Riding the Storm

by Julie Miller

  The sounds of raised voices in the fire station got louder. Jolene recognized Ruth Elliot’s firm voice above all the others. “Mitch Kannon, get over here and drink this coffee while it’s hot.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Jolene smiled at her father’s indulgent tone. He and Ruth had worked together for almost ten years. Ruth ran that office with the efficiency of a ship’s captain, and though Mitch had often complained about Ruth’s strict rules, he’d never once complained about the woman herself. In fact, he’d often mentioned how much he admired her. Hmm, Jolene wondered now. Was there something more going on between them?

  Something her father had never given a chance—until confronted with doubts about their very survival.

  A loud bang startled Jolene over the phone, and she heard a scream.

  “Easy, Ruth.” That was her father.

  “Mitch, please.” Was that a catch in Ruth’s voice? “Come now.”

  “It’s okay, Ruth. I’ll be right there.” Now that was the kind, firm voice that had reassured Jolene over the years.

  Mitch’s voice gained volume as he spoke directly into the phone again. “I’ve got to go now, honey. We just lost a window at the back of the station. We’re moving everyone to the interior rooms until the worst blows over. I probably won’t be able to contact you for a while.” The connection crackled. “Eighty to one hundred mile per hour winds when it hits…Stay put where you are. Honey…” Static garbled the last of his message. Then the entire line went dead.

  “Dad? Dad!” The cell tower must have been knocked out.

  No radio. No phone. No contact with the outside world.

  Only Jolene and Nate, an ornery bull—and Hurricane Damon poised to strike.

  THE KNOCK AT THE DOOR startled her.

  No one was out and about in this mess. Jolene dismissed the sound as something blowing against the house and went back to brushing her towel-dried hair and gathering it into a ponytail. She’d already changed into a dry pair of maternity jeans and zipped one of her dad’s old sweatshirt jackets over a loose pink blouse that still fit her expanding figure.

  After putting away her hairbrush in the medicine cabinet, she surveyed her handiwork. The small, interior bathroom off the master bedroom was probably the most insulated room of the house. Jolene had moved out the hamper and carried in sleeping bags, blankets, pillows, food and a couple of flashlights.

  “Nesting instincts.” Jolene was pleased with herself for seeing to their shelter and making herself slightly more presentable so that Nate wouldn’t worry any more than he had to over her safety. Where was he, anyway? She hadn’t seen him since they’d shared some leftover lasagna reheated in the microwave when they’d first arrived. Shouldn’t he be hovering around her, telling her to stay put right about now?

  The knock came again. Definitely the front door. Definitely not the wind.

  With a sudden worry about a traveler who might have managed to strand himself in this weather, Jolene shut off the light and dashed through the house. “I’m coming!”

  Padding across the cool parquet flooring in her bare feet, she swung open the front door and gaped in surprise. “Nate!”

  She pushed open the screened storm door. “Why didn’t you come on in?”

  She retreated a step to let him enter, but he grabbed the screen, braced his arm against the jamb and didn’t budge. Against a backdrop of charcoal gray sky and rain, he just stood there—a battered, bloodied warrior. Grim eyed and tight-lipped with fatigue and pain, he looked as if he’d barely escaped eight seconds of hell with a bull in the ring.

  Jolene frowned. Besides the fact he was letting water blow into her foyer, she was annoyed with him for standing there and taking the beating from the wind and rain when he didn’t have to. “California…”

  He nodded at her use of the nickname, as if he’d expected it. “The horses are bedded down, and as far as I can tell, everything’s secure. I saw that you have a spare room in the barn. I’m gonna bunk out there. I just wanted to make sure you were okay and tell you not to worry. I’ll check in with you later.”

  She supposed the twisting movement of his lips in the middle of that five-o’clock shadow was supposed to be a reassuring smile. So he had had enough of her. He needed a break, some privacy. Or maybe he just didn’t want her to see him suffer.

  The first reason was a blow to her feminine pride. The second was an insult to her as a human being. Neither was a good enough excuse for him to lie on a cot in the barn when there were three perfectly good beds and a sofa in her house.

