to the bed, Pops lay kicked back in his recliner, the farm-ranch report blaring from the flat-screen TV Caleb had hung on the wall a month ago. The older rancher raised a hand, his glassy eyes smiling at the man he’d called “son” for nearly seventeen years.
Greg Girard, the closest thing to a father Caleb had ever known, wasn’t an old man. He was a sick one, a surprise that had knocked them both on their heels. How did a man go from seeming as fit as an Olympian to dying in two short months?
Caleb went to Pops’s chair, feeling helpless and oversize in the presence of the once-robust man. “Think you can tolerate chili for supper tonight?” Maybe a stew would be better, though he’d fixed stew two nights ago. He was a serviceable cook but not a creative one.
“Sure. Whatever we got is fine with me.”
“You say that every day.” Then he’d barely pick at his meal.
“How’s that cow? Calf here yet?”
“Had to pull the calf. Cow didn’t make it.”
Pops hissed through his teeth. “I knew we shouldn’t have bought a bred heifer. Never can tell what kind of mama she’ll make or what bull she’s bred to.”
But Pops was a soft touch and Billy Cloud had needed quick cash. Now the Girard ranch, which was only the two of them, was out the expense, the cow and maybe the calf.
“You’re getting the short end of the stick lately, son, me lollygagging around so much.”
“I got this, Pops. You take it easy.”
“If I liked easy, I wouldn’t have been a rancher.” Pops gestured toward the machine a medical supply van had delivered earlier that day. “When’re they coming to hook me up?”
“Didn’t say.”
Caleb went to the kitchen to mix up a bottle of colostrum replacer for the calf. Pops couldn’t work more than an hour before fatigue overwhelmed him. He was gray as a winter day, nauseated more often than not, his legs swollen and weak. And he still thought he should get up every morning and head to the cow pastures.
As Caleb filled the calf’s bottle, a knock at the door made him jump. He splashed liquid on his shirt.
With a growl of frustration, he went to the door, opened it.
And his belly dropped to the toes of his boots.
With frigid wind whipping her auburn ponytail like a wind sock, a woman stood on his porch. Kristen Andrews. Even bundled to her ears, he’d recognize her, though he hadn’t seen her in years. What was she doing here?
Breathe, man. Breathe.
“You lost?” His voice sounded amazingly normal.
“Hi, Caleb. I’m freezing. May I come in?”
Before he’d barely stepped aside, she limped past him in a boot cast and entered his living room. He caught her fragrance, a mix of cold wind and coconut. She’d always smelled good, even when he’d worked so hard pretending not to notice.
Slim and pretty as ever, she shrugged out of a puffy white coat, draped it over the back of his favorite recliner and leveled a soft-eyed gaze in his direction. “How are you, Caleb?”
“Fine.” Except that my heart is trying to escape my rib cage. “Yourself?”
“Great. Other than this broken leg.” She motioned to the black boot.
He wanted to ask what had happened. Was that too nosy? Too intrusive? But she already knew he was an uncouth country bumpkin, so he asked anyway. “What happened?”
“Skiing accident a few weeks ago.” She made a cute face that got his pulse pinging like a pinball. “I’m on the mend now that I’m home again.”
She was back in Refuge? For good? He didn’t know whether to shout hallelujah or break down and cry. It was so much easier to ignore her when he didn’t run into her on the streets of small-town Oklahoma.
“Thought you were in Colorado.”
“I was.” Something shadowed her green eyes. She turned her head, swallowed, as if Colorado was a bad subject. He shouldn’t have asked. “Where’s our patient?”
It hit him then, right in the thick head. Blue scrubs. Medical bag. The nurse they were expecting was Kristen Andrews. He was going to be seeing her often. As in almost every day.
He hoped his heart could bear it.
* * *
It was ridiculous, really, Kristen mused as she and her cumbersome boot stumped behind Caleb to Greg Girard’s bedroom.
She hadn’t thought about Caleb in a long time, but as soon she’d received the doctor’s orders to set up a care plan and home dialysis for Greg, Kristen had gone all fluttery. She’d told herself Caleb wouldn’t be as attractive to an adult as he had been to a starry-eyed teenager. She’d been wrong.
She was practically engaged, but her pulse thudded like it had the first time she’d performed CPR in a code blue. The same as it had that one lovely day she’d spent alone with this particular cowboy years ago when she’d been convinced he was her forever and always. But after that one evening and one sizzling teenage kiss, he’d spent the rest of his senior year ignoring her. So she’d moved on, moved away and had almost forgotten the quiet boy with the sketchy background.
Intentionally putting aside thoughts of Caleb, she entered the sickroom. With a trained nose, she caught the scents of illness and identified them. Though shocked at the change in Greg Girard, she greeted him with her usual cheerful professionalism and kept her observations to herself.
As she directed Greg through his new care plan, emphasizing diet and fluid intake, Caleb hovered nearby, asking astute questions. Worry emanated from him. And, oddly, she was overly aware of his presence, of his outdoorsy scent, his wide shoulders, his trim form in old jeans. When their eyes collided, she locked in on the color. Gray and turbulent, like a winter’s day.
“Doc says you can fix me up here at home,” Greg was saying.
She tuned back in. Weird to be so aware of Caleb. “That’s the plan. It will take several weeks, but you and Caleb can learn to use the machine yourselves.”
“I don’t know...” Caleb stepped closer to his dad’s chair. “You sure about this, Pops? What if I mess up—”
Greg waved him off. “You won’t.”
“It’s only natural to be anxious at first,” Kristen assured him. “I’ll work with you until you’re confident.”
Caleb looked as if the idea gave him indigestion. “Great.”
Was that a “good” great or a sarcastic one?
He spun on his cowboy boots. “I’ll be in the kitchen.”
She turned her attention to Greg, but Caleb’s unfriendly behavior stung.
Yet
