Читать книгу Riding the Storm - Julie Miller - Страница 10

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.

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.

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—”