“Caitlin.” He reached for her hand and clasped it in his.
She made a token effort to pull away, then gave up. Seeing him on the table, knowing he was in pain, tugged on that soft spot in her heart he’d talked about earlier.
All at once, he sat up and swung his legs over the side of the table.
“Wait,” she protested. “We’re not done.”
“No, we’re not.”
It took her a second to realize he wasn’t referring to their physical-therapy session.
“You misunderstood me.” She tried to back away.
He gripped her hand, holding her firmly in place. “I want to see you again. And not just for more PT or when you and your crew are here working on the wagon.”
“Ethan, we can’t. I can’t.”
“Give us a chance.”
“It’s impossible.”
“I know you haven’t forgiven me yet.”
“I’m working on it.”
“Is it my leg?”
“God, no! That doesn’t matter to me in the slightest.” Despite her vehement objection, she could see by his expression he didn’t believe her. “It’s your bronc riding. And breaking horses for Clay. And the mustang. And telling Justin he can come here and ride anytime he wants.”
“Why can’t he?”
“It’s too dangerous.”
“Probably no more dangerous than basketball or baseball. Especially on old Chico.”
“He could fall.”
“He could have tipped his wheelchair on the way to see Prince.”
“That’s different, and you know it.”
“I wouldn’t put him on any horse that wasn’t dead broke. And we have safety equipment if he wants. Helmets. A harness.”
“It’s not that. Justin gets enthusiastic. Tries to do more than he can.”
“Don’t you think he’s the best judge of his limitations?”
She frowned. “I should have figured you wouldn’t understand.”
“You’re wrong. I understand your brother very well. A whole lot better than you do, I’m guessing.”
“That’s not what I mean.”
“A guy being disabled doesn’t give other people the right to run someone’s life or make decisions for him. Not even family. No matter how good their intentions are or how guilty they feel.”
She flinched as if struck.
“Caitlin.” Ethan released her and pushed off the table, landing on his feet. “I’m sorry. I get defensive sometimes. Shoot off my mouth.”
“You take chances, Ethan.” She squared her shoulders. “Big chances. Without the slightest fear. Justin does, too.”
“There was a time you liked that about me.”
Oh, she had. Very much. “But not anymore.”
“Justin’s accident wasn’t your fault!”
“That’s not true. He got hurt pulling a stupid stunt I convinced him to do.” Reaching for the hot pack, she began packing her duffel bag. “When I first became a nurse, I trained in a trauma center. I thought it would help me better understand Justin’s needs. You can’t imagine the injuries I saw.”
“Actually, I can. I spent two months in a military rehab center.”
“Then you have to understand where I’m coming from.” She shoved item after item into the bag. “I lost count of how many people I treated who were victims of sport or recreational-related accidents. Skydiving, drag racing, skiing and, yes, horseback riding.”
Ethan came up behind her. “People get hurt just walking across the street.”
Damn. He was close. Too close. If he touched her, she’d give in or break down or otherwise embarrass herself.
No, not happening. She was strong and could resist him and these feelings whirling out of control inside her.
“Fewer people get hurt walking across a street than they do jumping off a cliff into the river or riding a wild bronc.” She paused, steeling her resolve. “I can’t handle someone I care about being hurt. Or worse. Not again.” Her voice warbled on the last two words.
“Does that mean you care about me?”
Not the response she was expecting. She zipped the duffel bag closed. “Of course I do.”
“Would you go out with me if I wasn’t riding broncs or breaking horses?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
“Okay.” He grabbed his shirt and put it on, not bothering to button it.
Okay?
“Are you saying you’d quit bronc riding and breaking horses for me?”
He replied without missing a beat. “No. I don’t believe people have the right to demand someone to give up their passion as a condition of the relationship. That’s unfair. I wouldn’t ask you to give up nursing, just like I wouldn’t ask my brother to give up what’s left of this ranch.”
This time he gave her the response she’d expected to hear.
It also confirmed what she knew to be true. There was no chance for her and Ethan. Not as long as he cared more about what he wanted than he did about her.
Chapter Five
Ethan didn’t think he’d ever seen Clay’s rodeo arena so busy. At least forty men had shown up to practice for the jackpot next weekend. The majority of them were bull riders, the rest bronc riders. Family members or girlfriends tagged along, bringing ice chests and folding chairs and lap blankets to ward off the chill. Those who didn’t gather around the lowered tailgates of their trucks sat in the bleachers observing the practice rounds with interest. Even more stood by or straddled the fences, chatting up the cowboys.
“What’s with folks in these parts?” Conner asked, settling into a vacant spot on the fence alongside Ethan. “Don’t they have anything better to do on a Friday night?”
“I was just thinking the same thing.”
Like Clay, Conner had been Ethan’s friend since grade school. Conner sometimes helped the Powells, leading trail rides and giving roping lessons. He’d also been with them on that night in the mountains when they’d captured Prince. Conner’s regular job was systems analyst for a large manufacturing plant in Scottsdale, though no one would guess by his well-worn jeans, scuffed boots and weathered cowboy hat that he held two degrees, one in computer science and the other in business management.
“Your brother invited me for Thanksgiving dinner.”
