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

Or he could die tomorrow. That was what she wasn’t saying.

The calf drained the bottle, and Caleb lowered the animal to the rug and went into the kitchen. At the sink, he washed out the container, his heart heavy as a boulder. He was a man of action, a man who took charge of his sick animals and found a way to make them well. That he couldn’t do the same for Pops made him crazy.

Chapter Two

Caleb carried her bag to the car. Kristen had been mildly amused that he’d held her elbow while she’d thumped like a flat tire in her boot cast down the incline from his porch to her car. The leg was healing. She was an independent adult who could manage alone. But there was something to be said for a thoughtful man.

He’d even opened her car door and waited in the December cold, hands shoved in his jeans pockets, for her and her bum leg to settle in.

“See you tomorrow,” she said, putting on her seat belt.

Caleb leaned in, one hand on top of the Honda. “Same time?”

Their gazes met, and Kristen experienced that disconcerting flutter again. “If not, I’ll give you a call.”

“Okay. Thanks.” He closed the door and stepped back, watching as she took off. When she glanced in her mirror, he still stood there, wind stirring his brown hair, his olive flannel shirt plastered against his body. He looked incredibly alone.

Like she’d felt the day James had left.

Eyes were the windows to the soul, and Caleb Girard’s said he was sick with fear and sadness. Anger, too. As a nurse, she recognized the normal progression of emotions in life-and-death situations. As a woman who’d once adored him, she ached for his aloneness and despair.

There had to be more they could do to procure a kidney for Greg. Thousands died every year waiting for a transplant. She hadn’t told this gruesome statistic to Caleb or Greg. Hope was essential. Greg had it. Caleb was struggling.

After a stop at the Refuge Home Health office, Kristen visited one more patient, who needed an IV infusion, before calling it a day. That done, she stopped at her childhood home. Dad wasn’t yet home from his real estate office, but Mom was. After twenty-six years of working alongside Dad, Evie Andrews was semiretired, showing homes only when she wanted to.

A honey blonde carrying a few extra pounds, Evie greeted Kristen with a hug. “There you are. Staying for dinner, I hope. I have lemon chicken in the oven.”

“One of my favorites, as you well know.”

Mom offered a guilty shoulder shrug. “Funny how that worked out.”

Grinning, Kristen limped through the tidy living room where she’d grown up, past Mom’s perfectly decorated, lit Christmas tree, to the island separating the living area from the kitchen. She climbed onto a bar stool and propped her boot on the rung of another.

“Your leg doing okay now that you’re working again?”

“It’s tired at the end of the day, but I’m not having any pain to speak of.”

“Which you wouldn’t speak of even if you were in agony.” Mom moved around the island to the stove. “Cup of tea?”

“Sounds wonderful. But I can make it.” Kristen started to rise.

“Sit. Let me pretend you still need me.”

“Oh, Mama, I’ll always need you.”

Her mother set the kettle to heat. “Still haven’t heard from Dr. Dudley?”

An ache pulsed in Kristen’s chest. “I thought he’d call by now, wanting to make up.”

“But he hasn’t?”

“Not even a text to inquire about the fractured fibula.”

“I know he’s a busy physician, but common courtesy demands at least a phone call.” Evie opened a cabinet. “Maybe he’s not as great as we thought.”

Maybe he wasn’t.

She’d thought she was in love with him. Wanted to be in love. Biology didn’t wait forever, and she wanted children, though she hadn’t mentioned kids to James. Not yet anyway. She’d assumed he’d feel the same. After his behavior at the ski lodge, and his cold silence since, she wasn’t sure of anything.

Her mom slid a steaming cup of Earl Grey in front of her. “How’s Greg Girard doing?”

Cup at her lips, Kristen blinked at her mother. “How did you know I was at his ranch today?”

“Sugar, this is Refuge, not Denver. Remember how you and your brothers used to get so aggravated because Dad and I knew what you’d been up to before you could tell us.”

“That was annoying. Like the time I was nominated for homecoming queen. I was so excited to tell you.”

“But Shawna Rich told us first.”

“I’m still mad at her about that.”

They both laughed, knowing she joked. She and Shawna remained close friends.

“So, how is Greg?” Evie leaned both elbows on the island.

