All I Want for Christmas Is a Cowboy

by Jessica Clare

  Luckily, his horse was well trained. She knew the way home even with minimal guidance, and Eli was grateful to see the sloped roof of the large barn come into sight. He hurried his horse over to the pasture, left Houdini with the rest of the herd, stabled the horse in the barn, and then carried the woman inside the house, the dogs nipping at his heels. Normally, he’d unsaddle the horse and rub her down before tending to things in the house but this couldn’t wait. The horse would be all right for a little bit and the girl in his arms might not be.

  First things first.

  Eli kicked open the door and Jim and Bandit rushed inside, even as Frannie danced around his legs. “Back up, girl,” he told the dog, and she moved away, watching him closely, her tail wagging with excitement. She probably thought this was a new fun game.

  It was cold inside the house, since he didn’t like leaving a blazing fire going when he was the only one at the ranch. He gently laid the woman down on the couch and then moved to the wood-burning stove, desperate to get some heat going. After a few logs were put in, he closed the stove door and then peeled off one of his gloves, rubbing his face.

  Most days he liked being alone. Today? The weight of his responsibilities dragged him down. There was so much to see to and everyone needed attention right away. Frannie whined at him, her tail flicking against his leg.

  Eli peered over his hand at her. “Do me a favor and don’t have your puppies today, all right? Man can’t take much more than this.”

  Excited that he was talking to her, Frannie sat on her hindquarters and wiggled, an enormous white mountain of fluffy fur. Just the sight of her made him feel a little better, and he rubbed her head and then got back to his feet.

  One thing at a time.

  He’d take care of the woman first. Make sure she was out of danger. Then, the cowboy in him would kick in. He couldn’t neglect the ranch. There were too many animals waiting to be fed. He’d check the herd one last time. Feed ’em their cake pellets and put out more hay. Since the weather was getting colder by the hour, the cattle needed to eat more to keep their systems warm. Luckily, they’d moved the herd closer to the ranch itself and it wouldn’t be difficult to put out more feed, just time consuming. Then he could check on the animals in the barn . . . and then on his unconscious patient.

  But he had to make sure she was well enough to be left alone first.

  Moving to the sofa, Eli sat down on the edge and stared down at the woman. He thought he knew a bit about doctorin’. He’d pulled more calves from pregnant cows than he’d thought possible. He could give an animal medication without blinking an eye. He’d stitched his own gashes and wrapped twisted ankles so he could go back to work. He’d set bones and popped a shoulder back into the socket before. He kinda had to be self-sufficient this far up in the mountains, because if he stopped working every time he got hurt, he’d never get anything done.

  He’d never done this sort of thing for a woman, though, and never a stranger.

  Gently, he unwrapped the Christmas tree skirt from her body and then felt her arms and ribs for protruding bones. When nothing seemed out of order, he pulled up the clothing and looked at the skin underneath. Bruised, but nothing looked swollen or bloated, which would be a real bad sign. She was breathing regularly and sounded okay. He heaved a sigh of relief and ran a hand over his mouth again. So far, so good.

  Frannie moved to the edge of the couch and began to lick the woman’s face. “Not now, Frannie girl,” he murmured to the dog, though she probably had the right idea. He retrieved a towel from Maria’s kitchen, wet it down, and then began to gently wipe the crusted blood from the woman’s face.

  There was an enormous gash on her forehead, and the dark bruise right smack between her eyes seemed to be getting darker. Her face was swollen, but he thought that underneath it all, she was probably really pretty. Young and pretty, and driving alone in the mountains close to Christmas. Some guy out there really screwed up and let his woman get away, Eli thought to himself. He finished cleaning her face and then tapped her cheek to try to wake her. “Miss?”

  She moaned but didn’t wake up.

  He didn’t know if that was a good thing or a bad thing. What should he do? Frannie laid her head on his knee and gave him a soulful look, as if she wished she had the answers. “Me too, girl. Me too.” He patted her absently and then an idea hit him.