  Jolene propped a hand on her hip. “That’s ridiculous. There is plenty of space in this house. You can come in here and be warm and dry, and we’d never have to run into each other if that’s what you want.”

  Nate narrowed his eyes. “I promised I wouldn’t let things get personal between us. Out by that arroyo—I kind of forgot.”

  He was apologizing for something she’d been fantasizing about? Lordy, had she been on the wrong wavelength.

  Jolene gripped the door and curled her toes into the growing puddle of water on the floor. “I guess…I forgot, too. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”

  Something in his eyes flickered, but then his face became a controlled mask once more. “So much has happened today, it feels like we’ve known each other a lot longer than we have. But it has only been one day. Your dad said you’ve been a widow for just a few months, and I’ve got some ghosts of my own, and we’re just supposed to be together to work. To save lives. And animals and cars and trucks and things,” he concluded with some of that deadpan humor.

  But Jolene couldn’t bring herself to smile. She’d lived through enough goodbyes in her life to know one when she heard it, no matter how noble the excuse. “So you’re going to stay in the barn, in those wet, ratty clothes, with that gash on your shoulder. Now, is that because I’m in mourning and you think I can’t handle having a man around, or because my dad wouldn’t approve of us being together unless we’re working?”

  He released the door, not listening to any argument. “I’m staying in the barn.”

  Jolene stamped her foot as the screen door slammed. She shoved it back open. “Get in here.”

  Nate slowly turned and came back up onto the porch, standing almost chest to chest with her. He looked deep into her eyes, asking her to read the seriousness of his intent. “I gave my word to your father that I would keep you safe. From everything. I gave my word to you. If I come in, I might not be able to keep those promises. And I don’t know if you’re ready for that. I don’t know if I am.”

  The rain splashed her face as she stared at him. Was she missing something here? Would another, more experienced woman be able to interpret the subtext of what he was saying? Turning him away went against every nurturing instinct she possessed. It went against every womanly desire she felt.

  For Jolene, it wasn’t that complicated a decision to make. The man needed her shelter; she needed his company.

  She grabbed the front of his shirt and dragged him inside.

  She let him drip on her floor while she closed and locked both doors.

  Then she wrapped her arms around his waist, mindful of his wounded shoulder and startled catch of breath. When his arms slowly folded around her back, she tucked her head beneath his chin and snuggled close.

  “Stay.”

  “YOU’RE KILLING ME, woman. Ow!” Nate winced as Jolene dabbed antiseptic against the cut on his jaw. With his leg propped up on a cushion and an ice pack numbing his knee, he sat with his back against the arm of her denim sofa and let her treat every contusion and laceration she could find. Hell. He just hadn’t realized how many there were and how thorough she could be.

  “Hold still,” she warned him as she applied a swab of liquid adhesive to the cut.

  “You’re killing me,” he repeated. The sting burned through his shoulder next as she cut away the shreds of his T-shirt and poured a mixture of saline and alcohol into the five-inch gash
from the barbed wire. He exhaled a deep breath and clenched his teeth to keep from jerking. “Literally.”

  “You’re current on your tetanus, right?”

  “Yeah.” He’d had all his shots.

  She peeled the stained cotton off his skin and tossed it on top of the pile of clothes that used to be his Courage Bay uniform. He’d transferred his keys and wallet and Grandpa Nate’s ring into the baggy, split-kneed jeans she’d given him to change into. The rest of his things were headed for the Dumpster.

  “Ooh. Um…Ooh.” She caught her bottom lip between her teeth.

  “That bad, huh?”

  Her eyes darted skyward as the wind shook the roof over their heads, but it was the only indication that she was worried about the worsening weather. She still wasn’t smiling when her gaze swept back over his chest. “You’re going to need some stitches, at least where the barbs caught you. One gap’s a half-inch wide, and the edges are pretty ragged.”

