Riding the Storm (8 page)

“Caution and common sense aren’t always the same thing. I’m not going to sit on the sidelines and watch when there’s a hurricane on the way and I can do something to help.” Jolene’s hand settled over the rapid, sure beat of his heart and maintained contact as he exhaled. He stood close enough for her to smell the ozone on his skin, along with the tangy clean scent of the man himself. Lordy. Why did he have to smell so darn delicious? The keener sense of smell she’d enjoyed for the past five months was keeping her from making her point. “I won’t…You can’t…” Her words seemed to stick in her throat. “I intend to do my job.”

“So do I.”

Stalemate.

She wanted to argue her skills and independence. She wanted to stroke her fingers across the stern set of his mouth and ease his concern. She wanted to snuggle up against that chest and absorb his warmth and strength.

She did none of those things.

Deacon’s embarrassed cough startled them both. “Um, should I stop by when it’s a better time for y’all?”

Jolene snatched her hand away.

“Sorry.” She and Nate glanced down at the grizzled man’s amused smile and apologized in unison.

“I’ll go grab a med-kit.” Remembering she was here as a trained first responder, not a lovelorn teenager, Jolene turned to the back of the truck.

“Stay put.” Nate’s touch was almost reluctant on her arm this time. “I’ll get it.”

Jolene nodded, then turned her attention to Deacon. “What hurts?”

“What doesn’t? I don’t hit the ground as easy as I used to when my horse puts up a fuss.”

Jolene pulled a penlight from her pocket, hiked up her pantlegs and squatted in front of him, doing a cursory check of pupil reaction and inspecting him for any head injuries.

Deacon’s reactions were just fine, and he seemed more interested in the curve of her belly as her overalls stretched across her midsection than he did in his own condition. “How’s Joaquin, Jr.?” he asked.

Coherent thoughts and speech. A good sign. “He’s just fine,” Jolene answered, dropping her hand to cra
dle her tummy. “Though he was kickin’ up a fuss a minute ago because I haven’t fed him lunch yet.”

Deacon nodded. “Old grouses like me and little ones like J.J. like to keep a regular schedule. Get cranky if we don’t.”

Jolene smiled, as she was meant to, but her focus had already moved on to the bruising and awkward angle of his left forearm.

She seemed to be surrounded by cranky males today.

Nate came up behind her and set the med-kit on the ground beside her before he spoke. “That arm’s broken.”

“Duh, Sherlock.”

The sarcastic response leaked out before she realized that he wasn’t expressing doubt over her diagnostic abilities. He was simply stating a fact.

Shrugging in lieu of an apology, Jolene gingerly unhooked Deacon’s belt and inspected the break more closely. It took her a minute to realize that Nate had positioned himself in such a way as to block most of the rain that the truck couldn’t shield her or her patient from. That simple action gave her a chance to dry Deacon’s arm and work more efficiently.

“Where’s Buck?” She hoped the question about his horse would distract Deacon while she probed the injury.

He bit out a curse but didn’t complain. “Back at the barn, I expect, out of this mess. He got spooked by some lightning, dumped me down a ravine and took off. I hiked to the road instead of heading straight home, since I didn’t want to run into that bull on foot. Been walking about an hour.”

“And you haven’t checked in with Lily?”

“Not since this morning. Been riding over hell and
yonder, looking for that dag-blamed, son of a…” His faded hazel gaze darted up to hers. “Sorry. Rocky broke out of his pen sometime last night.”

“Any luck finding him?” She opened the kit and pulled out the supplies to clean the lacerations on his arm.

Deacon muttered a graphic opinion about the bull’s behavior. “Sorry, ma’am. I found him, all right. If his stud fees hadn’t paid the bills during this drought, I’d have shot him for being such a pain in the ass. Whoops. Sorry.”

Jolene grinned. His salty language was a fair tradeoff for the pain she must be causing him. “I know Rocky’s reputation. Do you think there’s any chance of him wandering home by himself?”

Deacon shook his head. “The water’s starting to fill all the sloughs and arroyos leading into the Agua Dulce. That bull’s got himself stranded in between ’em—if he ain’t drowned himself yet. Wouldn’t see I wanted to help him. I was trying to get him up to dry land, herd him back to the corral. But all he saw was a cowboy fixed on telling him what to do, and he sure wasn’t gonna have none of that. Those danged Santa Gertrudis got too much stubbornness in ’em. Between Rocky and the storm, old Buck couldn’t wait to get back to the barn.”

