m surprised we haven’t lost electricity yet. Deacon had me pull the generator out of the shed, just in case.”
“I didn’t know it had gotten so bad.” She took out her cell phone and punched in her father’s number. At least the cell towers were still transmitting signals. “It’s ringing. Thank God.”
For the first time that day, Jolene wondered about her own ranch—whether she should be there boarding up windows and setting up generators as well. Had she remembered to lock the doors and secure the paddock gate? With luck the horses would have enough sense to go inside the barn. She should be there to make sure flooding didn’t contaminate the well, to ensure Joaquin Angel’s legacy to their son wasn’t washing down river or blowing away in the wind.
But she’d been needed here. Her father had needed her help. Wes and Cindy had needed someone. So had Deacon.
The phone kept ringing.
“Hey, I’m gonna go up and meet the new baby,” Wes said. “If that’s okay?”
“Sure.” She waved Wes on his way when he hesitated. “I’ll clean up here.” A faint tension settled across her shoulders after he zoomed upstairs. “C’mon, Dad. Pick up.”
The quiet of the kitchen proved little barrier against the growing fury of the storm outside and Jolene’s nerves were stretched beyond taut. The wind whipped branches against the siding and hummed through the eaves overhead. Rain pelted the roof and the temperature was steadily dropping. The carpet of goose bumps that prickled her arms had become as constant a companion as the baby she carried inside her.
Right on cue, little Joaquin tumbled over inside her, as if sensing his mother’s concern. Jolene cupped her belly and rubbed gentling circles through the now stiff denim overalls. “Hang in there, sweetie,” she soothed. “Mama’s going to keep you safe. I’m just worried about Grandpa.”
And the Double J. And the storm. And Amber Browning’s future. And that damn Californian who’d disrupted her life in the first place.
She’d nearly disconnected after the eighth ring.
“Jolene?”
Of course, he’d read her number on his phone. Her breath rushed out in a sigh of hope and relief. “Dad?”
“Are you okay?” they asked in unison.
She listened to Mitch Kannon’s deep, calming breath. Felt it calm her as well. “I’m fine, hon.”
“Me, too.”
“Please tell me you’re somewhere safe.”
She could hear noises in the background now, and wondered if her father was working an accident scene or if the evac center was being overrun. “We’re still at the Rock-a-Bye ranch. Deacon and the newlyweds are set for now, though Deacon will need an X ray. The Brownings are fine, but Rocky’s still on the loose.”
“That’s gonna cost them if they lose him. I hope no one winds up with a runaway bull in their backyard. I don’t suppose the weather’s helping his temperament any.”
She hadn’t thought of the danger the bull could pose to anyone else. One more thing to worry about on a growing list. “I’m glad I could reach you on my cell. The static’s so bad we can’t get the radio to work, and now the phone lines are down.”
“That’s pretty much the status here. We’re getting reports of power outages around the county. Flooding. Bridges out. Wind damage. Cars off the road. Hell, I’ve even got a missing Scout troop—over there.” Mitch addressed someone at the other end of the line. Jolene could overhear him directing the placement of cots at the fire station. By the time he was back on the line, she knew he had his hands full and didn’t need to be shouldering any of her burden as well. “I’m damn glad the California volunteers showed up,” Mitch said. “There’s no way we could handle all the calls we’re getting by ourselves.”
Jolene looked up at the ceiling, envisioning Nate’s skilled hands. �
�I hate to admit it, but I’m glad Kellison was with me. The baby was breech and I couldn’t get her turned around.”
“Her?” She could hear the smile in her father’s voice. “Did Lily finally get her little girl?”
Jolene discovered she could smile now, too, and was glad she could offer her father some happy news. “Amber Renee. Twenty inches long, seven pounds, three ounces, and as mouthy as her mother. You should see how crazy the boys are about her already.”
“Yeah, baby girls have a way of getting to the men in their lives.”
The personal message in his wistful tone comforted her and reminded her of the special bond they shared. “Have you had a chance to sit down and catch your breath, Dad? Did you eat lunch?”
