Her Cowboy's Christmas Wish. Cathy Mcdavid

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       “Right,” Ethan answered testily. He’d bet the entire contents of his wallet that running into Caitlin hadn’t slipped his brother’s mind. “I’m a big boy, bro. You don’t have to watch out for me.”

       “Sorry. Old habits are hard to break.”

       Not exactly an admission, but close.

       “Answer me this,” Gavin said. “What would you have done if I told you she was back in town?”

       “Apologize, for one.” Which, now that he thought about it, wasn’t something he’d done last night. “And make amends…if possible.” He owed her that much.

       “You going to ask her out?”

       “Are you kidding?”

       “Why not?”

       “Even if I did, she’d turn me down flat. Besides, she’s probably married by now.”

       “She isn’t.”

       Ethan stopped pacing. “How do you know?”

       “The subject came up.”

       “I thought you said you didn’t have much time to talk to her.”

       “Doesn’t take long to say, ‘Hey, you ever get married?’”

       Ethan groaned.

       “What are you so mad about, anyway?”

       Before he could reply, another knock sounded at the door.

       “What now?” He stormed over and yanked the door open.

       Clay stood on the other side. “You’re in a fine mood.” Without waiting for an invitation, he stepped inside. “I just came from Prince’s paddock. He hasn’t touched his food.”

       “We’re heading there now,” Ethan grumbled, snatching his jacket off the back of the couch where he’d left it.

       “Any more of that coffee left?”

       “It’s instant,” Gavin complained from his seat at the table.

       Clay drew back in surprise. “Don’t you have a coffeemaker?”

       Ethan glared at him. “Don’t you?”

       Clay glared back. “What’s bugging you?”

       “He’s mad that I didn’t tell him Caitlin was working at the school.” Gavin rose from the table.

       “Can we not discuss this?” Ethan headed for the door.

       “You going to invite her out?”

       He ignored Clay’s question.

       “I already asked him that.” Gavin went to the sink and deposited his mug. “He says no.”

       Annoyed, Ethan shoved an arm into the sleeve of his jacket, then swore loudly when his entire left side seized with fresh pain.

       “How’s the shoulder?” Clay asked.

       “Fine.” Ethan opened the door and stepped out onto the porch.

       Clay came up behind him. “You don’t act like it’s fine.”

       “I’ll be all right.”

       “What did Caitlin say last night?”

       “Ice the shoulder and take ibuprofen. I’ve done both.”

       “Did she tell you to see a doctor?”

       “I don’t need to see a doctor.”

       “Don’t believe him.” Gavin joined them on the porch, shutting the door behind him. “He’s hurting.”

       Ethan anchored his hat to his head as a strong gust of wind swept past them on its way down the mountain to the valley.

       “See a doctor,” Clay ordered. “Until you do, and until you’re cleared, no bronc riding.”

       Ethan swung around. “Dammit, Clay!”

       “Sorry. That’s the rule. Same for you as everyone else.”

       “The jackpot is a week and a half away. I need to practice.”

       “Then I guess you’d better haul your butt to the doctor today.”

      ATTHEBOTTOMOFTHELONG driveway leading from Powell Ranch to the main road, Ethan turned left. Three minutes later he reached the entrance to Mustang Village, with its large monument sign flanked by a life-size bronze statue of a rearing horse.

       As he drove at a reduced speed through the equine-friendly community, he tried to remember what it had been like when there were no houses or buildings or people, only wide-open spaces and Powell cattle roaming them. He’d missed out on the construction of the community, having been in the service at the time. How hard it must have been for his father and brother to watch their family’s hundred-year-old history disappear acre by acre, replaced with roads, houses, condos and commercial buildings.

       He generally avoided Mustang Village. The reminder of all they had lost was too hard on his heart.

       If not for his mother’s failing health, they wouldn’t have borrowed the money from Clay’s father and used their land as collateral. If Clay’s dad had honored the agreement and not sold the land out from under them, Mustang Village would never have been built. If not for the residents of Mustang Village, Ethan’s family would be raising cattle rather than operating a riding stable.

       A lot of ifs, and that wasn’t even counting the most recent one—if he hadn’t been standing where he was at the exact moment the car bomb exploded, he wouldn’t have lost his leg.

       Ethan turned his thoughts away from the past when Mustang Village’s one and only retail strip center came into view.

       It always struck him as odd to see hitching rails and bridle paths in a residential community. On any given weekend, there were almost as many equestrians riding about as there were pedestrians walking. Not so much during the week. Mustang Village resembled most other communities then, with school buses making runs, mothers pushing strollers, cyclists zipping along and dog lovers walking their pets.

       Today, a work crew was busy stringing Christmas lights along the storefronts and hanging wreaths on lampposts. Already? Thanksgiving was still more than a week away.

       A buzzer announced Ethan’s arrival at the urgent-care clinic. This was his first visit. He always drove to the VA hospital in Phoenix for his few medical needs.

       Inside the crowded clinic, a receptionist greeted him with a friendly “May I help you?” and handed him a clipboard. When he was done filling out the forms, she processed his co-pay and said, “Have a seat.”

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