A Cowboy Christmas: Snowbound Christmas / Falling for the Christmas Cowboy

If they so much as brushed arms in the hallway, he jumped like she’d hit him with a defibrillator.

Look, but don’t get close was the message she received.

“He’s not interested in anyone from what I’ve noticed. And trust me, I’ve noticed. He rarely dates.”

Kristen had noticed, too.

“True. He’s not real social. Kind of shy, I think. Plus, running a ranch is hard, endless work. With his dad unable to contribute as much as he used to, all the chores fall on Caleb’s shoulders.”

Caleb would tromp into the house, ice frozen on his hair or soaking wet from rain, dutifully receive his dialysis lesson while he warmed up, talk a bit about the cows or horses or a red fox he’d seen and then head back out into the December cold.

She looked forward to those brief conversations as well as to the evenings they spent recruiting donors. They made a good team.

“Sounds like you’re admiring someone,” Trina said in a singsong voice, teasing.

“I do admire him. You should see him with his dad. It’s kind of heartrending, but tender and sweet, too. He’s desperate to make Greg well, as if he has that power.”

“Poor guy. Must be tough.”

“When we speak to groups about kidney donation, he visibly shakes. He hates being the center of attention, but he gets up there anyway.” And looked mighty fine doing it. A white shirt, well-pressed jeans and that black cowboy hat on a handsome man could give any woman cardiac arrhythmia.

Trina slipped a stack of medical forms onto a clipboard. “Sounds like a catch to me. Caring, thoughtful guy. Easy on the eyes. Kind of lonely and shy. You’d be doing him a favor to ask him out.”

Kristen shook her head and forced out a laugh as she slipped on her coat. Caleb was a catch. But, after the fiasco with James, she’d stick with friendship for now.

Friendship was less risky.

* * *

Kristen was here.

Caleb’s belly lifted and dropped like it did when he took a hill too fast in his pickup truck.

Cloaked to the ears in the white quilted coat with a green plaid scarf around her neck, the woman he couldn’t get out of his mind walked into his house, toting a pot of red flowers and a white paper sack.

She couldn’t possibly know about today. Unless Pops had told her. “What’s the occasion?”

“Christmas. These are poinsettias.” She handed him the flowers and the sack and began unwinding her scarf. “And some good news.”

His pulse jumped. “A donor?”

“Not yet, but we’re getting closer.” She took the white sack from him and went into the kitchen. That was Kristen, comfortable with people in a way he wasn’t. “The donation center says twenty-seven people have signed up to be tested for Greg since we started our awareness campaign.”

She looked so right in his house, he had the completely inappropriate longing to pull her close, the way a husband would greet a wife.

Instead, he shoved the idea as far back in his head as it would go—which wasn’t far enough—and set the potted plant on the bar between them. It was pretty. Brightened up the place. Like she did.

“Hear that, Pops?” he called toward the back of the house.

“Sure did.” Pops exited the laundry room, a basket in his arms. Caleb took it. Pops scowled but didn’t argue.

“I’m praying one of them is right for you,” Kristen said.

“Hard as it is to covet another man’s property,” Pops said, “I’m praying with you.”

Talk of prayer made Caleb fidgety. He’d tried it lately. Hadn’t done much good.

He put the thought on pause and frowned. Could God be responsible for the twenty-seven sign-ups?

Kristen removed a plate from the cabinet and arranged some Christmas cookies and perky gingerbread men in a pretty circle. He and Pops never got that fancy. They ate right out of the sack.

“You brought cookies?” he asked.

“I thought a celebration was in order.”

“It sure is.” Pops shot him a grin.

“Pops,” Caleb warned with a shake of his head.

The ornery old cowboy chuckled. “Oh, quit bellyaching. Every man gets older once a year. This little lady brought you flowers and cookies. Enjoy ’em.”

Caleb was watching Kristen’s face and saw when she caught on to Pops’s not-so-subtle hints.

“Today is your birthday? Why didn’t you tell me?” Her eyes lit up like candles on a cake. She circled the end of the bar and threw her arms around him. “Happy birthday!”

She smelled like sugar cookies and felt so right in his arms, he wanted to stand there for an hour. Made a man want to have a birthday every day, though his was nothing much to celebrate.

The snotty little imp in his head piped up. Kristen was taken. A doctor boyfriend. She was a people person, a hugger. Hugging meant exactly nothing.

