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“Shouldn’t she be awake by now?” he asked. “I know Dr. Mathews says it varies, but . . .” As he spoke, Miriam’s head shifted on the pillow like she was shaking it in a “no” gesture.
    â€œLet her rest, Wade.” Rose sank heavily into her chair and reclaimed Miriam’s left hand.
    He nodded. If he was Miriam, he wouldn’t want to wake up. And, much as he needed the reassurance of seeing her open her eyes and speak, he had no idea what he’d say to her.
    â€œAll that commotion a little while ago?” Rose said. “The patient’s fine now. His heart stopped, but they got it going again.”
    â€œGood to know.” When they’d heard the calls and running feet as doctors and nurses raced down the hall with the crash cart, he’d feared the worst.
    Miriam’s fingers twitched in his and she muttered something.
    â€œWhat was that?” he asked Rose. “It sounded like . . . QuickBooks?”
    â€œIt did. That’s the bookkeeping program she’s been learning, isn’t it?”
    â€œIt’s giving her some trouble, but she’s really working at it. She’s got half the old records onto the system.”
    â€œI wonder why she’s thinking about it now?” Rose mused.
    He shook his head. A memory flickered. “I remember when you and Henry gave us that program. On Christmas day.”
    â€œIt was a good Christmas.” Rose’s voice was soft.
    â€œA great one.” And memories of that day were a comforting place for his mind to dwell. He closed his eyes and let them flow.
    Christmas morning, stockings in bed, breakfast, present opening. The drive through gaily decorated Caribou Crossing . . . Lunch with Miriam’s family and more gifts . . . Then they realized they were running late.

    Wade helped his wife and daughter gather the gifts they’d received. Bundled in their coats and scarves, the three of them headed out to the car. It was snowing, in big, lacy flakes that Jessie caught on her tongue.
    He stowed their stuff in the trunk. As he started the car, he thought about setting up that computer. When it came to ranch machinery, he was a whiz. He was pretty good with plumbing and electricity, too. How hard could a computer be?
    Bookkeeping, though . . . He was as happy as a tick on a hound dog that Miriam had volunteered to take that on. His father had always handled the books, and, though he’d given Wade a crash course before heading to Phoenix, it was a little mind-boggling. Orders to place, bills to pay, regulations to comply with, all sorts of taxes, year-end reports—the list went on and on. There was a lot more to running a ranch than the things he’d always been involved in: breeding and tending cattle, growing hay to feed them, shipping them off to sale, looking after the horses, and maintaining the barn, fences, and equipment.
    His pa had said he could call for advice anytime, but hell, when had Wade ever heard his father beg help from anyone? Wade was a grown-up; he could handle the ranch, with Miriam’s help. The two of them made a great team. And Jessie was always happy to help with any chores involving horses.
    Momentary concerns brushed aside, Wade hummed along happily to John Denver’s “Christmas for Cowboys” on the local country and western station. Personally, his idea of Christmas wasn’t to be out in the snow driving cattle, like the song said, but he wasn’t a city guy either. Here in Caribou Crossing, he had the best of both worlds. Open range and an independent way of life, plus the comforts of a small town: a nice restaurant to take his wife on her birthday, folks to chat with at the feed store, good schools for his kid. Kids, soon.
    â€œPa, you need to turn up there.”
    â€œOh, right.” He was on autopilot, heading for Bly Ranch. Instead, Wade made the turn Jessie indicated. They’d arranged to bring a friend of hers