Nate shifted on his feet behind her. “Santa Gertrudis. That’s a Brahma-Shorthorn cross, right?”

Huh?
California knew about Texas cattle?

“Yessir.” Deacon tipped his hat back, a glint of admiration in his wrinkled face. “Rocky’s the number one S.G. in Texas. You new around these parts?”

“Just visiting. Helping out a friend. I’m Nate Kellison.”

“Deacon Tate.” Deacon shook his hand without hes
itation. Nate had even used the proper pronunciation for Brahma—rhymed with
tamer
. Right away the old cowboy had recognized and respected Nate’s expertise.

Jolene was a little slower to come around.

“You know about cattle?” she asked, grabbing the scissors to trim away the remnants of Deacon’s sleeve.

“I know about a lot of things.”

Like surfing and Tinseltown and overcrowded highways. Right?

“You’ve been on a ranch before?”

“Yeah.”

Water splashed her cheek as he knelt down beside her. His tiny grunt gave the only indication of the strain the position must be putting on his knee. He took the scissors from her hand and tossed the soiled, bloody cloth into the bed of the truck, hurrying along her work. There was more to that
yeah
than Jolene could fathom right now. More to Nate Kellison than she’d given him credit for—more than she’d wanted to give him credit for.

“Isn’t it about time for you to get into the truck?” he asked.

“Huh?” She stopped staring at his stern profile and pulled a sling from the kit.

Nate took the sling from her and urged her to move. “You’ve done a fine job so far. But the rain’s picking up.”

Fortunately she was still graceful enough to stand up on her own. “It’ll go faster if we work together, won’t it?”

With a reluctant nod, Nate turned his attention to the broken arm. Though she lacked the shoulders to form as effective a barrier as he had, Jolene situated herself behind him and blocked the rain as much as possible.

“This is just a temporary splint on your arm,” Nate
told Deacon. “We’ll hold off until we can get some X rays before wrapping you up in something more permanent.”

The sure efficiency of Nate’s strong hands was an amazing thing to watch, Jolene conceded. He had Deacon cinched up and her imagination thinking about back-rubs and foot massages in no time.

“Anything else hurt, sir?” Nate asked.

Deacon set his hat in place and shook his head, rising to his feet. “It’s Deacon, son. I gotta get back and check on Buck, make sure he’s in one piece. Oughta check on Miz Browning and the boys, too.”

“That’s where we’re headed. Give you a lift?”

“Looks like you’re full-up already.”

Cindy knocked on the window before rolling it down. “I can sit on Wes’s lap,” she offered.

“Who’s the Ken and Barbie?” Deacon asked.

“We’re collecting strays,” Jolene explained, backing out of Nate’s way as he repacked the med-kit. “C’mon. We’ll find room. We need to get a move on, though. Lily’s in labor.”

“Well, hell’s bells, girl, why didn’t you say so? I suppose, since you’re comin’ to us, there’s no way to get her to the hospital.”

“Hurricane Damon turned south and is heading right for us. I’m afraid the town already has more evacuees than it can handle, especially without Doc Holland around.” She nodded toward Nate. “So Dad sent the cavalry to help out.”

“Then what are we sittin’ around yappin’ about it for?” Fired up with a new purpose, Deacon followed Nate to the bed of the truck and climbed in while the tail
gate was down. “That doggone bull can find his own way home through the storm, if he’s a mind to. Let’s go.”

Jolene slipped in behind the wheel and restarted the engine.

Across the barrier of blankets and newlyweds separating them, Nate got in and didn’t say a word about the number of
stray puppies
she was collecting today.

And the rain poured down.

A
CRY OF BONE-DEEP PAIN
echoed throughout the two-story house, momentarily drowning out the rhythmic drumbeat of the rain slapping against the windows now that the wind had picked up. Lily Browning’s sob ripped right to the heart of Nate’s soul.

Nate splashed cold water on his face and tried to feel anything but halfway useless and way too late.

The twenty-minute trip from Turning Point had taken over two hours. Now, two more hours since their arrival, Lily Browning had dilated to ten centimeters and was burning with the need to push. Cindy Mathis had turned out to be a primo baby-sitter for Lily’s three sons, while her new husband, Wes, had willingly gone outside to supply the muscle Deacon needed to secure the barn and nail plywood scraps over the first floor windows of the two-story ranch house.