  Phone. Doc Parsons was still at the Swinging C over the holidays. Maybe he’d know what to do with an unconscious woman. He got to his feet and raced across the house, looking for the cordless phone. Eli found it, and then spent several minutes searching for Maria’s note card of important phone numbers. Of course, it was on the fridge. With an angry snarl, he grabbed it and dialed the Swinging C Ranch.

  After four rings, Doc answered. “I’ll be damned. This Eli? Using a phone?” He sounded amused. “Hasn’t been but a few days since the others left. You brand yourself out of boredom?”

  “Ain’t got no time for chitchat, Doc. I got an emergency over here,” Eli warned him. Damn Doc of all people. He was smart and knew a lot about medicine and animals, but he was also the jokiest man, and Eli didn’t much like joking around when a perfectly good, straightforward conversation would do. “I pulled a woman out of a car on the pass. She’s unconscious. Hit her head, I think.”

  Doc’s tone changed. “Broken bones?”

  “Not that I could see.”

  “Ribs?”

  Eli could feel himself blushing. “She’s got some. I guess. I didn’t really check too close.” He didn’t want to strip her down in case she woke up and saw a strange man standing over her with his hands under her sweater. “Doc, what do I do?”

  “Well,” Doc mused, in that slow, jokey way of his. “Normally I’d say don’t move her in case you make her injuries worse, but I guess that horse has already left the barn.”

  He was tempted to throw the phone down, but gritted his teeth. “I couldn’t leave her in the car. There’s a blizzard outside.”

  “I noticed. Spent all day caking the cattle up here. Hungry little buggers. You’d think they’d never been fed before. She local?”

  Eli rubbed his forehead, trying to follow Doc’s line of thought. “I guess? No, wait. She wasn’t wearing a very big sweater. Must be a tourist.”

  “Maybe Santa left her for you to find.” He chuckled.

  He grit his teeth in frustration. “Be serious, man. I’ve got an injured woman over here.”

  “Right. Sorry.” Doc cleared his throat. “Well, I’d say I’d come over and take a look at her, but I can’t go anywhere in this weather without turning into an icicle myself. One of the cows is aborting and I need to make sure it’s clean or else we’re gonna lose her, too. I can’t do much on your end, either. You did good, Eli. Just be patient and she’ll wake up. Keep her warm, do a quick check for broken bones and internal bleeding, and hope for the best.”

  Hope for the best? “What kinda medical advice is that?”

  “You need more? Okay. Walk over to her.”

  Eli raced back to the woman’s side. “I’m there. What do you want me to do?”

  “Look at her. Has she lost control of her bladder?”

  What? “No . . .”

  “She defecate on herself?”

  “No.” He squinted at the air, scowling.

  “Congratulations, she ain’t dead. Now, you wait for her to wake up and ask her how she feels, and then call me back.”

  He gritted his teeth. Sometimes Doc was no help at all. “How do I wake her up? I tried shaking her.”

  “Well, don’t do that. Don’t slap her, either. If she’s unconscious because of medical reasons, that ain’t gonna help.”

  “She’s got these awful bruises all over her face, Doc,” Eli said in a low voice. “She looks terrible.”

  “Now, now, it ain’t her fault she ain’t a looker,” Doc told him,
amused.

  “That wasn’t what I meant—”

  “If she’s not vomiting or seizing up, that’s a good sign. Might not be more than just a knock on the head. Just wait for her to wake up normally. That’s about all you can do. Lay her on her side, don’t put a pillow under her head, and listen to her breathing. Make sure there’s no gurgling or choking, and make sure her lips don’t turn blue. And then you wait. Feel free to call me no matter what time, day or night, once she wakes up.”

  Finally, he was getting somewhere. “Okay, I can do that.”

  “No Christmas carols or music, or television, because if she’s got a concussion, it might set off a seizure.”

  That shouldn’t be too hard for him. He didn’t have any sort of Christmas crap anyhow. “Fine.”

  “Try not to leave her alone. Keep her resting. That’s it.”