“You coming?”
“Can’t, pal. Going to be at the folks’.”
“Come over later for dessert if you want.”
This Thanksgiving would mark the first holiday the Powells had celebrated since Ethan’s mother died. Of course, Ethan hadn’t been home for most of those Easters, Thanksgivings and Christmases. He was really looking forward to the dinner this year, brightened considerably by the addition of Cassie, Sage and Isa.
“Are you riding tonight?” Ethan asked as he watched the young man preparing to go next, studying his techniques and comparing them to his own. The kid was inexperienced but showed real potential. He might do well at the jackpot.
“Hell, no.” Conner snorted. “I’m not about to risk scrambling my brain.”
According to Caitlin, that was exactly what Ethan did on a regular basis.
“You used to like bronc riding. Bull riding, too.”
“Yeah, before I grew up.”
What did that say about Ethan?
His attention wandered to the makeshift first-aid station beneath the announcer’s stand. Caitlin had arrived a half hour earlier, unloaded several boxes and grocery sacks, then disappeared inside. She had yet to emerge. He hoped she was simply busy and not avoiding him after their…what? Second disagreement?
He didn’t much like the habit they’d fallen into of late.
“Something bothering you?” Conner asked.
“Just got a lot on my mind.”
“Like qualifying for the jackpot?”
“Oh, I’m going to qualify. If not tonight, then tomorrow.”
Ethan had put his name in about ten minutes before Conner arrived. He figured he had a little time
before heading over to the chutes.
“Clay letting you practice with that bum shoulder?”
“It’s better.” And it was better. Marginally. He hadn’t included that qualifier when he’d talked to Clay, however. “I have to go in for a follow-up exam before the jackpot.”
Another chance to see Caitlin.
“Then what’s with the scowl?” Conner asked.
Ethan decided he didn’t care for old friends who knew him too well. “I did something stupid last night.”
“What else is new?”
He drew back in mock offense. “That’s a fine thing to say.”
“And true.” When Ethan remained silent, Conner burst into deep, rich laughter. “Come on. Fess up, buddy.”
“I sort of asked Caitlin out.”
“Sort of?” Conner’s brows shot up.
“I might have suggested that she and I test the relationship waters.”
“Relationship waters! Just how much Dr. Phil do you watch?”
“You’re not helping.”
“All right.” He laughed again. “What did she say?”
“In a nutshell, no. Not so long as I’m riding broncs and breaking green horses.”
“You going to quit?”
At that moment, Caitlin emerged from the first-aid station. Shielding her eyes from the bright floodlights, she scanned the arena and nearby stands. Ethan guessed she was searching for Clay. Her gaze lit on him momentarily. No sooner did his pulse skyrocket than she nonchalantly looked elsewhere.
“No, I’m not going to quit,” he told Conner.
“Why not?”
“Hell, I’ve barely started again.”
“Why continue? We all know you can do it.”
There it was again, the reference to him having something to prove.
“Except I haven’t done it. Not for eight seconds.”
“Is bronc riding really that important?”
“It’s not the bronc riding.”
“What then?”
“I just want to be Ethan Powell again. Not Ethan Powell who lost his leg while serving in the Middle East.”
“That isn’t how people think of you.”
“Not you, maybe. But everybody else does.”
“When did you become a mind reader?”
Ethan ignored Conner. People who were physically whole didn’t understand. Didn’t notice the stares. Ethan noticed. There were at least a dozen individuals casting discreet glances in his direction this very moment. And if he possessed superhearing, he was sure he’d catch his name being mentioned in every conversation at some point during the night.
Conner rested his forearms on the fence and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “What makes you sure everyone walks around thinking there goes Ethan Powell, the peg-legged cowboy?”
Conner was lucky they were such good friends. If not, Ethan wouldn’t let him get away with that last remark, teasing or not.
“I don’t know,” Conner mused out loud. “If it were me, and a gal as pretty as Caitlin Carmichael asked me to give up something for her, I’d be inclined to oblige.”
Ethan’s attention zeroed in on Caitlin. She stood beside the announcer’s booth, pushing a breeze-blown lock of hair back from her face. He liked the shorter cut, once he’d gotten past the initial shock. The strands curled attractively around her face in a way they hadn’t before. She wore jeans tonight and, unlike all the other loose garments he’d seen her in, they fit her to perfection.
Conner nudged Ethan in the ribs. “Why don’t you go over and talk to her.”
“We didn’t exactly part on good terms last night.”
After his declaration, she’d hurriedly packed her things. Refusing his help, she’d carted the portable table out to the van and hightailed it off the ranch without so much as a backward glance.
Ethan had spent another restless night, this one less from shoulder pain and more from mentally kicking himself for being such a fool.
“Ethan Powell!” The young woman Clay had recruited to help out checked off Ethan’s name on the clipboard she was holding. “On deck.”
He pushed away from the fence. “Guess I’m up.”
“You sure about this?” All trace of joking was gone from Conner’s voice.
Ethan shot Caitlin another glance. No question this time, she was staring straight at him. Even at this distance, he could discern the worry on her face. Or was that pleading?
