Her Cowboy's Christmas Wish

“Thanks.”

“You know—” the man removed his reading glasses “—if you’re really that determined to ride, you might consider physical therapy to speed your recovery.”

“Appreciate the advice, Doc.”

“The nurse will be in shortly with your prescriptions.”

Another wait, this one not long. Caitlin returned with three slips of paper in her hand. Ethan had to admit the sight of her in pale green scrubs was as surreal as seeing her in sweats. In college, she’d majored in journalism, with ambitions of being a TV reporter, and always dressed fashionably.

Admittedly, the scrubs looked cute on her, the loose material not quite hiding her very nice curves.

“Here you go.” She handed him the prescriptions. “The doctor wrote one for physical therapy as well, in case you need something for the VA.”

“I’ll probably skip PT.”

“Why? It will help.”

He stood, folded the prescriptions and placed them in his wallet. “The nearby facilities don’t take VA insurance. And I can’t afford the time off work to drive into Phoenix.”

“What if…what if I provided your physical therapy?”

“You?”

“I have some basic training. I’m not licensed, but I’ve taken several classes. For Justin. During his rehab, he’d strain his upper body muscles. And now that he’s involved in wheelchair athletics, he’s always overdoing it.”

“I can relate.”

“You two are alike when it comes to that.” Her expression softened, and suddenly she was the seventeen-year-old transfer student who’d been assigned to sit next to him in calculus class.

Ethan was caught off guard and needed a moment to collect himself. “I don’t think the VA will pay for a private physical therapist.”

“I won’t charge you.”

He shook his head. “I can’t ask you to do it for free.”

“Who said anything about free?” She smiled then, really smiled, and he caught another glimpse of the confident, carefree girl he’d fallen in love with. “I was hoping we could negotiate a trade.”

She had his attention now. “I’m listening.”

She motioned him into the hall.

“I’m on the Holly Days Festival committee,” she said.

The residents of Mustang Village had put on a big community-wide event the previous Christmas. None of the Powells had attended, but they’d heard about it. From everyone.

“The committee, huh?”

“You know me.”

He did. She’d been an involved student in both high school and college. Cocaptain of the cheerleading squad, student council, National Honor Society.

“I thought the festival was strictly for residents.”

“I’m a resident,” she said brightly as they entered the reception area.

“Really?”

“I’m renting a condo. In the complex right across the street.” She nodded toward the window. “I get to walk to work every day. Well, not to the middle school. But here.”

Working and living in Mustang Village. Was that another bit of interesting information Gavin had conveniently forgotten to tell Ethan?

“The committee is hoping to try something different this year,” Caitlin went on. “The parade was fun, but more people participated than watched.”

“You saw it?”

“I did. I almost drove to the ranch, too.”

Just how often had they narrowly missed crossing paths since his return home?

“Anyway, I remembered that old farm wagon of yours and was wondering if we could decorate it and have you drive people around the park.”

“No one’s used that wagon in years.”

Her hopeful smile fell. “Well, it was just an idea.”

Ethan had no desire to participate in the Holly Days Festival. Nothing involving Mustang Village appealed to him—with the exception of Caitlin. And she appealed to him far too much for his own good.

But hadn’t he just told Gavin this morning that he wished he could make amends with Caitlin? Wagon rides at the festival wouldn’t exactly clean the slate. But it was a start, and obviously important to her.

“We could pull the wagon out of storage,” he said. “See what kind of shape it’s in.”

“Great!” Her green eyes lit up.

This was the moment Ethan had been waiting for, only her excitement was over an old wagon. Not him.

“Why don’t you come out to the ranch?”

“When?”

Ethan massaged his left shoulder. “As soon as possible. I still haven’t qualified for the jackpot next weekend.”

“What about tomorrow, say around noon? I have a two-hour break between the school and the clinic. If the wagon is usable, we’ll set up a schedule for your PT sessions.”

“Sounds good.”

“Hey, Caitlin.” The receptionist held up a manila folder.

“I have to go,” she said hurriedly. “Thank you, Ethan.”