Читать книгу Riding the Storm - Julie Miller - Страница 9

JOLENE SAT AT THE DESK in the dispatcher’s office, licking the sticky sweetness of her second cinnamon roll from her fingers and drinking her carton of milk.

She’d dashed in to answer the phone twenty minutes ago and wound up with a full-time job. Ruth, their regular dispatcher, hadn’t made it in yet, so Jolene had redirected the inquiry about Hurricane Damon’s projected path to the weather bureau. Then she stayed put to field three more phone calls from volunteers reporting in with their ETA’s, and one from a Corpus Christi resident asking for directions to the high school evac site.

Answering phones rated at about a negative two on the excitement scale—she’d much rather be doing than sitting. But as she’d told her father, she was here to do whatever needed to be done. The people of Turning Point were her family as much as Mitch was.

Needing to fill the temporary lull, she swiveled the chair around to watch the gathering meeting through the glass window that separated the dispatch office from the station’s commons area. A handful of locals had arrived for the briefing and had quickly dug into rolls and coffee, greeting their out-of-state guests.

The town’s resident hot-shot pilot and fellow volunteer firefighter, Micky Flynn, had swaggered in a few minutes ago and was already trying to make time with the three female medical personnel from California. Jolene was slowly revising her opinion of the sun-in-the-fun crowd she’d expected her Dutch uncle, Dan Egan, to send from the Golden State. Cheryl, Amy and Dana were definitely babes, she supposed. Each woman was pretty in her own way. But they seemed friendly and competent and unafraid of hard work.

The man who’d flown in with them, Nate Kellison, was definitely more standoffish. Taking a swallow of milk, she searched the perimeter of the commons area. As she peered over the rim of the carton, she spotted him on the far side of the room, discussing something with short and squatty Doyle Brown.

Or rather, Doyle was talking and Kellison was nodding his head.

He didn’t have a handsome face—the nose was a little too crooked, the jaw a little too square—but it was undeniably compelling.

A smile would help ease the tension bracketing his mouth. But she got the feeling Nate Kellison didn’t smile much. Not recently, at any rate. A sprinkling of lines beside his eyes indicated smiles and laughter had once come easily to him. But there was something almost Atlas-like in the gravity surrounding him. For a man who couldn’t be more than thirty, he seemed to carry a heavy weight of responsibility on his shoulders.

“What’s your secret, Kellison?” she mused out loud.

He’d taken off his ball cap, giving her a better view of his ultrashort crop of coffee-dark hair and a chance to gauge the color of those unsmiling eyes. They were a dark, golden-brown, reminiscent of the fine sippin’ whiskey her father liked to drink from time to time.

Those brown eyes blinked. When they opened again, they were focused on her. Dead on. Staring with an almost psychic intensity that said he’d known she’d been watching him. Startled at being caught, Jolene swallowed an entire mouthful of milk, forcing the liquid down her throat in one gulp.

There was something coiled and canny and downright unsettling in those whiskey-colored eyes.

But she couldn’t look away.

Why was California Boy staring at her?

Jolene defiantly tipped her chin and held his gaze, ignoring the inexplicable clutch of nervous energy tightening her chest. She knew she didn’t turn the heads of too many men—they were more likely to call her to set them up with a friend or bemoan their woman troubles than to ask her out herself. And she was okay with that. She had plenty of friends of both sexes to fill up her time. She had other people to give her heart to—her father, her baby, her hometown. They would always need her.

Joaquin had needed her. In some ways, he was the only man who ever had. And even with his big, generous heart, her husband had never given her more than his trademark bear hug or a platonic kiss.

Of course, he’d been so sick.

They hadn’t even made their baby in the traditional way.

Automatically Jolene slid her hand down to cup the gentle swell of her belly, protecting that most precious part of her from any hurts the world tried to throw at them. Kellison’s brown gaze dropped to follow the movement of her hand. Jolene flattened her spine into the back of the chair, instinctively putting distance between her baby and those probing eyes.

