by Julie Miller
“Ah, hell.” With that much of a warning, he reached out, snagged her by her shoulders and drew her up across his body and into his arms. He tossed the pillow aside and snuggled her down onto the floor beside him so that they lay together, chest to chest, heat to heat. His grip was hard, his body strung tight as a lasso with a running calf caught in its noose.
But the strong, steady beat of his heart soothed her ear. And the warmth of his body seeped into hers.
He nestled her head beneath his chin and rubbed slow, easy circles at her nape. Jolene could only wrap her arms around his waist and hold on and cry. He didn’t explain anything. But countless moments later, she felt the tension inside him break. Felt it in the deep sigh as his chest rose and fell. Then his whole being relaxed.
“Hey, those better not be for me,” he said. “I’m okay.” His low-pitched voice rumbled deep as he pushed the hair back from her face. But something had let go inside Jolene, too, and she couldn’t seem to stop crying. He tipped her chin and marked the trails of her tears with the callused pad of his thumb. “C’mon, angel. I don’t have any cure for this in the first-aid kit.”
She swiped at her eyes with the back of her hand. “I’m sorry. It’s those pesky hormones.” And fatigue. And the deep, abiding hurt she felt for Nate’s suffering, despite his assertion that he was okay.
It was frightening to realize that she’d grown closer to this man in one day than she’d been with her own husband after one year of marriage.
Jolene freed her chin and snuggled back against him. They simply held each other. Beyond her father’s loving bear hugs, she’d never been held so securely, so tenderly by any man. She’d never felt the comfort, the belonging, the possessive sense of rightness that she felt in Nate Kellison’s arms.
She hugged him close and tried to give him back everything that he made her feel.
The winds blew and the storm raged and Jolene never budged from her secure haven.
“So tell me about Turning Point,” Nate asked, stroking his fingers up and down the back of her neck. “Where’d you get a name like that?”
Jolene had closed her eyes to savor his touch. Now she grinned in drowsy contentment. “The story goes back more than a century ago. A wagon train of immigrants was traveling south through Texas—looking for a new life in the promised land. Fertile ground, oil underneath. Freedom.”
“The people of Turning Point seem pretty resourceful,” Nate commented. “I can believe that you come from pioneer stock.”
“Germans, English, Irish, Scandinavians, Czechs and Poles. But they weren’t as friendly then as we are now. They quarreled often and had trouble communicating because of all their different languages and customs.”
“You’re not going to tell me this ended in some kind of massacre, are you?”
“No.” Jolene shrugged. “But at the rate they were going, it didn’t look too much like they were going to make it to any promised land, either.” She shifted position as the baby stirred between them.
“Hey. I felt that.” The awe in Nate’s voice reverberated through the tiny room and settled deep in Jolene’s heart.
“You want to feel him?”
“Do you mind?” She heard something almost like fear along with the excitement in his voice. Though she couldn’t guess the cause, Jolene sensed that this was a healing moment for Nate.
And she desperately wanted to share the joy of this pregnancy with someone who could see it as a miracle instead of a poorly-timed lab experiment. She took Nate’s hand and spread it flat on her belly, beneath the hem of her sweatshirt. “He’s just a flutter right now. A swish of movement when he changes positions. He doesn’t really give a good kick yet.”
But little Joaquin delivered, rolling over, almost thrusting himself into the warmth of Nate’s hand.
Nate’s breath caught. “Wow.”
Wow was right. Jolene laughed at Nate’s unexpectedly boyish delight. “He likes you.”
Nate moved his hand to follow the movement of the baby. “Does he do that all the time?”
Slipping her hand down to cover Nate’s and hold him against her as the baby quieted, Jolene smiled. “Only when he’s in the mood. See? He’s settling down already.”
“He likes to hear you talk. Your voice is so—”
“Annoying? Never-ending? Opinion—?”
“Soothing.” He cut her off and complimented her at the same time. “That soft, throaty whisper gets to me, too. It’s sexy. Like something secret and intimate that only two people are supposed to share.”