  It didn’t feel like enough, and yet Eli’s brain felt overloaded anyhow. “All right. Thanks, Doc.”

  “Call me back if she gets worse,” the other man said cheerfully, as if they were dealing with no more than a sick calf. But looking at the unconscious woman on the couch, Eli felt like he was the one in danger of throwing up. He could handle just about anything the ranch threw at him . . . but he didn’t know what to do with an injured woman.

  Hell.

  She shifted, moaning slightly as her head moved on the pillow he’d jammed under her head.

  Pillow! Aw, crap. Eli raced over to her and carefully dragged the woman onto the floor. He took the pillow away, even though it felt cruel, and turned her carefully on her side. As he did, her dark hair spilled out over the worn rug and she looked . . . downright pretty.

  Well, if it wasn’t for the nasty bruising and the fact that she had dried blood along her ear and jaw. But he didn’t need to be thinking about how pretty she was. He needed to be worried about what to do with her if she didn’t wake up. He thought for a minute, and then wrapped one of Maria’s quilts around her, then patted her gently as if that solved everything.

  Don’t leave her alone, Doc had said, but Eli had chores that had to be tended to. He hesitated, watching the unconscious woman sleep, but he didn’t know what to do. He could sit here and stare at her, but there were a million other farm chores that wouldn’t wait for her to wake up. But he couldn’t leave her, not if she needed help.

  As if sensing his thoughts, Frannie moved next to the woman and curled up beside her, pregnant belly sticking out. Her tail thumped and she licked the woman’s forehead, then looked up at him with her dark eyes. It was like she was telling him that she had it under control. That she’d watch over her.

  He rubbed her muzzle. “You’re the best girl, Frannie. You come and get me if she’s sick, all right?”

  Frannie’s tail thumped against the floor, and that was that.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Cass’s head was surrounded by fur. Not just a little fur, but a choking amount of white fur that looked pretty but smelled terrible. In fact, it smelled like . . . dog? Which was weird, because she didn’t have a dog. She didn’t have any pets. This had to be a mistake.

  She pushed the fur aside and something smacked across her forehead. The dog’s tail thumped against her with excitement, but it hurt so much she nearly blacked out again. Oh, jeez. Pain rolled through her head and she carefully lifted a hand to her throbbing skull. It felt swollen and hot, and it hurt.

  What had happened? Where was she?

  And why was there a dog?

  When the pain faded from “overwhelming” to “dull roar,” she squeezed her eyes open again. The ceiling overhead slowly came into focus, and she saw she was staring up at naked wooden beams. Huh. That didn’t seem familiar. Neither did the dog licking her forehead.

  In fact, none of this seemed all that familiar. Cass slowly sat up, wincing as everything ached and throbbed in response. Ooh, that was going to hurt in the morning. She should have known better . . .

  Better than to what? Her brain was foggy. She pressed a hand to her forehead and tried to think. Nothing was forming. She needed coffee and some aspirin, maybe, to shake the fog from her brain. Cass looked around the room, frowning to herself as she did. None of this looked like her sort of thing. For one, it looked very . . . rustic. The walls of the house were bare wood, like the ceiling, and a metal star hung off one wall, next to several pictures of horses. There was a deer head over the fireplace, along with a rifle, and the mantel had a Navajo vase on one end and a cow skull on the other. A cast-iron stove was on the opposite side of the room and it was the source of all the heat in the area. As for Cass, she was wrapped in a faded Navajo quilt. The couch itself was brown and red, and there was a rocking chair in one corner and a TV set that looked as if it predated the Internet. It was all very bold and Western and strange.

  This . . . didn’t seem like her. Cass glanced down at her black sweater and jeans. That looked familiar, at least.

  The dog at her side thumped its tail again and gave her an eager look, getting to its feet and running around in excited circles.

  “Do you need to go outside?” Cass asked, curious. That’s what dogs wanted when they got excited, right?

  At the word “outside,” the dog got even more excited, letting out a high-pitched yip.

