One Cowboy, One Christmas

He shook his head. He figured he was back up to his regular ninety-eight point nine.

“I’ll run the water for you,” Ann offered, backing off the omelet with a note of disappointment.

“You’ll do breakfast. I just wanted to make sure everyone was finished with the bathroom.”

“I only used one towel,” Zach reported. “The wet one.”

“Thank heaven for hydrotherapy, huh?”

“Amen to that, sister.” He took a cue from the look in Ann’s eyes. “Followed by a little protein.”

“Save me some bacon. Did I hear you say you made a deal with Hoolie?”

“If it’s okay with you, I’m gonna help out around here while Hoolie works on my pickup. He offered, and he says it shouldn’t take too long for him to fix it once we get the parts. So I’ll be his right-hand man until Zelda’s up and runnin’. Couple days, maybe?”

“Fine by me,” Sally said, laughing as she reversed her wheels. “Zelda?”

Zach shrugged. “She generally treats me better when I call her by her right name.”

“Gotta love a guy who names his pickup.”

“Can’t take credit. It came on her license plate. ZEL-412. Zelda B. Zelda Blue.” He grinned. “But I’ll take all the love I can get.”

“You got it, cowboy.”

Sally left them to a quiet kitchen. Zach wanted her back. She was like him—not quite whole and not too worried about it as long as no one acted like they should be.

“You’ve been together a long time,” Ann said finally. “You and your…Zelda.”

“For sure.” Good topic. “Bought her brand-new. Top of the line. She’s been good to me, I’ll say that.”

“Until now?”

“My fault.” He waved away any blame that might jinx Zelda. “Been runnin’ her ragged, not keeping up with the maintenance she deserves.”

“Sally calls her wheelchair Ferdie. Ferdinand the bull.”

She said it softly, with a wistful smile. Sure sign she was about to tell him something he didn’t want to know.

“What about you? You got a name for your ride?”

“Gas hog.”

Keep her smiling. “Is it a sow or a boar?”

“It’s an it.” Here it comes, ready or not. “My sister has MS.”

Clearly a good citizen would know what the letters stood for right off, and Zach was reduced to raking his brain for words that fit. He knew the name of every bone and major muscle in his body, having damaged most of them, but he wasn’t planning on getting into diseases for at least another thirty years.

“Multiple sclerosis,” she said, gently filling him in. “It affects the nervous system, and every case is different, so we really don’t know what to expect. During remission, sometimes you can hardly tell there’s anything wrong. But the last remission wasn’t quite as long as we’re used to.” She sipped her coffee. “This relapse has been harder than the last. More stubborn. Sally’s a strong woman, always has been. She doesn’t ask for help unless she has to. She thinks she should be looking after me.”