If he wanted to, he could turn around, walk away from the chutes and toward her. Show her he was willing to compromise in order to test those relationship waters he’d mentioned earlier.
But when he took that first step, it was in the direction of the chutes. He sensed her tracking him the entire way. He also sensed her disappointment.
It wasn’t enough to make him change his mind. Not with the dozens of spectators also tracking him and waiting for him to fail, thinking maybe he’d lost a part of his mind in that explosion along with his leg.
As the big brute he was about to ride greeted him with bared teeth and flattened ears, Ethan began wondering the same thing.
CAITLIN WATCHED ETHAN amble over to the chutes, her agitation mounting with each step he took. She so wished he’d give up this stupid—make that insane—idea of riding broncs. What was the matter with him? With all men? They had some kind of ridiculous ambition to risk life and limb just to prove they were tough.
Without consciously planning it, she moved trancelike toward the arena fence. Ethan had disappeared behind the chutes, preparing for his turn. Just as she reached the railing, he reappeared. Scaling the fence, he straddled the top and waited, conversing with the cowboy beside him.
Caitlin’s initial thought was how lucky that the first-aid station was fully stocked and operational. Her second one—she hoped to heck he didn’t need it.
“Think he’ll go a full eight seconds this time?”
“Don’t know. I still can’t believe he’s trying. If anything goes wrong…jeez, he’s already lost one leg.”
The people next to Caitlin were discussing Ethan. She had to agree with the second man’s opinion.
Ethan slowly lowered himself onto the bronc’s back. Caitlin’s stomach constricted into a tight fist of worry. He’d survived two other rides that she knew of, but not unscathed. It could be worse tonight.
Standing on tiptoe, she craned her neck to see over the high wall of the chute. The only thing visible was the crown of Ethan’s tan Stetson.
All at once the gate next to Ethan’s chute opened and a figure on horseback burst through it. The ride lasted a few harrowing seconds and ended with the cowboy sprawled on his back in the dirt, his chest visibly heaving. So was Caitlin’s. The horse, kicking his hind legs, loped in a victory circle until the pickup men were able to safely herd him to the far side of the arena and through the exit gate.
Caitlin, hands on the railing, ready to bolt into the arena if necessary, expelled a sigh of relief when the cowboy rolled over and clambered to his feet. The crowd rewarded him with a round of applause as he walked, then jogged to the gate in order that the next participant—Ethan?—could go. Thankfully, the cowboy didn’t appear in need of any medical attention. But another man had earlier in the evening. He’d suffered a nasty gash on his chin when his face collided with his saddle horn.
Caitlin had advised him to take the rest of the week off from bronc riding. He hadn’t heeded her advice, but instead had gone right out and put his name in again. Crazy.
Like Ethan.
How did these wives and girlfriends here tonight stand watching the men they loved without constantly breaking down? Caitlin couldn’t do it.
The wrangler manning the gates pulled the center one open, scrambling out of the way as he did. All at once a large, dark-colored horse hurtled into the arena, all four feet off the ground and Ethan astride his back.
Caitlin understood very little about bronc riding, despite having watched Ethan a hundred times in years past. There was
more, she knew, to a successful ride than just remaining in the saddle for eight seconds. Something to do with how high the horse bucked and how expertly the cowboy rode him.
Both seemed to be happening as she watched Ethan. The horse achieved tremendous height, humping his back into a tight arc while Ethan hung on and rode the tar out of him.
Eight seconds had never lasted so long. Caitlin vaguely registered the sound of a buzzer going off. As the pickup men flanked the horse, one of them grabbed the bucking strap and jerked it loose. The horse immediately stopped kicking and began trotting. The other pickup man extended his arm to Ethan, who reached for it.
Caitlin relaxed, let her shoulders sag. The worst was over.
Suddenly, the horse gave a last mighty buck and unseated Ethan, launching him into the air. Caitlin stifled a cry and clung to the fence railing with such force the coiled wire cable cut into her palms.
By some miracle, Ethan righted himself and landed on his feet…only to pitch face-first onto the ground. The crowd let out a collective gasp.
Caitlin found herself hurrying along the arena fence, stopping when she was directly across from the spot where he had fallen. The first pickup man rode his horse over to check on Ethan, blocking her view. She was just about to move when Ethan began to rise. The crowd applauded as he stood and hobbled awkwardly away.
Hobbled! Had he hurt his good leg? What would he do? How would he get around? He must be in terrible pain.
She followed him from the other side of the fence, zigzagging between people in an effort to keep up. She lost sight of him when he exited through the gate and had to make a detour around the cattle pens. By now, she was practically running.
Where had he gone?
Finally, thankfully, she located him standing behind the chutes, talking to a group of men. Hands braced on his hips, he leaned forward at the waist. It was a posture Caitlin often observed in people who were injured.
Enough was enough. She’d drag him, kicking and screaming if necessary, to the first-aid station and examine him. Keep him still long enough to listen to her advice to take it easy.
She set out, resolute. At the same moment, one of the men clapped Ethan on the back and laughed loudly. Caitlin was shocked. Did the cowboy have no consideration for someone in pain?
Her Cowboy's Christmas Wish (Harlequin American Romance) Page 6
