Riding the Storm

by Julie Miller

  She heard them out back, heard the yelps and growls. They’d cornered the coyote. Her little terrier and her big baby lab had taken on the hungry, wild canine.

  “Stop it!” she shouted, already moving.

  Jolene’s heart pumped with adrenaline as she finally pushed her fear aside. She had to protect her babies. Her property.

  With a stark clarity of purpose, Jolene ran to the gun cabinet in Joaquin’s old bedroom. She unlocked the single-shot bolt-action rifle he’d used as a boy and grabbed a handful of cartridges.

  “I’m coming!”

  But the dogs were giving chase. By the time she’d loaded the gun and burst through the back door, the barking was fading off to the west. They were running the coyote into the brush, straight toward the drop-off into Livesay Canyon.

  “Broody! Shasta!”

  Jolene set the gun butt against her shoulder, pointed the barrel into the air and fired off one round. The concussive explosion rang in her ears. But for a moment she held her breath and listened. All was quiet.

  Had she scared off the coyote?

  But she’d only scattered them for a few moments. The barking started again. This fight was in earnest. “Broody! Shasta!”

  Jolene stuffed the shells in her pocket and took off running. With one hand at her stomach and the gun crimped safely in the crook of her arm, she wasn’t very fast. But she was determined. The growls and yelps frightened her. She imagined bared teeth and bloody hides. She should have gone back for a horse, but by the time she got one saddled or figured how to get up on one bareback in her condition, one of her dogs could be dead. Or both.

  “Broody!” Her lungs burned as she ran. Her heart pounded against the wall of her chest. “Shasta!”

  She must have covered half a mile before the pain in her back demanded she stop to rest. Fighting off her panic, she propped her left hand on her knee and bent at the waist, searching for a position to relieve some of the pressure on her back. “Why don’t you crazy dogs listen to me?” she whispered on a wheezing breath. Even her whistle sounded breathy and lame. “Why won’t you come back?”

  Unable to summon the dogs, she loaded another round into the rifle and fired it off. Silence followed. Jolene strained to hear any sign of the dogs over the heartbeat pounding in her ears. She was closer to the canyon than the house now, out in the middle of treeless brush-land. Even with the sun going down, she should be able to spot Broody’s big body moving through the carpet of patchy brown grass and brittle tumblebrush.

  There.

  Jolene whirled around as a creature darted through the underbrush. She could tell by its size it was not one of the dogs. She shouldered the gun and aimed at the spot. Her finger had curled around the trigger before she remembered the firing chamber was empty.

  Quickly she dug another cartridge from the pocket of her jeans and prayed that the animal dodging from cover to cover couldn’t run faster than she could load the darn rifle. “C’mon.” Finally the cartridge slammed into place. “’Bout time.”

  She raised the gun.

  A violent howl, almost like a child’s scream, pierced the air. It was too high-pitched to be the lab. “No.” Snarling followed. “Shasta?” Ignoring the twinge in her back and the burning in her chest, Jolene took off toward the sounds. A squeal. A bark. Something almost like a hiss. “Shasta!”

  Jolene followed the cloud of torn shrub branches and splattered mud. She spotted the wheat-colored coat of the coyote and the blur of black-and-tan terrier nipping at its heels. The two animals circled round and round, their tussle taking them ever closer to the edge of the canyon. Did she fire another shot into the air to break up the fight? Or take aim and risk hitting her own dog?

  “What do I do? What do I do?” How did she rescue an overzealous guard dog whose opponent was twice as big and could snap his neck in two? The coyote tried to run, but Shasta was too tenacious for his own good. She watched in horror as the dog gave chase. “Let him go.”

  The flat, scrubby landscape dropped away into nothing about twenty yards ahead of them. Livesay Canyon. A big, empty ditch carved out by eons of erosion that Nate said had been running water the past couple of days.

  The coyote might not be their greatest enemy.

  “No—no, no.” A different sort of panic shot adrenaline into Jolene’s legs. She set down the gun and ran. “Shasta!” Without stopping, she tried to whistle. “Come here. Shasta, come!”

