Riding the Storm. Julie Miller

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      Maybe he should have a little faith, too.

      “All right.” He nodded his head in lieu of a salute. “I promise I’ll keep an open mind about the way you run things here in Texas.”

      “Just do your job, Kellison.” Mitch’s gruff expression eased into a grin as he headed for the station door. “Just do your job.”

      “Not a problem.”

      The splash of tires over wet pavement ended the discussion. Nate turned at the sound of two quick honks of a horn and saw a dark green, extended cab pickup truck zip into the parking lot. The driver of the pickup spun into a space opposite Mitch’s Suburban and jolted to a stop.

      Nate admired the brawny truck while bemoaning the merciless treatment of its shocks. “Looks like your first volunteer.”

      “Oh, no.” Mitch didn’t sound nearly as relieved as a man in dire need of help should be when the cavalry started to arrive. “No, no. Not today, baby.”

      Baby?

      Mitch shoved the paramedic kit into Nate’s already full arms and hurried over to the truck, where a sunny-haired woman in a pair of baggy overalls and scuffed-up Lacer boots climbed out. Instead of politely excusing himself and joining the rest of his team inside, Nate stayed on the front sidewalk and adjusted his load, half-hidden by the translucent mist as he watched the scene unfold.

      He was scoping out the volunteers he’d be working with, he rationalized. Staying close to offer Mitch whatever backup he might need, since this woman’s arrival had obviously upset him. Nate narrowed his gaze to take note of every detail that weather and distance allowed him to assess.

      The woman wore her butterscotch cream hair pulled back in a straight, practical ponytail. The long strands hung past the collar of her man-size, bright green polo shirt. She might be a tad on the skinny side, though her bulky clothes and above-average height could be playing tricks on his perception. She had a definite spring to her step.

      And quite possibly the bluest eyes he’d ever seen.

      As she circled to the rear of the truck to greet Mitch, her face came into sharper focus. Nate’s fine-tuned senses responded with something more than curiosity. Her eyes were as cool and blue as a pristine mountain lake. She was pretty enough, he supposed, in an un-adorned, girl-next-door kind of way. But those eyes made her unforgettable.

      How could her arrival be a bad thing?

      “Hey, Dad.” She braced one hand on Mitch’s shoulder and rose up on tiptoe to exchange a kiss. So this was the daughter from the Double J Ranch that Mitch had been worried about.

      “Honey, we talked about this.” Mitch made a move to hug her or halt her, but she’d already stridden beyond his reach en route to the passenger-side door.

      “I know. But I also know how short-staffed you are right now.”

      “I recruited help.”

      “Right. The California contingency. Sun-babes and surfer dudes.”

      Surfer dudes? Nate frowned. Was that a joke or an insult? He hadn’t been on a surfboard since he’d blown out his knee, and phrases like totally rad and gnarly had never been part of his vocabulary.

      “You know Dan would only send his best.”

      Her ponytail bounced as she nodded. “I know Uncle Dan’s dependable, but you yourself said we were going to be shorthanded. So I’m here to volunteer for whatever job you need. Oh, and I passed Micky Flynn and Doyle Brown on the way in. They should be here soon.”

      “I’m glad some of my firefighters are finally showing up, but—”

      “Here. Do you mind?” She leaned in and pulled out a large flat box from the passenger seat. Once she handed the package off to her father, she propped her hands against her hips, rolled her shoulders back and stretched, tipping her face to the rain and breathing deeply, as if she found the cool drops a soothing comfort. “Mmm. I love this moisture. My garden’s going to love it, too. Everything’s so dry.”

      “Now, honey, you know damn well that…”

      The rest of Mitch’s warning got lost in the pounding alarm stopping up Nate’s ears. Her arched posture had pulled her loose clothes taut.

      She was pregnant. Maybe four or five months’ worth, judging by the subtle yet distinctive swell of her belly. Mitch was going to be a grandpa. No wonder he wanted her to stay home.

      The blue-eyed angel with the nonstop mouth was pregnant.

      The attraction humming through Nate’s body braked into regretful silence. He didn’t need to be lusting after somebody else’s woman.

      Wait a minute. She was pregnant?

      A familiar sense of urgency buzzed his senses back on full alert.

      She was Mitch’s idea of a volunteer?

      Every doubt that had been temporarily laid to rest resurfaced.

      No wonder he’d called Dan Egan for help.

      “I figured Aunt Jean’s Café wouldn’t be open this morning.” Mitch’s daughter pulled a second box from the truck, then closed the door with a subtle wiggle of her hip. She was smiling. Beaming like a ray of sunshine, despite the rain, the clouds and her father’s scowl.

      “So I got up early and baked some cinnamon rolls for the briefing this morning. If I know you, you didn’t eat any breakfast.” She winked. Nate zeroed in on the movement, fascinated by her animated expression and the spell she seemed to be casting over her father. “And I know you. C’mon. Let’s eat one while they’re still warm. I made them without nuts the way you like them. I’ll brew some fresh coffee to go with them, too.”

      She hiked the box higher in her arms and marched across the parking lot, heading straight toward Nate and the front door. Mitch’s big shoulders expanded with a sigh before he fell into step behind her.

      “Promise me, all you’ll do is make coffee and then go home?” Mitch asked.

      But Nate had a feeling the concession had fallen on deaf ears. Mitch’s daughter glanced up at the sky, arcing the slender column of her throat. “Maybe I’d better get the urn out and fill it up. I imagine we’ll have people in and out all day who’ll be looking for something to warm them up if this rain hangs on.”

      Nate barely got the door open for her before she came charging through. She tipped her chin and gave him a smile, which, even at a fraction of the wattage she’d shown Mitch, was still dazzling. “Thanks. I’m Jolene Kannon-Angel. You must be the California boy Dad told me about last night.”

      California boy? Surfer dude? “Nate Kellison.”

      He was too stunned by her exuberance, which somehow managed to intrigue yet condescend at the same time, to do more than utter his name.

      She didn’t give him time to say “pleased to meet you,” set her straight on the whole California misconception, or tell her how good those rolls smelled. She breezed on by, leaving a waft of cinnamon and a void of energy in her СКАЧАТЬ