Riding the storm - By Julie Miller Page 0,32

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,