Riding the Storm (14 page)

“Stepdad number two.” Jolene laughed, but there was no humor involved. “Anyway, the dad part implies that they’re somehow a part of my life. They’re not. Mom left Dad when I was eight. She never looked back. She said she wasn’t cut out for family life or small towns or boring people. The bright lights of Hollywood were much more appealing than a little tomboy and a salt-of-the-earth hero. She didn’t want us anymore, so she left.”

“Ouch.”

“Big ouch.”

“So Mitch raised you on his own?”

Jolene nodded.

“He did a good job,” Nate said.

She heard the compliment, but didn’t acknowledge it. “That might explain why I’m a little lacking in the
fashion sense and sex appeal department. But I can change my own tires and play a mean third base.”

Nate repeated himself. “He did a good job.”

Jolene curled her legs beneath her, pretzel-style, and pulled a pillow into her lap. It gave her antsy fingers something to play with, gave her something to hide behind. Nate watched every self-conscious movement, but made no comment. And she didn’t offer anything more. Thinking about her mother left her feeling as raw and battered as the world outside. “I don’t want to talk about me. Tell me about Courage Bay and your ranch.”

After a lengthy pause, Nate took a deep breath and told his story. “Grandpa Nate named the ranch Whispering Dawn. We raise quarter horses there. Actually it’s in the mountains outside of town. Hills. Trees. A lot greener than this. Courage Bay itself is right on the ocean, on about a ten-mile stretch of white sand beach. It has a small-town feeling for a city, and though we’re not that far from L.A, we’re definitely not Hollywood.”

“Sounds beautiful.” Sounded like he missed it.

He talked about their registered AQHA horses and his brother’s and sister’s recent weddings. He told her the story about a crew of shipwrecked sailors during the Mexican War and the Native Americans whose heroic rescue had given Courage Bay its name. He talked about his buddies at the fire department and the recent crime wave involving a serial bomber nicknamed the “Trigger,” who had terrorized the city. When the culprit had finally been exposed, he turned out to be the fire department’s mechanic, a man Nate had once considered a friend.

Gradually Jolene relaxed. The even cadence of his
deep voice was doing the trick. The storm faded into tolerable background noise as the world shrank down to this tiny, insulated room and the man she shared it with. He was a sexy, wounded crusader who had left behind the world he so obviously loved to save her friends, help her dad, keep her safe and sane, and protect her baby.

Because that’s what a man like Nate Kellison did.

Jolene decided that she liked Nate Kellison. Liked him very much.

“Have you ever actually been surfing?” she asked, embarrassed now to think of the way she’d stereotyped this California cowboy as some kind of know-it-all, life-in-the-fast-lane surfer dude.

He picked up her empty pudding cup and tossed it with the dirty dishes beneath the sink. Then he settled against the bank of pillows in front of the tub to stretch out his leg and rub his knee. “A few times. Back in high school. But I got enough thrills competing in the rodeo. Once you conquer a bull like Rocky, who needs the ocean?”

Watching his fingers work reminded her of the massage he’d given her. The gentle strength of those fingers had erased the cramp in the small of her back and worked other types of magic on her body, too.

But just as Jolene was succumbing to the languid warmth of his soothing voice and the fiery memories of how incredibly sexy and alive he’d made her feel, a loud pop startled her and brought the outside world back into their cocooned retreat. Another tree branch had fallen prey to the storm. Jolene squeezed the pillow in her arms, anxious to resume the conversation and keep the tension of the hurricane at bay.

“So you were conquering a bull like Rocky when you got hurt?”

Nate nodded. “Bull-riding was my specialty. I earned a rodeo scholarship that put me through college. My junior year, at the regional championships, I drew a monster called Tornado. He had a good five hundred pounds on Rocky out there.”

His fingers stilled, and he paused long enough that Jolene inched forward, wondering if he would continue.

“I lasted seven seconds on his back,” he said at last.

Jolene drew back at the bleak announcement. “I thought you had to ride for eight seconds to qualify.”

Nate raised his eyes to hers. “That’s right. By eight I was flying through the air. Probably blew out my knee when I hit the dirt.” He shook his head and leaned back. “I don’t remember much after that. I had a concussion, too.”

