Home for Christmas: Return to Promise / Can This Be Christmas?. Debbie Macomber
hadn’t seemed worth the arguments and the guilt. Besides, getting a sitter would’ve been difficult, since nearly everyone in Promise attended the annual Labor Day rodeo—and Ellie had managed to snag the services of Emma Bishop, one of the few teenagers available for baby-sitting.
“Cal didn’t want to leave the kids,” she explained. There would be other dances, other opportunities, Jane reassured herself.
“He’s up next,” Glen said.
“Go, Cal!” Ellie squealed. Despite her sister-in-law’s effort to sound sympathetic, Jane could tell she was truly excited.
Sure enough, Cal’s name was announced. Jane didn’t want to look, but she couldn’t stop herself. Cal was inside the pen, sitting astride the bull, one end of a rope wrapped around the saddle horn and the other around his hand. She held her sleeping child more tightly and bit her lower lip hard enough to draw blood. Suddenly the gate flew open and fifteen hundred pounds of angry bull charged into the arena.
Almost immediately, Glen and Ellie were on their feet, shouting. Jane remained seated, her arms around her children. “What’s happening, what’s happening?” she asked Ellie.
“Cal’s doing great!” she exclaimed. Jane could barely hear her over the noise of the crowd. Ellie clapped wildly when the buzzer went. “He stayed on!” she said proudly.
Jane nodded. How he’d managed to last those eight seconds, she had no idea.
“Whew. Glad that’s over.” Ellie sank down next to Jane.
“My brother’s got a real flair for this,” Glen said to no one in particular. “He could have gone on the circuit if…” He let the rest fade.
“If he wasn’t married,” Jane said, completing his thought. Actually Glen’s assessment wasn’t really accurate. Her husband was a long-established rancher before she’d come on the scene. He’d competed in rodeos since he was in his teens, but if he’d been interested in turning professional, he would have done so when he was much younger. She had nothing to do with that decision.
“Glen,” Ellie said, squeezing her husband’s arm, “who’s that woman over there?” Ellie was staring at a brunette standing near the fence.
“What woman?” Glen asked.
“The one talking to Cal.”
Jane glanced over, and even from this distance she could see that the other woman was lovely. Tall and slender, she looked like a model from the pages of a Western-wear catalog in her tight jeans, red cowboy boots and brightly checked shirt. It was more than just her appearance, though. Jane noticed the confidence with which she held herself, the flirtatious way she flipped back her long brown hair. This was a woman who knew she looked good—particularly to men.
“She seems familiar,” Ellie said, nudging Glen. “Don’t you think?”
“She does,” he agreed, “but I can’t place her.”
“She’s apparently got a lot to say to Cal,” Ellie added, then glanced apologetically toward Jane as though she regretted mentioning it.
Jane couldn’t help being curious. The woman wasn’t anyone she recognized. Normally she wasn’t the jealous type, wasn’t now, but she found herself wondering how this Rodeo Princess knew her husband. Even from this distance, it was clear that the woman was speaking animatedly to Cal, gesturing freely. For his part, Cal seemed more interested in what was happening with the rodeo than in listening to her.
Jane supposed she should be pleased by his lack of interest in another woman, and indeed she was. Then, as if aware of her scrutiny, her husband turned toward the bleachers and surveyed the crowd. His face broke into a wide grin when he caught her eye, and he waved. Earlier she’d been annoyed with him—in fact, she still was—but she’d never been able to resist one of Cal’s smiles. She waved in return and blew him a kiss.
An hour later, after Cal had been awarded the trophy for the amateur bull-riding competition, they decided to leave. With Mary Ann in the stroller and Paul walking between them, they made one last circuit of the grounds before heading toward the parking lot. They passed the chili cook-off tent, where the winner’s name was posted; for the first time in recent memory, it wasn’t Nell Grant. But then, Jane understood that Nell had declined to enter this year.
It was near dusk and the lights from carnival rides sparkled, delighting both Paul and Mary Ann. Cal’s arm was around Jane’s shoulder as they skirted the area set aside for the dance. The fiddle players were entertaining the audience while the rest of the musicians set up their equipment. People had gathered around, tapping their feet in anticipation.
The lively music had Jane swaying to the beat. “I wish we were staying,” she murmured, swallowing her disappointment.
“We’d better get home,” Cal said, swinging his trophy at his side. “I didn’t want to say anything before, but I’m about as sore as a man can get.”
“Your rib?” she asked.
He nodded. “Are you going to lecture me?”
“I should,” she muttered. “But I won’t. You knew the risks.”
He leaned forward and kissed her cheek. “You’re right. I did.”
What really bothered her was that he’d known—and participated, anyway. He was fully aware that he could have been badly injured, or worse. And for what? She simply didn’t understand why a man would do anything so foolish when he had so much to lose.
“I’m ready to go home,” he said. “How about you?”
Jane nodded, but glanced longingly over her shoulder at the dance floor. Maybe next year.
The phone rang, shattering the night silence. Cal bolted upright and looked at the glowing digital numbers of the clock radio, then snatched the receiver from its cradle. It went without saying that anyone phoning at 3:23 a.m. was calling with bad news.
“Pattersons’,” he barked gruffly.
“Cal? It’s Stephanie.”
Jane’s mother. Something was very wrong; he could hear it in her voice. “What’s happened?”
“It’s…it’s Harry,” she stammered.
Jane awoke and leaned across the bed to turn on the bedside lamp. “Who is it?” she asked.
He raised one hand to defer her question. “Where are you?”
“At the hospital,” Stephanie said, and rattled off the name of a medical facility in Southern California. “Harry’s fallen—he got up the way he sometimes does in the middle of the night and…and he slipped.”
“Is he all right?”
“No,” his mother-in-law answered, her voice trembling. She took a moment to compose herself. “That’s why I’m calling. His hip’s broken and apparently it’s a very bad break. He’s sedated and scheduled for surgery first thing in the morning, but…but the doctors told me it’s going to take weeks before he’s back on his feet.”
“Cal?” Jane was watching him, frowning, her hair disheveled, her face marked by sleep.
“It’s your mother,” he said, placing his hand over the mouthpiece.
“Is this about my dad?”
Cal nodded.
“Let me talk to her,” Jane demanded, instantly alert.
“Stephanie, you’d better talk to Jane yourself,” he said, and handed his wife the phone.
Cal was pretty much able to follow the conversation from that point. With her medical background, Jane was the best person to talk to in circumstances like this. She asked a number of questions concerning medication and tests that had been done, explained the kind of orthopedic surgery her dad would undergo and reassured her