A Cowboy Christmas: Snowbound Christmas / Falling for the Christmas Cowboy. Linda Goodnight
“Even if I did have my eye on him, Caleb isn’t interested in me.”
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