His sneaky hands slid around her anyway. When the moment ended, he wanted to tell her it was the best birthday gift of his life. But that might hurt Pops’s feelings and make Kristen uncomfortable. Like Caleb was now.

“If I’d known, I’d have brought a birthday cake instead.” Her green eyes sparkled like jewels in sunlight. That was Kristen, sunny and warm on a cold, dark day.

“Aw, it’s no big deal. Cookies are great.”

“Of course it’s a big deal. At my house, Mom still bakes a cake and invites the whole family.” She roofed her hands over her head. “Then she makes us all wear those ridiculous pointed hats and leis. And the birthday boy or girl wears this huge flashing button that says, ‘Hug me. It’s my birthday.’”

Her family birthdays sounded amazing. He couldn’t fathom that, either.

Pops, whose eyes sparkled as much as Kristen’s, couldn’t let well enough alone. “Us old bachelors don’t know much about birthday partying. So what say you stick around after my date with R2-D2 and show us how it’s done?”

“Pops, Kristen’s worked all day.”

“Which means she’s gotta be hungrier than a toothless coyote in a lettuce factory. Why don’t you whip us up a steak while she and I visit our mechanical pal?” To Kristen, Pops said, “You wouldn’t turn down a sick old man on his son’s birthday, now would you?”

Pops had their guest between a rock and a boulder. She might not want to stay for dinner, but she was too kind to reject such a pitiful plea.

Every cell in Caleb’s stupid body was thrilled when she agreed.

* * *

The next morning was as cold as Antarctica but Caleb barely noticed. He was warm on the inside, thanks to Kristen and her birthday party ideas.

Collar turned up against the wind, Caleb poured feed into a trough while Pops was inside the barn, bottle-feeding the orphaned calf.

Caleb hummed a silly song, one Kristen had assigned as his penalty for losing one of her games. He still couldn’t believe how much fun he’d had playing those games and listening to Kristen laugh. She could be a bossy thing, forcing him and Pops to play kids’ games he’d heard of but never played. Charades. Minute to Win It, which had consisted of tossing marshmallows into a cup while standing on a strip of duct tape six feet across the room. When his toe had crossed the line, mostly on purpose, Kristen had gleefully penalized him. It was like living the childhood he’d never had.

Funny how something so simple with the right person could make a man this happy.

He hung the bucket on the fence and headed inside the barn, out of the wind. He’d have a busy day, moving hay to various pastures, counting cows, checking heifers. The weatherman was predicting a winter storm this weekend. He might have to cancel his weekly meeting at the fitness center with the group of gangly, struggling boys he mentored for Child Services. He disliked canceling but if there was the slightest chance of a storm, he had to get the animals ready. The house, too. With Pops on dialysis, a power outage could spell disaster.

Pops came out of a stall, empty bottle in hand. The calf followed, nudging at him. Rip moved between man and animal to force the little one back inside.

“Somebody had a good time last night,” Pops said.

Was he still humming? “Can’t remember laughing that much in a while.”

“It was good for you. Good for both of us.”

For those hours, he’d forgotten Kristen’s true reason for being at the ranch. He’d even forgotten how sick Pops was. “Hard to imagine you’re all that sick, the way you were hopping around on one foot last night.”

Pops gave Rip’s head a rub. “Couldn’t think of any other way to act out a flamingo. I sure ain’t pink.”

They both chuckled, remembering.

“She’s a fine girl.”

Caleb took off his gloves, slapped them against his thigh, not even pretending not to know who Pops meant. “Can’t argue that.”

“Pretty. Smart. A real Christian, the kind you don’t find every day.”

“What are you getting at, Pops? If you’re matchmaking, save your breath.”

“And what if I am? I may not be that old, but if things don’t look up real soon, I won’t be around this ranch forever.”

Caleb clenched his hands. “Don’t talk like that.”

“Son, death is a fact of life for everyone. My ticket to heaven was paid in full by Jesus a long time ago. I’m not scared of dying, but I am scared of leaving you alone.”

Emotion thickened in Caleb’s throat. He couldn’t have gotten a word out if he had to.

“See, it’s like this, Caleb. When I adopted you, you thought I was helping you. Truth was, I was the one in need. I needed you.”

“Aw, Pops.” He stared at his boots, chest aching.