  Right. She was looking at the small picture, the wound, not the beat-up old man. He, on the other hand, had been studying the whole package—the fresh scent of her rain-washed hair when she leaned in close, the curve of her rump as she bent over to check her first-aid kit, the soft cadence of her voice as she grumbled over her supplies. The unintended thrust of her breasts as she straightened, then grabbed the small of her back and stretched, working out a kink there.

  Sensual awareness suddenly gave way to concern. Nate reached around and laid his hand over hers. “Everything okay?”

  “Just a twinge of back strain. The baby’s fine.” She pulled her hand away to cradle the swell of her belly. “He’s been sleeping the past hour or so. I think he’s tuckered out from everything he’s done today.”

  “Everything his mother’s done,” Nate corrected, slipping his fingers beneath the hem of her gray sweatshirt and finding a knot of muscles at the base of her spine.

  As he dug in and massaged the cramp through the fabric of her shirt, her chin came up and her eyes drifted shut as if she just might be enjoying his attentions. Her lips parted, and the contented sigh that escaped seemed to zing along every nerve ending in his body.

  Definitely a boost to his ego.

  He should have stayed in the barn. Away from the growing intimacy of a man and a woman cocooned in a warm shelter, trapped together by the storm outside. He should have ignored the sirenlike call of refuge he felt when he held her in his arms, and the welcome she offered with each tentative touch of her hands.

  They’d endured so much today, grown so close. He felt as if they’d shared an entire lifetime already. Holding on to Jolene at the edge of that arroyo had been like holding onto a dream. Stripped of inhibitions by exhaustion and pain, he’d given in to the feelings she stirred in him. He’d held her as if she was his to hold, as if the baby she carried was his to cherish, as if saving each other’s lives had bound them in some inexplicable way that no amount of time could ever change.

  But those weren’t the proper thoughts to have for a woman who was carrying another man’s child, a woman who’d already loved and lost the man of her dreams. It wasn’t right to think of what he wanted, when his job was supposed to be about protecting her.

  He’d tried to leave her. But he’d gotten hauled in by her mulish Texas temper and seduced by the simple human need to hold on and connect with another person while the world went to hell all around them.

  So instead of pulling away, he kept massaging her. He lifted up the hem of her blouse and slid his palm beneath. His fingertips found bare skin, warmer and softer than anything they’d touched before.

  His own breathing quickened when she sighed with pleasure. “You like that, hmm?” he whispered, surprised to hear the deep-pitched huskiness of his voice. “Feels good to slow down sometimes, doesn’t it.”

  They both started when the lights in the house flickered, following a show of electrical activity in the skies outside. The tension he’d eased immediately returned beneath his hand. Jolene pulled away, her mouth a grim line.

  She tucked that long strand of hair behind her ear and got back to the business of tending his wounds. Nate took the hint. Hands off. Keep it casual. Her needs, not his.

  “I don’t think the liquid adhesive can hold the skin together on your shoulder,” she reported in an efficient, apologetic tone. “It needs to be sutured.”

  “Do you do good work?”

  She propped one hand on her hip and gestured with the other. “Nate, I don’t have any anesthetic.”

  “You have a sterile needle and thread?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Then stitch it up.”

  “It’ll hurt.”

  Nate lifted his gaze to her compassionate one. Get real. He already felt like a piece of tenderized meat sitting here. What harm could a few stabs with a needle do?

  It took one long visual sweep of all his cuts and bumps and bruises for her to get the picture. “Oh.”

  Besides, a little more pain might do the trick to suppress his desires for this beautiful woman.

  A few minutes later, the lights were flickering almost nonstop. Nate held a flashlight and sat up as straight as he could while Jolene braced herself on one knee on the edge of the couch and stitched him together.

  He winced as the needle pierced his skin, but he inhaled deeply and gritted his teeth to keep from jerking.

  “Sorry.” She apologized with the same breathy catch in her voice, the way she had after every other stitch.

  “I’m okay.”

  For someone as dedicated to relieving pain as she was, this had to be almost more torturous for her than it was for him. But to her credit, Jolene worked quickly and surely. One tear at the front of his shoulder had already been closed, and she was nearly done with the second one.