He blinked again and turned his attention back to something Doyle had said. Freed from the mesmerizing spell, Jolene expelled a sigh of unexpected relief.

What the heck had just happened? She didn’t think Kellison had been scoping her out as a pretty woman or potential conquest. He was judging her for some reason. Judging her and deciding she’d come up short, even though they’d done nothing more than exchange names.

And some seriously intense eye contact.

With a grunt of exasperation, she turned and tossed her empty milk carton into the trash. Nate Kellison’s I’m-here-to-work-not-make-friends attitude pricked at her sense of fair play, that was all. When she looked through the window again, he was following Doyle out the back hallway to the three bays where the Turning Point ambulance and engines were parked.

“The view’s better from this side, buddy,” she muttered as he turned his back to her. It was a silly, defensive retort, but one she realized was halfway true.

Without the intensity of those amber eyes to make her feel like a specimen beneath a microscope, she could relax and enjoy the scenery. From this vantage point, she could almost envision the laid-back surfer dude she’d expected to meet and share a few laughs with. Almost.

Laid-back didn’t fit Nate Kellison. Not in any way, shape or form. Like his sparsity of words, there was something tightly controlled about the way he moved. His dark blue shirt clung to the rolling flex of his shoulders and his tapering back. Even lower, his glutes bunched and released beneath the drape of his uniform slacks, creating a taut, lean silhouette.

But something was off.

Before he disappeared around the corner, she lowered her gaze past the squared-off hips, the powerful thighs, and spied a subtle unevenness to his gait. The glitch in his body’s disciplined perfection was nearly undetectable. But it was there.

Surprising.

Curious.

All that muscle and control, and the man walked with a limp.

Wounded.

“Oh, no.” That chink in his armor humanized him. Stoic and grumpy she could handle. She could even get used to those all-seeing eyes. She could ignore his perfect tush and forgive his California roots.

But if he was in pain, she was in trouble.

Stray puppy syndrome, her father called it. Orphaned pets. Abandoned fathers. Wounded men. She was a sucker for them every damn time.

Jolene clenched her fists as the familiar emotion sparked inside her. No, she warned herself. Don’t do it. But despite his less than friendly response to her, Nate Kellison’s secrets were already tugging at more than her curiosity. How had he hurt himself? When did it happen? Was he in pain right now?

Thankfully a loud eruption of male laughter diverted her attention and gave her an excuse to squelch that dangerous rise of compassion.

Jolene shifted her focus, grateful for the distraction.

Micky Flynn, the tall, flirtatious pilot, doffed her a salute and a handsome smile. Grinning, Jolene waved in return and watched him turn back to the new female volunteers. Unlike the ultra-intense Kellison, Micky was easy for most women to lust after. With his handsome face and daredevil personality, he was a natural-born lady-killer. But Micky and Jolene had never been more than friends. Maybe that was because she was the boss’s daughter, a co-worker. Or maybe she was just too tied to the land to have much in common with a man who loved the sky.

She was all about home. Stability. Community. Taking care of her ranch. Taking care of her friends. Taking care of her family.

No matter how small that family might be.

Jolene flattened her hand against the blossoming curve of her belly and tried to picture the precious little boy growing inside her. Joaquin Angel, Jr., was a tiny miracle of modern science and answered prayers.

The science hadn’t saved her husband, and the prayers had changed over the past few months. But she loved her little guy. He was hers alone now. And she cherished pending motherhood in a way her own mother never had.

One of those tender, butterfly flutters stirred beneath the press of her hand. At five months, he was still too small to deliver a real kick, but she could feel him shift inside her. An intuitive connection bonded them already. He’d know what it was like to grow up with only one parent, the way she had. He’d also know what it was like to have that one parent love him more than life itself.

The way she had.

Little Joaquin would never be abandoned. Not by choice. Not by fate. “I’ll always be here for you, sweetie,” she crooned, stroking her belly as if she could caress the baby himself. “Grandpa, too.”

