Free Riding the Storm by Julie Miller Page B

learned to feel passion for her dear friend. She might have made love with her husband, instead of being the freakish virgin who’d conceived her child in a hospital lab.
    If she’d been artifically inseminated sooner, the baby would have been here by now. If she hadn’t delayed, there might have been a chance to save Joaquin. She’d have a companion for life instead of a grave to tend.
    As though sensing her troubled thoughts, Joaquin, Jr.,shifted positions in her womb. Gently, she caressed the spot where life was stirring inside her. Her son would never know his father, never know what a kind, good man he had been.
    But he’d know her love. Her baby would never lack for that.
    If it was enough. If she could be enough.
    Way too many if s.
    Jolene rubbed her stomach, unsure whether the baby was restless, or if her own self-doubts were responsible for the queasy feeling rising in her gullet. Heck. Maybe she should blame her oddly introspective mood on the rough road and the weather—or the unsettling presence of that wounded know-it-all from California.
    From the corner of her eye, she saw Nate’s hand go still. Automatically, hers did as well. She was going to add mind-reader to the list of things that irritated her about the visiting paramedic. While he might not be truly psychic, he had a way of noticing her moods and movements that was distinctly unsettling.
    Wes and Cindy cuddled between them, whispering sugary apologies to each other over and over, sneaking kisses. But the honeymooners weren’t enough of a distraction to keep Jolene from sensing the ripple of awareness radiating across the truck cab. Goose bumps puckered along her arms and legs, and she knew the sudden sensitivity had nothing to do with the damp clothes that stuck to her skin.
    Nate was watching her now. As sure as the touch of his hand, she felt him.
    An upward glance gave her a glimpse of whiskey-brown eyes, shaded by that omnipresent ball cap. But his gaze was no less piercing, no less questioning.
    She slipped her fingers back to the steering wheel and peered into the dull, drab excuse for daylight outside.
    What now? she wanted to shout. Where was she falling short this time? How was she pushing his worry buttons? Did he blame her independence for the ache in his knee?
    She gripped the wheel tighter and pressed on the accelerator. It was his own fault! He should have just let her fix the damn tire instead of doing all that lifting and bending.
    Of course, when he’d picked her up, she’d gotten absolutely no sense that there was anything weak or disabled or hurting about the man. His chest had been hard and warm against her back, his arm strong and secure.
    She’d been startled when the car had shifted. Despite the deceptive gentleness of its movement, thousands of pounds of drifting metal could be unpredictable. She could have been struck or pinned beneath it.
    But Nate had saved her. He’d picked her up, lifted her out of harm’s way, held her tight. He’d saved her. Saved her baby.
    For a second time.
    Jolene rubbed her tummy again.
    “You okay?” Even though she’d been thinking about him, knew he’d been thinking about her, Nate’s low-pitched voice surprised her.
    She’d felt edgy from the moment he’d caught her watching him at the fire station. The deteriorating weather, the stupid mistakes she’d made, the close calls they’d had didn’t help. But she wasn’t about to tell himshe wasn’t feeling like herself today, that she hadn’t felt normal since he’d volunteered to be her shadow-slash-savior for the day.
    “I…” It was a weak start to an explanation she hadn’t come up with yet. Her stomach suddenly growled, protesting the passage of time since breakfast and reminding her that she was eating for two now. The grumbling sound echoed loudly through the cab, earning a giggle from Cindy and turning Jolene’s cheeks red.
    Wes grinned. “Somebody’s hungry.”
    Baby Joaquin, at least, had given her an easy,