Riding the storm - By Julie Miller Page 0,38
stubborn, remarkably kissable Texas woman.
The chase was on.
“THAT’S ROCKY?” Nate asked, reining his horse in beside Jolene to study the arroyo turned river that cut across their path.
“That’s Rocky.”
The runaway bull bellowed and threw himself against the bank of the flooded gulley, desperately trying to pull his massive weight out of the chest-deep water that raced past him. But the red, weeping wounds on his rust-colored hide told of the twisted barbed wire that had tangled in his legs and trapped him as the water rose around him.
Nate shook his head. “This is not good.”
He and Jolene were both breathing hard after a wild ride across the perimeter of the Rock-a-Bye Ranch into Double J territory. Their chests rose and fell in deep gasps that matched the rhythm of the horses’ restless pawing and periodic efforts to shake the water from their skin. Jolene’s wind-whipped cheeks provided the brightest spots of color in a landscape where shrouds of rain turned land and sky into one endless gray horizon.
“Not good at all.”
Jolene had given up trying to keep the poncho’s hood up over her head. The rain had turned her hair a dark gold, and rivulets ran down her face from every loose strand plastered to her forehead. She shoved the tendrils away from her eyes, giving him a glimpse of the fear and compassion there. “We have to help him.”
“He may not let us,” Nate warned. But he was already assessing the force of the wind, the speed and depth of the instant river. The physical strength he had left after too much Texas and too little sleep.
Jolene raised her hand to shield her eyes from grit blowing on the tornadic gusts of air from the east. The sixty to seventy mile per hour winds probably marked the leading edge of Hurricane Damon. That meant the weather and Rocky’s chances of survival—and their own—were only going to get worse.
“I wonder how long he’s been trapped there. Maybe he’s been weakened by the struggle,” Jolene suggested. “If he’s tired, it might make him halfway amenable to being helped.”
Might. Halfway. Half a bull was still a mighty dangerous adversary to tangle with.
The animal’s mournful bellowing didn’t seem to phase the horses, but it was obviously having an effect on Jolene’s compassionate heart. “If we cut him free, maybe he can get himself out.”
“If he’ll let me get that close.” The last time Nate had gone head-to-head with an angry bull had nearly cost him his life. It had cost him his career. And it had damn well handicapped his entire perception of life—how precious it was, how easily it could be thrown away.
A soft hand on his thigh tore him from his thoughts. He glanced down at Jolene’s long, capable fingers—strong in intent, yet timid in their touch. He looked up into her eyes. She squinted against the wind and debris, but he saw no fight there. “You said a bull did the damage to your leg. Are you afraid of him?”
When she spoke in that same tender voice she used to soothe her baby, Nate understood how this woman could create a loving home—full of bright smiles and warm hugs, compassion and support, with strong roots that went right down into the Texas soil. All the good things a man wanted to hold on to and protect with his life.
Something he refused to name shifted inside him, and he recognized his longing to be a part of that world, so like the one he’d lost when his parents had died. The one he’d lost a second time when Grandpa Nate had passed away. The one he’d been unable to rediscover since his brother and sister had moved on with lives of their own.
But he was quickly learning that this woman would be just as kind, just as concerned to a stranger as she would be to the man she loved. Nate buried his own yearnings and accepted her compassion for what it was and nothing more.
“Nah, I’ve worked around cattle too long to fear them. I think of it more like a healthy respect for the enemy.” He laced his fingers through hers and gave them a reassuring squeeze, frowning when he realized how chilled they were. “You got a pair of gloves you can put on?”
She pulled away, tucking both hands around her saddle horn and ignoring his concern. “If this dredges up some bad memory, I can try to climb down there and cut him loose. I have wire-cutters