by Julie Miller
Bits of debris clung to Rocky’s hide, but there were no visible signs of injury beyond the cuts he’d sustained from the barbed wire. The bull chewed on the leafy end of a branch that had blown into his pen. He had the gall to stare accusingly at Nate, as if the storm had interfered with his wanderlust and somehow the humans were to blame for the inconvenience.
“Lily shouldn’t have worried,” Jolene said. “I’m not sure anything can kill that bull.” If only the rest of her property could be so tough. She slowly turned with her light, taking stock of the destruction.
The tractor shed was little more than a pile of twisted metal siding wrapped around the tractor and old beater truck that had been parked inside. Shingles from the barn roof were scattered across the ground. And there was debris everywhere. Leaves, branches, tumbleweeds, items she couldn’t identify. What looked like a little girl’s dollhouse sat in the pile of trash Nate was stacking beside the barn.
Jolene walked over and inspected the toy’s mud-stained interior. “I wonder where this blew in from. Someone’s going to be missing it.”
“I hope the girl it belongs to is in better shape. That her mother got her down into a basement or took her to a public shelter.” Nate tossed an armload of loose planks onto the pile and went back for another load.
“I’m sure she’s fine.”
“Yeah.” He didn’t sound convinced.
What was it that caused him such pain? She suspected it went far beyond ripped-up skin or a shattered knee. But if he didn’t want to confide in her, she wasn’t going to ask. As much as she’d loved that teasing, talkative, passionate side of Nate, she sensed that he needed to reassert his self-control in order to cope.
Though whether he was coping with the past or the present, survival or regret or her, she had no idea.
“Can’t this wait ’til morning?” She picked up some downed branches and added them to the pile. Keeping busy seemed to distract them both from uncomfortable thoughts. “I’m assuming that’s your work in the kitchen, too?”
“I wanted to make sure Rocky was secure and the generators were working. Since we don’t know how long we’ll have to conserve electricity, I thought we’d better do something with the food before it went bad.”
But spoiled food wasn’t her primary concern. She thought of her father and the hundreds of evacuees he was responsible for. If Turning Point had been hit like the Double J, Mitch Kannon would need every volunteer he could get to help out. “You don’t think power and communication will be established anytime soon?”
Nate shook his head. “I doubt it. And with power out, roads flooded and communication down, I doubt anyone’s looking for us yet, either.”
Jolene dumped her load. “So it’s just you and me for a while longer, huh?”
“Looks that way.”
Adam and Eve, stranded in a weather-beaten version of Paradise. Only Adam was brooding and distant and Eve didn’t know how to handle a man who wasn’t her father, friend or patient.
Jolene suddenly felt edgy and uncomfortable as she recalled in vivid detail every sweep of Nate’s hands, every claim of his mouth on her body, every delicious word they’d shared on the couch before the hurricane hit. Her breasts beaded into painful nubs, her lips tingled, and the female heart of her grew heavy and damp between her legs.
She braced her hand against the side of the barn and clutched at her belly. Her breath came in ragged gasps. Squeezing her eyes shut, she tried to regain control of her body’s raging hormones. She’d never…No man had ever…And, God, she’d wanted him to finish. She’d wanted…
“Jolene?” Nate’s concerned voice cut through her wanton thoughts.
No teasing voice, no soft seduction.
He’d come up right behind her. She could feel the heat from his body, though he didn’t touch her. She turned, still clutching her stomach, feeling light-headed and pale. Thankfully, Nate was a paramedic, not a mind reader.
“Are you hungry? I know you and the baby need to eat regularly.” Oh, yes. Very practical. Very Nate. “I fired up your propane grill in the garage and I’m cooking some steak and eggs for a late-night snack.”
That would explain the yummy smell she’d detected earlier.
Jolene forced herself to slowly exhale.
Hungry? Yes. Though not necessarily for food. But she could never admit that.
Fixing a smile on her face, she glanced up into those serious brown eyes.