Jolene looked up, intent on finding her father, to tell him she loved him with one of their coded winks.

Though he was engaged in a conversation with Dr. Sherwood, he winked right back and she smiled. His steady reassurance grounded her in a way that nothing else ever had. She was proud of him. Still handsome at fifty with those piercing blue eyes and easy smile, he had a friendly confidence about him that commanded respect, as evidenced by the way Dr. Sherwood nodded her head, then quickly crossed to the supply shelves to do his bidding.

Her father pointed to Jolene and then the outside door, marching his fingers through the air in imitation of someone walking. Subtle hint. Not.

Jolene shook her head and mouthed, “No way.”

He shrugged and moved to the podium at the end of the room, where he picked up the latest printout from the weather bureau. He was such a worrier. A frown creased his brow as he pored over the stats, and she wished there wasn’t a crowd or phone lines to monitor so she could run in and give him a hug.

Jolene knew her father carried the same sadness inside him that she did. A part of him would always love the beautiful woman who’d left them twenty years ago for the bright lights of Hollywood. Of course, April Kannon had never become a star like the L.A. talent agent she’d left with had promised. But she’d found two more husbands willing to provide her with the glitz and glamour and excitement she’d never found in tiny, remote Turning Point.

Mitch Kannon had been a rock when Jolene’s mother had abandoned them. He’d been there for Jolene’s first period, her first driving lesson, her first broken heart when she’d realized boys didn’t date plain, skinny girls who could outrun and outride them.

He’d held her when she announced she was marrying her best friend—when she told him Joaquin was dying of cancer and that she’d agreed to be artificially inseminated with his sperm to create a child whose bone marrow could save his life. Her father was by her side the day Joaquin lost his battle with cancer, the morning she buried him.

How could she not be here for him now that he needed her?

“Ladies and gentlemen.” Mitch Kannon’s booming bass voice rattled the glass. He rapped his knuckles against the podium to get everyone’s attention. “If we could get started. It’s already a few minutes past eight, and I have a feeling we’re going to have a long day. First, I want to brief you on the current weather forecast. Then we’ll review procedure, what we can and should expect as far as casualties, and then I’ll get you to your assignments.”

Nate Kellison reentered with Doyle Brown, but hung back, opting to perch on the corner of a counter near the back of the room while Doyle took a seat in a chair closer to the podium.

There Nate sat, watching again. Friendly enough to get the job done, but not Texas friendly.

“What’s your story, California?” Jolene whispered the rhetorical words to the glass.

What was he doing? Evaluating the acoustics of the room? Looking for a chair beside a pretty woman he could get friendly with? She wondered if it was arrogance or professionalism or something more personal that pushed him to maintain such control over himself and the space around him.

The ringing of the telephone cut short her speculation about the visiting paramedic, and she turned to take the call. It wasn’t a 9-1-1 call through the radio or emergency line. That probably meant it was another lost evacuee.

Jolene snapped up the receiver and grabbed her notepad. “Turning Point Fire Station. This is Jolene. How can I help you?”

“Jolene? Thank God. It’s me—” The sharp catch of a familiar voice, followed by a low-pitched moan, put Jolene on immediate alert.

“Lily? Are you all right?” Jolene checked her watch and jotted down the time. The moan ended with a series of shallow, repetitive breaths. She didn’t need a medical degree to figure out why her friend Lily Browning had called. Nine months pregnant and due any day, the woman had gone into labor. “Where are you?”

“I’m at home.” Home was the Rock-a-Bye Ranch, just a few miles down the road from the Double J spread Jolene had inherited from Joaquin. “If this is what I think it is, I’m about a week early.”

Lily sounded remarkably calm, now that the contraction had passed, giving Jolene a chance to hear the whoop of one of the three Browning boys hollering in the background. Jolene cupped her own belly and grinned, sending up a prayer that her son would be every bit as healthy and happy as Lily’s were.