Jolene’s cheeks heated with embarrassment. She’d been called skinny, shapeless, fun, crazy, plain, understanding and a real pal by the men in her life. But never soothing. Never sexy.
Embarrassment gradually turned into something much more profound, something that nurtured her ego and gave her confidence and made her feel pretty. “I think that’s the sweetest thing any man’s ever said to me. Thanks.”
“Sweet? Yeah, now that’s what I was going for.” He slid his hand down and gave her rump a playful swat. “The smooth talkin’s done for the night, angel. Now go on. Finish your story.”
Jolene laid her head on his chest and snuggled in. “The only thing holding all those immigrants together was their determined wagon train master, William Wallace Livesay. He could speak enough of each language to communicate with all the groups and keep the peace.
“But he was killed when a storm a lot like this one hit. He was thrown from his horse and trampled. The settlers were suddenly on their own, stuck with each other. But in true Texas spirit, they turned their lives around and decided to work together and settle at the spot where their leader had died. They found a way to communicate, a way to get along. They turned away from the storm and to each other to survive.”
“They turned to each other to survive,” Nate echoed.
“Sounds familiar, doesn’t it?”
She and Nate had turned to each other.
“Sounds like that pioneer spirit—putting down roots, helping your neighbor, doing what needs to be done—is still a big part of Turning Point.”
“I guess so. Is it like that for you back in Courage Bay?”
He didn’t answer. Maybe he was feeling torn from his own roots. From the community and family he loved back in California.
“It’s quieting down out there,” he pointed out after a long silence.
Jolene turned her head to listen. She’d been so caught up in her time with Nate—that she’d momentarily forgotten about the wrath of Damon blowing its way across the countryside. She could still hear the rain hitting the roof, but she no longer felt the wind pummeling the house or roaring through the rafters. The air pressure had changed, too. Maybe it was only psychological, but she sensed the atmosphere lightening up, easing its hold over the elements.
And in direct contrast, Jolene’s heart grew heavy. Maybe it was just exhaustion. Nate was putting her to sleep, massaging the back of her neck with one hand. And maybe it was something more. She’d run a gamut of emotions today, but one remained, startlingly clear.
She liked Nate Kellison. A lot. She wanted him. Needed him. He’d awakened both her heart and her body.
And there’d be no reason for him to stay once the storm had passed.
“You okay?” he asked, misinterpreting her silence.
Jolene snuggled closer, postponing the inevitable. “You really do have magic hands, Nate Kellison.”
She drifted off to sleep, secure against the warmth of Nate’s broad chest. Little Joaquin settled, too, equally at home beneath the large, gentle hand of the California cowboy who had melted his mother’s heart
And would surely break it when he left her to go back home.
CHAPTER NINE
THE SUNSHINE HURT his eyes.
Nate squinted against the morning light and surveyed what was left of the Double J ranch. Most notably, he assessed the bull pen. A chunk of Jolene’s barn roof was lying across a section of demolished fence rail, and
there was no bull in sight. Branches and fences were damaged or down everywhere. A lake, left by Damon flooded the lowlands off to the west, and the road beyond the Double J’s main gate was nonexistent beneath a wash of mud and standing water.
When Texas staged a disaster, they did it up right. After everything he’d seen the past twenty-four hours, he’d been ready to think the sun never shone in this part of the country.
Jolene walked up behind him on the front porch. “Oh, this is not good.”
Nate quickly amended his opinion on Texas sunshine. He’d never failed to see it in the beautiful smile of one spunky, blue-eyed mom-to-be.
“Not good at all,” he agreed. His mood seemed to lighten just by having her stand beside him. “It’s hard to know where to start cleaning up.”
She wore clothes today that emphasized her slender height and actually showed off a bit of her figure, and had pulled her hair back into one long braid that highlighted the graceful column of her neck. Maternity jeans hugged her rump and thighs. She’d left the bottom button of her royal blue tailored blouse unfastened to accommodate her protruding belly. With her arms crossed in front of her, pushing her breasts up, she created a lush silhouette of femininity that stirred a decidedly masculine response in him.