“I’ll catch my breath once this hurricane blows over and I know my people are safe. And yes, Ruth made sure I ate a sandwich and had some coffee.”
“Good for her.” If the dispatcher was a tough enough cookie to raise three teenage sons on her own, then she could keep Mitch Kannon in line. Jolene breathed a little easier, knowing someone closer to home was looking after her father. “Well, I won’t keep you. I just wanted to report in. Is there anything you need me to do?”
“You couldn’t if you wanted to. Sheriff Boone said the main highway’s flooded out near the river, and you told me the backroads were already impassable.” She recognized the deep breath that preceded a fatherly warning. “So you stay put at the Rock-a-Bye. Don’t try to come into town until this thing blows itself out. You think this storm front is bad, just wait until the real thing hits us tonight.”
Stay put?
Her feet were already dancing with the antsy need to help, to take action. She needed to do something. “We won’t head for town,” she promised, knowing she could never lie to her father outright.
But she could check her own ranch. She could try to recover Rocky for Gabe and Lily.
“Jolene?” Mitch Kannon was no fool. “Remember, you’re responsible for two people now.”
She hugged her belly. “I know. I promise, nothing will happen to your grandson.”
“Jolene? Put Kellison on the line.” He knew her thoughts were already jumping ahead to her next rescue mission. “Don’t you go off on some—”
“Mitch?” Ruth’s voice interrupted the call. Papers rattled, furniture crashed and someone cussed in the background. Apparently Turning Point had another emergency that required her father’s attention.
Jolene knew the town was in good hands. “I love you, Dad.”
“Love you, too.” He didn’t want to ring off, but he had to. “Call when you can.”
“I will.”
As a flurry of activity filled the fire station, Jolene hung up and stuffed the phone into her pocket. Reassured as she was by her father’s voice, she knew her work wasn’t finished. There was still work to be done before Hurricane Damon struck. And more once he had passed. She might not be able to get to town to help her father, but she could make a difference here.
Lily was worried about Rocky. Deacon couldn’t work with his arm. Wes was no cowboy, and the boys needed Cindy.
The Rock-a-Bye needed its bull to survive.
And there was nothing Jolene could do here but wait.
Sit on her hands and wait for Hurricane Damon to hit and pass.
She swallowed hard, missing her father, missing Joaquin, missing the life that would never be hers, a life like Lily’s.
She couldn’t just sit and wait and worry.
She felt cocooned inside the rambling house, trapped by feelings she didn’t want to have.
Stuffing the last of the sandwich into her mouth, Jolene grabbed the poncho Wes had worn and slipped out the back door.
“CRAZY TEXAS WOMAN.”
Nate grumbled a curse between his teeth and shifted the white bassinet onto his hip as he glared out the bedroom window. With Wes’s help, he was moving Lily and Amber and all the necessary supplies down to the more secure main floor to ride out the storm with the menagerie of survivors they’d collected throughout the day.
But apparently Mitch Kannon’s darling daughter didn’t intend to join them.
Jolene looked more like demon than angel as she dashed from the back of the house, past the empty horse paddock and into the barn. Fast seemed to be the only speed she functioned in. Maybe she’d run track in school. Maybe she hated to get wet. Or maybe she was just used to having to stay a step or two ahead of trouble. Even five months pregnant, she covered the distance like a gazelle.
An urgency clenched his muscles, sharpened his senses. The rapid pulse, the hyper-awareness—the challenge staring him in the face—all reminded him of the adrenaline rush he used to get each time he climbed down into the gate on the back of a bull and braced himself to ride out into the rodeo ring.
Nate shook his head at the notion. He’d thought those days were over. He was a sober, mature adult now. Caretaker to his family. Guardian of their heritage. Protector and healer for the citizens of Courage Bay, California.
But then, he’d never met a woman like Jolene before.
And while the younger, freer part of him enjoyed that rush of feeling again, the sager, more practical man he’d become knew that his blood pressure probably couldn’t take much more of the challenge Jolene presented.
The barn door slammed shut behind her and Nate let the curtains close. He breathed deeply to assuage the grip of fear and frustration and utter destiny that strangled his heart.
Time to go rescue his charge again.