But she knew her neighbor hadn’t called to share the joys and frustrations of motherhood the way they had so many mornings over herbal tea in one kitchen or the other. Jolene pushed to her feet, shedding her wistful thoughts and becoming the professional caretaker she needed to be. “With Doc Holland gone, the clinic’s still closed. You’ll have to get Gabe to drive you over to the Kingsville hospital. I’ll call ahead and tell them to expect you.”

But this wasn’t going to be as easy as a phone call.

“Gabe isn’t here. He had to go out of town on business. He must have gotten caught in the evac traffic. He was driving back through Dallas to get my mom to come help watch the kids when the baby comes.” A shout for “Mom!” and a stampede of little feet crescendoed in the background. A rustling sound muffled Lily’s stern warning.

“Aaron! Quit chasing Seth. If you want to run around, go outside.”

“But it’s raining.”

“It’s warm enough. Go get wet.”

A chorus of “woo-hoo’s” and various dibs were punctuated by the slamming of a door. Lily’s home echoed with an ominous silence.

Jolene frowned at what that silence meant. “Are you there by yourself?”

“Just me and the boys.” Lily’s oldest was only going into the third grade. Not much help there. “Rocky got out through a downed fence, so I sent Deacon to retrieve him in case the storm blows this way.”

The Brownings’ live-in ranch hand had a hard enough time corraling their stubborn Santa Gertrudis bull when the weather was nice. Rocky had no concept of the phrase, when the cows come home, and seemed to think fences and ropes and rules were for inferior beings like heifers and cowboys. Add rain, mud and a possible hurricane to complicate things, and Rocky would probably keep Deacon away from the house for the rest of the day.

Jolene turned around, trying to get her father’s attention. But he was pointing to a county map on the wall and had his back to her.

“How far apart are your contractions?” she asked, drumming her fingers against the glass window. Adrenaline poured into her veins, charging her body with a restless energy.

“I’m not sure. Fifteen minutes, maybe.”

Jolene hadn’t gotten her father’s attention, but she was suddenly aware of someone else’s probing stare focused on her. Her breath caught in her chest as she met Nate Kellison’s golden brown gaze. His expression could be curiosity, could be concern. Could be contempt, for all she knew. Whatever it was, he seemed to look straight beyond any physical barriers and read what was in her mind and heart.

Her cheeks and other parts of her anatomy suffused with a heat that wasn’t entirely due to self-conscious awareness. Her response was completely unexpected and too damn distracting to deal with at the moment. Needing to concentrate, Jolene quickly turned and showed him her backside.

“Do you have a watch, Lily?” Jolene fought to stay focused on the call. “You need to be sure.”

Hell. If she could read a man’s moods, maybe she’d have found one of her own and fallen in love by now instead of ruling southeast Texas as every man’s best buddy or kid sister. Joaquin didn’t count. She’d been able to read her husband like a book. Of course, there’d never been any real passion between them to muddy up her perception, either.

Not that she was feeling passion toward Nate Kellison. No, sir. That tingling sense of hyper-awareness could be attributed to any number of things.

Like annoyance. Irritation.

Fascination. He was wounded, after all.

Oh, hell.

Fortunately, her personal life wasn’t the issue right now. Ignoring the sensation of whiskey-brown eyes searing holes into her back, she went through the mental checklist of questions she should ask in this type of emergency. “Did your water break?”

“No. But after three kids, I know a contraction when I feel one.” Lily exhaled a deep, stuttering breath. For the first time, Jolene heard the hint of fear in her friend’s voice. “The baby’s coming early. And I think she’s coming fast.”

Jolene checked her watch. Eight-fifteen. The Rock-a-Bye Ranch was a good twenty to thirty minute drive from town. “What do you mean by fast? You know that labors tend to be shorter with successive pregnancies.”

“I guess I mean unexpected. This hit me all of the sudden this morning while I was fixing breakfast. Just before the rain started. With the boys, I had a real urge to cook and clean two or three days before they were born. But not this time. I haven’t got a single casserole in the freezer, and this place is a mess.” Lily tried to sound hopeful, while Jolene’s concern mounted. “That means she’s a girl, right?”

