Riding the storm - By Julie Miller Page 0,22

all. He reached beneath her arm and cinched her between the swells of her breasts and belly. He ignored the protest of his knee and pushed to his feet, carrying her up to the center of the road.

“Put me down.”

The instant she wiggled in protest, the instant the curve of her rump twisted against his crotch, the instant he realized she hid a distinctly feminine shape beneath her shapeless clothes, he set her on her feet. But he didn’t trust her to keep moving. Switching his grip to her arm, he hurried her toward the truck.

“What are you doing?” she demanded, fighting him every step of the way. “The water’s rising. We have to fix that car now.”

Wes trailed after them, dragging the shovel and pointing to the floating car. “But my brother’s—”

Nate didn’t have time to argue with either of them. “Get your bags and toss them in the back. You’re coming with us.”

“But—” Jolene protested.

“Do it!”

“California—”

“Yes, sir.” Wes tossed the tools into the bed of the truck and ran back for his and Cindy’s things.

Nate opened the driver’s side door and half urged, half lifted Jolene up onto her seat. He met her gaze, glare for glare, and closed the door behind her.

He pulled off his cap, swatted it against his thigh, then plunked it back onto his head with the bill shading his eyes. Grabbing a blanket from the supplies in back, he dodged out of the way as Wes loaded the suitcases. Once the young man was inside beside his wife, Nate gave him the blanket and climbed in after him, squeezing the four of them in like sardines to shut the door. “Drive.”

Jolene gripped the steering wheel in both hands and leaned forward to make eye contact across the couple sandwiched between them. “I do not have to follow your orders.”

Nate veed his fingers and held them up. “Two words. Lily Browning.”

The reminder was enough to get her to slam the truck into gear, though her chin still tilted at that defiant angle.

“What about driving to San Antonio?” Cindy whined.

“In a couple of hours this road isn’t going to be here,” Nate advised. “Being late for your honeymoon might be the least of your worries.”

There. She was finally scared enough to be quiet. And though Nate felt as guilty as hell for his bullying tactics, if that was the only way he could keep these people safe, then that was what he was going to do.

As Cindy sank back into her seat and snuggled beneath the blanket, Nate reached across Wes to get the radio and report in. It took a couple twists of the dial to find a clear line, and there were still glitches of static by the time he got through to Mitch Kannon.

“Yeah, Mitch. Nate Kellison here.” He felt Jolene’s wide-eyed gaze beseeching him to keep her accident a secret. He pointed down the road, silently telling her to drive, avoiding those blue eyes. Defiance he could handle. That look sucker-punched him in the gut and turned his thinking erratic. “We just stopped to pick up a couple of…” He almost said kids, but Wes’s earnest expression changed his mind. “A young couple. Their car ran off in the ditch.”

“Any injuries?” Mitch asked, his tone conveying a mix of authority and concern.

“Negative.”

“Thank God.”

“But the car needs more help than we can give them. So we’re transporting them to the Rock-a-Bye Ranch with us.”

“Understood.” Static cut out part of Mitch’s answer. “…quite a few evacuees. We’re getting more reports of…stranded.” Nate was ready to ask him to repeat his message, but the tenor of Mitch’s voice changed. “How’s Jolene?”

“A little damp.”

Mitch laughed. The tension inside the truck ratcheted down a notch as Nate sensed Jolene relax. He breathed easier, too, feeling a bit more like a prince than a bully again. “Do you have an update on the weather?” Nate asked.

He already guessed Mitch’s answer.

“I hate it when I’m right. The hurricane turned…report says it’s going to make landfall farther south…heading straight for Turning Point.”

Nate could fill in the static blanks himself. So could the other three passengers in the truck, judging by their grim expressions.

“The hurricane’s going to hit us?” Cindy asked, her meek voice more frightened teenager than disgruntled bride now. She reached for Wes’s hand. He took it, put his arm around his wife, squeezed her tight. Good kid.

Good man, Nate amended. He looked across the cab at Jolene to offer her what silent comfort he could—if she’d take