Riding the storm - By Julie Miller Page 0,55
safe and sane, and protect her baby.
Because that’s what a man like Nate Kellison did.
Jolene decided that she liked Nate Kellison. Liked him very much.
“Have you ever actually been surfing?” she asked, embarrassed now to think of the way she’d stereotyped this California cowboy as some kind of know-it-all, life-in-the-fast-lane surfer dude.
He picked up her empty pudding cup and tossed it with the dirty dishes beneath the sink. Then he settled against the bank of pillows in front of the tub to stretch out his leg and rub his knee. “A few times. Back in high school. But I got enough thrills competing in the rodeo. Once you conquer a bull like Rocky, who needs the ocean?”
Watching his fingers work reminded her of the massage he’d given her. The gentle strength of those fingers had erased the cramp in the small of her back and worked other types of magic on her body, too.
But just as Jolene was succumbing to the languid warmth of his soothing voice and the fiery memories of how incredibly sexy and alive he’d made her feel, a loud pop startled her and brought the outside world back into their cocooned retreat. Another tree branch had fallen prey to the storm. Jolene squeezed the pillow in her arms, anxious to resume the conversation and keep the tension of the hurricane at bay.
“So you were conquering a bull like Rocky when you got hurt?”
Nate nodded. “Bull-riding was my specialty. I earned a rodeo scholarship that put me through college. My junior year, at the regional championships, I drew a monster called Tornado. He had a good five hundred pounds on Rocky out there.”
His fingers stilled, and he paused long enough that Jolene inched forward, wondering if he would continue.
“I lasted seven seconds on his back,” he said at last.
Jolene drew back at the bleak announcement. “I thought you had to ride for eight seconds to qualify.”
Nate raised his eyes to hers. “That’s right. By eight I was flying through the air. Probably blew out my knee when I hit the dirt.” He shook his head and leaned back. “I don’t remember much after that. I had a concussion, too.”
“Nate.” She rose up on her knees and clasped his ankle because that was the only part of him she could reach to offer comfort. To find some for herself.
“Kell was there in the stands. He said Tornado came after me like there was something personal between us. And I was locked up against the fence.”
Jolene felt moisture prick her eyes.
“Anything on me that hadn’t been broken yet sure was on that day,” Nate continued. “I’d already had the first of four surgeries by the time I could think straight and figure out where I was. I lost part of my knee. The doctors have gradually rebuilt my leg with steel pins and replacement parts. Needless to say, I was done with the rodeo. Kept my hand in it at the ranch, but that was about it. I’m fit enough to pass a physical, but not much more.” He laughed, but Jolene couldn’t feel any humor. “Now it takes an extra hour to get me through the airport. And my leg makes a pretty effective paperweight.”
A tear trickled down Jolene’s cheek and dripped onto the back of her hand. She felt just as hot, just as small and useless as that tiny drop in the face of all Nate had endured. “Nate, I…”
Jolene swallowed hard. She didn’t know what to say. I’m sorry seemed inadequate. Poor thing seemed an insult to the strong, capable man he’d become in spite of his tragic past. Let me hold you and comfort you and give you something of me to make you feel better seemed downright laughable, given her lack of experience with men.
Nate reached out and caught the next teardrop with the pad of his finger. “Hey. I’m not telling stories to bring you down. You were supposed to at least smile at that last one.”
His touch was sure and gentle, and the selfless caress made her weep all the more. “You’re not very funny.”
“Jolene, don’t do this.”
She was making things worse, not better. She could tell by the deep worry grooves that formed beside the grim line of his mouth.
“C’mon, angel,” he urged her.
Jolene gave a noisy sniff and pulled away. “I’m sorry. I’m just tired. And my hormones are all out of whack. And this stupid storm won’t stop.” Sitting on her legs, she hugged herself—baby, pillow and all—sat