Riding the storm - By Julie Miller Page 0,42

fading into a veil of fatigue and terror by the time she finally cut him loose.

She felt the sudden give as the trap released him. Opening her mouth in shock, she swallowed water. Nate’s legs twisted with hers. Both arms came down around her and clutched her tight as he pushed off the bottom and thrust them both to the surface.

Jolene gasped for breath and coughed against the collar of his shirt. His chest heaved, crushing against her own as they fought to draw in oxygen from the water-soaked air.

“Oh, God, angel.” His lips brushed against her temple, and his labored breaths rushed past her ear. “Oh, God…Are you with me?…The baby?…Talk to me…Are you all right?”

She was moving. But she wasn’t aware of walking. Nate was carrying her, tripping with her, dragging her out of the river and up the bank—crawling on his one good knee and pulling her along with him.

He was hurting. She was spent. His breath was little more than a hiss in her ear. But he kept going.

“Nate.” She tried to find her feet, but they wouldn’t function. They’d hit flat ground and he was still pulling her along with him. “Nate. Stop. Stop.”

She bent her fingers into the shredded sleeve of his shirt and tugged. Or tripped him. She couldn’t tell which.

All she knew was that she was sinking to the ground, shivering, exhausted, frightened for her baby and grateful to be alive.

Grateful Nate was alive.

Maybe not in one piece. But alive.

Nate collapsed behind her. His arms stayed around her and he cuddled her close. They lay in the mud, her bottom nestled in the curve of his groin. With one broad hand he cupped her belly, placing his fingers over hers, shielding the tiny life she carried inside her. With the other arm he provided a pillow for her head, and he rested his cheek against hers.

“Please tell me you and the baby are all right.” Jolene only had enough energy to nod, but she moved her hand, sandwiching his larger one between both of hers. His chest expanded in a deep breath and his body relaxed against hers. His lips tickled her ear. Was he smiling? Did Nate Kellison really smile? “I thought I told you to stay with the horses.”

Jolene’s diaphragm shook with a silent laugh. “You’re welcome.”

“I owe you one.”

He wrapped himself around her, offering her warmth and strength and thanks as the rain pelted down and the wind swept the world right past them.

CHAPTER SEVEN

“LILY?” Jolene had to practically shout into her cell phone to be heard through the staticky connection. “Can you still hear me?”

“Rocky’s really okay?” her friend asked again.

Jolene picked up one of the towels she’d pulled from the linen closet and stuffed it into the windowsill beside her front door. Rain was already seeping in through every chink and hairline crack. Yesterday’s sunshine and clear blue skies seemed like a figment of her imagination.

But she couldn’t really stop to think about the gloom or the damp or the endless whistles and roars of the wind or else she’d drop from exhaustion. Her back ached and her bare feet were swollen like wrinkled prunes after being stuck inside her wet boots for so long.

She’d already started the water in the tub and pulled out all the pots and pitchers she could find so they’d have fresh water on hand in case the electricity went out and they lost the pumps, or rising floodwater contaminated the well.

While she prepped the house, Nate was taking care of the livestock and the outbuildings. That had been the deal, the only way she’d convinced him he didn’t have to carry her into the house and tie her down to keep her from overextending herself again and possibly endangering little Joaquin.

Jolene’s hand automatically went to her stomach, where Nate had shielded her and her baby from the elements. She’d mistakenly thought Nate was the strong, silent type. Of his strength, she had no question. He’d wrestled a bull, her, and the storm—and still had the temerity to boss her about.

But Nate had also made her laugh. He’d saved her life more than once today. He’d saved her friends. He’d held her in his arms and shared his heat and whispered soothing comforts in her ear.

And he’d kissed her like…like she was a woman.

Not Mitch Kannon’s tomboyish daughter. Not Joaquin Angel’s brave widow. Not April Kannon’s plain, skinny little girl.

A desirable woman.

“Jolene?” Lily interrupted her thoughts. “Are you there?”

Jolene was hugging the