Her Cowboy's Christmas Wish. Cathy Mcdavid

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       He couldn’t help thinking that if the bronc hadn’t thrown him last night, he wouldn’t be here now, anxiously waiting to see his former girlfriend again. Yet another if in a long, long list of them.

       Except Ethan really wouldn’t describe Caitlin as a girlfriend. She’d been much more than that to him, and he to her. Had his mother not died and he not enlisted, chances were good they’d have gotten married.

       He really had to stop thinking about what might have been, or else he’d drive himself crazy.

       “Ethan?”

       His head snapped up when Caitlin called his name. “Yeah.”

       “Right this way.”

       He followed her down the corridor. Once he was weighed and his height taken, she escorted him to an examination room, where he sat on the table and she at the computer terminal.

       “Why are you here today?”

       Seriously? She knew darn well why. “I fell from a horse last night and hurt my shoulder,” he answered, playing along.

       “What part of your shoulder?”

       “You examined me.”

       She gave him a very professional smile. “It’s procedure.”

       He cupped his shoulder with his palm.

       More questions followed, and she typed the answers into the computer. During the entire process, Caitlin treated him like any other patient, concerned, interested and like they hardly knew each other.

       What did he expect? She was at work.

       What did he want?

       The answer was easy. To see that light in her eyes.

       “The doctor will be right in to see you.” Before closing the door, she smiled and said, “I’m glad you came in today.”

       He was tempted to jump to the wrong conclusion and reminded himself that her remark was medically motivated. Hadn’t she urged him last night to have his shoulder looked at?

       After a brief consultation with the doctor, Ethan waited again, this time for the X-ray technician. Returning from the imaging room, he waited a third time.

       The doctor’s news was good. Nothing was torn, only soft-tissue damage.

       “Can I start riding again right away?” he asked.

       “I recommend you take a few days off.” The man studied him over a pair of reading glasses. “A week would be better.”

       “But there’s no reason I can’t ride.”

       “You could sustain further injury.”

       “Okay.” Ethan nodded. He had every intention of getting on a bronc tonight, and he was pretty sure the doctor knew it.

       “I’m going to prescribe an anti-inflammatory and a muscle relaxant. If you aren’t better in two weeks, call for a follow-up exam or see your regular doctor.”

       “Thanks.”

       “You know—” the man removed his reading glasses “—if you’re really that determined to ride, you might consider physical therapy to speed your recovery.”

       “Appreciate the advice, Doc.”

       “The nurse will be in shortly with your prescriptions.”

       Another wait, this one not long. Caitlin returned with three slips of paper in her hand. Ethan had to admit the sight of her in pale green scrubs was as surreal as seeing her in sweats. In college, she’d majored in journalism, with ambitions of being a TV reporter, and always dressed fashionably.

       Admittedly, the scrubs looked cute on her, the loose material not quite hiding her very nice curves.

       “Here you go.” She handed him the prescriptions. “The doctor wrote one for physical therapy as well, in case you need something for the VA.”

       “I’ll probably skip PT.”

       “Why? It will help.”

       He stood, folded the prescriptions and placed them in his wallet. “The nearby facilities don’t take VA insurance. And I can’t afford the time off work to drive into Phoenix.”

       “What if…what if I provided your physical therapy?”

       “You?”

       “I have some basic training. I’m not licensed, but I’ve taken several classes. For Justin. During his rehab, he’d strain his upper body muscles. And now that he’s involved in wheelchair athletics, he’s always overdoing it.”

       “I can relate.”

       “You two are alike when it comes to that.” Her expression softened, and suddenly she was the seventeen-year-old transfer student who’d been assigned to sit next to him in calculus class.

       Ethan was caught off guard and needed a moment to collect himself. “I don’t think the VA will pay for a private physical therapist.”

       “I won’t charge you.”

       He shook his head. “I can’t ask you to do it for free.”

       “Who said anything about free?” She smiled then, really smiled, and he caught another glimpse of the confident, carefree girl he’d fallen in love with. “I was hoping we could negotiate a trade.”

       She had his attention now. “I’m listening.”

       She motioned him into the hall.

       “I’m on the Holly Days Festival committee,” she said.

       The residents of Mustang Village had put on a big community-wide event the previous Christmas. None of the Powells had attended, but they’d heard about it. From everyone.

       “The committee, huh?”

       “You know me.”

       He did. She’d been an involved student in both high school and college. Cocaptain of the cheerleading squad, student council, National Honor Society.

       “I thought the festival was strictly for residents.”

       “I’m a resident,” she said brightly as they entered the reception area.

       “Really?”

       “I’m renting a condo. In the complex right across the street.” She nodded toward the window. “I get to walk to work every day. Well, not to the middle school. But here.”

       Working and living in Mustang Village. Was that another bit of interesting information Gavin had conveniently forgotten to tell Ethan?

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