Jolene had been a rock of support for her friend, holding Lily’s hand and breathing with her to help her endure the pain, explaining in succinct detail every step Nate had taken to monitor the baby’s progress and prep Lily for delivery.

But something was wrong.

Something was very wrong, and there was no doc
tor or ambulance to call. There was only Nate. But instead of taking charge and sticking to the rescue routine that had been instilled in him from day one of his paramedic training, Nate felt paralyzed, the image of a dead baby on the side of a California highway frozen in his mind. His ears heard nothing but the sound of an injured mother’s distressed cries as she screamed her child’s name. His body had numbed to everything but the gut-sick feeling of knowing he hadn’t been quick enough, skilled enough, gifted enough to save that baby’s life.

Knowing he was no good to Lily or her baby until he could get his head screwed on right, Nate had excused himself and gone into the bathroom for a few minutes, leaving Lily in Jolene’s surprisingly capable hands. He’d headed downstairs instead of using the bath off Lily’s bedroom because he needed the time. Time and distance and space to catch a deep breath and suppress all those debilitating images again.

He rubbed his hand across his cheeks and jaw now, studying his reflection in the mirror over the sink. He barely recognized the man staring back at him.

The eyes were the same, maybe a little bleary after flying the red-eye and surviving his busy morning. The features were the same, if a tad on the scruffy side, since his last shave had been yesterday morning.

But the light was gone. The spark of confidence he’d once worn like his silver championship belt buckle had dulled beneath the weight of responsibility and guilt and regret.

He couldn’t get it right anymore. He couldn’t save lives. He’d always be a step behind, a minute too late.

He hadn’t stopped Jolene from nearly wrecking her
truck. He’d barely managed to get her to eat anything other than the cheese and crackers from her purse. And he knew the only way he’d get her to take a break and get some rest herself would be to physically carry her out of Lily’s room and stand watch over her.

But judging by the itchy need that tickled his palms just thinking about the possibility, Nate had a pretty good idea that touching Jolene Kannon-Angel again would be a bad idea if he wanted to maintain a professional distance. Something about her stubborn ways fired him up. Something about those blue eyes and soft skin stirred an ache in his body. Something about her ultrafeminine shape and dazzling smile wakened him to possibilities he’d never imagined before.

But a man who was a step behind and a minute late, snared in the mistakes of his past, had no business imagining anything beyond getting his job done right.

Shutting off the water, Nate blinked and looked a little harder at his reflection. “You can do this,” he lectured himself. He’d delivered babies before, survived plenty of disasters—natural and man-made. “You have to do this.”

With a deep breath, he pushed aside fears and aches and wants and needs, and planted himself firmly in the moment at hand. Nate opened the door and headed for the stairs, leaving his emotions behind.

Lightning flashed, momentarily flooding the entry-way with brilliant white light, before disappearing again into the haze of the storm-shrouded afternoon. Thunder boomed a second later, rattling the windows and masking Lily’s sob from the floor above.

“Jolene, this isn’t right. She’s coming. I can feel…ohhhh!”

“Shh.” Jolene used soft, soothing words, gentling Lily in the same tone she’d used with her own baby after nearly wrecking the truck. That same tone gentled Nate’s raw nerves and helped the tortured images in his brain recede a little.

He hit the first step, ready to work.

“Oh, my God.” He lifted his head, instantly attuned to the hushed desperation in Jolene’s voice. “That’s a foot.”

A foot? Lily’s baby should be crowning by now.

Breech.

No wonder Lily was in such pain. No wonder the delivery was taking so long. If they’d had the right equipment, the proper facilities, he would have seen the problem before now.

Hell. He was more than a few steps behind on this one.

“Nate!” Jolene was shouting now. “I need you! Nate!”

Nate was already moving, damning his weak knee as he took the stairs two at a time. It wasn’t just the panic in her voice that urged him to run. It wasn’t the fear of losing another child under his care that drove him to Jolene’s side.

She’d called him Nate.

“S
HE’S READY TO DELIVER
, but the baby’s turned around.”

Jolene met Nate at the door, searched his face for the control and confidence he had in such ample supply. She allowed herself one moment of relief, knowing he was there.

