Julie Miller - Riding the Storm

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.

He patted his leg, making light of her concern. “It’s an old injury from college. It acts up whenever the barometric pressure drops. Like today.”

His explanation wasn’t convincing anybody.

Especially Jolene. “Is that why you limp? Are you in pain all the time?”

She’d noticed that, too?

Nate stared at her in disbelief, his teeth clenched so tight he could feel his pulse ticking along his jaw. Hell. He must have left his cool, calm and collected pill back in California. Maybe on the side of the highway with that baby he couldn’t save. Maybe back home on the ranch where he no longer felt at home.

This crazy Texas woman with the barbed tongue and the beautiful eyes confounded him at every turn. He was reacting to things she said and did, instead of staying in control of his emotions and on task. He had to get a grip on whatever it was he was trying to feel, or he wasn’t going to be much good as a volunteer to Mitch or Turning Point or anybody else.

“Yeah, it’s a permanent handicap,” he finally admitted.

The doctors had stitched up all the parts they could find. They’d added a few made of plastic and steel. Still, one leg would always be shorter than the other. One knee would never flex like the other. It would stop him at airport gates and keep him off the dance floor for anything faster than a waltz. It would be a target for arthritis before his time.

But he always played the injury down so nobody would notice. So nobody would treat him differently. So no one would think him any less capable, any less a man.

But Jolene noticed. “I didn’t think you were handicapped. I just thought you’d hurt yourself surfing or skiing or whatever it is you do out in California. Did I make it worse? You should have said something. I can drive slow if you need me to.”

“What?” Just what kind of old fart did she think he was, anyway? “You need to slow down—” Your entire life, Nate wanted to add. To keep that baby and your own skin safe. But caught himself before his temper flared. Using that betraying right hand to remove his cap, he smoothed his hair and adjusted the hat back into place—adjusting his focus at the same time. “Look, I’m fine,” he reassured her, forcing half a grin to appear more convincing. “This leg isn’t any worse off than it was before. Lily Browning’s the one I’m worried about.”

Apparently he was convincing enough to alleviate her concern and get her focused on something besides his shortcomings. Good.

“Me, too.” Jolene shifted the truck into drive. “I mean, Dad would have called us with an update if there was any change in Lily’s condition. But we should still get there as soon as we can.”

“Agreed.” Nate stared out the window. The sky was turning grayer by the minute.

“And we won’t tell Dad about banging up my truck, okay? Since neither of us was hurt, and the truck still runs, I don’t see any need to report it. He’ll find out soon enough, and he worries about me too much as it is.”

Was it any wonder? But Nate nodded his agreement. Mitch had more than enough to handle today. Keeping Jolene out of trouble might be the best thing he could do to help her father. “That’s your call.”

“Yes, it is.” He glanced over at the sharp tone in her voice. But he suspected it had more to do with the worsening weather conditions than with him. The quick smile she spared him went a long way toward lightening his mood. “But thanks, anyway.”

He supposed keeping a secret was one small thing she’d let him do for her. “No problem.”

Jolene flipped the windshield wipers up to high and pressed on the accelerator, taking them along the soggy road at a saner speed. Though he could tell she was concentrating hard to steer the misaligned truck over the challenging terrain, nothing seemed able to stop her mouth. “I’m sorry if I hit a nerve,” she apologized. “I mean that figuratively, not literally. Unless I did hit a nerve, and that’s why your knee hurts—”

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