How could she ever think a man couldn’t find her attractive? Wouldn’t want to kiss her? Wouldn’t move heaven and earth to make love to her?
Not for the first time, Nate wondered about Jolene’s relationship with her husband. He only knew that the man had been sick and had tragically died before the two of them could enjoy creating a life and future together. But what about before that? Had her husband courted her? Sent her flowers? Said pretty things? Or had he just taken advantage of Jolene’s bighearted instincts to give of herself without regard for herself? It burned in Nate’s gut to think that this Joaquin Angel had had sex with Jolene, yet not shown her the joys of making love.
Hell. His gut wasn’t thrilled with the idea of anyone making love to Jolene. Well, anyone but him.
Squeezing his eyes shut, Nate turned his face to the sky. He had no business feeling possessive or jealous or resentful about any of this. Jolene wasn’t his. Judging the way her husband had loved her wasn’t his concern.
“I feel like we’re surrounded by a medieval moat.”
Jolene’s take on the condition of her ranch rightly pulled him back to less personal thoughts.
“You don’t happen to have a drawbridge you can let down to get us out of here, do you?” she asked.
“Not on me.” Nate checked one of the porch’s posts before leaning against it. “If the Agua Dulce’s flooded to the south, then every slough and tributary feeding into it is backed up, too. It could take a day or a week for the water to go down enough to walk or ride out of here.”
“If we had a boat, I’d say we could paddle.”
Nate turned her way. “Do you have a boat?” Maybe there was a way he could get beyond the barriers of floodwater and find help after all.
Jolene shrugged. “Sorry. Looks like you’re stuck with me.”
He could think of worse ways to spend the next few days of his life.
“I’m not complaining.” Nate straightened, pulling his gloves from the pockets of his jeans. “There’s plenty of work I can do around here.” He pointed across the rain-pocked yard. “And that ton of trouble is my first priority.”
Jolene stared at the empty, broken pen. She twirled a finger in the air as she spoke. “You don’t think the hurricane spawned a tornado…that Rocky…” He could tell she was imagining what she’d have to report to her friend, Lily, if the Santa Gertrudis bull turned up dead. “The cows blew away in the movie Twister.”
Shaking his head, Nate grinned. “Now that’s Hollywood. But I suppose anything’s possible. Knowing our friend, though, I’m guessing he took himself for a walk at the first opportunity. He’s probably trying to find your neighbor’s herd or some dry food.”
“Or he’s lying in wait for us somewhere.”
“I wouldn’t put it past him.” He pulled out his work gloves. “Better keep your eyes open. I’ll saddle up Checker and go look for Rocky so we don’t get any nasty surprises. I can see how far around your property the flooding goes while I’m at it. Find if there’s a way out cross-country.”
“Here. If you’re going riding, you’ll need this.” She held out a red, white and blue Texas Rangers baseball cap. “To replace the one I lost in the hurricane. I bought it as an early Christmas present for Dad, but I think you’ll need it.”
“If it’s for your dad—”
“It’s only August. I’ll get to another game.” When she smiled like that, he couldn’t find it in him to protest.
“Thanks.”
She bypassed his outstretched hand and set the cap on his head herself. Nate groaned as she moved in close enough to give his nose a reminder of the maple toaster pastries they’d had for breakfast.
But he stood patiently while she frowned, then turned the bill around to the back. Then she pulled it back to the front. “I don’t know which way I like better—the professional man of duty and honor. Or—” she flipped the bill around to the back and tapped her lips as if she was studying some classic work of art “—the boyish, flirty look that shows off those eyes.”
Boyish and flirty had never been a part of Nate Kellison.
Until Jolene.
Even now, he wasn’t sure what she saw in his old soul that made her think he could ever be young and carefree. But he felt like trying.
He plucked the cap from her grasp and turned it around, pulling the brim low enough to shade his eyes. “How about the let’s-get-down-to-business-and-get-some-work-done look?”