The tiny foot she’d glimpsed in the birth canal had frightened her. She’d been scared for Lily, for the baby’s safety. And for one irrational instant, she’d been scared for her own unborn child. She’d never before delivered a baby in breech position. Screw her independence, her need to succeed on her own terms. How could she guarantee their safety? How could she guarantee the health and safety of little Joaquin if she couldn’t even manage this?

Irrational.

Overwhelmed.

She’d cried out for help and Nate Kellison had answered the call. He paused in the doorway, grasped her shoulder and gave her a gentle squeeze.

Sweet relief.

Reporting Lily’s stats, she fell into step behind him as he dashed in. His limp was more pronounced. His
knee seemed to be bothering him more and more as the day dragged on, but the urgent purpose in his stride refused to concede to any pain. “Lily?”

“Oh, God.” Lily’s plea was a ragged, desperate cry. “I need to push!”

“Can you hold off for just a minute longer?” Nate asked, pulling a clean pair of latex gloves from the med-kit and adjusting Lily’s position on the bed.

“I’ll try.”

“The baby dropped, but he didn’t turn.” Jolene took hold of Lily’s hand and let her friend squeeze as tightly as she needed to. “Easy, Lily. I’m right here with you. Nate’s going to help us. Right?”

Flecks of doubt darkened Nate’s eyes, but they disappeared before Jolene could question him.

“You bet.” Nate sounded confident, focused.

Jolene nodded, absorbing his determination. His brand of
serious
looked mighty reassuring for a change. The practiced efficiency with which he donned a stethoscope to listen to the baby’s heartbeat, and palpated Lily’s rigid abdomen didn’t hurt, either. His brown eyes flicked up to hers and Jolene latched on to the strength she saw there.

“See if you can distract her a bit and help her relax,” Nate instructed her. “I’ll have to time this around her contractions.”

Obeying without protest, Jolene took a deep breath and tapped into her own strength. Nate sat on the stool they’d moved to the end of the bed earlier and went to work. Jolene dipped a washcloth into the bowl of cool water on the bedside table and wrung out the excess. Then she pressed the cloth to Lily’s lips and urged her
to suck the moisture. She talked about the first thing that popped to mind, then kept talking, holding her friend’s hand, massaging gentle circles against her back and shoulders to distract her while Nate reached in to help the baby.

“Rocky’s turned out to be a real pain in the neck, hasn’t he,” Jolene said.

Lily closed her eyes and nodded. “That bull’s both a blessing and a curse. Won more prizes, sired dozens of the hardiest stock in all of Texas…” Her breath caught.

“Easy, Lily,” Nate urged, rubbing one hand against her belly. “Don’t push yet.”

“But I’m burning—”

“We’re going to get this guy lined up and then he’ll be out in no time.”

“Guy?” Lily’s eyes, damp with sweat and tears, popped open. “Is it another boy? I wanted—”

“Shh,” Jolene cooed, squeezing Lily’s hand and insisting her friend focus on her instead of the pain or any regrets about adding a fourth son to her rambunctious posse. “What makes Rocky such a curse?” Jolene grinned, demanding Lily’s attention. “Besides giving your ranch hands a workout.”

Lily grasped at the topic. “Rocky’s worth thousands of dollars to us. Did Deacon get him back? Oh Lord, if I lose him to this storm, Gabe’s gonna kill me.”

“Gabe’s only going to be worried about you and the baby.” Of that, Jolene was certain. Gabe and Lily Browning had been an old married couple the moment they got engaged. Devoted to each other in the way Jolene had wished her own parents had been in love, the way she wished she and Joaquin had been able to be.
“If Rocky’s as smart and ornery as Deacon says he is, that bull will be just fine.”

“But a hurricane?” Lily’s breathing had quickened and gone shallow. She was desperate to push again. “Even that—” she winced “—damn bull…can’t survive on his own in those kinds of wind. He needs…shelter. We’ll lose—”

“We’ll find him,” Jolene promised, tuning in to Lily’s desperation and wanting to ease it in whatever way she could. “We’ll take care of Rocky. You just worry about your little—”

“Got it. Push now, Mrs. Browning.” Nate’s stiff order interrupted them. “Push if you can.”

“God, yes.”