  “Okay, we can do that,” Cass told her, and worked on getting to her feet. Her clothes felt slightly damp and the room was chilly despite the heat given off by the stove blazing in the corner. She didn’t have her shoes on, though she didn’t recall leaving them somewhere. This was odd, too. If her head would just stop throbbing, she’d be able to concentrate for a moment and clear her thoughts. As it was, she was having a hard time focusing.

  The dog yipped again.

  “Right. Outside.” She managed to pull herself to her feet, and a wave of pain crashed over her, knocking her backward onto the couch and making her pant. Oh god, everything hurt. Her head hurt, her face hurt, and her chest hurt, too. Her knee throbbed like it had been twisted, but her chest was the worst—it felt like one big bruise and she wanted to cry with the pain. Was this a heart attack? Was this how she was going to die?

  Cass put a hand to her chest, alarmed, and then realized that the simple act of touching her chest caused another shock wave of pain. She tugged down the collar of her shirt and saw a hint of what looked like an enormous bruise covering her from her breastbone on down. Judging from the feel of things, it probably covered her all the way down to her navel.

  Well, good grief. Where did that come from?

  She pressed a hand to her forehead, trying to think, and that hurt, too. Okay, bruise on the forehead and the chest? What had happened to her? Was this why she couldn’t think straight? Cass ran her fingers lightly over her brow and felt a cut there, too. She was definitely banged up.

  She just didn’t remember what had happened to do all the banging.

  Cass got to her feet again, bracing herself, and this time the pain wasn’t as excruciating. Now upright, she staggered toward a hall and found a kitchen, and a mudroom. There was a door outside in the mudroom, and it had a window. The window itself showed nothing but dark and chill, and when she stepped into the mudroom, it was freezing, her feet painfully cold. “Are you sure you want to go outside in that?” she asked the dog.

  The big fluffy white dog whined at her.

  “All right.” She touched the doorknob—ice cold—and fumbled with it, trying to figure out how to open the door. A moment later, it opened and snow poured inside. She gasped, stepping backward, but the dog didn’t seem like it was going to go outside anymore.

  Well, she didn’t blame it. After a moment, Cass shut the door again, rubbing her arms and staggering back into the warmer kitchen. “We need coffee,” she told it. Coffee might help her brain clear up. She moved into the kitchen—again, with a rustic Western theme and pine cabinets, and cold Saltillo tile that made her toes curl when she stepped
on it—and looked for her coffeepot. She couldn’t find it. Well, no, she took it back—she found a coffeepot with a plug and a percolator, and she had no idea how to use it. Wasn’t there a Keurig somewhere around here?

  But she couldn’t find one. That didn’t make sense.

  She’d make tea, then. Cass frowned at the cabinet, looking for tea bags. She didn’t see any, but a huge bag of sugar stared right at her. That seemed odd, given that she took her coffee . . .

  She paused and waited for her brain to fill in the blank.

  It didn’t.

  A note of panic crept into her mind. She forced herself to calm down. It was just coffee. Maybe she didn’t have a “way” she took it. There had to be other things she remembered, and not just this big blank. Like . . . the dog’s name. She stared down at the big white fluffy beast. It was fat and huge, almost up to her waist. It had dark eyes and wagged its tail so fetchingly she felt a surge of affection for it. And its name was . . .

  Cass had no idea.

  She swallowed hard and touched the sore spot on her brow. Perhaps these things were connected. Okay, she wouldn’t panic yet. She knew her name was Cass, and her last name was . . .

  Was . . .

  Her brain didn’t fill in the blank. There wasn’t anything when she tried to access that memory. She didn’t know who she was. She tried thinking of other things. Where she lived. Where her job was. What her job was. How old she was.

  Anything. Everything.

  She had nothing.

  Cass squeezed her eyes shut and tried to picture her face. Surely she’d remember her face. When nothing came to mind, a sob caught in her throat and she hobbled forward, passing through the kitchen and down another hall. There had to be a bathroom around here. A bedroom. Someplace with a mirror—