“Are you kidding?” she said. “I’ve been hungry for the past five months.”
JOLENE WANTED TO COVER her ears and scream. The pounding of the rain and wind had been relentless for the past few hours.
Just as her father had told her, the back wall of the hurricane was even more powerful than the outer bands or front wall had been. The rain still fell, insulating them inside the house. And though they had no official report to go by, she suspected the wind could be clocked upwards of one hundred miles per hour. The bathroom was shrouded in darkness, save for the candles she’d lit.
But even candleglow couldn’t dispel the tension gnawing at her. She must have been transmitting her restless energy because Nate leaned down from his seat on the edge of the tub and slid a tray with some of the snacks she brought in earlier across the sleeping bag to where she sat on the floor, leaning against the door.
“Here. You haven’t tried dessert yet. A pudding cup or applesauce?”
Jolene gave a nervous laugh. “It’s hard to think about eating in the middle of a hurricane.”
“My grandpa Nate believed the best thing to do in a crisis was eat. He also loved desserts and thought they should be served at the beginning of the meal.”
She peeled off the pudding container, picked up a spoon and took a bite. “I think your Grandpa Nate was a very wise man. Are you named after him?”
He nodded. “My older brother, Robert, was already named after my dad. Grandpa was our only other living male relative. Family tradition.”
“So you were close?”
“He raised us until I was twelve.” He read the curious question in her arched brows and answered it matter-of-factly. “My parents died in a car crash when I was one. So we went to live on Grandpa Nate’s ranch. He was the only parent I ever really knew. I was twelve when he died. My brother, Kell, was eighteen and legal by then, so he, Jackie and I stayed together and just sort of took care of each other.”
The fact that he’d glossed over the difficult childhood he and his siblings must have had, went a long way toward explaining those life things he kept under such strict control. Jolene’s throat constricted as she worked to control some feelings of her own. Her compassionate heart thumped loudly enough in her chest that she wondered if Nate could hear it over the storm.
“I’m sorry about your folks and your grandpa. That must have been hard on your brother, having a family to take care of at that age.”
Nate scooped out the last of his own pudding cup and shrugged as if there was nothing remarkable about his family’s story. “Kell was going through some personal stuff, just out of high school, trying to be in love and make his place in the world. He gave up a lot for us. Always made sure there was a roof over our heads and somebody to answer to. Jackie and I were still in school, but we held down the home-front. Turned myself into a pretty good cook and ranch hand.”
Watching him double-check the flashlight batteries and drinking water supply, Jolene got the feeling that Nate had done a lot more than cook meals to help his family.
“Sounds like you and your brother and sister are as close as Dad and I are.”
Nate propped some pillows against the tub and settled onto the floor opposite Jolene. “It’s easy to see that Mitch adores you.”
“It’s mutual, believe me.” Just mentioning her father and the deep bond they shared helped Jolene tune out the storm.
Damon’s dramatic arrival had kept Jolene from thinking about how close she and Nate had come to making love, and talking with Nate these past few hours ha
d dispelled any awkwardness she might have felt. Nate had shared enough about his past to help her understand that grave sense of responsibility he carried on his shoulders. But now she chose a more neutral subject. “Tell me about California. All I know is that’s where my mother lives now, with some Hollywood exec type.”
She nearly choked on her next bite of pudding. Had she actually said that out loud? She’d wanted to keep Nate talking, not delve into her own past.
Nate was nothing if not observant. “Is that what you’ve got against California? Your mom? Your stepdad?”
“Stepdad number two.” Jolene laughed, but there was no humor involved. “Anyway, the dad part implies that they’re somehow a part of my life. They’re not. Mom left Dad when I was eight. She never looked back. She said she wasn’t cut out for family life or small towns or boring people. The bright lights of Hollywood were much more appealing than a little tomboy and a salt-of-the-earth hero. She didn’t want us anymore, so she left.”
“Ouch.”
“Big ouch.”
“So Mitch raised you on his own?”