Lily scrambled up onto her elbows. Jolene propped the pillows behind her and supported her back. “You can do it, Lily. Take a deep breath.” She held hers along with her friend. “Push.”

In just a few minutes, the thunder outside was drowned out by the wail of a newborn baby. Plenty healthy from the sound of things.

“Oh, God. Thank you, God,” Lily breathed. “How is he? Is he okay?”

Tears pricked Jolene’s eyes and she whispered a prayer of thanks herself. She tried to peek around Lily’s raised knees, but knew her first priority was to help their patient lie down as comfortably as possible.

Nate tied off the cord, suctioned the tiny airways and wrapped the infant in the clean towels Jolene had gathered. When he rose, the bundle looked tiny, yet infinitely secure, cradled in his sturdy arms. Jolene blinked, sending a tear down her cheek.

She knew the feeling.

“Here you go, Mrs. B.” Nate circled the bed and laid the bundle of baby on Lily’s chest. “You wouldn’t be looking for a little girl, would you?”

“What? A girl?” Lily panted a moment in shock. Then a sudden energy suffused her, lighting up her expression. She quickly unwrapped the baby, verified the truth for herself, then swaddled her tiny daughter tight. She kissed the baby’s head over and over. “My little girl. At last. Amber Renee Browning. My sweet little girl.”

Lily snatched Nate’s wrist and tugged him down to kiss his cheek. “Thank you, thank you.”

Was that a blush turning the tips of his ears pink? Jolene wondered.

Nate pulled away. “You did all the work, ma’am. You did a fine job.”

Lily beamed, though whether it was in response to the compliment or the sheer joy of finally getting the daughter she’d wanted for so long, Jolene couldn’t tell.

“Is she healthy?” Lily asked.

Nate nodded. “As far as I can tell. All the fingers and toes are there. She’s pink and plump and has plenty to say.”

“Oh, yes,” Lily cooed to her newborn. “Mommy loves you, too. Daddy’s going to spoil you rotten. And you have three big brothers you’ll have to keep in line.”

As mother and daughter got acquainted, Nate and Jolene faded out of the picture for a moment. Breathing easier herself, Jolene hugged her tummy and the baby inside. They were okay. Everyone was okay. And they had California here to thank for it.

Without thinking, she reached for Nate’s hand, and laced her fingers through his. “Thank you.”

If the touch had startled him, he never let on. He turned to study her, tightening his grip around hers as if it was the most natural thing in the world for two strangers who barely knew each other and who’d butted heads more often than not to come together to share this miraculous moment.

He really did have beautiful eyes. Eyes that saw more than they should, perhaps. Jolene was so caught up in the warmth there that she didn’t see him lift his hand to her face. But she felt his gentle touch against her skin and savored the tender stroke of his finger along her cheek. He wiped away the trail of her tear and another fell to replace it.

Nate frowned. “You okay?”

“Hormones run amok,” she laughed, knowing something much more profound had just happened here. The protective distance separating them had vanished, and she still wanted to be closer to him. She soaked in his caring. She longed to offer her own. That’s when she noticed the moisture glistening in his dark lashes. “You?”

Nate swallowed hard and Jolene’s gaze darted to his Adam’s apple bobbing along the column of his throat. She waited expectantly, hurting at the anguish he obviously felt.

She reached up, her fingertips drifting across the tight set of his mouth. His lips parted beneath her touch, and his warm breath brushed past her fingers in a subtle, heated caress that stirred something more than compassion inside her. But he released her, denying her an answer, rejecting her comfort, acknowledging his emotions by covering them up. Keeping them in check. Again.

“I need to finish up,” he announced, returning to the
end of the bed and pulling on a new pair of gloves so he could secure the afterbirth and do some suturing. “See to the baby’s stats, will you? And one of us needs to call in a sit rep.”

“I’ll handle the situation report, California.” There. That got a rise out of him, judging by the quick jerk of his head as he glanced her way. But he studiously returned to his work, forgoing his insistence she call him Nate. Jolene felt no satisfaction, only more frustration. How many times did she have to tell herself she shouldn’t be feeling
anything
for a man who was destined to leave her? “I want to check on Dad, anyway.”

Biting her tongue to keep from asking what it was about babies that tore him up so, why he felt it necessary to be a robot when it came to revealing emotions, Jolene reluctantly lifted Amber Renee from Lily’s arms. She measured and weighed the girl. Put a cap and newborn diaper on her. Made a footprint and filled out the preliminary paperwork. By the time she’d returned the sleeping infant to her mother’s arms, Nate was cleaning up.