Kristen shook her head. “Patient confidentiality, Mom.”

Her mom made a face. “Which doesn’t mean beans in Refuge. Greg’s in our discipleship class at church. We know he’s in kidney failure. Everyone does. As soon as he received the diagnosis, he called your dad, asking for the class to pray.”

There were few secrets in Refuge, especially when someone was ill. “Greg is upbeat, as usual, trying to be positive, but frankly, he needs a miracle.”

“Someone somewhere has to be a donor match.”

“Finding that person is the problem.” She didn’t go into the sad statistics. She was a woman of science, but she and her family were also people of faith. “Sometimes it’s hard to trust that God will do whatever’s best, even if His idea of ‘best’ is not what we hoped.”

“I know, sweetie. I know. I feel as bad for Caleb as I do Greg. Maybe worse. Greg is the only family he has. We know where Greg is going if he loses this battle, but Caleb will be lost without his anchor.”

“He seems scared and worried, though he wouldn’t ever admit as much. Cowboy tough, all the way. But he’s trying hard to take care of his dad.”

“He was always a good boy under that nobody’s-gonna-hurt-me-again reserve. I liked him. And if my memory serves, you liked him, too. You were always tagging around after your brothers whenever they brought Caleb home.”

Kristen rolled her eyes upward. “Was I really that obvious?”

“Uh-huh. Starry-eyed teenage crushes, we all go through them.”

Caleb had probably thought she was a silly goose. But they were grown-ups now and teenage crushes had given way to more meaningful relationships. She wondered why Caleb wasn’t married.

“You know what’s sad?” Lifting the boot, she swiveled the bar stool toward the lit Christmas tree. “There wasn’t one sign of Christmas in that house.”

“I guess Greg’s not up to it.”

“Maybe they don’t decorate, being single guys and all. But that’s sad to me.”

“Some don’t. It bothers you because you’re a Christmas-cookie kind of girl with all the trimmings.” Evie dipped her tea bag up and down in the cup. “Which reminds me. Want to come over next week and bake pumpkin bread for the neighbors? It’ll be like old times, when you were in high school and we baked for your teachers.”

“And the fire department and police officers.” She set her tea on the speckled gray granite. “I loved doing that. Refuge has such a great community.”

Refuge was a great community, filled with caring people.

An idea popped into Kristen’s head. One she couldn’t wait to share with Caleb.

* * *

Caleb thought she was the cutest female buzz saw he’d ever seen. Being a cautious man, he kept the thought to himself. He grinned a little, though, when Kristen plopped onto a kitchen chair, pen and paper in hand, black boot sticking straight out, and declared her plan to find a kidney for Pops.

She’d already hooked Pops to R2-D2, forcing both men to watch, listen and repeat every step. Kristen was a good teacher, but an exacting one. He appreciated that even if it surprised him. Do it. Do it right. Pops’s life depended on it.

“Help me make a list.” She tapped the pen against her chin.

“A list of what? People who might donate?” Rip ambled in from Pops’s room and stood beside Caleb’s chair, quiet and polite. He appreciated that in a dog, a horse, too.

“Civic groups, churches and, yes, specific people if you can think of any.”

He couldn’t. “None that I haven’t already asked.”

“All right, then, let’s brainstorm groups to speak to.”

“Speak to? As in talk in front of people?” He dropped a hand to Rip’s head.

She snickered. “Scared?”

Terrified, but he wouldn’t admit it. “I’m not a good speaker. I barely talk to individuals. Cows and horses, yes. Groups of people, no.”

People stared and judged, and he was certain he’d make a fool of himself and ruin Pops’s chances. He didn’t have the education or the vocabulary to be a speaker.

“I think you’d be great,” she said, “but if it makes you feel better, I’ll handle most of the speaking. You come along to put a face to the need.”

He could do that. Fact was, he’d do anything. And the little perverse imp on his shoulder loved the idea of spending extra time with Kristen. The smart part of his brain knew better. “Whatever it takes.”

She gave him the kind of smile that made a man want to do anything she asked. “That’s the spirit. The more we raise awareness, the more opportunity we have of seeing the right donor step up.”

Caleb was skeptical, but he admired Kristen’s spunk, her determination, her sheer faith that they would succeed. Even if it all turned out to be a wasted effort, they’d know they tried.