Because the nesting instinct hadn’t kicked in yet? “Um, I can’t tell you that, Lily. What about the radio? Can you call Deacon back to the house to drive you in?”

“That old coot? Deacon keeps the radio turned off because he says it spooks his horse. Unless he calls in again, I won’t hear—”

A low-pitched moan. Another contraction. Jolene checked her watch and her notes and heaved a worried sigh. “Ho, boy.”

Lily’s fifteen minutes plus the five they’d been talking made her contractions just twenty minutes apart.

“This just feels different, Jolene.” Lily was practicing her Lamaze breathing again. “You know how badly Gabe and I want a girl. We’d be happy with another boy, too. I just want him or her to be healthy. But to be honest, I’m a little worried. The timing feels off.”

Off was not good. Alone at the ranch, twenty minutes from the nearest help, was definitely not good.

Jolene started to pace. “Lily, put your boys in the car and come into town. Especially if you think something’s wrong. We’ve got staff on hand at the fire station who can monitor the baby’s progress and help deliver her.”

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea. Deacon’s last transmission was from down by the highway. He said the traffic’s already lining up into town, that Sheriff Boone’s out there trying to make sense of things and get the cars moving. What if we get stuck?”

“Take the backroads, then. You know the way.”

“I guess I could do that.”

Jolene’s own stomach constricted in sympathy as Lily caught a sharp breath. “Lily?”

“Don’t worry. That wasn’t a contraction.” A pain that wasn’t a contraction was supposed to reassure her? “Maybe we could get there before the rains make a mess of those old gravel roads.” Lily covered up the phone and hollered, “Boys!”

A sudden image of Lily’s old station wagon, mired axle-deep in the mud, flashed through Jolene’s mind. Gabe had no doubt taken their newer, more reliable vehicle to Dallas to pick up Lily’s mother. Three boys—two, five and eight—buckled into a rattletrap car, their pregnant mother in labor in the front seat. Rains and wind and flooding on the way, maybe even the hurricane itself.

Not good at all.

Decision made, Jolene stopped in her tracks, her resolve as determined as her posture. “On second thought, stay put. I’m coming to you.”

Was that audible sigh one of relief?

Jolene quickly scratched a note for her father. “You sit tight, Lily. Make yourself as comfortable as you can and give the boys something to keep them busy. I’ll grab a med kit and head on out to the Rock-A-Bye right now.”

“Are you sure?”

“Hey. This is what I do. We’re neighbors. We’re friends. I know somethin’ about birthin’ babies and I’m on my way.”

Lily laughed at the dubious reference to Gone with the Wind. “Okay. Thanks.”

“Hey, now don’t you go chasing any cattle yourself, okay?”

“Promise. We’ll sit tight until you get here.”

Jolene hung up the phone, tore off the note and hurried out of the office. With her father in the middle of outlining the county’s layout and evacuation routes, and everyone listening with dutiful attention, Jolene dashed across the back of the room to the supply shelves.

She picked up one of the portable paramedic kits, knowing that between it, the emergency supplies in her truck, and whatever the Brownings had on hand at the house, she’d have everything she’d need to deliver Lily’s baby if there wasn’t enough time to get her friend back into town. She silently snapped her fingers in a moment of inspiration and hurried over to the wall of cabinets.

She opened the first one and scanned the contents. Nope. Moving on to the next cabinet, she spotted the goodies she’d stashed away. She set the med kit on the counter and stretched up on tiptoe to grasp the prize she was looking for. A bag of chocolate candy left over from Easter. She might snitch one to satisfy her own cravings, but she could use them as a reward for the Browning boys in case she had to take care of them as well as Lily.

Jolene jumped in her boots as she closed the cabinet door and a broad set of blue-clad shoulders came into view.

“Problem?”

Pressing her hand to her chest to soothe the startled leap in her heart rate, Jolene looked up past the jut of Nate Kellison’s chin and straight into those omniscient brown eyes. “Nothing that concerns you, California.”

