truck. “C’mon, old-timer. No sense in all of us getting soaked to the skin.”
“Miz Angel.” Deacon would have tipped his hat if he could. “Mighty glad to see ya.”
Five strong, insistent fingers closed around her upper arm and pulled her away. “No sense in you getting soaked, period.”
Clasping Jolene in one hand and supporting Deacon in the other, Nate guided them both back to the driver’s side of the cab.
“Careful, California.” She eyed him over her shoulder, not wanting to struggle too hard with Deacon so close beside her. “I’m starting to think there’s some sort of sexual discrimination going on here. That you don’t think I can do my job because I’m a woman. Or worse, because I’m pregnant.”
“What?” Nate stopped and loosened his grip, instantly freeing her. “There’s no…” With a sharp huff of breath, he helped Deacon find a seat on the running board of the truck. Then he straightened, squared his shoulders and leaned in close enough that the bill of his cap shielded her face as well as his own from the rain. “I’m following your father’s orders,” he articulated between tightly clenched teeth. “Trying to keep you safe. I didn’t realize what a daunting task that was going to be when I volunteered.” He ticked off her transgressions on his fingers. “You talk too much. You act before you think. You take better care of everybody else than you do yourself or that baby. And it’s Nate. Why the hell can’t you call me Nate?”
Jolene held his gaze, steamed in it. Caught fire inside and withered in the face of it. She’d been wrong to think this man didn’t show any emotion. There was plenty of something—anger, frustration, fear—brewing in those dark eyes.
Fear?
Her self-defense mechanism instantly went on the fritz. Instinctively, she reached out. To soothe, to comfort. Not quite to touch him, but to finger his collar, to idly straighten the damp material into a pleat it could no longer hold.
What did a take-charge California boy with broad shoulders, steely control and a soul-piercing stare have to be afraid of?
“I didn’t really mean to accuse you of anything,” she told him. “You just…you tend to be a little on the bossy side. Okay, a lot on the bossy side. I’m used to thinking and doing for myself. I might not be a licensed paramedic like you, but I have eight years of experience doing this kind of thing. I’ve survived pretty well so far. So have the people I’ve helped.”
A deep sigh expanded his chest beneath her palm. “Maybe you just do things differently down here in Texas. I know you get firefighting and first-aid training as an emergency volunteer. But you insist on taking risks you don’t need to. I’m used to the people I work with following procedures and listening to common sense.”
“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