Her Cowboy's Christmas Wish. Cathy McDavid

personnel for the Duvall Rodeo Arena, she most likely would be the one to treat him.

      Chapter Two

      Ethan hated to admit it, but Caitlin was right. His shoulder hurt like a son of a bitch. It had all night, affecting his sleep, his ability to dress himself and his mood.

       What if he really had torn something? Then he wouldn’t be able to enter the jackpot, that was for sure.

       The idea of going to the doctor and getting an X-ray wasn’t quite as distasteful to him as it had been the night before. Maybe he could go to the urgent-care clinic. If he was lucky, he might run into Caitlin again.

       He no sooner had the thought than he dismissed it. More likely than not she was married or in a committed relationship. Of course, finding out wouldn’t be all that hard.

       And if she was single, then what?

       He doubted she’d go out with him, not after the way he’d dumped her with hardly a word. Then there was the matter of his leg—or lack of it. Beautiful, desirable women like Caitlin Carmichael didn’t date men with missing limbs.

       Gritting his teeth, he shoved his arms through the sleeves of his undershirt and tried to pull it over his head. He didn’t get far. The pain immobilized him.

       The next instant a knock sounded.

       “What?” he hollered, his breathing labored.

       The front door opened and his brother came in. “Good morning to you, too.” He stopped midstep and eyed Ethan curiously. “Having a problem?”

       Ethan muttered to himself, not pleased at having an audience.

       “What did you say?”

       “I hurt my shoulder last night.”

       “Breaking one of Clay’s horses?”

       “A bronc trying to break me.”

       “Ah.” Gavin wandered toward the newly remodeled kitchen. “Any coffee?”

       “There’s instant in the cupboard.”

       “Instant?” He grimaced.

       “Beggars can’t be choosers.”

       Ethan didn’t particularly like instant, either. But he’d discovered since living alone the last few weeks that brewing a pot of coffee was a waste when he drank only one cup.

       He and Gavin and their dad had resided comfortably in the main house for over a year. When Gavin’s daughter, Cassie, moved in with them this past summer, they’d continued to get along. Soon, however, Gavin’s fiancée, Sage, and her young daughter, Isa, would be joining the family permanently, and that was a little too much closeness for Ethan.

       The old bunkhouse had seemed a good solution. Converting it into an apartment was taking time, though, and living amid the chaos of construction did get tedious. But Ethan didn’t mind.

       After a lifetime of cohabitating with others, including a barracks full of marines, he quite liked his solitude. No snoring, music or loud TV disturbing his sleep. No having to wait for someone to finish in the bathroom. No arguing about whose turn it was to wash the dishes or vacuum.

       No one watching him put on his prosthetic leg, then turning away when he caught him staring.

       “Want some?” Undeterred by the prospect of instant coffee, Gavin removed a mug from the cupboard.

       “Naw. I already had my quota today.” Readying himself, Ethan raised his arms, only to hesitate.

       What was wrong with him? He’d endured far worse discomfort than this. The months following his accident—a nice, gentle euphemism for losing the bottom half of his leg in an explosion—had been a daily practice in pushing the boundaries of his endurance.

       It hadn’t stopped there. The first thing Ethan had done when he returned home was reveal his intentions to start training horses again, his job before enlisting. His family had tried to dissuade him, but eventually came to understand his reasons and the need that drove him.

       Since no respectable cowboy wore athletic shoes when he rode, Ethan had used some of the money he’d saved during his enlistment to purchase two pairs of custom-made boots that fit his prosthesis. Within a few weeks, he was riding, and suffering a whole new kind of torturous pain. With determination, practice and continual exercise, he found the pain eventually lessened, though he still had his days.

       He didn’t start breaking horses until a chance meeting with Clay Duvall. Over beers at the local bar, his old friend had listened while Ethan outlined his ambitions. Then he’d offered him a job. In addition to the arena, Clay owned and operated a rodeo stock business that specialized in bucking horses.

       The idea of competing again hadn’t occurred to Ethan until he’d watched the cowboys practicing at Clay’s arena. What started as a vague longing quickly grew into a burning desire. Ethan was tired of people looking at him differently. Tired of their sympathetic smiles.

       Once he started competing again, all that would change.

       Ignoring the pain, he pulled on his undershirt, then walked through the partially framed living room to the freshly painted bathroom, where he removed a bottle of ibuprofen from the medicine cabinet.

       “You need a day off to rest up?” Gavin hollered from the kitchen.

       “Hell, no.”

       Both Ethan and his father worked alongside Gavin. With only thirty of the family’s original six hundred acres remaining in their possession, they’d turned their ranch into a public riding stable. Many Mustang Village residents boarded their horses, took riding lessons or went on guided trail rides at Powell Ranch.

       In addition, they’d started the stud and breeding business last month, after capturing Prince, a wild mustang roaming the McDowell Mountains.

       “Maybe you should take it easy today,” Gavin suggested, when Ethan returned to the kitchen.

       “Don’t worry about me.” He glowered at his brother. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

       “Prince is off his feed. I’d like you to take a look at him before I call the vet.”

       “I will. Later.”

       “I was hoping you could do it first thing.”

       Ethan thought his brother babied the wild mustang too much. Then again, the future of their family business relied heavily on Prince and his ability to breed. While he’d successfully mated with several mares since his capture last month, it was still far too early to determine if any pregnancies had taken, much less what kind of foals he would produce.

       Gavin studied him as Ethan downed the painkiller with a glass of water. “Have you considered seeing a doctor?”

       “Caitlin told me the same thing.”

       That got his brother’s attention. Instead of leaving, which was Ethan’s hope, Gavin pulled out a chair at the dining table, removed his hat and made himself at home.

       Great.

       “You saw her?” he asked.

       “Last night. She’s working for Clay, running his first-aid station.”

       “Interesting.”

       Gavin’s expression reminded Ethan of their father and, he supposed, himself. The Powell men all looked enough alike that most people immediately recognized them as family.

       “That’s what I thought, too,” Ethan said, recalling the shock he’d felt when he first saw Caitlin. “She also works mornings at the middle school and afternoons at the urgent-care clinic.”

       “Uh-huh.”

       His brother was sure taking the news in stride. Then it hit him. “You knew she was back, didn’t you?”