Riding the Storm

“It’s Nate.” He turned to her father. “You got a map?”

“I know the way,” she insisted. “We’re wasting time discussing this.”

Oh, no. She could read the decision on her father’s face.

“You’re right about needing the doctor and trauma nurse here,” Mitch said. “You go with her, Kellison.”

“Dad—”

“He’s a trained paramedic.”

“Which is why you need him here,” she argued. “For real emergencies. I can handle this and be back in no time.”

“Listen, young lady. What I need right now is to not worry about you or Lily Browning. Kellison goes with you, or you stay put.”

Father and daughter glared at each other. But the silent battle of wills didn’t last for long. Once Mitch Kannon dug in his heels, he couldn’t be budged. And as much as she loathed the idea of being assigned a baby-sitter while she made a routine call at a friend’s house, Jolene didn’t want to cause her father any additional worry when she knew he had a whole county and hundreds of additional evacuees to protect.

“All right.” Watching the worry ease from her father’s expression made agreeing more tolerable.

He hugged her and kissed her goodbye. “Be sure to call in and keep me posted.”

“I will. Love you.”

He winked. “Love you.” Then he released her and grasped Kellison’s shoulder. “You’ve got the most important job in the county, as far as I’m concerned. Keep my little girl safe.”

“Dad—”

“Yes, sir.”

“Chief?” Doyle Brown called from the end of the hallway. He pointed to his watch. “You said to keep an eye on the time?”

“Let me know if Lily finally gets her girl,” Mitch ordered over his shoulder as he hurried back to the main room. The phone rang in the dispatch office as he passed by. “And so it begins,” he muttered, just loud enough for Jolene to hear. “Doyle! Come answer this phone.” She watched her father disappear around the corner and take command of his audience once more. “All right, boys and girls, let’s get down to business…”

Nate Kellison pulled a blue ball cap from his back pocket and slipped it into place over his head. The letters CBFD, embroidered in white, stood out in sharp contrast against the dark material. Neat and tidy and in control. Lordy. Wasn’t this going to be fun?

His fingers brushed against her arm. “Shall we?”

Feeling betrayed by the heat that rushed to her elbow in response to his touch, Jolene headed toward the door. But she didn’t get a chance to escape.

Kellison pried the med kit from her hand and reached around her to open the door. Jolene spun around, narrowly avoiding bumping into his chest. “I’m not an invalid. I can take—”

Her words stopped as abruptly as she had. He wasn’t an extraordinarily tall man, maybe six feet, like her father. But up close like this, with her eyes mere centimeters from his chin, his arm circling around her without quite touching her, he seemed much bigger, stronger than his lean build would indicate. Her pulse tripped a beat. She stood close enough that her nose could detect he wore no cologne, no aftershave. But the clean, distinct smells of soap and man addled her thinking long enough that she didn’t finish her sentence.

“I’m sure you can,” he answered for her. “I’m just following your father’s orders.”

Her gaze was automatically drawn to the tense line of his lips, which softened as he spoke. But the air outside the open door gusted, blowing a fine mist against her skin. The chilly dampness took the edge off her indignant temper and cooled the sensation of heat radiating from his body into hers.

Jolene backed up a step and tilted her chin. “Why don’t you like me, Mr. Kellison?”

She reached out to retrieve the med kit, but his grip tightened around the handle and wouldn’t budge. “I don’t know whether I like you or not, Jolene. I don’t even know you.”

She pulled her hand away and crossed her arms. “And yet you keep looking at me with the judgment of Solomon in your eyes.”

“Do I?”

“Yes. And it’s very disconcerting.”

“Then I’ll quit looking.” Jolene’s heart raced as he stared at her for an endless moment, searching her face as if—as he’d promised—this was to be his last look and he wanted to remember every ordinary detail.

Finally the scrutiny was too much and she lowered her gaze to the triangle of white cotton T-shirt that showed beneath the unbuttoned collar of his uniform. “Mr. Kellison. You’re staring again.”

She was suddenly aware that her lip gloss had gone the way of her roll and milk. She hadn’t taken the time to put on any other makeup that might give her some semblance of feminine beauty. The maternity overalls she hadn’t fully grown into hung like a sack from her shoulders, hiding what little figure she did have.

Still, the intensity of his look made her think he saw something else in her. Something that made her wish…

Jolene started as he tapped the point of her chin with one blunt fingertip and urged her gaze back up to his. But there was nothing romantic or even reassuring in the familiar gesture. He just wanted her attention.

“My mistake,” he said, his voice devoid of emotion. “I’ll haul. You drive.”

The imprint of his touch remained when he pulled away. He glanced over his shoulder as he turned and strode out into the rain. “And it’s Nate.”

CHAPTER THREE

THE JUDGMENT OF SOLOMON?

Hell. Just what had he revealed in his unabashed study of Jolene Kannon-Angel? Those true blue eyes of hers were pretty hard to ignore, especially when they were focused his way. Nate thought he’d sensed trouble, and his instinct had been to find the source, to do what he could to help.

And then…well hell, even when she turned on that attitude, it was hard to look away. He’d dated prettier women, made friends with decidedly less-complicated ones. But Jolene…?

Instincts of self-preservation told him to walk a wide berth around her smart mouth and pregnant belly. But something else—maybe the old soul inside him that had seen too much pain and death in twenty-nine years—warned him to stick close and do whatever he could to keep her and her baby out of trouble.

Why don’t you like me?

He honestly couldn’t say whether he liked her or not. They’d known each other for barely more than an hour.

He hated the distance she insisted on putting between them—defiant glares, refusing to call him by his given name. He wondered what the heck she had against the people of California.

There were things he did like about her. He liked the color of her eyes, liked discovering that her skin felt every bit as smooth and creamy as it looked. He liked watching her soft pink lips move when she talked—and she talked a lot. He liked that she was so loyal to her father and hometown.

But he thought Texans were pretty damn foolish to let their pregnant women work in dangerous situations. Yeah, they were shorthanded in Turning Point, and could use all the help they could get. But if that help was a headstrong female like the willowy blond driver sitting across the truck from him, barreling over the rutted gravel roads west of town as if she was trying to lap the competition in a road rally, then he definitely had a problem with how they handled things down here in Texas.

That’s what he didn’t like.

Solomon would surely agree.

Nate bounced off his seat at the next bump, then came back down, relaxing his posture to absorb the jolt. He’d had smoother rides on the back of a bull during his competition days. He adjusted the shoulder strap of his seat belt and let his gaze slide across the truck’s tweedy upholstery to double-check for the umpteenth time that Jolene was wearing hers as well.

Deliver a baby? Right. They’d be damn lucky if they reached the Rock-a-Bye Ranch without having to radio in for a tow truck or ambulance themselves.