Riding the storm - By Julie Miller Page 0,57

by any man. She’d never felt the comfort, the belonging, the possessive sense of rightness that she felt in Nate Kellison’s arms.

She hugged him close and tried to give him back everything that he made her feel.

The winds blew and the storm raged and Jolene never budged from her secure haven.

“So tell me about Turning Point,” Nate asked, stroking his fingers up and down the back of her neck. “Where’d you get a name like that?”

Jolene had closed her eyes to savor his touch. Now she grinned in drowsy contentment. “The story goes back more than a century ago. A wagon train of immigrants was traveling south through Texas—looking for a new life in the promised land. Fertile ground, oil underneath. Freedom.”

“The people of Turning Point seem pretty resourceful,” Nate commented. “I can believe that you come from pioneer stock.”

“Germans, English, Irish, Scandinavians, Czechs and Poles. But they weren’t as friendly then as we are now. They quarreled often and had trouble communicating because of all their different languages and customs.”

“You’re not going to tell me this ended in some kind of massacre, are you?”

“No.” Jolene shrugged. “But at the rate they were going, it didn’t look too much like they were going to make it to any promised land, either.” She shifted position as the baby stirred between them.

“Hey. I felt that.” The awe in Nate’s voice reverberated through the tiny room and settled deep in Jolene’s heart.

“You want to feel him?”

“Do you mind?” She heard something almost like fear along with the excitement in his voice. Though she couldn’t guess the cause, Jolene sensed that this was a healing moment for Nate.

And she desperately wanted to share the joy of this pregnancy with someone who could see it as a miracle instead of a poorly-timed lab experiment. She took Nate’s hand and spread it flat on her belly, beneath the hem of her sweatshirt. “He’s just a flutter right now. A swish of movement when he changes positions. He doesn’t really give a good kick yet.”

But little Joaquin delivered, rolling over, almost thrusting himself into the warmth of Nate’s hand.

Nate’s breath caught. “Wow.”

Wow was right. Jolene laughed at Nate’s unexpectedly boyish delight. “He likes you.”

Nate moved his hand to follow the movement of the baby. “Does he do that all the time?”

Slipping her hand down to cover Nate’s and hold him against her as the baby quieted, Jolene smiled. “Only when he’s in the mood. See? He’s settling down already.”

“He likes to hear you talk. Your voice is so—”

“Annoying? Never-ending? Opinion—?”

“Soothing.” He cut her off and complimented her at the same time. “That soft, throaty whisper gets to me, too. It’s sexy. Like something secret and intimate that only two people are supposed to share.”

Jolene’s cheeks heated with embarrassment. She’d been called skinny, shapeless, fun, crazy, plain, understanding and a real pal by the men in her life. But never soothing. Never sexy.

Embarrassment gradually turned into something much more profound, something that nurtured her ego and gave her confidence and made her feel pretty. “I think that’s the sweetest thing any man’s ever said to me. Thanks.”

“Sweet? Yeah, now that’s what I was going for.” He slid his hand down and gave her rump a playful swat. “The smooth talkin’s done for the night, angel. Now go on. Finish your story.”

Jolene laid her head on his chest and snuggled in. “The only thing holding all those immigrants together was their determined wagon train master, William Wallace Livesay. He could speak enough of each language to communicate with all the groups and keep the peace.

“But he was killed when a storm a lot like this one hit. He was thrown from his horse and trampled. The settlers were suddenly on their own, stuck with each other. But in true Texas spirit, they turned their lives around and decided to work together and settle at the spot where their leader had died. They found a way to communicate, a way to get along. They turned away from the storm and to each other to survive.”

“They turned to each other to survive,” Nate echoed.

“Sounds familiar, doesn’t it?”

She and Nate had turned to each other.

“Sounds like that pioneer spirit—putting down roots, helping your neighbor, doing what needs to be done—is still a big part of Turning Point.”

“I guess so. Is it like that for you back in Courage Bay?”

He didn’t answer. Maybe he was feeling torn from his own roots. From the community and family he loved back in California.

“It’s quieting down