A Cowboy Christmas. Линда Гуднайт

flashed on her face. She didn’t want to turn away a possible donor, but Danny was coming on too strong. That he was a man accustomed to having his way was no secret to anyone in Refuge.

      Caleb stepped in next to Kristen, ignoring the car salesman. “Ready to go? I could use that Coke you promised me.”

      “Oh, there you are.” Relief smoothed the frown between her eyes. She relaxed her arms. “Yes, I’m ready. Let me grab the laptop first.”

      “Sure thing.” He slipped an arm around Kristen’s waist, hoping Danny picked up on the subtle clues. Hoping even more that Kristen wouldn’t slap him silly.

      Danny looked from him to Kristen. “You’re with him?”

      The way the car salesman said him prickled the hair on the back of Caleb’s neck. He’d heard that tone before. Danny treated him like a speck of manure on the bottom of his shoe. Always had.

      Maybe he was, but Kristen wasn’t.

      For good measure, he shoulder jostled the former jock and left him standing there.

      “I could have handled him,” Kristen said when they reached the dais.

      The meeting room emptied, including Danny Bert, who was busy schmoozing someone else by the time he reached the exit. Probably selling the man a car. Or a beachfront property in Arizona.

      “I know you could.” He closed the laptop, figuring she was mad now. “Sorry if I overstepped.”

      “You didn’t. Thank you. Danny has always been pushy.”

      “Yeah.”

      She gathered her notes and stuck them in a tote. “I owe you that Coke.”

      His head jerked up. “I just said that to—”

      She put a hand on his arm. “I know. But a Coke sounds good after all that talking.”

      “Pops might need me.”

      “Your dad is at Bible study.”

      “Oh.” He knew that. He hadn’t expected her to.

      He shouldn’t go with her. They already spent so much time together he could barely think straight.

      But he was a weak man. Slapping his hat on his head, he asked, “Where to?”

      * * *

      Kristen was chiding herself as she slid into the booth at the fast-food restaurant. Caleb had been sweet to rescue her from that irritant Danny Bert, but he hadn’t wanted to come here and extend their time together. Why had she insisted?

      And what was it about her that found aloof men so intriguing?

      Caleb set a lidded fountain drink in front of her and slid in on the other side of the booth. His foot jostled her boot cast.

      “Sorry. Did that hurt?” He gripped his soda cup until she thought he’d pop the lid off.

      “Not at all.”

      His fingers eased their stranglehold. “When do you get free of the boot?”

      “Another week, I hope. I’m healing faster than expected.”

      She sipped at the Coke, remembering the only other time she and Caleb had shared a soda in this place. Maybe in this exact booth. “Tonight went great, I thought. I gave out ten cards.”

      “About the same for me.”

      “They won’t all follow through, but maybe some will.”

      “Like Danny Bert?”

      She rolled her eyes. “Danny’s a wart on the world.”

      Caleb laughed, coughed, choked on his drink.

      She handed him a napkin, chuckling. “It isn’t very Christian of me, but ever since I was his date to the junior prom, he thinks I owe him something.”

      Caleb’s eyes danced. “Corsages are pricey.”

      “Why, Mr. Girard, are you making fun of me?”

      “Depends on how much you liked the flowers, I guess. I didn’t go to the junior prom.”

      “Or the senior one, either.” A blush crept up her neck. Why had she said that? It was ages ago, and that she remembered seemed...pathetic.

      “Nope. Neither one.” He pumped his straw up and down in the lid without drinking. “I was never much for dancing.”

      “I thought all cowboys could scoot a boot.”

      “Nah.” His mouth curved. “That’s only in the movies. All my boot scooting happens when a bull gets after me.”

      Kristen laughed. “A regular twinkle toes?”

      “Something like that.” He sipped from the straw. “You hungry? I was thinking some fries sound good.”

      “I normally don’t eat fast food, but you go ahead.”

      He scooted out of the booth, and she watched him walk to the counter. He wasn’t a swaggering cowboy, but he sure looked good in jeans and cowboy boots.

      * * *

      A dozen emotions flooded through Caleb as he carried his order back to the booth. He should hit the trail, forget the food, forget Kristen Andrews.

      He doubted she remembered the only other time they’d been in this restaurant together, but he remembered. She’d been sixteen, a bouncy cheerleader in white shorts and a green shirt, cute and friendly as a pup. He’d fallen so in love with her, he hadn’t slept at all that night.

      He slid the tray onto the table and sat again. They were adults now, so why couldn’t his heart behave like one?

      He’d barely settled when she pinned him with those green eyes. “Why aren’t you married, Caleb?”

      A dozen reasons. He came from bad blood. He didn’t know how to be a husband. He sure didn’t know how to be a father. He’d decided long ago to remain a bachelor like Pops.

      “No one will have me,” he joked.

      “Oh, come on.” She tapped his fingers like a schoolmarm with a ruler. “Be serious. Haven’t you ever been in love?”

      “Once.” And once was all it took. “I decided the whole marriage and family thing wasn’t for me. You?”

      “I’ve thought so a couple of times.”

      His heart squeezed. “But?”

      “Things haven’t worked out. Yet. I’m still praying and asking for God’s direction.” She pulled the straw loose from the lid and studied the drippy end. “I’d like to get married someday and have a family, the way my parents did.”

      An all-American, traditional family like hers. He couldn’t begin to fathom what that was like.

      “Must have been some smart man in Colorado who caught your eye.”

      “There was.”

      “But not anymore?” A zing of hope shot up like a July thermometer.

      “Not sure. We’re...taking a break. His practice is really busy.”

      He didn’t care how busy he was. If Kristen was his woman, he’d find time. “Practice? He a lawyer?”

      “James is a doctor. A surgeon.”

      Hoped faded, crashed, ached.

      James. A doctor. Smart and successful. And probably rich. Exactly the kind of man Kristen deserved.

      Another reason Caleb would remain a bachelor.

       Chapter Four

      “You’re