Her Cowboy's Christmas Wish. Cathy Mcdavid

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СКАЧАТЬ “That was quite a fall you took.”

       “I’ll survive.” Ethan rolled his shoulders. Big mistake. He sucked in air through his teeth and waited for the spasm to pass.

       “What say we have the new nurse check you out?”

       “Nurse?”

       Clay hitched his chin in the direction of the empty announcer’s stand. “She’s here setting up the first-aid station for the jackpot.”

       “I thought you were bringing in an EMT and an ambulance.”

       “Too expensive. Found out I could hire a nurse for a lot less money and still meet the insurance company’s requirement for providing on-site emergency care.”

       Ethan resisted. “I’m fine.” He didn’t want to be checked out. And he sure didn’t want the other cowboys seeing him head for the first-aid station.

       “Come on.” Clay took a step in that direction. “We have a deal.”

       They did. Clay had agreed to let Ethan practice bronc riding as long as several conditions were met, one being that he have any injury examined by a medical professional. Ethan knew what a liability he was, that his chances of hurting himself were far greater than the next cowboy’s. Clay was taking a sizable risk despite the waiver Ethan had signed.

       If he didn’t comply with his friend’s conditions, there was no way on earth he’d be allowed to compete in the upcoming jackpot, much less practice for it.

       Grumbling, he fell into step beside Clay, and the two of them headed toward the announcer’s stand.

       “You going to be ready in time?”

       “Count on it.” Ethan had until the Saturday after Thanksgiving, less than two weeks away, to last a full eight seconds on one of Clay’s broncs. That was another of the conditions Ethan had to meet in order to enter the jackpot. “I’ll be here every evening if I have to.”

       The door to the small room beneath the announcer’s stand stood ajar. A minivan was backed up to it, the rear hatch open. As they neared, Ethan glimpsed plastic containers and cardboard boxes stacked inside the van and a handicap placard dangling from the rearview mirror.

       Clay stopped suddenly and scratched the back of his neck, the movement tipping his cowboy hat forward over his furrowed brow.

       “Something the matter?” Ethan asked.

       “I was going to surprise you. Now I’m thinking that’s not such a good idea.”

       “Surprise me with what?”

       “My new nurse. You know her.” He smiled ruefully. “That is, you used to know her. Pretty well, in fact.”

       Ethan had only a second to prepare before a young woman appeared in the doorway. She paused at the sight of him, recognition lighting her features.

      Caitlin Carmichael.

       She looked the same. Okay, maybe not the same, he decided on second thought. Nine years was a long time, after all. But she was as pretty as ever.

       Her former long blond hair had darkened to a honey-brown and was cut in one of those no-nonsense short styles. Her clothing was equally functional—loose-fitting sweats beneath a down-filled vest. It was her green eyes, he noticed, that had changed the most. Once alive with mischief and merriment, they were now somber and guarded.

       Something had happened to her during the years since they’d dated.

       Was she thinking the same thing about him?

       He waited for her glance to travel to his left leg. It didn’t. Either she was very good at hiding her reactions or she hadn’t heard about his injury.

       “Hello, Ethan,” she said, her voice slightly unsteady. “It’s good to see you.” She came forward, her hand extended. “Clay told me you were back in Mustang Valley and training horses for him.”

       “For a while now.” He took her hand in his, remembering when their greetings and farewells had included a hug and a kiss. Often a long kiss.

       An awkward silence followed, and he finally released her hand. “So, you’re a nurse?”

       She smiled. “I suppose that’s hard to believe.”

       “A little.” The mere sight of blood used to make her queasy. “I guess people change.”

       “They do.” Her gaze went to his leg, answering Ethan’s earlier question. She quickly looked away.

       “I work mornings at the middle school and afternoons at the new urgent-care clinic in Mustang Village,” she continued. “Have since the school year started.”

       “And now for Clay, too.”

       Her cheeks colored.

      Why? Ethan wondered. It was on the tip of his tongue to ask how her husband or boyfriend felt about her busy schedule. Then it occurred to him maybe she and Clay were seeing each other. That would explain the embarrassment.

       Ethan couldn’t blame his friend. And it wasn’t as if he had any kind of claim on Caitlin himself. Not after leaving her high and dry when he’d enlisted, following his mother’s death.

       “Speaking of which,” Clay interjected, “Ethan’s your first patient.”

       Her eyebrows rose. “You are?”

       “It’s nothing,” Ethan insisted, sending his friend—soon to be ex-friend once again if he kept this up—a warning look.

       He’d hardly gotten over the shock of seeing Caitlin. No way was he ready to be examined by her.

       Any choice he had in the matter was taken from him when Clay all but shoved him through the door and into the dimly lit room.

       The next instant, his friend was gone, leaving Ethan alone with the woman whose heart he’d broken, and who still owned a very large piece of his.

      CAITLINPULLEDAFLIMSY metal folding chair into the center of the space and indicated Ethan should sit.

       Gripping the back of the chair, he tested its strength. The legs wobbled. “You sure?”

       She shrugged apologetically. “I’m still setting up.” When he hesitated, she added, “There’s always the cot.”

       He promptly sat, his long legs stretched out in front of him, his big frame dwarfing the chair. Ethan had always been tall, some had said too tall for a bronc or bull rider. What he’d done since they last saw each other was fill out. No longer lean and lanky, he’d grown into a wall of solid muscle. She supposed his two—or was it three?—overseas tours were responsible.

       The extra weight looked good on him.

       Who was she kidding? He just plain looked good.

       Dark eyes, jet-black hair and a five o’clock shadow that should have looked scruffy but СКАЧАТЬ