Christmas On The Silver Horn Ranch. Stella Bagwell

Well, I shouldn’t be surprised. From what I’ve heard, the Calhouns have more money than they know what to do with.”

      Ava pulled the pins from her heavy bun and quickly ran a brush through the long tresses. “I never realized that raising cattle could make a family so wealthy.”

      “It’s more than cattle, Ava. They sell high-priced cutting and show horses, too. And I hear they have lots of other holdings in mining and the gas and oil business.”

      Ava put away the brush and pulled on her gloves while the image of Bowie lying on the king-size bed flashed into her mind. Surprisingly, he’d not come across to her as rich or spoiled. In fact, he’d seemed very down-to-earth. But then, she’d only been there for a half hour. A woman would need weeks, even months to learn the sort of man who lived behind that rugged face and muscled body.

      “I wasn’t aware you knew that much about the family,” Ava replied.

      “I don’t. But I read things in the paper from time to time. And I remember a few years ago, when old Mr. Calhoun was hospitalized. Some of the nurses were hoping he’d have a longer stay just so they’d get to look at the gorgeous grandsons coming to visit. So which one of them are you treating?”

      “The youngest. Bowie. He’s the only one of them that’s still single.” Now, why had she bothered to give Paige that piece of information? His marital status had nothing to do with her job.

      Paige chuckled slyly. “Lucky for you.”

      Ava forced herself to laugh along with her friend. She might as well. The idea of her and Bowie ever having a relationship of any sort was totally laughable.

      Picking up her handbag, she started out of the small locker room. “Sure,” she joked. “Everyone knows what a cougar I am.”

       Chapter Three

      The next morning the sun was out, but there was a layer of snow covering the patch of yard in front of Ava’s house. Snowplows had already cleared the few side streets she took to reach the main highway, but the last ten miles of graveled road leading to the ranch were another story. After a few incidents of sliding and spinning, she managed to reach the Silver Horn, although the effort left her tense and exhausted.

      When she eventually entered the house, Greta instantly began to scold her. “Miss Archer, you should have called the ranch for a ride. The roads are messy today.”

      Ava handed her coat and gloves to Tessa, who was kindly waiting to take her things. “They weren’t that bad in town,” she told the cook. “But I must say the rural road leading up here to the ranch was treacherous.”

      Greta clucked her tongue with disapproval. “From now on, you call and let us know you need a lift. We don’t want you hurt, too.”

      “I’ll do that,” Ava promised, then asked, “Is Bowie in his room?”

      Greta let out a loud, frustrated groan. “He’s up there. After he ate his breakfast, he insisted he was going to get in the shower. I told him he couldn’t.”

      “That’s right. Only a sponge bath. He can’t get his burns or cast wet.”

      “Well, he won’t let me or Tessa help him with a sponge bath. And seeing he was so hell-bent on getting into that shower, I unscrewed the showerhead and brought it down here. He won’t be using it for a while. But he’s probably still fuming.”

      Ava had to laugh. “Good thinking. And I’ll remind him of what he’s to do and not to do.”

      “Well, brace yourself. He wasn’t too happy when I left him,” Greta warned.

      She was going to brace herself, Ava thought a few minutes later as she climbed the two flights of stairs to Bowie’s bedroom. Not because of his present mood, but because she needed to control herself.

      After a firm knock, she stepped into the bedroom to see Bowie standing with the aid of his crutch, staring out the window. The brooding expression on his face was a far cry from the playful guy she’d met yesterday.

      “Good morning,” she said.

      His head jerked in her direction as though he’d been expecting anyone but her.

      “Oh. I thought it was that damned Greta back to torment me.”

      Ava shut the door and moved deeper into the room. “It’s a good thing the cook is keeping an eye on you. She told me about the shower. Are you trying to ruin everything the doctors have done so far? Maybe you’d like to go through a series of skin grafts. Think a shower would be worth that?”

      “Damn it, I just want to feel clean. I can wash the bottom half of me okay. But I can’t handle the top half.”

      “Greta says she and Tessa have offered to help you.”

      He mouthed another curse under his breath. “Not on your life. Greta is like a grandmother. And Tessa came to live with us when she was just a very young teenager. She’s like a baby sister to me. Understand?”

      Unfortunately, she did.

      Dropping her tote bag on the foot of the bed, she motioned toward the private bathroom. “Okay. I told you yesterday I wasn’t going to do this, but I will. Just because I don’t want you to have a setback and cause me to have to see you for the next four months instead of the next six weeks.”

      His eyes widened. “What are you going to do?”

      The surprised look on his face was comical. “I’m going to give you a bath. What else?”

      “In the bathroom?”

      She shook her head in disbelief. “I don’t see any soap and water out here. Do you?”

      For a moment she thought he was going to start singing a different tune about wanting a bath, but then he heaved out a heavy breath and hobbled off toward the bathroom. Ava followed behind him.

      Bowie’s private bathroom was nearly as big as her kitchen. A green marble tub was situated on one side, while a glass-enclosed shower spanned the opposite wall. Green and white tile covered the floor, while white towels and washcloths hung on racks conveniently positioned around the room.

      Spotting a padded dressing bench over by the tub, she dragged it over to the sink. “Sit down here,” she ordered.

      “Ava, I—”

      “You what? Have decided you don’t want a bath as much as you thought you did?”

      “No. I still want a bath. I just— Well, it suddenly occurred to me that I probably sound like a spoiled brat to you. And I’m not. I’m just sick of being helpless, that’s all.”

      “And a little bit stubborn to go with it?” she added impishly.

      He grinned at that, and Ava was relieved to see his mood lift. She was a nurse—she didn’t want him to be miserable. Not physically or mentally.

      “Just a little,” he admitted.

      Turning slightly away from him, she filled the sink with warm water, then gathered a bar of soap and a washcloth. “How did you get that sweatshirt on?”

      “Very carefully,” he answered. “It hurt my shoulder a bit when I pulled it over my head. But I don’t think it damaged anything.”

      “You don’t, do you? Well, let’s hope it didn’t tear any flesh.” She turned back to him. “I can see you’re going to be a difficult patient. Didn’t you learn to follow rules in the Marines?”

      “Yes. And I followed them. But I didn’t always like them.”

      “I see. So now you want to make up your own rules.”

      “Life is more fun that way.”

      “You say