“I don’t have a lot of regrets. I’ve lived most of my life the way I thought the Lord wanted me to. But I have one, a big one.”

“What’s that?”

“I regret not marrying and having the kind of family Kristen talks about. You missed out on that.”

“So did you.”

“Too late for me, but not for you. I want to see you settled before I leave this planet. I want to dance a Cajun jig at your wedding, and if God wills, stick around long enough to hold my first grandchild.”

“She’s got a boyfriend.”

“You sure about that? Couldn’t tell it by the way she was laughing with you last night. Sparkly-eyed, she was, looking at you. And you’re looking back.”

“Kristen’s nice to everyone.”

“Keep telling yourself that, boy, and she’ll marry somebody else before you get out of first gear. A woman like Kristen is special. She won’t be left on the vine too long.”

“You’re shivering. Better get in the house.”

Pops pinned him with a glare. “Changing the subject won’t change the facts. You think about what I said. You don’t want to be ten years down the road like I was, kicking yourself for being stubborn and stupid.”

With that, Pops whirled and marched out of the barn, his frail body bent into the wind. Frigid air whipped in behind him. Caleb shivered, too. He’d never heard Pops talk like that and it scared him. He’d always thought Pops was happy with the bachelor life, and he’d figured if it was good enough for Greg Girard, it was good enough for Caleb.

Pops’s admission got him thinking. About Kristen. And kids. She’d be a fantastic mother. She’d read to her kids and rock them to sleep and throw wonderful birthday parties. Stuff he’d only fantasized about.

What would it be like to be part of that? To have his own family, his own kids, to have Kristen at his side forever?

He rubbed both hands over his face with enough vigor to cause a rash.

All the talk in the world didn’t change the facts of who he was. No matter what Pops thought, Caleb didn’t stand a chance with a woman like Kristen.

Chapter Five

Cold rain battering her uncovered head, Kristen darted from the doctor’s office to the parking lot. Her run wasn’t her usual 10K pace, but with the boot officially gone, she’d be back up to speed in a few weeks.

Inside the car, she wiggled her foot. It seemed like a lifetime since she’d been able to wear a real shoe. Even though the shoes were nursing clogs, they were way better than the heavy boot.

She couldn’t wait to show Caleb. Greg, too, of course. And her family. They’d all be thrilled. Not just Caleb.

The fact that the cowboy was on her mind pretty much every waking moment gave her pause. They were spending a lot of time together. That was part of the reason. The other part was confusing. One moment, she thought he liked her. The next, he was backing away. She didn’t want to play the rejection game again.

They’d had a grand time on Caleb’s birthday, and the teasing had continued after another talk at the Oak Street Church two evenings ago. Underneath his reserve, Caleb was a great guy.

She started the car, cranked up the heat and the wipers. Slushy rain spit against her windshield. She frowned at it. Was that sleet? Or maybe snow? Tonight was Terri Bates’s baby shower. As one of the planners, she hoped they didn’t have to cancel. The cake was already made, the finger foods ordered and the guest list confirmed.

Her cell phone jingled. She fished it from her bag and answered.

“Hi, Mom.”

“I’m just checking on you, sugar. The weather is supposed to get bad.”

“I know, but I still have patients to see.”

“How many?”

“Two who are essential. The others can be delayed or rescheduled if necessary. Right now, it’s only slushy rain.”

“Slushy rain brings freezing rain. The meteorologist is predicting a major ice storm. You know how dangerous that can be.”

Oklahoma ice storms were terrifying. Last year, six traffic fatalities occurred during a single-day event.

“Hopefully, the worst will hold off until after sundown when the temperature drops. By then, I’ll be safely home.” Making shower-cancelation calls to fifty people.

“Call or text when you get back to your apartment. You know I won’t relax or stop praying until you do.”

“Thanks, Mom. I appreciate the prayers, but don’t worry. I lived in the mountains long enough to know how to drive in bad weather.” Granted, Colorado mostly saw snow. No need to remind her mother of that.

“Remember the rules Dad taught you.”

Kristen smiled, but dutifully ticked off her dad’s ingrained instructions. “Drive slowly, especially on bridges and overpasses, and steer into a skid.”

“Preferably stay off the roads altogether. But if you do find yourself in an ice storm, stay wherever you are until it’s safe to drive or Dad comes to get you.”

