Riding the Storm

He patted his leg, making light of her concern. “It’s an old injury from college. It acts up whenever the barometric pressure drops. Like today.”

His explanation wasn’t convincing anybody.

Especially Jolene. “Is that why you limp? Are you in pain all the time?”

She’d noticed that, too?

Nate stared at her in disbelief, his teeth clenched so tight he could feel his pulse ticking along his jaw. Hell. He must have left his cool, calm and collected pill back in California. Maybe on the side of the highway with that baby he couldn’t save. Maybe back home on the ranch where he no longer felt at home.

This crazy Texas woman with the barbed tongue and the beautiful eyes confounded him at every turn. He was reacting to things she said and did, instead of staying in control of his emotions and on task. He had to get a grip on whatever it was he was trying to feel, or he wasn’t going to be much good as a volunteer to Mitch or Turning Point or anybody else.

“Yeah, it’s a permanent handicap,” he finally admitted.

The doctors had stitched up all the parts they could find. They’d added a few made of plastic and steel. Still, one leg would always be shorter than the other. One knee would never flex like the other. It would stop him at airport gates and keep him off the dance floor for anything faster than a waltz. It would be a target for arthritis before his time.

But he always played the injury down so nobody would notice. So nobody would treat him differently. So no one would think him any less capable, any less a man.

But Jolene noticed. “I didn’t think you were handicapped. I just thought you’d hurt yourself surfing or skiing or whatever it is you do out in California. Did I make it worse? You should have said something. I can drive slow if you need me to.”

“What?” Just what kind of old fart did she think he was, anyway? “You need to slow down—” Your entire life, Nate wanted to add. To keep that baby and your own skin safe. But caught himself before his temper flared. Using that betraying right hand to remove his cap, he smoothed his hair and adjusted the hat back into place—adjusting his focus at the same time. “Look, I’m fine,” he reassured her, forcing half a grin to appear more convincing. “This leg isn’t any worse off than it was before. Lily Browning’s the one I’m worried about.”

Apparently he was convincing enough to alleviate her concern and get her focused on something besides his shortcomings. Good.

“Me, too.” Jolene shifted the truck into drive. “I mean, Dad would have called us with an update if there was any change in Lily’s condition. But we should still get there as soon as we can.”

“Agreed.” Nate stared out the window. The sky was turning grayer by the minute.

“And we won’t tell Dad about banging up my truck, okay? Since neither of us was hurt, and the truck still runs, I don’t see any need to report it. He’ll find out soon enough, and he worries about me too much as it is.”

Was it any wonder? But Nate nodded his agreement. Mitch had more than enough to handle today. Keeping Jolene out of trouble might be the best thing he could do to help her father. “That’s your call.”

“Yes, it is.” He glanced over at the sharp tone in her voice. But he suspected it had more to do with the worsening weather conditions than with him. The quick smile she spared him went a long way toward lightening his mood. “But thanks, anyway.”

He supposed keeping a secret was one small thing she’d let him do for her. “No problem.”

Jolene flipped the windshield wipers up to high and pressed on the accelerator, taking them along the soggy road at a saner speed. Though he could tell she was concentrating hard to steer the misaligned truck over the challenging terrain, nothing seemed able to stop her mouth. “I’m sorry if I hit a nerve,” she apologized. “I mean that figuratively, not literally. Unless I did hit a nerve, and that’s why your knee hurts—”