A Cold Creek Christmas Surprise. RaeAnne Thayne

out next to her and Tripod anxiously whining and licking her face.

      “Go on, Tri. Back up, buddy.”

      The little dog reluctantly hopped away, allowing Ridge to crouch down beside the woman. Her eyes were closed, and her arm was twisted beneath her in a way he knew couldn’t be right.

      What was her name again? Sarah something. Whitmore. That was it. “Sarah? Ms. Whitmore? Hey. Come on, now. Wake up.”

      She moaned but didn’t open her eyes. As he took a closer look at that arm, he swore under his breath. Maybe it was better if she didn’t wake up. When she did, that broken arm would hurt like hell.

      He had known a couple of broken arms in his day and had enjoyed none of them.

      The woman had appeared fragile and delicate when she showed up at his house, too delicate to properly handle the job of cleaning up the wedding mess by herself. Now she looked positively waiflike, with all color washed from her features and long brown lashes fanning over those high cheekbones. Already, he could see a bruise forming on her cheek and a bump sprouting above her temple.

      He looked up the stairs, noticing a few pieces of garbage strewn almost at the very top. Must have been one hell of a fall.

      All his protective instincts urged him to let her hang out in never-never land, where she was safe from the pain. He didn’t want to be the cause of more, but he knew he had to wake her. She really needed to be conscious so he could assess her symptoms.

      A guy couldn’t grow up on a busy Idaho ranch without understanding a little about first aid. Broken arms, abrasions, contusions, lacerations. He’d had them all—and what he hadn’t suffered, the twins or Caidy had experienced. Judging by her lingering unconsciousness, he was guessing she had a concussion, which meant the longer she remained out of it, the more chance of complications.

      “Ma’am? Sarah? Can you hear me?”

      Her eyes blinked a little but remained closed, as if her subconscious didn’t want to face the pain, either. He carefully ran his hands over her, avoiding the obvious arm fracture as he checked for other injuries. At least nothing else seemed obvious. With that basic information, he reached for his cell phone and quickly dialed 911.

      He could drive her to the Pine Gulch medical clinic faster than the mostly volunteer fire department could gather at the station and come out to the ranch, but he was leery to move her without knowing if she might be suffering internal injuries.

      As he gave the basic information to the dispatcher, her eyes started to flutter. An instant later, those eyes opened slightly, reminding him again of lazy summer afternoons when he was a kid and had time to gaze up at the sky. He saw confusion there and long, deep shadows of pain that filled him with guilt.

      She had been cleaning his house. He couldn’t help but feel responsible.

      “Take it easy. You’ll be okay.”

      She gazed at him for an instant with fright and uncertainty before he saw a tiny spark of recognition there.

      “Mr....Bowman.”

      “Good. At least you know my name. How about your own?”

      She blinked as if the effort to remember was too much. “S-Sarah. Sarah M—er, Whitmore.”

      He frowned at the way she stumbled a little over her last name but forgot it instantly when she shifted a little and tried to move. At the effort, she gave a heartbreaking cry of pain.

      “Easy. Easy.” He murmured the words as softly as he would to a skittish horse—if he were the sort of rancher to tolerate any skittish horses on the River Bow. “Just stay still.”

      “It hurts,” she moaned.

      “I know. I’m sorry. I’m afraid you broke your arm when you fell. I’ve called an ambulance. They should be here soon. We’ll run you into the clinic in Pine Gulch. Dr. Dalton should be able to fix you up.”

      Her pale features grew even more distressed. “I don’t need an ambulance,” she said.

      “I hate to argue with a lady, but I would have to disagree with you there. You took a nasty fall. Do you remember what happened?”

      She looked up the stairs and her eyes widened. For a minute, he thought she would pass out again. “I was going to talk to you and I...I tripped, I guess. I’m not sure. Everything is fuzzy.”

      “You were coming to talk to me about what?”

      A couple of high spots of color appeared on her cheeks. “I...can’t remember,” she said, and he was almost positive she was lying. On the other hand, he didn’t know the woman; she had just suffered a terrible fall and was likely in shock.

      She shifted again, moving her head experimentally, but then let it back down.

      “My head hurts.”

      “I’m sure it does. I’m no expert, but I’m guessing you banged it up, too. You’ve probably got a concussion. Have you had one before?”

      “Not...that I remember.”

      Did that mean she hadn’t had one or that she just couldn’t remember it? He would have to let Doc Dalton sort that one out from her medical records.

      She started to moan but caught it, clamping her lips together before it could escape.

      “Just hang on. Don’t try to move. I wish I could give you a pillow or some padding or something. I know it’s not comfortable there on the floor but you’re better off staying put until the EMTs come and can assess the situation to make sure nothing else is broken. Can you tell me what hurts?”

      “Everything,” she bit out. “It’s probably easier to tell you what doesn’t hurt. I think my left eyelashes might be okay. No, wait. They hurt, too.”

      He smiled a little, admiring her courage and grit in the face of what must be considerable pain. He was also aware of more than a little relief. Though she grimaced between each word, he had to think that since she was capable of making a joke, she would probably be okay, all things considered.

      “Is there somebody you’d like me to call to meet us at the hospital? Husband? Boyfriend? Family?”

      She blinked at him, a distant expression on her face, and didn’t answer him for a long moment.

      “Stay with me,” he ordered. Fearing she would lapse into shock, he grabbed a blanket off the sofa and spread it over her. For some reason, the shock first aid acronym of WARRR rang through his head: Warmth, Air, Rest, Reassurance, Raise the legs. But she seemed to collect herself enough to respond.

      “No. I don’t have...any of those things. There’s no one in the area for you to call.”

      She was all alone? Somehow, he found that even more sad than the idea that she was currently sprawled out in grave pain on the floor at the bottom of his stairs.

      His family might drive him crazy sometimes, but at least he knew they always had his back.

      “Are you sure? No friends? No family? I should at least call the company you work for and let them know what happened.”

      If nothing else, they would have to send someone else to finish the job. With that broken arm, Sarah would have to hang up her broom for a while.

      “I don’t—” she started to say, but before she could finish, the front door opened and a second later an EMT raced through it, followed by a couple more.

      Somehow he wasn’t surprised that the EMT in the front was his brother Taft, who was not only a paramedic but also the town’s fire chief.

      He spotted the woman on the floor, and his forehead furrowed with confusion before he turned to Ridge.

      “Geez. I just about had a freaking heart attack! We got a call for a female fall victim at the River Bow. I thought it was Destry!”

      “No. This is