Riding the Storm

Crazy Texas woman.

She could learn a thing or two about patience and wisdom from Solomon.

“Are we trying to set a new record?” he ventured to ask. “Cross-country racing at warp speeds? Testing how long it takes to completely destroy the undercarriage on your truck?”

“Ha. Ha. So you do have a sense of humor.” Her long ponytail bobbed across her shoulders as she darted a look at him. “Too bad it’s not an amusing one.”

“Eyes on the road, Andretti.”

She faced forward. “It’s Jolene.”

“Ha. Ha.” He took the verbal payback like a big boy. But her speed did slow a fraction.

If he used his imagination.

He kept his hand braced on the armrest, but settled back into his seat to ride this out. The rain was picking up in intensity, cutting down visibility with every mile-post they passed. It wasn’t a full-blown storm yet—the drops still fell in straight sheets and the clouds hadn’t charged enough to create visible lightning. But judging by the gray-green squall line he could see closing in behind them in the sideview mirror, it was only a matter of time before something truly serious hit.

Maybe Mitch Kannon’s internal radar was right. Hurricane Damon might be turning.

All the more reason to pick up Mrs. Browning and her boys and get them and Jolene back to safety at the evac shelter.

With the brim of his cap shading his eyes, Nate glanced over to study the determined set of Jolene’s profile. “You know, you won’t save anybody if we don’t get to the ranch in one piece.”

Her sleek shoulders stiffened, no doubt taking the gentle suggestion as criticism. “You heard what Sheriff Boone said on the radio. The highway is backed up halfway to Chapman Ranch. They’re going to start rerouting folks through Bishop, and then both of the main roads into town will be slow. I’d like to get Lily and her boys to the high school, where someone can help take care of them after the baby arrives. I do not want to be stuck in traffic. I hate sitting still when I know there’s something I could be doing to help.”

Nate almost smiled at the blatantly obvious statement. “So I gathered.”

She shot him a look—either admiring his dry wit, or wishing he’d fly out the window at the next bump.

She nearly got her wish.

The truck lurched on its chassis as if she’d slammed on the brakes. “Son of a—”

“Jolene!”

But her foot was still on the accelerator. She whipped her focus back to the road as they plowed through a sluggish patch of newly formed mud.

“Damn!”

“Look out!” Instinctively Nate’s hand snaked out to grab her shoulder and steady her. His bum knee thumped against the dashboard, but the sharp shot of pain that radiated through the joint was nothing compared with the heart-stopping images of certain tragedy that flashed through his brain.

Mangled truck.

Pregnant woman screaming in pain.

Dead baby.

“Ah, hell.” Nate blanked his mind to the past and future and concentrated on the here and now. Three thin lines, marking a barbed-wired fence, loomed into view and he braced for impact. “Turn it!”

“I am!”

Nate grabbed the wheel between her white-knuckled fists and jerked it to the right, matching the tires to the skid. As soon as they hit solid brush and harder ground, they spun left.

Jolene’s shoulder bumped his chest; their heads nearly smacked. But together they regained control of the fishtailing vehicle and steered their course back between the ditches. Muddy water sprayed up onto the windshield, blanketing their view for a split second before the wipers cleared a visual path. Gravel ricocheted beneath the floorboards.

They bumped over ruts and flattened them, created new ones in the soupy sandtrap of parched dirt that had soaked up too much rain. But they were slowing. Gaining traction. Going straight. In control once more.

Jolene tapped the brake and finally brought the truck to a stop in the middle of the road. “Ooh!” She ground the gear into Park, pounded the wheel with her fist, then sat up straight in her seat.

Nate released the wheel and slowly leaned back, keeping his hand on her quaking shoulder, just in case something more than temper or panic had put the splotches of color in her cheeks. “You okay?” he asked.

Her chest rose and fell in quick, deep gasps. But with a jerky determination, she smoothed a long strand of hair behind her ear and nodded. She darted him a sideways glance of clear true blue. Another good sign. “You?”

“I’m fine.” His knee twinged, making a liar out of him. But he ignored it. “The baby?”

She shrugged her shoulder from his grasp. “He’s fine, too.”

Stubborn woman. Would it kill her to accept him as an ally? At least in the taking-care-of-people department?

Nate’s breath eased out on a weary sigh. When he inhaled again, he breathed in the home-baked smells that clung to Jolene’s hair and clothes. Simple. Clean. Wholesome. It was a bit of a challenge for his jaded frame of mind to be this close and maintain his annoyance with her reckless behavior. He untwisted his seat belt and sank back onto his side of the cab. “Should I even ask about the truck?”

With the efficiency of a cockpit crew, she checked the buttons and dials on the dashboard, shifted the truck into Drive and tried to straighten the steering wheel. “It feels like I’ve screwed up the alignment. Damn, damn, damn!” she muttered on three different pitches. Her burst of temper dissipated on a soft breath. “Sorry. You didn’t hear that.”

“Don’t apologize…”

Nate’s voice trailed off when he realized she wasn’t excusing her frustrated curse to him. Her head bowed and she slid her left hand down to gently rub her belly. She was apologizing to the baby.

As he listened to her coo maternal words to the life growing inside her, something tender and slightly awestruck curled inside him, soothing the frayed remnants of his concern like the steady drumbeat of rain against the roof of the truck. Protective feelings were nothing new to him. He’d long been his sister’s staunchest supporter, as well as big brother to a dozen other female friends over the years, because listening and watching and fixing problems came easily to an old soul like him.

Only, he wasn’t feeling quite so patient or wise around Jolene Kannon-Angel. Despite her tough talk and tomboyish exterior, there was something utterly feminine about her sweet nurturing instincts, something more vulnerable than foolish about the risks she was willing to take for others—something that spoke to him.

But he couldn’t say he was feeling brotherly toward her. He felt compassion, sure. Frustration, definitely. There was even that buzz of hyper-awareness that had awakened inside him at his first glimpse of those incredible blue eyes.

Nope. Judging by the way his temper simmered in his veins each time she took an unnecessary risk, the way her eclectic behavior baffled, yet intrigued him, the way her soft skin and megawatt smile kindled a noticeable response due south of his belt buckle, brotherly didn’t even make the list.

Of course, he shouldn’t be sitting here, stuck halfway to nowhere on this backwater road, having any feelings whatsoever. Jolene was recently widowed. There was a woman in labor anxiously awaiting their arrival. They’d nearly wrecked the truck and, oh yeah, there was a hurricane on the way.

Work. Gotta work.

“Should we get moving again?” he prompted, needing to get his mind focused on the task at hand before he did something stupid like reach over to brush aside that wayward strand of hair that had fallen across her forehead and cheek again. He tapped his watch instead. “If you’re in one piece, we should go.”

She quickly placed both hands on the wheel and nodded. If her sigh was any indication, he’d done an effective job of spoiling the quiet mood and getting them back on track. He should be feeling a little more satisfaction, rather than swallowing down the regret that seemed to catch in his throat.

She slid her gaze in his direction without making eye contact. “You sure you’re okay? You keep rubbing that knee.”

Nate’s hand stilled on his right thigh. He hadn’t been aware that he’d started the massage that occasionally brought him relief on days when his leg was giving him fits. But Jolene had noticed.

Her blue eyes had connected with his now, and the blend of curiosity and compassion he saw there was as unsettling as the realization that she’d noticed his pain even when he refused to. He was the caretaker here. He’d promised her father he’d watch out for her. Not the other way around.