“Will do, Mom. Thanks. I love you.” What would she do without her strong, supportive family?

“Be safe. I love you, too.”

She rang off and headed to her first patient, wipers flapping with the rhythm of the radio. The weather in Oklahoma was fickle. It might not do anything at all.

* * *

By the time she reached the Girard ranch, tension knotted Kristen’s shoulders. She leaned close to the windshield, squinting through the heavy, pounding onslaught of slushy rain.

“So much for hoping this would blow over,” she grumbled.

She prayed she’d be able to get Greg’s treatment in and get home before the storm strengthened.

As she parked her Honda, the front door of Caleb’s house opened and he stomped out. Head down, no coat, he jogged to the car and yanked the door open.

“Have you lost your mind?” He looked as dark and stormy as the skies.

Kristen stiffened. “What are you talking about?”

“Don’t you watch the weather? Turn around and go home right now while you can.”

“Your dad needs his treatment, as you well know.” He was starting to make her mad. “And I’m not leaving until he gets it.”

“That’s stupid. Pops wouldn’t want you to risk your life.” Fat drops of rain pummeled his head. She was tempted to do the same.

“I’m already here. And you aren’t well trained enough to do the treatment by yourself.” Hurt by his tone, she shoved her nursing bag into his gut and pushed past him to get out of the car. “Let’s do this, so I can get out of your way.”

She started up the rise, fueled by wounded annoyance and not caring if he remained out in the rain and cold until he turned into a Popsicle.

The silly notion cooled some of her anger. But she didn’t wait for him. She marched up on the porch, pushed open the wooden door and went right in, closing it behind her.

Take that, cowboy.

Before she could unwind her scarf, Caleb entered, dripping wet and puffing like a steam engine. He glared at her. She glared back. What was his problem? Was he already sick of her?

The collie rose from his spot by the fireplace and came to greet her. She rubbed his ears, trying to decide what to say to Caleb.

“I’ll get towels,” he said. From his expression, he’d probably strangle her with them. He plunked her nurse’s tote on a chair and left her alone with the dog.

“Grouch,” she said. Rip wagged his tail and looked sweet.

From the back of the house, an area she hadn’t seen, she heard male voices. One was quiet and soothing, the other hot and loud.

What was he so mad about?

She removed her coat and gloves, but they were wet, so she waited by the door. Rip waited with her, licking the moisture from her clogs.

Both Girard men entered the room together. Caleb didn’t look quite so thunderous. He’d dried off and his boots were missing.

He hadn’t even noticed that her boot was missing, too.

Pops took one look at her face and asked, “Did he bark at you?”

Kristen bent to pat the collie again. “No, he’s a sweet dog. He likes me.”

Pops snorted. “I meant Caleb.”

“Oh.” Her gaze flashed to the cowboy. “A little.”

“Don’t take it to heart. He fusses like an old hen because he’s worried about you. Does me that way all the time.”

“Pops.” Caleb shook his head and handed her a towel. “Warm from the drier.”

His tone was nicer.

“Thank you. This feels wonderful.”

She patted her face and hair, wiped off her coat and dabbed at her scrubs. Rip had taken care of her shoes. Caleb reached for her coat and she gave it to him. He hung it on the back of a chair close to the fire. Was that his form of an apology?

“Beastly out there, huh?” Pops said. “You want some coffee? You like cocoa better, don’t you? Caleb, make her some cocoa.”

“That’s not necessary,” she said. Caleb was grumpy enough. No use ordering him to make refreshments. He’d likely blow a fuse.

Naturally, the cowboy ignored her protest and went into the kitchen. She could see him from the open-concept living room, moving around, taking down the ingredients for hot chocolate. He opened the fridge. Took out milk. Clunked a pan against the metal burner.

Then, and only then, did he look at her, his expression unreadable. “Get going on Pops’s treatment, so you can get out of here.”

Okay. Fair enough. Like Pops said, he was concerned about the weather.

His motive might be good, but his delivery needed work.

“You need to be in on the instructions,” she said.

Caleb shot her a frosty look and turned off the burner with a heavy sigh. She ushered Pops into the bedroom, where he relaxed in his recliner while they went through the protocol. Caleb kept looking from the machine to the window and back again. Maybe he was afraid of storms?