“Nate.”

“Right.” She tucked the bag of candy into the pocket of her overalls and reached for the handle of the med kit.

Before she could leave, his hand settled over hers, pushing the kit back onto the counter. “You’re not going out on a call, are you?”

His grip was firm, warm—and sent a crazy little frisson of electricity up her arm. His succinct query rolled across her eardrums in a deep-pitched whisper. Dormant emotions awakened inside her at the surprising intimacies of sound and touch, emotions that were all too vulnerable and uniquely feminine. Emotions she quickly shut down by breaking the connection. She slid her hand from beneath his, willing the tingling sensation of his callused fingertips brushing across her skin to dissipate.

In one practiced, self-conscious motion, she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and pointed toward her father, avoiding those eyes that seemed to possess the power to read her silly reaction to his touch. “You’re missing the briefing.”

The slight turn of his head was all the diversion she needed to grab the med kit without answering his question. But their movements were enough to capture her father’s attention as well. Jolene waved the note at him, indicating she’d leave it in the office. Then she turned her back on Nate Kellison and tried to sneak out without disturbing the rest of the meeting.

No such luck.

“Excuse me a minute.” Jolene halted at the sound of her father’s voice following her down the hallway. “Since you picked up a kit, I can guess that you’re not going home?”

“I didn’t mean to interrupt you,” she apologized. To her chagrin, Kellison had followed her to the door as well. Setting her shoulders, she purposely ignored him standing behind her father. “Lily Browning called. She’s gone into labor, but she’s stranded at the ranch. I’m going to drive out to do what I can to help. If there’s time, I’ll drive her and the boys into town. If not, I’ll deliver the baby there.” She squeezed her father’s arm reassuringly. “It won’t be my first delivery.”

Mitch Kannon nodded, his tone as businesslike as hers had been. “Give me ten minutes to finish this meeting, and I’ll go with you.”

She gestured down the hall. “You can’t leave these people right now. You’ve got four virtual strangers who’ll be lost in a minute without your directions, and a handful of locals who are half-distracted worrying about their own families and homes. They’re looking to you for leadership. You have to stay with the command center.”

“Nice speech,” drawled Mitch. “But I still don’t want you driving that far out into the county by yourself. The weather’s unpredictable right now, and you’re not exactly in the best condition to go gallivanting across the countryside.”

“Dad! My condition doesn’t make me stupid.” Jolene didn’t know whether to smile or frown at his flare of old-fashioned chauvinism. Opting for her most indulgent smile, she cradled the curve of her belly. “We’re in perfect health. I’m done with morning sickness and nap attacks. The pregnancy is progressing fine. Nothing’s going to happen to me or Junior just riding in the truck.”

He shook his head. “You and I both know that’s not the problem. With you, it’s never just a ride in the truck.”

“Lily’s waiting, Dad.”

“Can I help?” Mr. California wasn’t content just observing her business, he had to butt in.

Bristling at the intrusion, she glanced over her father’s shoulder. “No.”

But Mitch angled himself to include Kellison in the discussion, ignoring her dismissal. “A friend of Jolene’s is stuck out at her ranch. Just went into labor with her fourth baby.”

“Fourth?” Kellison’s eyebrows rose. “The baby could come fast, then. Within a few hours.”

Jolene backed toward the door. “Exactly. I’d better get going.”

Mitch stopped her. “Honey, why don’t you stay and man the phones until Ruth gets here.”

“Dad—”

“I’ll go.” Kellison’s statement was directed at Mitch. “I’ve been trained to deliver babies under a variety of conditions.” He pointed his thumb over his shoulder. “You’ll need Cheryl and Amy here to handle the more serious patients as they come in. Your daughter can stay in the office.”

Of all the annoying, arrogant… Jolene planted her empty hand on her hip and squared off against the visiting paramedic. “Do you know the way to the Rock-a-Bye Ranch, California?”

“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.”