A Cowboy Christmas: Snowbound Christmas / Falling for the Christmas Cowboy. Linda Goodnight

safe. I love you, too.”

      She rang off and headed to her first patient, wipers flapping with the rhythm of the radio. The weather in Oklahoma was fickle. It might not do anything at all.

      * * *

      By the time she reached the Girard ranch, tension knotted Kristen’s shoulders. She leaned close to the windshield, squinting through the heavy, pounding onslaught of slushy rain.

      “So much for hoping this would blow over,” she grumbled.

      She prayed she’d be able to get Greg’s treatment in and get home before the storm strengthened.

      As she parked her Honda, the front door of Caleb’s house opened and he stomped out. Head down, no coat, he jogged to the car and yanked the door open.

      “Have you lost your mind?” He looked as dark and stormy as the skies.

      Kristen stiffened. “What are you talking about?”

      “Don’t you watch the weather? Turn around and go home right now while you can.”

      “Your dad needs his treatment, as you well know.” He was starting to make her mad. “And I’m not leaving until he gets it.”

      “That’s stupid. Pops wouldn’t want you to risk your life.” Fat drops of rain pummeled his head. She was tempted to do the same.

      “I’m already here. And you aren’t well trained enough to do the treatment by yourself.” Hurt by his tone, she shoved her nursing bag into his gut and pushed past him to get out of the car. “Let’s do this, so I can get out of your way.”

      She started up the rise, fueled by wounded annoyance and not caring if he remained out in the rain and cold until he turned into a Popsicle.

      The silly notion cooled some of her anger. But she didn’t wait for him. She marched up on the porch, pushed open the wooden door and went right in, closing it behind her.

       Take that, cowboy.

      Before she could unwind her scarf, Caleb entered, dripping wet and puffing like a steam engine. He glared at her. She glared back. What was his problem? Was he already sick of her?

      The collie rose from his spot by the fireplace and came to greet her. She rubbed his ears, trying to decide what to say to Caleb.

      “I’ll get towels,” he said. From his expression, he’d probably strangle her with them. He plunked her nurse’s tote on a chair and left her alone with the dog.

      “Grouch,” she said. Rip wagged his tail and looked sweet.

      From the back of the house, an area she hadn’t seen, she heard male voices. One was quiet and soothing, the other hot and loud.

      What was he so mad about?

      She removed her coat and gloves, but they were wet, so she waited by the door. Rip waited with her, licking the moisture from her clogs.

      Both Girard men entered the room together. Caleb didn’t look quite so thunderous. He’d dried off and his boots were missing.

      He hadn’t even noticed that her boot was missing, too.

      Pops took one look at her face and asked, “Did he bark at you?”

      Kristen bent to pat the collie again. “No, he’s a sweet dog. He likes me.”

      Pops snorted. “I meant Caleb.”

      “Oh.” Her gaze flashed to the cowboy. “A little.”

      “Don’t take it to heart. He fusses like an old hen because he’s worried about you. Does me that way all the time.”

      “Pops.” Caleb shook his head and handed her a towel. “Warm from the drier.”

      His tone was nicer.

      “Thank you. This feels wonderful.”

      She patted her face and hair, wiped off her coat and dabbed at her scrubs. Rip had taken care of her shoes. Caleb reached for her coat and she gave it to him. He hung it on the back of a chair close to the fire. Was that his form of an apology?

      “Beastly out there, huh?” Pops said. “You want some coffee? You like cocoa better, don’t you? Caleb, make her some cocoa.”

      “That’s not necessary,” she said. Caleb was grumpy enough. No use ordering him to make refreshments. He’d likely blow a fuse.

      Naturally, the cowboy ignored her protest and went into the kitchen. She could see him from the open-concept living room, moving around, taking down the ingredients for hot chocolate. He opened the fridge. Took out milk. Clunked a pan against the metal burner.

      Then, and only then, did he look at her, his expression unreadable. “Get going on Pops’s treatment, so you can get out of here.”

      Okay. Fair enough. Like Pops said, he was concerned about the weather.

      His motive might be good, but his delivery needed work.

      “You need to be in on the instructions,” she said.

      Caleb shot her a frosty look and turned off the burner with a heavy sigh. She ushered Pops into the bedroom, where he relaxed in his recliner while they went through the protocol. Caleb kept looking from the machine to the window and back again. Maybe he was afraid of storms?

      When the machine was set to run for the next few hours, she handed Greg the remote and put a stack of magazines at his elbow. “Need anything else?”

      “If I do, I’ll holler. Go on and have that cocoa.”

      Caleb went ahead of her to the kitchen. The ingredients were in the pot. All he had to do was turn on the stove.

      Kristen leaned a hip against the counter and faced him. The kitchen was small, and they were close.

      She could see the outline of his whiskers, which had darkened with the day. Masculine. Attractive. She swallowed, looked down and watched his competent, cowboy hands as he prepared the hot drink. He worked without much thought, a man accustomed to caring for himself.

      A frisson of pity surprised her. Caleb had cared for himself basically all his life. No mama or daddy to guide him the way she’d had. No one to call and make sure he was safe in a storm. No one to come to his rescue or kiss his boo-boos or listen to his dreams. Yet behind the gruff exterior, he’d become a good, steady man, fiercely loyal to the one person who’d treated him well. And Mom claimed he spent his Saturday mornings with a group of troubled teens, the way Pops had done for him.

      A chunk of her heart melted.

      He handed her a cup of steaming chocolate. A handful of mini marshmallows floated on top, the way she liked it.

      She sipped, watching him over the top of her cup.

      He sipped his, returning her stare.

      Neither spoke for a long time.

      Only the click of the dialysis monitors and Rip’s gentle snore broke the silence. It was a surprisingly comfortable silence. Eye to eye, sipping at the sweet liquid in the warm, cozy kitchen while, outside, winter tormented the earth.

      When she sipped and came up with a marshmallow mustache, Caleb lips tilted. He handed her a paper towel. “I owe you an apology.”

      “It’s okay.”

      “Pops was right. I bark when I’m worried. It’s getting nasty outside.”

      “The drive out here wasn’t too bad.”

      “That’s changing rapidly.” He hitched his head toward the outdoors. “Look outside.”

      Kristen set her cup on the counter and went to the double windows in the living room. Caleb followed, standing close enough that his leather-and-woods scent circled around her, heady.

      “Oh, no.”

      Sleet