When the machine was set to run for the next few hours, she handed Greg the remote and put a stack of magazines at his elbow. “Need anything else?”

“If I do, I’ll holler. Go on and have that cocoa.”

Caleb went ahead of her to the kitchen. The ingredients were in the pot. All he had to do was turn on the stove.

Kristen leaned a hip against the counter and faced him. The kitchen was small, and they were close.

She could see the outline of his whiskers, which had darkened with the day. Masculine. Attractive. She swallowed, looked down and watched his competent, cowboy hands as he prepared the hot drink. He worked without much thought, a man accustomed to caring for himself.

A frisson of pity surprised her. Caleb had cared for himself basically all his life. No mama or daddy to guide him the way she’d had. No one to call and make sure he was safe in a storm. No one to come to his rescue or kiss his boo-boos or listen to his dreams. Yet behind the gruff exterior, he’d become a good, steady man, fiercely loyal to the one person who’d treated him well. And Mom claimed he spent his Saturday mornings with a group of troubled teens, the way Pops had done for him.

A chunk of her heart melted.

He handed her a cup of steaming chocolate. A handful of mini marshmallows floated on top, the way she liked it.

She sipped, watching him over the top of her cup.

He sipped his, returning her stare.

Neither spoke for a long time.

Only the click of the dialysis monitors and Rip’s gentle snore broke the silence. It was a surprisingly comfortable silence. Eye to eye, sipping at the sweet liquid in the warm, cozy kitchen while, outside, winter tormented the earth.

When she sipped and came up with a marshmallow mustache, Caleb lips tilted. He handed her a paper towel. “I owe you an apology.”

“It’s okay.”

“Pops was right. I bark when I’m worried. It’s getting nasty outside.”

“The drive out here wasn’t too bad.”

“That’s changing rapidly.” He hitched his head toward the outdoors. “Look outside.”

Kristen set her cup on the counter and went to the double windows in the living room. Caleb followed, standing close enough that his leather-and-woods scent circled around her, heady.

“Oh, no.”

Sleet pounded the earth, already turning the yard white.

“That’s not snow.”

Snow, she could handle. “Do you think the roads are freezing over yet?”

“The ground was already frozen. Add freezing rain and then sleet and you’re looking at roads of solid ice.”

Tension sprang up in Kristen’s shoulders. Driving home in the dark in an ice storm could spell disaster.

* * *

Caleb had one nerve cell left and it was sparking like a broken highline.

Having Kristen here in his house day after day was both glorious and awful. He was like a puppy, eager to see her but terrified of being kicked.

The woman had a boyfriend. But ever since his talk with Pops, Caleb kept imagining Kristen in a lacy wedding gown.

Now here she was in the flesh, and he kept having the same vision. Only the wedding wasn’t for her and some rich doc. It was for him and her, followed rapidly by a breath-grabbing vision of her rocking his baby in a wooden rocker with a sweet Madonna smile on her lips.

He was going seriously nuts.

To add to his torment, curtains of sleet hammered his house and gave no sign of letting up.

To make one final check of the animals, he left the house, Rip at his side, while R2-D2 filtered Pops’s blood. He slipped a few times, almost fell. Once he went down but managed to grab the shed door and pull himself back to his feet. He went inside the small shed to test-fire the generator. Just in case.

He started back to the house, shocked at how much the conditions had deteriorated since he’d first come outside. Ice pellets sluiced down the collar of his coat. Sleet stung his cheeks. He shivered, moving as fast as he could without taking another tumble.

They were in for a doozy of an ice storm. He had to get Kristen home. Fast.

By the time Greg’s treatment was complete, the TV on the wall was warning motorists to stay off the roads.

“You need to get out of here,” he told Kristen.

She frowned at the windows. “That bad?”

“Vicious.”

He helped her gather her supplies, stewing, thinking. Was it safe for her to drive?

Greg had followed them into the living room. He stood at the front windows. “Looks too treacherous, Kristen. Maybe you ought to stay here until this settles down.”

Caleb’s heart slammed against his rib cage. Yes. No!

He wasn’t the sort of man who encroached on another man’s territory. Having Kristen under his roof any longer than it took to do the treatments would kill him...as in hammer him in the head dead. He’d implode like one of those buildings loaded with dynamite. Only the dynamite inside him was all the words he wanted to say, the love he wanted to share.