Jolene nodded.
“He did a good job,” Nate said.
She heard the compliment, but didn’t acknowledge it. “That might explain why I’m a little lacking in the fashion sense and sex appeal department. But I can change my own tires and play a mean third base.”
Nate repeated himself. “He did a good job.”
Jolene curled her legs beneath her, pretzel-style, and pulled a pillow into her lap. It gave her antsy fingers something to play with, gave her something to hide behind. Nate watched every self-conscious movement, but made no comment. And she didn’t offer anything more. Thinking about her mother left her feeling as raw and battered as the world outside. “I don’t want to talk about me. Tell me about Courage Bay and your ranch.”
After a lengthy pause, Nate took a deep breath and told his story. “Grandpa Nate named the ranch Whispering Dawn. We raise quarter horses there. Actually it’s in the mountains outside of town. Hills. Trees. A lot greener than this. Courage Bay itself is right on the ocean, on about a ten-mile stretch of white sand beach. It has a small-town feeling for a city, and though we’re not that far from L.A, we’re definitely not Hollywood.”
“Sounds beautiful.” Sounded like he missed it.
He talked about their registered AQHA horses and his brother’s and sister’s recent weddings. He told her the story about a crew of shipwrecked sailors during the Mexican War and the Native Americans whose heroic rescue had given Courage Bay its name. He talked about his buddies at the fire department and the recent crime wave involving a serial bomber nicknamed the “Trigger,” who had terrorized the city. When the culprit had finally been exposed, he turned out to be the fire department’s mechanic, a man Nate had once considered a friend.
Gradually Jolene relaxed. The even cadence of his deep voice was doing the trick. The storm faded into tolerable background noise as the world shrank down to this tiny, insulated room and the man she shared it with. He was a sexy, wounded crusader who had left behind the world he so obviously loved to save her friends, help her dad, keep her safe and sane, and protect her baby.
Because that’s what a man like Nate Kellison did.
Jolene decided that she liked Nate Kellison. Liked him very much.
“Have you ever actually been surfing?” she asked, embarrassed now to think of the way she’d stereotyped this California cowboy as some kind of know-it-all, life-in-the-fast-lane surfer dude.
He picked up her empty pudding cup and tossed it with the dirty dishes beneath the sink. Then he settled against the bank of pillows in front of the tub to stretch out his leg and rub his knee. “A few times. Back in high school. But I got enough thrills competing in the rodeo. Once you conquer a bull like Rocky, who needs the ocean?”
Watching his fingers work reminded her of the massage he’d given her. The gentle strength of those fingers had erased the cramp in the small of her back and worked other types of magic on her body, too.
But just as Jolene was succumbing to the languid warmth of his soothing voice and the fiery memories of how incredibly sexy and alive he’d made her feel, a loud pop startled her and brought the outside world back into their cocooned retreat. Another tree branch had fallen prey to the storm. Jolene squeezed the pillow in her arms, anxious to resume the conversation and keep the tension of the hurricane at bay.
“So you were conquering a bull like Rocky when you got hurt?”
Nate nodded. “Bull-riding was my specialty. I earned a rodeo scholarship that put me through college. My junior year, at the regional championships, I drew a monster called Tornado. He had a good five hundred pounds on Rocky out there.”
His fingers stilled, and he paused long enough that Jolene inched forward, wondering if he would continue.
“I lasted seven seconds on his back,” he said at last.
Jolene drew back at the bleak announcement. “I thought you had to ride for eight seconds to qualify.”
Nate raised his eyes to hers. “That’s right. By eight I was flying through the air. Probably blew out my knee when I hit the dirt.” He shook his head and leaned back. “I don’t remember much after that. I had a concussion, too.”
“Nate.” She rose up on her knees and clasped his ankle because that was the only part of him she could reach to offer comfort. To find some for herself.
“Kell was there in the stands. He said Tornado came after me like there was something personal between us. And I was locked up against the fence.”