CHAPTER SIX
NATE BLINKED THE RAIN from his lashes and swiped the water from his face, ignoring the wind catching the barn door and slapping it shut behind him. His palm rested on the scratch of his beard as his eyes adjusted to the dim light of the barn’s interior. The scents of hay, leather and horses soothed him and sparked familiar memories.
But no way was he relaxing.
The stamp of hooves and creak of leather tack directed his steps.
He sighed heavily as he caught a glimpse of a limp blond ponytail and bright red poncho moving beside a sorrel horse.
This just got better and better.
“You do know there’s a hurricane on its way, right?”
“Dad said it shouldn’t hit us until later tonight.”
So, of course, she had saddled a horse.
Damn crazy…
Stalking toward the row of stalls with as much purpose as his throbbing knee allowed, Nate saw a sweet little curve of denim-clad rump, and a long line of leg as Jolene slipped her foot into the stirrup and swung up onto the horse.
“I don’t think so.”
He tugged on her arm, palmed a handful of her hip and pulled her down.
“Hey! What—?”
“Not this time, lady.” With the baby to protect and the unreliability of his leg, he pulled her bottom straight into his chest and let her slide down the length of him.
“Put me—!”
The friction of wet denim and firm bodies was pure, sweet torture. Nate’s groin leaped to embarrassing life, demanding some sort of satisfaction for the paces she was putting him through.
But as soon as Jolene’s boots touched the ground, she twisted in his grasp.
“Oh, no, you don’t.” Nate backed her against the horse so she couldn’t squirm away. “I promised your father I’d keep you safe.”
Her cheeks flushed with a tantalizing heat. “I—”
“You’re pregnant. You need your rest.”
“I feel fine.”
She felt warm and soft and female and tempting wedged against his chest and thighs. “I intend to keep that promise with or without your help. You are not getting on that horse.”
Her eyes blazed blue as a clear, coastal dawn. But the moment she started to argue, his gaze dropped to her pink, pretty mouth. It was talking. Again. “I know what I’m doing. I grew up in Texas. I’ve ridden horses forever. You have no right to boss—”
Nate palmed the back of her neck, tipped her
face up to his and kissed her, silencing the words intended to push them apart.
Startled, Jolene gasped, seeming to draw the breath right from his chest. That soft little sound primed him, sparked something wild and reckless deep inside him. He felt her hands at his shoulders, bracing herself, digging in, holding on when she should be pulling away.
The years fell away from his tortured old soul and his ears pounded with the flare of pent-up needs and desires.
Jolene was on her toes and Nate was holding her close.
Cold, wet clothes and hot, instant passion beaded the tips of her breasts against his aching chest. The fertile swell of her belly and the life growing inside thrust against his stomach, humbling him. Her luscious body roused, yet at the same time soothed every basic male instinct he possessed.
There was little finesse on either of their parts—noses bumped, feet tangled, water dripped from poncho and cap. But her open mouth was warm, her tongue a delicious rasp, her lips giving and demanding beneath his. The tension that had yin and yanged between them all day long seemed to gather itself and focus its heat into this one time-stopping kiss.
The storm outside melted away. There was no hurricane, no emergency, no lives waiting to be saved.
There was only the two of them.
In all his life, Nate had never shared a kiss like this. He felt sure he could live a dozen lifetimes and never know a kiss like this one. With this woman.
Joaquin Angel’s woman.
Whoa.
Nate jerked at the unsettling thought. Jolene tensed, pushed against his chest. Her horse shifted, knocking her into Nate. Knocking a chink in the raw need that consumed him, giving his much-touted common sense a chance to flood into his brain.
With a wrenching sigh, Nate lifted his mouth and released her, ending the kiss as abruptly as it had begun. He held his hands out to either side, signalling the end to that crazy, wild ride.
“That…shouldn’t have happened,” were the best words of apology he could summon at the moment.
He was still pinned by the drowsy passion in those deep blue eyes, still caught by the spell of those sassy lips, made rosy and swollen by the brand of his mouth. He was still drowning in the scents of home and heat that clung to her hair and radiated from her damp skin.
