Christmas On The Silver Horn Ranch. Stella Bagwell
uniform that hugged her tall, curvy figure. He was stunned by the sight. In spite of the frown on her lovely features, Bowie was instantly convinced she was the sexiest woman he’d ever laid eyes on.
Awkward silence filled the room as he searched for the words to help him climb out of the hole he’d dug. “Sorry, I didn’t know you were there.”
“Obviously.”
Bowie had never felt lost in female company. Until this moment. This woman was staring at him as if she wanted to choke him, and he could hardly blame her.
“Well, now that you’re here, you might as well shut the door and come on in,” he said lamely.
The nurse remained where she stood. “Why should I do that? The vet can tend to you.”
Reaching for a crutch propped against the side of the chair, Bowie quickly maneuvered himself to his feet and crossed the parquet floor until he was standing in front of her.
“I’m sorry you had to hear that,” he said. “You caught me venting a bit of frustration. It wasn’t anything personal toward you.”
One black brow arched with skepticism and Bowie couldn’t keep his gaze from gliding over her dark brown hair, pale porcelain skin, high cheekbones and full cherry-colored lips. Yet it was her eyes that garnered most of his attention. The color of a clear spring sky, they were almond shaped and framed by incredibly long lashes. Behind the cool blue depths, he could see a wealth of intelligence and maturity—two traits he greatly admired in a woman.
“Not personal? I’m the nurse your father hired, and you clearly stated you don’t want me touching you.”
Hell’s bells, why had she chosen that unfortunate moment to walk through the door, Bowie wondered crossly. And when was he going to learn to keep a rein on his temper? Now he was going to have to do some fast talking or this angel in white was going to walk out and never come back.
“Oh, but I do want you touching me,” he blurted, then seeing the line of disapproval on her lips, quickly explained, “I mean, uh, I can hardly take care of myself. And I’m sure you’re an excellent nurse—with great hands.”
Her nostrils flared and for a moment Bowie thought she was going to reach out and slap him.
“I thought the word was grubby, Mr. Calhoun,” she said stiffly.
He shot her a helpless grin. “All right, you’ve made your point. I’ll admit it. I’m a rascal. Please forgive me, Ms.—?”
“Ava Archer.”
Bowie was relieved to see her expression gradually begin to soften. Maybe there was a glimmer of hope that he hadn’t ruined everything with this woman.
He extended his hand to hers. “Nice to meet you, Ava Archer. I’m Bowie Calhoun. Guess you already know that, though,” he added sheepishly.
She hesitated a moment before finally placing her hand in his. It felt soft and warm and surprisingly strong. Reluctant to end the contact, Bowie held on.
She said, “Yes, it’s clear that you’re the patient.”
“Well, I’d be pleased if you’d call me Bowie. Patient makes me sound like I’m an old man, and I’m far from that.”
“I can certainly see that, too. Bowie.” She cleared her throat and disengaged her hand from his. “Well, if I’m going to be your nurse, then I think we’d better set some ground rules right off.”
That didn’t sound to Bowie’s liking, but he was hardly in a position to protest. Right now he’d be willing to stand on his head if it would keep this sexy nurse around for a few more minutes.
“You’re the nurse. I promise to follow your orders.”
“Really?”
“Utterly.”
She shot him a dubious look before stepping around him. “If that’s the case, Bowie, then take a seat and I’ll have a look at you.”
He pivoted on the one crutch to see she was opening the drapes on the double windows near his bed. Bright sunlight streamed through the windowpanes. Beyond the glass, a ridge of mountains formed a backdrop to a bustling ranch yard full of cowboys, horses and work vehicles.
“In the chair or on the bed?” he asked.
“The bed.”
While he made his way to the king-size bed, she crossed the room and picked up a large tote bag she’d left sitting on the floor by the door.
He asked, “Do you know about my injuries?”
She walked over to the bed and made room on the nightstand for the tote. “I’m aware that you have serious burns and a broken ankle. Dr. Pearson is treating your burns. I have his instructions for your home care. Dr. Stillwell is dealing with your broken ankle, and I’ve been given his instructions, also. But I’m not aware of the circumstances of how you were injured, if that’s your question.”
With her standing only a step away from him, the faint scent of her drifted to his nostrils. The fragrance reminded him of the tiny flowers his mother used to grow in the backyard.
“I work on a hotshot crew for the Bureau of Land Management. Out of the field office in Carson City,” he said. “We were sent to the Texas Panhandle to help with a canyon fire. High winds brought a burning tree down on me.”
She paused in pulling items from the bag to glance over her shoulder at him. “You’re lucky to be alive.”
“Yeah. Real lucky.”
Twisting around, she regarded him for long moments. “Are you being sarcastic?”
Surprised by her question, he said, “Why, no. I thank God every day that he saw fit to save me from that burning hell. Why do you ask?”
She folded her arms across her breast, but that was hardly enough cover to hide her ample curves from Bowie’s eyes. The fitted line of her dress emphasized a waist that would be no larger than the span of his two hands, while her hips flared out in the most enticing way. She was definitely more woman than he’d ever held in his arms. And he couldn’t believe she’d walked right into his bedroom and into his life.
“Because I see patients all the time who feel sorry for themselves. That attitude isn’t conducive to healing.”
He grinned at her. “Believe me, Ava, I’m not a man who goes around carrying a bunch of self-pity. That’s not to say I enjoy trying to walk with a crutch.”
Her gaze swept over him and for the first time in a long time Bowie felt a tinge of color burn his cheeks. He’d never been a vain man. The time he spent in front of the mirror was no longer than it took to shave off his rusty beard. When women looked at him as though they appreciated his looks, he hardly noticed. But having Nurse Ava eyeing him up and down was a totally different matter.
“No,” she said. “I don’t expect you do.”
“I’d rather be fighting fires.”
Turning back to the nightstand, she laid a stack of packaged bandages next to a pair of scissors. “You’ll be back on the fire line soon enough. First we have to get you well.”
Last evening Bowie had been wondering how he was going to tolerate the next few weeks of being confined to the ranch while waiting for his injuries to heal. When his father had told him he’d hired a nurse, Bowie hadn’t been bashful about expressing his views on the subject. The last thing he needed or wanted was some battle-ax coming into his bedroom and ordering him to take off his clothes. But this vision standing by the head of his bed had definitely made the coming days look a whole lot brighter.
“You know, I just spent three weeks in the hospital, and I only saw one other nurse dressed like you. And she was probably forty years old.”
“So that makes her five years older than