Jolene felt moisture prick her eyes.
“Anything on me that hadn’t been broken yet sure was on that day,” Nate continued. “I’d already had the first of four surgeries by the time I could think straight and figure out where I was. I lost part of my knee. The doctors have gradually rebuilt my leg with steel pins and replacement parts. Needless to say, I was done with the rodeo. Kept my hand in it at the ranch, but that was about it. I’m fit enough to pass a physical, but not much more.” He laughed, but Jolene couldn’t feel any humor. “Now it takes an extra hour to get me through the airport. And my leg makes a pretty effective paperweight.”
A tear trickled down Jolene’s cheek and dripped onto the back of her hand. She felt just as hot, just as small and useless as that tiny drop in the face of all Nate had endured. “Nate, I…”
Jolene swallowed hard. She didn’t know what to say. I’m sorry seemed inadequate. Poor thing seemed an insult to the strong, capable man he’d become in spite of his tragic past. Let me hold you and comfort you and give you something of me to make you feel better seemed downright laughable, given her lack of experience with men.
Nate reached out and caught the next teardrop with the pad of his finger. “Hey. I’m not telling stories to bring you down. You were supposed to at least smile at that last one.”
His touch was sure and gentle, and the selfless caress made her weep all the more. “You’re not very funny.”
“Jolene, don’t do this.”
She was making things worse, not better. She could tell by the deep worry grooves that formed beside the grim line of his mouth.
“C’mon, angel,” he urged her.
Jolene gave a noisy sniff and pulled away. “I’m sorry. I’m just tired. And my hormones are all out of whack. And this stupid storm won’t stop.” Sitting on her legs, she hugged herself—baby, pillow and all—sat up straight and did her very best to glare through her soggy vision. “But that’s not why I’m upset. You act like you’re tough and in control, but you’re in pain all the time, aren’t you.”
“It’s not that bad—”
“You take care of your family. You rescue drowning bulls and flaky blondes, and deliver babies. You—”
“Jolene—”
Anger and guilt blended with compassion. “My baby and me—we’re an extra burden you’ve decided to take on for the duration of your trip to Texas.”
“Your father asked me to keep an eye on you.�
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“You don’t have to.” She hadn’t survived twenty years without a mother or a man of her own without developing a few coping skills. Sure, she’d gotten into plenty of scrapes. But that was human. She’d gotten herself out of just as many. Why couldn’t he see that? “Every father worries. But I’m twenty-eight years old. And you’re not my dad.” Not in any way, shape or form. Not with everything those broad shoulders and tight buns and controlled sense of duty stirred inside her. “You have enough to deal with already. You don’t have to protect me.”
Nate bent his good knee and leaned forward to prop his elbow against it. “Somebody sure needs to. You’re so busy taking care of everyone else, you don’t take proper care of yourself or your baby.”
“We’ve done just fine on our own, thank you very much. Joaquin, Jr., is as healthy as he should be. I’m as healthy as I should be.” She angled her head, pointing to the hole in his jeans that revealed his scarred, swollen knee, and to the shoulder bandage that showed through his white T-shirt. “You’re the one who’s trying to take on too much.”
“I am not an invalid,” Nate said, articulating every word. “I can handle whatever I have to. That includes you…and the baby.”
Jolene’s defensive anger evaporated on her next breath. The conversation stopped, and the room fell silent.
“You have to keep the baby safe.” There was raw emotion in the command and it pierced Jolene’s womanly heart. Then Nate blinked and turned his face away, severing the contact.
The baby again. What was it about children and babies that haunted him so? That turned him into Attila the Protector? She splayed her fingers across her belly, bracing herself, shielding her little one from whatever horrid truth tortured this man.
“What happened with the baby, Nate?” she whispered, needing to know. There was such loss, so much grief, so much defeat in his voice.
But Nate was done talking. She could see it in the controlled set of his face. Jolene hugged herself around the pillow and let the tears roll down her cheeks.
