One Cowboy, One Christmas. Kathleen Eagle

her wheelchair in the doorway. “Brought you a ride, Zach. I call him Ferdinand. He won’t buck, but he can spin.”

      “Lemme at ‘im.” Zach started up, sat back down, hung his head chin to chest. “Damn.”

      “Easy, cowboy.” Ann sat back on her heels, watching her sister rise laboriously from her chair and worrying about how much the excitement had tired her out. But Sally was clearly pleased to take part in the rescue, and, as ever, her pleasure pleased Ann. “Okay, Zach, here comes the tricky part.”

      “The packing?”

      So he’d caught that. Was this some kind of in-and-out game? Zach in, Zach out.

      Private joke, public laugh.

      “The getting you out and dry and dressed.” Ann glanced up at Sally, who thought she was laughing with her. Little did she know. “Where’s Hoolie when we need him?”

      “There’s a dance at the VFW tonight,” Sally said.

      “Damn.” Zach’s mantra.

      “You aren’t missing any—” Ann turned in time to get sloshed as he tried and failed to get up on his own. She laid her hand on his slick, sleek shoulder. “Slow down, Zach.”

      “Still just a little…” He reached for support and found Sally’s safety rail on the one hand and Ann on the other.

      She threaded her arm beneath his and around his back, braced herself and helped him haul himself out of the water. Whoosh. He was heavy, wet and slippery, but she wasn’t going down under him. Not this time.

      “Step over and out, Zach.”

      “Out-ssside,” he muttered as he released the rail and piled a few more pounds on Ann’s shoulders. “Jeez, I drew a spinner.”

      “Hang on. Sally? Towels.”

      “Right behind him, little sister.” Sally wrapped a blue bath sheet around Zach’s waist. “Got my wheels right outside the door, along with some chamomile tea. According to my Googling, we shouldn’t be—”

      “Be careful,” Ann warned. “Wet floor.” One slip, and they’d all go down like bowling pins.

      They wrapped Zach like a mummy, sat him in Sally’s wheelchair and swore to him he was not on his way to another hospital, nor hell, nor heaven, nor—for the moment—Texas.

      Dressing him wasn’t an option, so they helped him peel off his wet shorts and tucked him into bed like an overgrown baby while Sally ticked off a list of Internet pointers about hypothermia. “We need to warm him all over, inside and out. Going after fingers and toes first was a mistake, but oh, well.”

      Zach gave a shivery chuckle. “Oh, well.”

      “Prop him up so he can drink this.”

      Ann turned and scowled at the “Mustang Love” coffee mug decorated with a picture of a ponytailed girl and a high-tailed colt. “You prop him up.”

      Sally gave a smug smile. “No can do.”

      “I’ll p-prop…” But he didn’t move.

      Ann countered with an irritated sigh, stuffed a second pillow under his shoulders, tucked her arm beneath his head and signaled her sister for a handoff. The soothing warmth of the mug settled her, and she calmly shared—warm tea, warm bed, warm heart. She was a Good Samaritan. Nothing more.

      His dark, damp hair smelled like High Plains winter—fresh, pure and utterly unpredictable. She remembered the way it had fallen over his forehead the first time she’d taken off his hat, the way she’d turned him from studlike to coltish with a wave of her hand, the glint in his eyes gone a little shy, his smile sweet and playful. Remove the lid, let the heart light shine. Hard to believe she’d ever been that naive. Undone by a hunk of hair.

      Deliberately she hadn’t noticed this time. But she noticed it now. Nice hair.

      “Maybe you should give him some skin, Annie.”

      Ann looked up. Get real.

      “Full-body contact is the best human defrost system,” Sally said with a shrug.

      “Is this the gospel according to Google?”

      “Well, it does make perfect—”

      “I believe,” Zach muttered.

      Ann filled his mouth to overflowing with tea.

      “From now on, when in South Dakota, remember the dress code,” Sally said as she caught the dribble from the corner of his mouth with one of the towels he was no longer wearing. “Thermal skivvies after Halloween.”

      “‘S why I’m headin’…for Texas.”

      “Not tonight,” Sally said. “You been rode pretty hard.”

      “Thanks for not…p-puttin’ me up wet.” Eyes at half-mast he looked up at Ann and offered a wan smile. “S-sorry to b-bother you this t-time of n-night.”

      “Still cold?” She imagined crawling into bed with him, shook her head hard and tucked the comforter under his quivering chin. “We can still get you to the—”

      “No way,” he said. “I’m good.” He turned his head and pressed his lips to her fingers. “You’re an angel.”

      Hardly. Angels didn’t quiver over an innocent kiss on the hand. They glided away looking supremely serene.

      “Tree topper,” he whispered. Hypothermia had given him a brain freeze. Maybe tomorrow he’d remember her.

      And maybe she could learn to glide and look supremely serene.

      Chapter Two

      Waking up in a strange room was nothing new for Zach Beaudry, but waking up in a pretty room was pretty damn strange. His usual off-ramp motel—good for a thousand-of-a-kind room and a one-size-fits-all bed—suited him just fine. No fault, no foul, no pressure.

      He closed his eyes. Purple. Everything around him was purple. Motels didn’t do much purple. The color of pressure.

      Where the hell was he? He felt like he’d been wasted for a week and had no clue what he’d started out celebrating. If he’d been drinking to forget, he’d accomplished his mission. He remembered bits and pieces—a long walk, a glittering Christmas tree, a pretty woman in white—but they didn’t come together in a way that made a lot of sense. How had he landed in a bed—somebody’s personal bed—surrounded by personal pictures of real people, furniture that wasn’t bolted down, and colors only a woman could love?

      His head pounded. The pressure was on. If he had to pay the piper, he was owed at least a fond memory of the song, not to mention the wine and the woman. Hell, for all he knew, he might owe her. Before she walked in, he needed to neutralize his disadvantage by recalling who she was, what she looked like, and whether it had been good for her.

      But nothing was clicking for him except his badly abused joints. Jacking himself into a sitting position was a dizzying experience, and he was about ready to crawl back under the mostly purple covers when he heard female voices outside the door.

      “…take him into the clinic this morning.”

      “Why? I checked on him. He’s still breathing. His color is better.”

      “Even so…”

      They sounded familiar, these voices. Familiar to him and with him. Breathing? Check. Color? Approved.

      Even so?

      “They don’t like doctors, these guys. Doctors tell them all kinds of stuff they don’t want to hear.”

      “Nobody wants to be told his toes might fall off.”

      Zach pulled the flowery quilt into