The Cowboy's Christmas Lullaby. Stella Bagwell

of his jeans. Normally he went straight to the shower when he arrived home from work, but he could hardly take that luxury with Marcella and her children here.

      “So do you come out to the ranch very often?” he asked as she came to stand a few steps on down the cabinet counter.

      “Not as much as I’d like to. I love visiting Lilly and Ava, but with my shifts at the hospital I don’t have many chances to make the drive out here.”

      “So you work at the hospital?”

      “Tahoe General. I’m an RN. I was working third floor for a while, but I’m back in the ER now.”

      “I see. So you’re a nurse like Lilly and Ava.”

      “Yes. From time to time the three of us worked together. But since they’ve gotten married and started having children of their own, those days are pretty much gone.”

      He dried his hands on a paper towel, and though he would’ve liked to simply stand there looking at her, he forced himself to open the cabinets and pull out the coffee makings. During the long years he’d worked for the Calhouns, he’d met many of their friends. But not this one. He would’ve definitely remembered Marcella Grayson.

      “You been a nurse for a long time?” he asked.

      “Twelve years.”

      So she’d become a nurse about the same time he’d come to work here on the Silver Horn, he thought. At that time he’d been twenty-four and desperate to start his life over. Since then, she’d acquired two sons. And he’d lost—well, he’d lost too much.

      Glancing over at her, he said, “You don’t look old enough to have been a nurse for that long.”

      A wide smile spread her lips, and Denver’s gaze was drawn to her straight white teeth and the faint dimples in her cheeks. When she smiled, there was an impish tilt to her lips and crinkle to the corner of her eyes that pulled at him and urged him to smile back at her.

      Imagine that. Denver Yates smiling at a woman. A Halloween witch must have put some sort of spell on him tonight, he thought drily.

      “That’s kind of you to say. But I’m thirty-three. I got my nursing degree before Harry was born. And he’s eleven now.”

      Had she been married at that time? he wondered. A few minutes ago on the road, she’d told him she didn’t have a husband, and he’d simply assumed she was divorced. But there was always the possibility that she’d had the children out of wedlock. That wasn’t unusual nowadays. Still, Marcella Grayson didn’t seem the sort. Not that he knew that much about women. For the past twelve years he’d pretty much avoided having any kind of relationship with a woman.

      Annoyed that his thoughts had meandered off on a path he had no business taking, he forced himself to focus on scooping coffee grounds into the filter.

      “You must like it—uh, working as a nurse, I mean.”

      “It’s exhausting and the hours are crazy. Especially trying to work them around the boys’ needs. But I manage. Most of all, it’s rewarding.”

      He shoved the basket of grounds into place, then stepped in front of the sink to fill the glass carafe with water. By now, she’d moved closer and Denver could only think how odd it seemed to have a woman in his kitchen. How unusual it felt to be looking at her and feeling warm pleasure slowly stirring in the pit of his stomach.

      Clearing his throat, he said, “From what Rafe tells me, you nurses are kind of like us cowboys. You have a job that gets in your blood. That’s why Lilly still works two days a week.”

      “That’s true. We can’t stay away from it. Not completely. At the time I adopted Peter I thought it would be better to quit the hospital and get a job with strictly daytime hours. So I did. I worked in a family clinic downtown for an excellent physician. But after a while I missed the hustle and bustle of the hospital. Especially the ER. So I went back to Tahoe General. That’s the good part about being a nurse. You never have to beg for a job.”

      Denver realized he must be staring at her like some goofy idiot, but he couldn’t seem to help himself. Or stop the next question from forming on his tongue. “Your younger son is adopted?”

      She nodded. “About three years ago. Actually, Jett Sundell handled all the legal issues for me. With you working here on the ranch, I’m sure you’re acquainted with him.”

      “Sure. Jett’s been the Calhoun family lawyer for as long as I’ve been here on the ranch.” He thrust the carafe under the tap and filled it with cold water. “Plus he’s married to Orin’s daughter.”

      “Sounds like you’ve worked on the Silver Horn for a long time,” she said.

      “Twelve years.” He got the coffeemaker going, then crossed to the refrigerator and pulled out two cans of cola.

      She said, “What does your job entail? I know you told the boys you rode the range. But I understand there’s much more to running a ranch than that.”

      He carried the sodas over to the cabinet counter. “I’m manager of the cow/calf operation. I make sure the mama cows are healthy and bred each year by the most productive bulls. That their babies are born safely and grow at the right rate, weaned with as little stress on them as possible, then sorted and sold at the most profitable time. That’s just a few of my responsibilities.”

      She let out a soft laugh, and the sound punched Denver right in the gut. Along with being sweet, it was sassy enough to turn his thoughts to a hot night and sweaty sheets.

      “A few? No wonder you don’t have time to clean the kitchen!”

      What in hell is wrong with you, Denver? You haven’t shared sweaty sheets with a woman in years! You haven’t even wanted a woman in years! So what are you doing allowing this one to put such erotic notions in your head?

      Slapping away the voice in his head, he gestured to the sodas. “Are these okay for the boys?”

      “Fine. I’ll take them.” She walked over to where he stood and picked up the chilled cans. “But I can’t promise you won’t end up with cola on your floor or furniture. If I made them come in here to the table, it might save your living room.”

      She was close enough for him to pick up the scent of mesquite smoke and wildflowers in her hair. And as his gaze took in the long red waves dangling against her back, he was struck with the urge to touch the silky strands and feel them slide against his fingers.

      “Uh—no need for that,” he told her. “There’s nothing in the living room the kids can hurt.”

      She looked at him, and as he met her clear blue gaze, he felt the last bit of oxygen leave his lungs.

      “Thanks. I’ll be right back.” She took the soda cans and left the kitchen.

      Denver sucked in a long breath and wiped a hand over his face. What in the hell was coming over him? She was just a woman with two kids and a dead battery. There was nothing about her, or the situation, to turn him into a randy teenager. Besides, in an hour or so, she’d be gone and he’d never see her again.

      Between now and then, he was going to have to get a grip on his senses and remember he was a widower. It wasn’t meant for him to have a woman or a family. Not now. Not ever.

       Chapter Two

      When Marcella reappeared in the kitchen, Denver had already filled two mugs with coffee and placed them, along with a sugar bowl and container of powdered creamer, on the table.

      “The boys are watching a sci-fi movie,” she said cheerfully. “Between space monsters and Orin’s ghost stories, they’ll probably wake up with nightmares.”

      “Well, that’s what Halloween is all about—getting spooked by imaginary creatures.” He gestured toward the mugs.