She stood back and grinned in a way that tickled him down to his toes. “That works, too. You want me to get the horses?”
She’d gotten down to the second step before he grabbed her by the elbow and stopped her. He circled around and stood on the ground in front of her, meeting her at eye level and blocking her path.
“No. One horse. You’re staying here to check the other animals while I ride out.” He deftly changed the subject before she could argue. “Did you have any luck contacting your father?”
She raised an eyebrow indignantly, telling him she recognized the diversion tactic for what it was. But she answered, anyway. “The ground lines and cell phone are both still out of order. I wish I hadn’t left my truck at Lily’s so we could try the radio again.”
“That truck couldn’t have made it over the roads, much less cross-country the way we came yesterday.”
“I know. I just feel so isolated. No communication, no running water. And since the generators have run out of juice, no electricity. Just us.”
Was the us a good thing or a bad thing? Not wanting to dwell on the possible answer, Nate released her. “There’s a lot to be said for peace and quiet.”
She crossed her arms and squinched up her face in a disbelieving frown.
Oh, right, Nate thought. “Peace” and “quiet” probably weren’t in her vocabulary.
“Let’s get to work,” she said. “I’ll try to reach Dad again a little later.” Her defensive posture melted in a heart-deep sigh. “I just hope he’s okay. I hope everyone in Turning Point is okay.”
Reading her concern, feeling her pain like a wound inside himself, Nate reached out and caught that wayward tendril of golden hair that fell across her downturned face. He rolled the silky strand between his sensitized fingertips before brushing it across her soft cheek and tucking it behind her ear. With a nudge of his palm against her jaw, he tilted her face up to his. “He’s probably more worried about you than anything. But I’m sure he’s fine. You had to get those lucky, hard-headed survival genes from someone. From the sound of things, I gather your mom isn’t the hang-tough-when-the-chips-are-down type.”
“Yeah, my dad’s the tough one. On the outside, at least.” She offered him a game smile that was equal parts gratitude and reassurance. “But
I had you to help me. Whether or not I thought I needed you, you turned out to be pretty handy to have around.”
Nate shrugged and let his hand slide down to cup the side of her neck. “Well, what’s left of me, anyway.”
Jolene’s smile flatlined. “Don’t do that.”
Snatching his hand away, Nate wondered how he’d overstepped the boundaries of familiarity when they’d held each other for warmth and comfort all through the night. “Sorry.”
“Don’t put yourself down. Don’t pretend that there’s something broken or inferior about you. You’re not disabled.”
“Jolene—”
“I’ve seen you in action, cowboy.” She pricked up like a scrawny hen defending her nest, skin flushed, blue eyes blazing. She poked him harmlessly in a bruise-free spot at the center of the chest, and he wisely retreated a step. “And while I’m sorry that your leg’s busted and your shoulder’s torn up and you’ve got a lot to deal with on the inside, that’s not what I see when I look at you.”
Nate propped his hands on his hips. He’d gotten lectures like this from his sister. But then, Jackie was his sister. She was supposed to jump his case from time to time to get him off his pity pot.
“Okay, Miss Smarty-Pants. Tell me what you think you see. And then I’ll get you straight to the ophthalmologist.”
Jolene counted the points off on her fingers. “Your eyes. Gorgeous color and they say a lot. Right now I’m ignoring their message, but it’s coming through loud and clear.”
He narrowed said eyes into a skeptical frown as she hit finger number two.
“Broad shoulders. They have to be with all the responsibility you insist on carrying on them.”
Third finger. He wasn’t convinced. “Hands. They…well, they…” Her cheeks seared a rosy pink. She inhaled a deep, steadying breath that shamelessly drew his gaze to the rise of her breasts. She swallowed hard. He took note of that movement, too. “I seem to recall mentioning magic of some kind.”
Jolene had made the magic, Nate realized. She was the magic. He’d just responded to it. Helplessly. Hungrily.