Shelter From The Storm. Patricia Davids

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Shelter From The Storm - Patricia Davids Mills & Boon Love Inspired

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      Dale sent a speaking glance to Jesse and jerked his head toward the rear of the vehicle. The men walked to the back of the truck to converse out of earshot. Dale pulled his gloves from his pocket and put them on. “It’s going to get real cold for her just sitting. Use the heater for fifteen or twenty minutes at a time. The truck has enough gas to run all day if you don’t waste it.”

      “Right. I’ll take care of her.”

      Dale patted Jesse on the shoulder. “I know you will. What I’m saying is, get her talking. That way she’ll have less time to worry about her situation. Women need more reassurance when things go wrong.”

      That hadn’t been Jesse’s experience. The women he knew handled the unexpected as well if not better than most men. “I’ll do my best.”

      “Make sure to keep the muffler clear of snow when you run the truck. I don’t want to come back and find you passed out from carbon monoxide poisoning or, worse yet, dead.”

      “I know what to do.”

      “Okay, see you soon.” Dale staggered a few steps before Jesse caught up and steadied him.

      “Maybe I should be the one to go.”

      “I’m fine. You know as well as I do that the bishop and her father would much rather a fine, upstanding Amish fellow stayed with her instead of a not-so-upstanding non-Amish guy like me.”

      He was right, but Jesse hated to admit it. “Okay, go.”

      Jesse watched Dale as he walked off until he was out of sight, then he returned to the pickup, praying Dale could make good time in getting them help.

      * * *

      Gemma pulled her cloak tightly around her shoulders. It was growing colder. She studied Jesse’s face as he got in the truck beside her. “You look concerned. Are you worried about Dale?”

      “I’m sure he will be fine. Gott is watching over him.” He tried to make his words sound encouraging, but he missed the mark.

      It was clear he was concerned for his friend. She could only offer him small comfort. “You’re right. I can pray for him, even if I can’t do much else.”

      Jesse nodded to her foot. “How is the ankle?”

      “It hurts, but I will be fine here. If you hurry, you can catch up with Dale. I know you’d rather go with him.”

      “Can you turn on the heater?”

      She lifted her chin. “Of course I can.”

      “Do it.”

      She stared at the unfamiliar array of gages and knobs until she found the word heat. She pushed the slide over, but nothing happened. She glanced at him sheepishly. “Okay, how does it work?”

      “The truck has to be running.”

      “That means turn the key, right?”

      He nodded. She grimaced as she scooted behind the wheel and turned the key. Nothing happened. “What am I doing wrong?”

      “Probably a loose battery wire.” Getting out, he moved to the front of the vehicle and lifted the hood.

      “I’d like to know how he expected me to figure that out,” she muttered. How often did battery cables come loose?

      After a few minutes, he stepped to the side. “Try it now,” he called out.

      She did, and the engine roared to life, startling her. She pushed the slide over to High. The air came blasting out of the vents. Jesse walked up to the open passenger’s-side door. She turned the knob the other way and the flow of air died down. She looked at him, knowing he was testing her, and she was failing miserably. “It’s just blowing cold air.”

      “The engine has to warm up.”

      Annoyed that she was looking foolish at every turn, she glared at him. “You could’ve told me that.”

      “You could have admitted that you don’t know anything about running a truck. Did you realize that you have to keep the exhaust pipe free of snow or you will die of carbon monoxide poisoning inside the cab?”

      “I didn’t. You just love rubbing my face in my ignorance, don’t you?”

      “That’s not true. Can you say the same?” He slammed the door shut and walked to the rear of the vehicle.

      Gemma’s irritation quickly gave way to guilt. She was in the wrong. She would have to apologize. She shouldn’t have snapped at him. Nothing was simple anymore. Every step she took pushed him away, when that wasn’t what she wanted. She moved until she was sitting with her back against the driver’s-side door and stretched her legs across the seat. In the side mirror, she saw Jesse kick a clump of snow away from the rear tire. He was angry with her.

      Why was it that they couldn’t have a civil conversation? They were going to be alone together for hours. She watched him pace across the trail behind them with his arms crossed over his chest. She could see his breath rising in white puffs. The snow had started falling again. She couldn’t expect him to stay out in the cold while she enjoyed the warmth of the truck. It was clear she was going to have to make the first move. She folded her hands across her abdomen.

      She had abysmal judgment where men were concerned. Robert was a prime example. He’d spoken about love and marriage, but he’d used her and cast her aside as soon as she gave in. She betrayed the vows she had made at her baptism and lost her self-respect for nothing.

      Love and marriage were out of the picture now. She was about to become an unwed mother. Someone to be pitied. To be talked about in hushed tones, pointed out as an example of what could happen to girls should they stray. She wanted to bury her face in her hands and cry. Tears slipped down her cheeks, but she scrubbed them away. They solved nothing, but she couldn’t stem the rising tide of her remorse.

      * * *

      When Jesse had his anger under control, he glanced at the truck. Gemma’s head was bowed and her shoulders were shaking. Was she laughing at him? He’d been the brunt of her teasing before. He’d give a lot to know what she found funny in their current situation. As he walked past the truck bed, he caught the smell of gasoline. Leaning down, he checked under the truck but couldn’t see anything wrong. The undercarriage was resting on a snowdrift but the smell of gas was stronger. He wished he knew more about trucks, but he knew enough to be sure it was dangerous to run the vehicle if the gas tank was leaking.

      He pulled open the cab door. Gemma wasn’t laughing. She was weeping. His anger evaporated. “I’m sorry, Gemma. Don’t cry.”

      “I can—can cry if I—I want to.” She wouldn’t look at him as she sniffed and wiped her nose with a tissue from the box on the dash.

      “We need to turn the truck off. It’s leaking gas.”

      Her eyes widened. She quickly turned the key and the engine died. “Is it dangerous?”

      “Not unless something sparks. We’ll have to get by without the heater. I’m sorry I hurt your

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