There was even that buzz of hyper-awareness that had awakened inside him at his first glimpse of those incredible blue eyes.
Nope. Judging by the way his temper simmered in his veins each time she took an unnecessary risk, the way her eclectic behavior baffled, yet intrigued him, the way her soft skin and megawatt smile kindled a noticeable response due south of his belt buckle, brotherly didn’t even make the list.
Of course, he shouldn’t be sitting here, stuck halfway to nowhere on this backwater road, having any feelings whatsoever. Jolene was recently widowed. There was a woman in labor anxiously awaiting their arrival. They’d nearly wrecked the truck and, oh yeah, there was a hurricane on the way.
Work. Gotta work.
“Should we get moving again?” he prompted, needing to get his mind focused on the task at hand before he did something stupid like reach over to brush aside that wayward strand of hair that had fallen across her forehead and cheek again. He tapped his watch instead. “If you’re in one piece, we should go.”
She quickly placed both hands on the wheel and nodded. If her sigh was any indication, he’d done an effective job of spoiling the quiet mood and getting them back on track. He should be feeling a little more satisfaction, rather than swallowing down the regret that seemed to catch in his throat.
She slid her gaze in his direction without making eye contact. “You sure you’re okay? You keep rubbing that knee.”
Nate’s hand stilled on his right thigh. He hadn’t been aware that he’d started the massage that occasionally brought him relief on days when his leg was giving him fits. But Jolene had noticed.
Her blue eyes had connected with his now, and the blend of curiosity and compassion he saw there was as unsettling as the realization that she’d noticed his pain even when he refused to. He was the caretaker here. He’d promised her father he’d watch out for her. Not the other way around.
He patted his leg, making light of her concern. “It’s an old injury from college. It acts up whenever the barometric pressure drops. Like today.”
His explanation wasn’t convincing anybody.
Especially Jolene. “Is that why you limp? Are you in pain all the time?”
She’d noticed that, too?
Nate stared at her in disbelief, his teeth clenched so tight he could feel his pulse ticking along his jaw. Hell. He must have left his cool, calm and collected pill back in California. Maybe on the side of the highway with that baby he couldn’t save. Maybe back home on the ranch where he no longer felt at home.
This crazy Texas woman with the barbed tongue and the beautiful eyes confounded him at every turn. He was reacting to things she said and did, instead of staying in control of his emotions and on task. He had to get a grip on whatever it was he was trying to feel, or he wasn’t going to be much good as a volunteer to Mitch or Turning Point or anybody else.
“Yeah, it’s a permanent handicap,” he finally admitted.
The doctors had stitched up all the parts they could find. They’d added a few made of plastic and steel. Still, one leg would always be shorter than the other. One knee would never flex like the other. It would stop him at airport gates and keep him off the dance floor for anything faster than a waltz. It would be a target for arthritis before his time.
But he always played the injury down so nobody would notice. So nobody would treat him differently. So no one would think him any less capable, any less a man.
But Jolene noticed. “I didn’t think you were handicapped. I just thought you’d hurt yourself surfing or skiing or whatever it is you do out in California. Did I make it worse? You should have said something. I can drive slow if you need me to.”
“What?” Just what kind of old fart did she think he was, anyway? “You need to slow down—” Your entire life, Nate wanted to add. To keep that baby and your own skin safe. But caught himself before his temper flared. Using that betraying right hand to remove his cap, he smoothed his hair and adjusted the hat back into place—adjusting his focus at the same time. “Look, I’m fine,” he reassured her, forcing half a grin to appear more convincing. “This leg isn’t any worse off than it was before. Lily Browning’s the one I’m worried about.”
Apparently he