They spent the next twenty minutes brainstorming places to speak and social media, all of which Pops would have to approve. Then, after a check of Pops’s machinery, Kristen started looking up numbers on her cell phone.

“Here,” he said, holding out a hand. “Give me half the list. I can look up numbers.”

“As long as you don’t have to talk to them?”

He gave her a scowl. “I can call. But they’ll respond better to you.”

“What makes you think that? I’m the one who’s been gone for a long time. They probably won’t remember me.”

Oh, they’d remember her, all right. Kristen Andrews of the auburn hair, sea green eyes and big, big heart was unforgettable. Whether or not anyone would line up to give away a kidney at her request? That was the part that worried him.

Chapter Three

Caleb stared at the sea of faces gathered in the meeting room of the Refuge Library. They made him nervous. So much so that he’d twisted the brim of his hat into a knot. He was nervous for Kristen, nervous for Greg, nervous that no one would even care about one old rancher with dead kidneys and no family other than an adopted son whose blood type didn’t even match.

Members of a local service club listened with varying amounts of interest. From his place on the dais, Caleb could see their faces and the few who played on their cell phones while Kristen explained the life-and-death scenarios people like his dad lived with every day.

He wanted to get up and punch the cell phone users, demand they listen and care. Kristen was terrific. Articulate, warm, funny. And the PowerPoint presentation was an attention grabber filled with grim facts as well as the hope and long life that could be realized through a living kidney donation. He was learning from her, too.

When she introduced Caleb, he stood, awkward as a three-legged calf. Here goes nothing, he thought for the sixth time in two weeks. He was the face of the issue, like he’d been years ago on one of those news programs that beg people to adopt older kids. He remembered the humiliation, the feeling that he was a germ under the microscope and lesser somehow because he had no parents to love him.

This was different, though. This wasn’t about him. This was about Greg, the only person to respond to that long-ago news program. As long as he could remember that, he didn’t care if his face was hotter than a brush fire or that his knees wobbled like Jell-O.

He stepped up to the microphone, cleared his throat and read from the paper he’d written and rewritten.

“Pops. That’s my dad,” he started, feeling proud as he always did to be able to claim Greg Girard as his dad. “He’s the best man I know, a hard worker, a real cowboy who loves his neighbor like the Good Book says and goes the extra mile to help others. He used to donate blood every time the mobile came to town, and after fire wiped out the Belgers’ hay barn, he fed their cows all through the winter out of our barn, free of charge. We ran a little short that spring, but he never mentioned the reason, just went to the feed store and bought expensive feed.”

Though his fingers trembled, he peeked at the crowd. Most were listening. He looked back at his notes.

“Even after his kidneys failed and he had to go on dialysis or die, he was thinking about others. At Thanksgiving, he drove around Refuge, distributing beef from our herd to families who were having a hard time. I could tell you lots of stories about him like that, but I’ll just leave you with this thought. If it was your dad, wouldn’t you want someone to step up and save his life?”

Grabbing his hat, he sat down again. Blood pulsed in his head. He had no memory of what he’d said. He hoped he’d made sense. He twisted his hat again, aware he was about to ruin a perfectly good Resistol.

Kristen turned her head, gave him one of her reassuring smiles, the kind that lit him up on the inside, fool that he was. She always said he did great. He doubted it. She was nice like that.

They were, however, making progress. Thanks to her. Every time they did this speaking gig, several attendees took the business cards he’d had printed with the donation center’s information.

Each response, small though it was, gave him hope. Not much, but enough to keep him rushing through chores to meet Kristen at the Lions Club or the arts council or any of number of churches who’d agreed to hear them speak.

When her talk ended, followed by polite applause, the group took a break, and he found himself uncomfortably surrounded with questioners. He looked for Kristen, but as happened every time, she was surrounded, too.

“Why don’t you give your dad a kidney?” The man in a yellow golf shirt seemed almost accusatory.

“I’m not a match. He’s type O. I’m AB. His donor needs to be O.”

A woman with a kind face asked from behind purple glasses, “I know your dad. How’s he doing?”

“Holding his own, thank you. But like Kristen mentioned on the PowerPoint, being on dialysis a long time shortens his life span, even after he gets a new kidney. We need a donor as soon as possible.”