  He felt the grating of the thread through raw skin. “Almost there.” Another pinch. “Sorry.”

  The baby had awakened inside her to add his two cents to the world. Nate could feel a tickle of movement against his ribs as her belly pressed against him. This kid would have the same drive and energy as his mama, judging by the tiny, repetitive thrusts into Nate’s flank.

  Think clinical thoughts, he warned himself as he started to count each time he felt the flick of the baby’s movement. “Try to remember that this will help me more in the long run. If the cut isn’t treated now, it could get infected or refuse to heal.”

  “I know, but…” Tug. Wince.

  “Ow.”

  “Sorry.”

  He barely felt the next prick of the needle. Clinical thoughts vanished. Jolene had shifted her position, lining up straight behind him to insert the last sutures at the jut of his shoulder. The tip of one perky breast poked his shoulder blade through the layers of material that separated them, and all of his senses careened and focused on that very spot. The whole breast pillowed as she leaned forward.

  Nate swallowed hard. Her breasts weren’t big, and she didn’t accentuate them with the clothes she wore. But they were definitely there. And, like her personality, they had plenty of attitude. Despite his best intentions, that most masculine part of him couldn’t help but take notice.

  Maybe he should move the ice pack to his lap.

  Prick. “Ow!” he cried.

  “Sorry.”

  He’d been too preoccupied with female curves to feel that one coming. “Are you done yet?”

  Her breast brushed across every sensitized nerve on his back as she got up to retrieve the first-aid kit. Nate’s breath hissed between his teeth.

  “It just needs a bandage,” she said.

  She reached over him to set gauze pads and tape on the back of the sofa. As she moved across him, her ponytail fell over her shoulder, stirring up the scent of rain-washed hair and traces of cinnamon and home-baked breads that still clung to her. Or maybe they just lingered in his imagination whenever she was this close.

  “Jolene—” He couldn’t come up with one clinical thought.

  “Do you need a bandage a
nywhere else?” She pulled back and faced him. “I might let the other cuts breathe. As long as we can keep ourselves dry.” With half a laugh, she smiled right in his face, offering him one of those dazzling wonders that made him think of long summer days and sunshine.

  Nate tried to laugh, but an onslaught of emotions rose inside him, and the sound came out in a choked, heated gasp.

  “I don’t know…” She bent over at the waist to inspect the stitched-up wound. The front of her blouse gaped open, giving him a glimpse straight down to heaven.

  Nate tried to look away, tried to blink. But he seemed to be a greedy son-of-a-gun when it came to Jolene’s maternally enhanced figure.

  “It’s functional, but not very pretty,” she observed.

  “It’s fine.” Everything he could see was very fine.

  “When we get back into Turning Point, I want that Dr. Sherwood friend of yours to take a look at it.” Jolene probed the skin around her handiwork and Nate struggled not to wince. But goose bumps unrelated to pain prickled the instant she stroked her cool fingers across his heated skin, as if the caress hadn’t been motivated by professional curiosity.

  Jolene straightened to reach her supplies, hiding Nate’s view of her cleavage, but she drifted even closer. Her thigh pressed against his and Nate groaned as inappropriate thoughts filled his imagination.

  “Are you okay?” she asked.

  Thank God he was beat up enough to camouflage the source of his pain. “Fine.”

  She cut lengths of tape and babbled on. “Hopefully, Dr. Sherwood has some dissolvable sutures she can replace these with. Otherwise, I’m afraid you’re going to have a scar that looks like something Dr. Frankenstein pieced together.”

  Then she was smoothing gauze across the wound. Smoothing tape across his skin. Touching. Caressing. Pressing.

  Nate gripped the back of the couch and the cushion beneath him, desperately trying to maintain some sort of distance. He could use a little help here. He might not be the most whole man on the planet. But he was still a man. The parts worked. The needs were there. She had the power to drive him nuts. He dipped his head, trying to connect his gaze to hers. “You do know what you’re doing to me, don’t you?”