Christmas On The Silver Horn Ranch. Stella Bagwell
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“I like you, Ava Archer.”
Heat suddenly rushed to her face, and in an effort to hide it, she turned and grabbed up her tote.
“Don’t worry about it, Bowie. It’s just a nurse thing. You’ll get over it.”
He chuckled again. “I wouldn’t bet on that either.”
Not daring to glance his way, she walked to the door. “Remember to keep your ankle elevated as much as possible. And make sure you don’t get your bandages wet.”
“I already know all that stuff. Tell me something I don’t know.”
She glanced over her shoulder to see he was looking at her, and as her gaze slipped over his fresh, rugged face, she realized she felt more alive than she had in years.
A faint smile tugged at her lips even though she was trying to stop it. “I like you, too, Bowie Calhoun.”
“Will I see you tomorrow?”
“You’ll see me every day until my job here is finished.” A corner of his mouth lifted in a sexy grin. “Then I’ll have to make sure your job lasts a long, long time.”
And she was going to have to make sure to keep this man at a safe distance, she thought. Otherwise, she was going to forget she was a nurse and remember she was a woman.
* * *
Men of the West:
Whether ranchers or lawmen, these heartbreakers can ride, shoot—and drive a woman crazy …
Christmas on the Silver Horn Ranch
Stella Bagwell
After writing more than eighty books for Mills & Boon, STELLA BAGWELL still finds it exciting to create new stories and bring her characters to life. She loves all things Western and has been married to her own real cowboy for forty-four years. Living on the south Texas coast, she also enjoys being outdoors and helping her husband care for the horses, cats and dog that call their small ranch home. The couple has one son, who teaches high school mathematics and is also an athletic director. Stella loves hearing from readers. They can contact her at [email protected].
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To my dear friend Marie Ferrarella,
who inspires me to keep writing and smiling.
Contents
“No, Dad. She’s not here yet and when she does show her face, I’m going to send her packing. I’m sick and tired of being poked and prodded by nurses,” Bowie Calhoun barked into the cell phone. “Now that I’m home and away from that damned hospital, I don’t want another nurse putting her grubby hands on me!”
“Simmer down, Bowie. Someone has to care for your injuries. Those burns—”
Since his father, Orin, was calling from the horse barn down at the ranch yard, Bowie said the first thing that entered his mind. “Then send Doc Pheeters up here to the house. If he’s good enough to deal with Silver Horn horses, he’s good enough for me.”
Before his father could say more, Bowie ended the call and tossed the cell phone onto a small table next to his armchair. He was being a jerk, but he couldn’t help it. Having second-degree burns on his back and arms was bad enough to endure, but he was also dealing with a broken ankle, which was now held together with screws and encased in a bulky cast.
After being hospitalized for three weeks, getting to come home yesterday had been a great improvement. Still, the idea of being confined to the ranch house for the next few weeks was practically unbearable. Especially to a twenty-six-year-old man loaded with energy. He wanted to get back on the fire line with his buddies. He wanted excitement and fun. He hardly wanted to sit around and watch a herd of cows chew on clumps of buffalo grass.
He bent forward to rearrange his casted foot to a different position on a footstool when a