At Lily’s request, Jolene headed downstairs and informed Gabe, Jr., Aaron and Seth that they could go meet their new baby sister. They charged up the stairs with Cindy in tow. The storm outside grew noisier as the inside of the house quieted. Jolene found Deacon taking a well-deserved snooze in the recliner and covered him with an afghan.

Wes stamped in ahead of a gust of wind and rain and slammed the door in the mudroom off the back of the kitchen. “Man, it’s a bitch out there,” he complained, peeling off the poncho he’d borrowed from Deacon.
When he saw Jolene standing there with a towel to dry off with, he turned three shades of pink. “Sorry, ma’am.”

“Don’t apologize. Come on in. Your wife made us all a late lunch.”

“Cindy cooked?”

Jolene bit back a smile at the stunned, hopeful look on his face. They were such newlyweds, and—she felt the tinge of an ache taking hold at the small of her back—so, so young. “Peanut butter sandwiches, I’m afraid. But there’s plenty of them.”

She tossed him the towel and returned to the kitchen to pour them each a glass of milk. “Did you get everything secured?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Wes took off the boots he’d borrowed and tiptoed into the kitchen. “I’m sure glad we’re here instead of stranded out on the side of that road. I hope my brother’s car hasn’t floated out to the Gulf yet.”

“Me, too. Here. Sit.” She placed two sandwiches, a stack of pretzels and an apple in front of him, then sat down to eat her own meal.

She’d set a place for Nate, but he was either still cleaning upstairs or simply avoiding her. Something had shifted between them as they’d worked together to deliver Lily’s baby. It had taken his skills and strength, her caring and alertness to bring Amber Browning into the world. But he’d dropped his guard for a few timeless moments; she’d glimpsed a man wounded in ways a simple limp could never explain.

And she’d wanted him. Needed him. Cried out for him because she’d been scared and Nate Kellison seemed like the most solid, reliable anchor she could cling to in the midst of all the chaos around her. And
when he’d held her hand and rejoiced in the moment of Amber’s birth, when he’d touched her cheek and cared about her tears, she’d wanted to turn to him for something more.

She’d wanted him to hold her. To kiss her. To truly smile.

But he’d closed up, given her an order and walked away instead.

Jolene gulped down half her milk, concentrating on the cold liquid sliding down her throat, cooling her frustrations and curiosity. Damn the man, anyway, for making her care. He was welcome to take his attitude and his hurts and those soulful brown eyes back to California and get the heck out of her life before she got to thinking how nice it might be if he really would stay.

Her life would be a lot easier if she went back to relying on herself and worrying about the one man who had never let her down.

Crossing to the phone beside the mudroom entrance, Jolene lifted the receiver. Nothing. No dial tone, no busy signal. Nothing.

She hung up and glanced over at Wes Mathis, who was making quick work of the lunch she’d served him. “Are the phone lines down?”

“Mmm…” Wes swallowed the last of his apple. “Yeah. Deacon said service went out about an hour ago. As hard as the wind’s blowing, I’ll bet there are lines down all over the place.” He got up and carried his plate to the sink. “I’m surprised we haven’t lost electricity yet. Deacon had me pull the generator out of the shed, just in case.”

“I didn’t know it had gotten so bad.” She took out her
cell phone and punched in her father’s number. At least the cell towers were still transmitting signals. “It’s ringing. Thank God.”

For the first time that day, Jolene wondered about her own ranch—whether she should be there boarding up windows and setting up generators as well. Had she remembered to lock the doors and secure the paddock gate? With luck the horses would have enough sense to go inside the barn. She should be there to make sure flooding didn’t contaminate the well, to ensure Joaquin Angel’s legacy to their son wasn’t washing down river or blowing away in the wind.

But she’d been needed here. Her father had needed her help. Wes and Cindy had needed someone. So had Deacon.

The phone kept ringing.

“Hey, I’m gonna go up and meet the new baby,” Wes said. “If that’s okay?”

“Sure.” She waved Wes on his way when he hesitated. “I’ll clean up here.” A faint tension settled across her shoulders after he zoomed upstairs. “C’mon, Dad. Pick up.”