Somehow he got through the rest of the questions and wove his way past clutches of conversations toward Kristen. She was the real power behind this campaign, and every time they were together, he found himself more and more captivated by her.

The wild teenage love he’d suffered in high school had grown up to be every bit as wild. His certainty that he didn’t stand a chance with her was even wilder. Love her from afar, but keep his mouth shut. That was his modus operandi.

He spotted her then, as questioners drifted away, leaving one gray-suited man and Kristen. The man was standing a little too close, Caleb thought. Kristen stepped back two paces and ended up against a wall. The man followed, talking, his hands gesturing. Caleb recognized him.

Danny Bert. Used-car salesman. High school jock and bully.

Something dark moved inside Caleb, a primal sense of protectiveness. He picked up his pace, excusing himself as he brushed past the remaining people.

“You haven’t been around in a while, Kristen,” the suit was saying. “Maybe we should have coffee and talk over old times and this donor thing. I know a great little place that stays open late.”

“Sorry, Danny, I can’t, but I appreciate your interest in donating. Call the number on the card, and they’ll get you started.”

“I’d rather talk to you. Old times and all. Remember the junior prom? You and me. It might be worth that phone call you want me to make. Quid pro quo?”

Caleb didn’t like the sound of those words. Whatever they meant.

Kristen crossed her arms. Conflicting emotions flashed on her face. She didn’t want to turn away a possible donor, but Danny was coming on too strong. That he was a man accustomed to having his way was no secret to anyone in Refuge.

Caleb stepped in next to Kristen, ignoring the car salesman. “Ready to go? I could use that Coke you promised me.”

“Oh, there you are.” Relief smoothed the frown between her eyes. She relaxed her arms. “Yes, I’m ready. Let me grab the laptop first.”

“Sure thing.” He slipped an arm around Kristen’s waist, hoping Danny picked up on the subtle clues. Hoping even more that Kristen wouldn’t slap him silly.

Danny looked from him to Kristen. “You’re with him?”

The way the car salesman said him prickled the hair on the back of Caleb’s neck. He’d heard that tone before. Danny treated him like a speck of manure on the bottom of his shoe. Always had.

Maybe he was, but Kristen wasn’t.

For good measure, he shoulder jostled the former jock and left him standing there.

“I could have handled him,” Kristen said when they reached the dais.

The meeting room emptied, including Danny Bert, who was busy schmoozing someone else by the time he reached the exit. Probably selling the man a car. Or a beachfront property in Arizona.

“I know you could.” He closed the laptop, figuring she was mad now. “Sorry if I overstepped.”

“You didn’t. Thank you. Danny has always been pushy.”

“Yeah.”

She gathered her notes and stuck them in a tote. “I owe you that Coke.”

His head jerked up. “I just said that to—”

She put a hand on his arm. “I know. But a Coke sounds good after all that talking.”

“Pops might need me.”

“Your dad is at Bible study.”

“Oh.” He knew that. He hadn’t expected her to.

He shouldn’t go with her. They already spent so much time together he could barely think straight.

But he was a weak man. Slapping his hat on his head, he asked, “Where to?”

* * *

Kristen was chiding herself as she slid into the booth at the fast-food restaurant. Caleb had been sweet to rescue her from that irritant Danny Bert, but he hadn’t wanted to come here and extend their time together. Why had she insisted?

And what was it about her that found aloof men so intriguing?

Caleb set a lidded fountain drink in front of her and slid in on the other side of the booth. His foot jostled her boot cast.

“Sorry. Did that hurt?” He gripped his soda cup until she thought he’d pop the lid off.

“Not at all.”

His fingers eased their stranglehold. “When do you get free of the boot?”

“Another week, I hope. I’m healing faster than expected.”

She sipped at the Coke, remembering the only other time she and Caleb had shared a soda in this place. Maybe in this exact booth. “Tonight went great, I thought. I gave out ten cards.”

“About the same for me.”

“They won’t all follow through, but maybe some will.”

“Like Danny Bert?”

She rolled her eyes. “Danny’s a wart on the world.”

Caleb laughed, coughed, choked on his drink.

She handed him a napkin, chuckling. “It isn’t very Christian of me, but ever since I was his date to the junior prom, he thinks I owe him something.”

