Christmas in Cowboy Country by Janet Dailey

patched in from somewhere in Oregon.
    â€œWell then,” the patriarch said. “Let’s eat.”

    â€œSo how was your Thanksgiving?” Dr. Bert Lyon slipped Annie’s latest X-ray into the viewer. The overhead light of the examining room made his gray hair look almost as white as his office coat. He pushed up the glasses that rested on his beaky nose and studied the ghostly image.
    â€œIt was really nice. We didn’t do anything special, though.”
    â€œSometimes those are the best holidays.” He tapped the X-ray. “You’re making progress.”
    She would have cheered, if not for the expression on the orthopedist’s face when he turned to her. She didn’t see the usual twinkle in his eye, which was familiar to every Velde kid who’d ever fallen out of a tree or slipped on the ice.
    â€œBut I wouldn’t say the bone is one hundred percent healed,” he added.
    Annie groaned theatrically. “Aarrgh. Will it ever be?”
    â€œYes. You’ve got to give it a little more time, that’s all.”
    â€œI suppose I don’t really have a choice.”
    â€œBe patient. Now let’s have a look at that leg.”
    She rolled up one leg of her sweatpants and pushed down her sock when he settled himself on a wheeled stool and rolled over to the examining table.
    Dr. Lyon asked her to flex her foot as he ran his hand over her calf. “You haven’t lost much muscle. That’s a plus. Do you think you can stay off the slopes until January?”
    Annie made a face. “If you say I have to, then I can.”
    The orthopedist pushed away from the table and rolled toward the low counter where her file was. She covered up her leg and pulled up her sock. Dr. Lyon flipped open the manila file and leafed through it.
    â€œDon’t take chances,” he advised. “Agreed?”
    â€œI won’t. But it’s going to be a long December.”
    He chuckled as he took a pen out of the pocket of his white coat and jotted down a few notes. “You’ll get through it.”
    Annie brightened as she thought of a halfway measure. “I can ride the ski lift, can’t I?”
    The town boasted a decent slope that petered out where the main street began. It wasn’t a black diamond run and no hotdogger would give it a second look, but it was popular all the same, especially with the locals. The creaky but serviceable ski lift started up when the snow did, around the end of September, and kept going until March and sometimes into April.
    Dr. Lyon peered at her over his half-glasses. “Sure. In bedroom slippers. No skis. I mean it, Annie. Your mom and dad would skin me alive if they thought I encouraged you before it was time.”
    â€œI won’t ski, I promise. I was only thinking of taking a friend with me. The view from the top is great.”
    â€œCan’t remember the last time I saw it. Guess it hasn’t changed much.” The orthopedist took a last look at her file as he capped his pen. “You going with someone from here?” he asked absentmindedly.
    â€œNo. He’s from Wyoming.”
    The nurse poked her head in through the door. “Dr. Lyon, your next patient is in room three.”
    That spared her any more explaining. But the doctor’s question had been routine.
    â€œThanks, Gina. We’re all done here.”
    Annie slid off the table and found her boots as the doctor exited. She walked through the narrow corridor to the front reception area to make an appointment for early January.
    The first month of the new year to come seemed like a long way off, but it was only a few weeks away. Marshall Stone would be long gone by then.
    She waited until she’d left the office and was warming up her car to try and reach him. The call went straight to voice mail.
    Disappointed, Annie didn’t leave a message, deciding to send a text instead. Meet me on the mountain? She suggested a date and