  But there was no command she could give, no promise of treats that could stop the dog’s instinctive territorial drive. The drop-off loomed before her, growing wider and deeper with every step. “Don’t do it,” she whispered, gasping in air. “Don’t…”

  She could see it coming. The tragedy she couldn’t prevent. Wild predator. Unforgiving landscape. The good-hearted dog who got himself into trouble because he wouldn’t listen.

  The similarities to someone else she knew weren’t lost on her.

  With the devilish imp nipping at his heels, the coyote turned and struck. Jolene gasped and stumbled to a halt, feeling the yelping cry shiver along her spine as if she’d uttered it herself. “Shasta!”

  From out of nowhere, the third member of the party dove into the fray. Broody charged to the rescue of his little pal, his big paws beating on the mud-packed earth with the thunder of horse’s hooves. He lunged at the coyote.

  The next few seconds passed by in a blur of images. Shasta on the ground. Livesay Canyon like the dark slash of a scar. Broody and the coyote, a mesh of teeth and claws.

  The two combatants were poised now at the brink of the canyon’s lip. Both canines struggled for balance, teetered and spun as Jolene raced toward them.

  “Broody!” she screamed.

  Falling to her knees at the canyon’s edge, Jolene thrust out her hand and snatched at Broody’s black collar as the animals tumbled over the drop. “Gotcha!”

  The coyote rolled down the incline, hit a ledge and popped over, out of sight. Jolene gripped the leather collar with both hands and tried to brace herself as Broody struggled to scramble up the muddy embankment.

  But it was too late. She was too close to the edge. The dog was too big. Jolene felt herself falling forward. Broody went first, and with her fingers still gripping his collar, Jolene was jerked down the steep slope behind him.

  She didn’t remember screaming. She didn’t remember crying out her baby’s name. She tumbled and rolled down the sharp incline onto a rocky ledge.

  And then she stopped.

  Her lungs burned, her body ached. She had one hand on her belly, one still clinging to Broody’s collar. The big dog was on the ledge beside her, scrambling on his haunches to find a secure place to sit. A splashing sound caught her attention and she saw the coyote crawl out of the creek on the opposite side from them. After shaking himself dry, he trotted away, free and unharmed.

  Still fighting to catch a breath, Jolene lay flat on her back and gazed up at the beautiful stripes of orange, lavender, pink and gold that marked the sunset sky.

  Amazingly she hadn’t hit her head in that tumble. But she was tired and afraid.

  It just felt easier to close her eyes.

  She wanted Nate.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  GUNFIRE?

  Nate’s blood ran cold.

  “Oh, no. I didn’t want to hear that.”

  He’d dawdled on the ride home, acting like a goofy young man on some kind of romantic mission, stopping to pick black-eyed Susans that had survived the storm.

  “Son of a bitch.” He cursed himself for forgetting who he was and why he was here. “Jolene!”

  Knowing he was too far away to be heard, he shouted her name anyway, hoping against hope. He dug his heels into Checker’s flanks and urged the big horse into a gallop. “Jolene!”

  Had that damn bull gotten out and threatened her? Was there an intruder? Hell. He’d left her alone. She’d had the saddest look in her eyes when he’d left. And though she’d flashed a game smile, her hopeful, energetic w
armth had been missing from the tone of her voice.

  She’d thought he was abandoning her. Like her mother. Like her husband. Jolene Kannon-Angel could give happily-ever-afters to everyone she met, but she didn’t believe in them herself.

  “Hell.” He should have said something. Done something. His instincts had warned him of her doubts. That’s why he’d gone back and kissed her. His heart had been trying to tell him something even then. She’d needed a promise of some kind. He’d felt the need to do it, but his brain just couldn’t get around the idea of something permanent after only three days.

  And now that he’d shut off his sensible side and listened to his heart for the first time in his life, it might be too late to give her that promise.

  They topped the rise that opened up onto the Double J homestead. With daylight fading and the electricity still out, it was hard to make out anything beyond the buildings themselves. Was that Rocky moving in his pen? Why weren’t the dogs running out to greet him?

  He reined Checker in to a trot. “Jolene?”

  A second gunshot exploded in the air to the west.

  Nate whipped the horse around and followed the deadly sound. “Jolene!”

