Christmas On The Silver Horn Ranch. Stella Bagwell
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spoke the sound sent a tiny wave of pleasure through her.
“What sort of ambitions do you have, Bowie?”
“Excitement. Fun. Living life to the fullest.”
His answer was exactly what she’d expected. Even in his battered condition, he possessed a reckless zest for living. And that disappointed her greatly. Why, she didn’t know. This young man was just a patient she would be treating for a few weeks and would never see again once the job was finished. What his future held meant nothing to her.
“Sounds like a lofty goal,” she finally replied.
He chuckled and Ava decided the sound was even more pleasant than his speaking voice. His laugh reminded her of a time in her life when the whole world seemed bright and beautiful, and life was full of incredible joy.
“I thought so, too,” he said. Then, lifting his cheek off the mattress, he attempted to look at her from the corner of his eye. “What sort of ambitions do you have, Ava? Marrying some good-looking guy? Or do you already have a husband?”
None of that was his business. But since she was treating him in such an intimate setting, it would seem ridiculous not to tell him a little about herself. After all, what would it hurt?
“I’m not married. I’m a widow.”
Heaven help her, why had she added that? Ava didn’t go around announcing she’d been widowed, especially to people she’d just met. It was a fact she’d rather not talk about. But something had suddenly pushed the words from her mouth, as though it was important for this man to understand who and what she was.
“A widow,” he repeated thoughtfully. “I’m sorry. Real sorry.”
She’d not expected to hear such sincerity in his voice, and the idea that he might genuinely care struck a deep chord in her.
“Thank you. I lost Lawrence thirteen years ago. But that... Well, it’s still hard for me, you know.”
“To be honest, I can’t say that I do know. I’ve never been married or even engaged, so I can’t imagine what it would be like to lose a spouse. Maybe Lilly has told you our father is a widower. After our mother died, I saw him broken with grief. It wasn’t anything I’d want to see again.”
Her gaze left his arm to settle on the side of his face. The sober expression on his features was quite a contrast to the flirty guy of a few moments ago. Maybe the man wasn’t fun and games all the time, she thought.
“Lilly did mention that Mr. Calhoun had lost his wife. But she didn’t go into the circumstances,” Ava told him. “How long has your mother been gone?”
“Nine years. Those stairs you climbed to get up here to my bedroom—she took a misstep and fell down them. It caused a blood clot in her head. I had just gone into the Marine Corps when the accident happened.”
She stared at him. To hear his mother had died of a tragic accident was one thing, but then he’d dropped another stunner. “You were in the military?” she finally asked.
“Ever since I turned eighteen. It’s been close to a year since I left and moved back here from the base in California. After that I went through training for the hotshot crew and went to work fighting wildfires.”
So he’d gone from being a soldier to a firefighter. He clearly had no intentions of slowing down just yet. But why would he, she asked herself. He was still young, with no responsibilities other than himself.
“I see.”
When she didn’t say more, he asked, “What’s wrong? You have something against military men?”
Haunting memories suddenly crowded their way into her thoughts, forcing her to swallow before she could utter a word. “No. I don’t have anything against the military. It’s just that Lawrence was a soldier. In the army. That’s how he died—in the Middle East. He was only twenty-five.”
Once again he lifted his head from the mattress to look at her. The keen search of his green eyes was so disturbing, she quickly dragged her attention back to his arm.
“Oh. That’s rough. I was deployed to Qatar for a while, but never any countries raging with conflict. So I never saw action. Some of my buddies did, though.”
She soaked a cotton pad with peroxide and carefully dabbed at the adhesive residue on his healthy skin. “What made you get out of the service? Tired of the restrictions?”
“No matter what sort of job we have, Ava, we all live with some sort of restrictions. But as for me getting out of the Marines, eight years was enough. I began to get an itch for something new. I started wondering about other possibilities and how I could challenge myself. And my family had been pressing me to come home for a long time. Especially my dad and grandfather. By the time I finished the final year of my stint, I was ready to see Nevada again.”
Ava was exchanging too much personal information with this man, she decided. Yes, there were plenty of patients who wanted to talk about their lives and their families. And she always listened, because talking was cathartic for a sick or injured person. But the more this man revealed about himself, the more she was drawn to him. And that was dangerous for her job and her peace of mind.
She reached for a tube of medicated cream and carefully began to spread it over the raw flesh. “Do your other brothers also live here on the Silver Horn? I know that Rafe and Lilly live here in the ranch house and Clancy and his wife have a home on the property.”
“Finn got married a few months ago and lives in Northern California now. He and his wife raise horses. And Evan married a woman with a ranch several miles southeast of Carson City. My sister, Sassy, is a ranch woman, too. She and her husband, Jett, have their own ranch northeast of Carson City. Although this past month she’s had to slow down much of her ranch work. She gave birth to a baby son about three weeks ago. Little Mason has an older brother and sister, so she has her hands full.”
“Your sister must be quite a woman if she helps run a ranch and takes care of three small children, too,” Ava said thoughtfully.
“Even with two good feet, I wouldn’t be able to keep up with Sassy.”
“So all the Calhouns are involved with ranching in some form or fashion. Why aren’t you?”
He didn’t answer immediately, then finally he said, “Never thought I was that much of a cowboy, I guess.”
Ava figured there was much more to his reasoning than that, but she was hardly going to press the issue. She’d already asked him far too much about himself. The last thing she needed was for him to think she was interested in him as a man. Because she wasn’t. She cared about his health, but nothing more. She wasn’t sure she could ever really care about another man. Not after losing Lawrence.
She removed a second bandage from his arm and carefully medicated the area before covering the two wounds with clean dressings. He remained quiet until she started to work on his shoulder blade.
“Your hands are very gentle. Has anyone ever told you that?”
“I don’t remember.”
“You’re not on a witness stand,” he reasoned. “You can answer truthfully without incriminating yourself.”
That teasing lilt was back in his voice and Ava decided he must be Irish to the core. “You’re not supposed to be asking me such things. And I’m not supposed to be answering.”
He chuckled. “Who’s going to know what we talk about? I promise my room isn’t bugged with a microphone or recorder.”
“Look, I don’t date—if that’s what you’re getting at. And frankly, I don’t know why any of that would interest you.”
“Why wouldn’t it interest me?”
Pausing, she studied the back of his head. He had the most beautiful hair. Thick and wavy, the tawny color gleamed like a polished