Caleb’s eyes danced. “Corsages are pricey.”

“Why, Mr. Girard, are you making fun of me?”

“Depends on how much you liked the flowers, I guess. I didn’t go to the junior prom.”

“Or the senior one, either.” A blush crept up her neck. Why had she said that? It was ages ago, and that she remembered seemed...pathetic.

“Nope. Neither one.” He pumped his straw up and down in the lid without drinking. “I was never much for dancing.”

“I thought all cowboys could scoot a boot.”

“Nah.” His mouth curved. “That’s only in the movies. All my boot scooting happens when a bull gets after me.”

Kristen laughed. “A regular twinkle toes?”

“Something like that.” He sipped from the straw. “You hungry? I was thinking some fries sound good.”

“I normally don’t eat fast food, but you go ahead.”

He scooted out of the booth, and she watched him walk to the counter. He wasn’t a swaggering cowboy, but he sure looked good in jeans and cowboy boots.

* * *

A dozen emotions flooded through Caleb as he carried his order back to the booth. He should hit the trail, forget the food, forget Kristen Andrews.

He doubted she remembered the only other time they’d been in this restaurant together, but he remembered. She’d been sixteen, a bouncy cheerleader in white shorts and a green shirt, cute and friendly as a pup. He’d fallen so in love with her, he hadn’t slept at all that night.

He slid the tray onto the table and sat again. They were adults now, so why couldn’t his heart behave like one?

He’d barely settled when she pinned him with those green eyes. “Why aren’t you married, Caleb?”

A dozen reasons. He came from bad blood. He didn’t know how to be a husband. He sure didn’t know how to be a father. He’d decided long ago to remain a bachelor like Pops.

“No one will have me,” he joked.

“Oh, come on.” She tapped his fingers like a schoolmarm with a ruler. “Be serious. Haven’t you ever been in love?”

“Once.” And once was all it took. “I decided the whole marriage and family thing wasn’t for me. You?”

“I’ve thought so a couple of times.”

His heart squeezed. “But?”

“Things haven’t worked out. Yet. I’m still praying and asking for God’s direction.” She pulled the straw loose from the lid and studied the drippy end. “I’d like to get married someday and have a family, the way my parents did.”

An all-American, traditional family like hers. He couldn’t begin to fathom what that was like.

“Must have been some smart man in Colorado who caught your eye.”

“There was.”

“But not anymore?” A zing of hope shot up like a July thermometer.

“Not sure. We’re...taking a break. His practice is really busy.”

He didn’t care how busy he was. If Kristen was his woman, he’d find time. “Practice? He a lawyer?”

“James is a doctor. A surgeon.”

Hoped faded, crashed, ached.

James. A doctor. Smart and successful. And probably rich. Exactly the kind of man Kristen deserved.

Another reason Caleb would remain a bachelor.

Chapter Four

“You’re going out to see that cute cowboy again?” Kristen’s coworker Trina stepped into the supply room inside the home health office, where Kristen gathered the supplies for another trip to the Girard ranch.

Kristen dropped dialysis tubing into her bag and reached for the wound-care supplies. Because his treatment took several hours, she saved Greg Girard’s visit for last.

“Which cute cowboy would that be?” She knew full well which one. Caleb was seldom far from her thoughts.

Something had changed between her and Caleb that late night over french fries and soda refills. She didn’t know what it was. She wasn’t a lovesick teenager anymore, but she couldn’t deny the powerful pull between her and the cowboy.

So powerful in fact, that she wanted closure with James. Not that she and Caleb were an item, but spending time with the cowboy had cleared the fog from her brain. She wasn’t in love with James. And he certainly hadn’t been in love with her. He’d wanted her, yes, but love and respect? Not even close.

She thanked God He’d opened her eyes to that truth before it was too late.

Trina reached for the irrigation syringes. “Caleb Girard is one of the most eligible and best-looking bachelors in Refuge. All that cowboy charisma is yummy.”

Chemistry and biology. Exactly. The fact that her nerve endings tingled whenever Caleb entered the house was a simple case of attractive male and single female on the rebound. Instant appeal. At least on her part. “Even if I did have my eye on him, Caleb isn’t interested in me.”