“Nate.” She rose up on her knees and clasped his ankle because that was the only part of him she could reach to offer comfort. To find some for herself.

“Kell was there in the stands. He said Tornado came after me like there was something personal between us. And I was locked up against the fence.”

Jolene felt moisture prick her eyes.

“Anything on me that hadn’t been broken yet sure was on that day,” Nate continued. “I’d already had the first of four surgeries by the time I could think straight and figure out where I was. I lost part of my knee. The doctors have gradually rebuilt my leg with steel pins and replacement parts. Needless to say, I was done with the rodeo. Kept my hand in it at the ranch, but that was about it. I’m fit enough to pass a physical, but
not much more.” He laughed, but Jolene couldn’t feel any humor. “Now it takes an extra hour to get me through the airport. And my leg makes a pretty effective paperweight.”

A tear trickled down Jolene’s cheek and dripped onto the back of her hand. She felt just as hot, just as small and useless as that tiny drop in the face of all Nate had endured. “Nate, I…”

Jolene swallowed hard. She didn’t know what to say.
I’m sorry
seemed inadequate.
Poor thing
seemed an insult to the strong, capable man he’d become in spite of his tragic past.
Let me hold you and comfort you and give you something of me to make you feel better
seemed downright laughable, given her lack of experience with men.

Nate reached out and caught the next teardrop with the pad of his finger. “Hey. I’m not telling stories to bring you down. You were supposed to at least smile at that last one.”

His touch was sure and gentle, and the selfless caress made her weep all the more. “You’re not very funny.”

“Jolene, don’t do this.”

She was making things worse, not better. She could tell by the deep worry grooves that formed beside the grim line of his mouth.

“C’mon, angel,” he urged her.

Jolene gave a noisy sniff and pulled away. “I’m sorry. I’m just tired. And my hormones are all out of whack. And this stupid storm won’t stop.” Sitting on her legs, she hugged herself—baby, pillow and all—sat up straight and did her very best to glare through her soggy vision. “But that’s not why I’m upset. You act like you’re
tough and in control, but you’re in pain all the time, aren’t you.”

“It’s not that bad—”

“You take care of your family. You rescue drowning bulls and flaky blondes, and deliver babies. You—”

“Jolene—”

Anger and guilt blended with compassion. “My baby and me—we’re an extra burden you’ve decided to take on for the duration of your trip to Texas.”

“Your father asked me to keep an eye on you.”

“You don’t have to.” She hadn’t survived twenty years without a mother or a man of her own without developing a few coping skills. Sure, she’d gotten into plenty of scrapes. But that was human. She’d gotten herself out of just as many. Why couldn’t he see that? “Every father worries. But I’m twenty-eight years old. And you’re not my dad.” Not in any way, shape or form. Not with everything those broad shoulders and tight buns and controlled sense of duty stirred inside her. “You have enough to deal with already. You don’t have to protect me.”

Nate bent his good knee and leaned forward to prop his elbow against it. “Somebody sure needs to. You’re so busy taking care of everyone else, you don’t take proper care of yourself or your baby.”

“We’ve done just fine on our own, thank you very much. Joaquin, Jr., is as healthy as he should be.
I’m
as healthy as I should be.” She angled her head, pointing to the hole in his jeans that revealed his scarred, swollen knee, and to the shoulder bandage that showed through his white T-shirt. “You’re the one who’s trying to take on too much.”

“I am not an invalid,” Nate said, articulating every word. “I can handle whatever I have to. That includes you…and the baby.”

Jolene’s defensive anger evaporated on her next breath. The conversation stopped, and the room fell silent.

“You have to keep the baby safe.” There was raw emotion in the command and it pierced Jolene’s womanly heart. Then Nate blinked and turned his face away, severing the contact.

The baby again. What was it about children and babies that haunted him so? That turned him into Attila the Protector? She splayed her fingers across her belly, bracing herself, shielding her little one from whatever horrid truth tortured this man.

“What happened with the baby, Nate?” she whispered, needing to know. There was such loss, so much grief, so much defeat in his voice.

But Nate was done talking. She could see it in the controlled set of his face. Jolene hugged herself around the pillow and let the tears roll down her cheeks.

“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.”