  As Checker ran, other sounds reached his ears above the pounding of hooves and jingle of tack and leather. Barking. Snarling. A woman shouting. Jolene.

  Then he heard a scream that cut straight to the bone.

  Crazy Texas woman! “Jolene!”

  They were charging right up to the rim of a shallow canyon. Where the hell was she? Why couldn’t he see her? “Jolene?”

  He reined Checker to a sudden stop, tossed his bum leg over the saddle horn and jumped to the ground. Nate cursed when he hit. The impact jarred through his knee like the stab of a hot knife blade. But the pain was good. It cleared his head and made his senses sharp.

  Dropping the reins to the ground, he limped toward the canyon edge at an uneven trot. He saw Shasta first, lying on the ground like a sphinx-dog, licking at a gash in his front right shoulder.

  “Shasta?” Nate spared a moment to kneel down beside the beat-up terrier. Beat-up was right. “I know the feeling, boy.”

  The cut needed a stitch or two, but wasn’t bleeding profusely. The dog had a few other nicks, but his eyes were clear and he welcomed a scratch behind the ears. Nate scanned 360 degrees across the horizon. “Where’s your mama, boy?”

  Then he saw the gun.

  The blood rushed to his feet, leaving Nate light-headed for a moment. “Oh, God, lady.”

  He picked up the rifle. He could guess who’d been behind the trigger. “Jolene?”

  He didn’t want to see what he might find, but Nate forced himself to walk right up to the canyon drop-off. “Oh, God. Jolene? Angel, can you hear me?”

  There she was, lying flat on her back on a four-foot-wide ledge about ten feet down. No doubt unconscious or worse. Broody sat calmly beside her and looked up at him.

  “Hey, boy.” Nate acknowledged the scratches and brambles in the lab’s tan coat and knew that the dogs had done something very brave to save their mistress. And she’d done something equally brave to save them.

  Nate lay down on his stomach and tried to reach over the side to her. Nowhere close.

  For half a second, he considered climbing down the slope after her. But the descent was too steep, the ground crumbly and loose from all the rain, and his leg too unreliable.

  “Jolene? Angel? I’m coming for you, sweetheart. I’ll be right back.”

  “Nate? Is that you?” Her eyes popped open, bright and clear and oh, so far away. Her precious mouth curved into half a lazy smile. “I was just thinking about you.”

  “Are you hurt?” Relief, giddy and miraculous, washed through his veins. “Please don’t tell me you’re down there taking a nap.”

  His heart couldn’t take it.

  “Nope. I fell.” She pushed herself up on her elbows, wincing in such pain that Nate’s body jerked in response.

  “Don’t move.”

  But she pushed herself all the way up into a sitting position. She slipped her arms around Broody’s neck. “You okay, boy? You brave, big thing, you.”

  She was using that soft maternal voice that got to him every time. “Something might be broken. You know you shouldn’t be moving.”

  Tipping her face up to him, she smiled. “I am a medic, Nate. I just had the wind knocked out of me. Don’t get me wrong. It hurts like heck. I feel like I’ve been thrown from a horse. But I’m breathing fine. My vision’s clear, my temperature’s normal, and my head doesn’t hurt.” She braced her hand against the curve of her belly, anticipating his next question. “Joaquin’s rollin’ around like always. He was the first thing I checked. No unusual pains. No blood. No cramping.”

  Nate wanted to believe. But there was a smudge on her face, scrapes on her arms. Her ponytail had come loose and bits of dirt and grass clung to the tangled mess. “I should still get you to a doctor and check you out.” She reached back and rubbed at the small of her back. “Jolene?”

  “How about I trade you one trip to the doctor for a massage?”

  “You’ll get both,” he insisted. If she could wheel and deal and try to sweet-talk her way around his common sense suggestions, then she wasn’t as seriously injured as he’d feared. But she was still ten feet away. He needed to get his hands on her and see for himself if she really was in one piece.

  Nate scrambled to his feet, giving directions every step of the way. “Don’t move. I’m going to lower a rope down to you. Tie it in a good square knot beneath your arms and I’ll use the horse to pull you up.”

  Working quickly and efficiently, he gave her a length of rope, then hurried back to tie it securely to Checker’s saddle. “Ready?”

  “Ready.”

  Nate mounted up and urged Checker back. The rope pulled taut, but moved easily without getting caught. A big black nose and lolling red tongue appeared over the lip of the canyon. “Jolene!”

  He dismounted quickly and pulled Broody to safety, then untied the rope around him. Of course, she’d rescue the dog first. Couldn’t let Nate go down after him. Couldn’t come up together. Temper brewed with admiration.

  Stubborn Texas woman.

  This time he watched until she had the rope securely tied around her. “Use your legs to brace yourself if you can, so you don’t get dragged against the wall.”

  She nodded her understanding. Nate checked her twice before climbing onto Checker. “Ready?”

  “I’m ready.”

  He backed up the horse. The sun was half a ball of quivering orange heat by the time he spied the crown of that golden hair.

  Nate dismounted, secured the horse and ran to pull her the rest of the way himself. His anxious fingers fumbled with the knot. When he had her loose, he led her several feet away from the canyon’s edge, checking bones, pupil reaction, her even gait and anything else he could along the way. Only when he was reasonably certain she hadn’t suffered anything more than scrapes and bruises did he stop.

  “Thanks. I really appre—”

  Nate stopped her words with a kiss. Her lips softened and yielded under his. He came up for air and peppered her face and ears and temples with probing, grateful kisses.

  “I need to call my vet, Dr. Arkin. The dogs ran off a coyote—”

  He silenced her again, slipped his arms around her waist and pulled her tight against him. He felt the press of the baby and eased back a bit.

  “You know, I didn’t panic,” she said. “You told me you’d come back and—”

  He kissed her again, and her lips parted in answer. Their tongues tangled and his breath came hard and fast as relief and passion and every other emotion he’d been too afraid to indulge came rushing forward. Her fingers were in his hair, knocking off his cap and angling his mouth this way and that.

  Her throat was humming by the time she braced her palms against his shoulders and pushed against him.

  And the stitches.

  “Ow!”r />
  She looked up at him in some kind of shock. “You came back.”

  Nate brought his hands up to the sides of her neck and buried his fingers in her hair. He gave her a loving little shake and poured out his desperation. “I said I would. I gave my word. But I can’t spend the rest of my life worrying about what fool scrape you’re going to get yourself into next time I’m not around.”

  She shrugged, not getting it yet. “I had to save the dogs.”

  “Save me, damn it! Just save me!”

  His harsh, ragged plea echoed across the storm-beaten plains and settled somewhere in the hopeful light that sparked in those true blue eyes.

  “What?”

  “I love you, Jolene.” He slid his hands down her shoulders, along her arms and back, trying to knead some understanding into her. “But, you know, I’ve still got a couple of hang-ups that you’re just going to have to learn to live with. If you want to keep me around, you’re going to have to stop saving the world and scaring me to death that I’m going to lose you and this baby every time you get it in your head that somebody needs you. I need you.”

  “You need me? You love me?”

  That light was blazing now.

  “Yeah.”

  Nate waited, heart and soul wide-open, for some kind of response.

  “I love you, Nate Kellison.” His name. Her voice. “I love you.”

  Before the smile had reached his lips, she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him. Hard. Deeply. Thoroughly. It was an embrace full of the love that had reached into his dark old soul and given him life again.

  “Wait a minute.” Jolene drew back a bit. “What about California?”

  “What about it?” He nuzzled the side of her neck, refusing to release her.

  “That’s your home.”

  Nate pulled away and looked her in the eye so she could see just how serious he was. “You are my home. You and this baby are where I belong. Somebody’s got to raise him with some common sense—keep an eye on him in case he turns out to have a heart as big as yours.”

  “Your family—”

  “—can get along without me. They’ve been getting along without me for a while now. I just didn’t know it was time to move on. I still love them. I’ll still want to visit.” He tucked that errant tendril of hair behind her ear. “But, angel—I had to come all the way to Texas to find you. Here.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out Grandpa Nate’s ring. He slid the large gold band onto her index finger and kissed it. “Now that I have, I intend to stay.”