A story of Christmas, faith, love, and redemption, and a bronc rider ready to play Santa
Take one saddle bronc ridin’ cowboy, Jeb Hill, the Hillbilly Hotshot, who suffers the worst injury of his career. Send him home to be cared for by a widowed nurse, Shelby Thacker, who struggles to pay her bills and support her two children. Add some friendship, then stir in a little attraction. Complicate things with the return of Jeb’s long absent father and throw in the Christmas season. Jeb wants an old-fashioned, heartwarming Christmas, but Shelby’s poverty destroyed her holiday spirit long ago. Toss in some faith, a country church, and a rodeo rider ready to play Santa Claus. Shelby’s and Jeb’s friendship deepens, but can they fulfill each other’s hopes and dreams?
Try the first chapter - pre-order to have your copy in either eBook or paperback on release day which is December 2024.
Chapter One
One minute Jeb sat tall in the saddle, hoping to last eight seconds on a bucking saddle bronc, and the next, he sailed across the fairgrounds arena in Tennessee. He landed hard in the dirt. Jeb struggled to find his feet and rise but couldn’t. Pain shot through his body, centered in his back, so he waited for help. He’d been hurt many times before but this was different. Jeb had a hunch it might be the worst injury he ever suffered. It could prove to be his last.
Rodeo medics gathered like circling buzzards around a sick cow, but when they didn’t jump into action with first aid, Jeb knew his injuries must be severe. Someone phoned for an ambulance. Jeb suffered the humble fate of riding a gurney to the rig in front of a thousand hushed fans.
“Well, folks,” the announcer broke the uneasy silence. “The Hillbilly Hotshot, Jeb Hill, is down, but he’s on his way to getting the medical attention he needs. Next up is Martin Magdaleno. If you’re the praying kind, say a quick one for Jeb.”
He didn’t recall anything else until much later. Consciousness returned as he lay on his back, face up, in a hospital bed. His head rested on one pillow, with his feet on another. He managed to lift his right hand and wiggled his toes. Although the motion sparked pain, Jeb thanked God he could move. At least I’m not paralyzed.
His throat ached as he craved water. With effort, Jeb reached for the nurse call device looped around the bed rail. He pressed the center red button.
A speaker on the wall crackled to life. “May I help you?”
The voice lacked inflection and could have been a robot’s. “I need a drink something awful,” Jeb croaked.
“I’ll send your nurse.”
Jeb expected a woman but instead, a tall, muscular man wearing light-blue scrubs entered the room. “Jebediah, I’m Sam. I’ll be your nurse on this shift. What can I do to help you?”
Why couldn’t it have been a pretty lady? “I could use some water.”
Sam maneuvered the bed upward at a slight angle. He poured water from a plastic pitcher into a lidded cup, then placed the straw within reach of Jeb’s lips.
Jeb drank deep as the ice water trickled down his throat. “Exactly what are my injuries?” A sharp pain stabbed his lower back. Jeb winced. “Is my back broken?”
“You have a spinal fracture so yes, but no. The rest of your back and spine are fine. The break is in your lower back, vertebrae T10-L2.” Sam took Jeb’s wrist between his fingers.
“That means about as much to me as yesterday’s lottery numbers.” Jeb ignored an urge to pull away. “What are you doing now?”
Sam released his grip. “I was taking your pulse.”
Jeb shifted his gaze to the monitor beside the bed. “I thought your fancy machine displayed pulse, heartbeat, and all.”
“It does, but I like to check for myself. Machines can make mistakes. L-2 is the second of five lumbar vertebrae. We call it a burst fracture, and fortunately, yours is stable.” Sam sat in the bedside chair. “What’s your pain level on a scale of one to ten?”
“Twelve.” Jeb shifted, which made his back hurt more. “I got pain down my legs, too.”
Sam nodded. “That’s normal with this type of injury. I can provide pain medication. For the first couple of days, the doc ordered a strong narcotic but we’ll wean you off to ibuprofen.”
“Bring it on, then.” Jeb bit his lip so he wouldn’t groan. He’d hurt before many times, but not this bad. “Will I walk again?”
“No reason you shouldn’t. You can talk to the doctor when he comes in, which will be soon. Dr. Ahmed is making rounds. I’ll get your meds and be back. Don’t go anywhere.” Sam stood and winked.
If he could have, Jeb would have punched him square in the nose.
Before the physician arrived, the nurse returned and injected Jeb with morphine.
It dulled Jeb’s pain to a tolerable level, but relief wasn’t immediate.
Dr. Ahmed sauntered into the room in a confident fashion. His salt-and-pepper hair and beard indicated he wasn’t young. He catalogued Jeb’s injuries, outlined the treatment plan, and read the chart. “Have you been briefed on your injuries?”
“I got two questions—will I be able to walk and can I ride again?” Jeb clenched the edge of the sheet with his fingers. Both activities were important to Jeb. His future depended on those abilities.
“Walking shouldn’t be a problem, not after rehab and therapy. Dr. Ahmed tugged at his tidy goatee. “Riding horses is more problematic. I don’t recommend busting broncs or participating in any other rodeo events in the future. Although you’ll recover from the fracture, your spine is compromised. You don’t want any further injury because any future breaks are more likely to cause permanent issues.”
The doctor’s stern expression sobered Jeb. He tightened his jaw so hard it ached. If he couldn’t ride, he would no longer be able to compete. With his career and livelihood at stake, Jeb drew a harsh breath as he steeled himself not to weep. “When can I go home?” Jeb pictured his quiet farmhouse back in Missouri. “And how do I get there?”
“You have two options.” Dr. Ahmed adjusted his glasses and gazed down his nose. “We transfer you to a rehabilitation facility for six to eight weeks, then let you go, or we can arrange transport to your home, which I understand is several states away from Tennessee.”
And more than six hundred miles. “I’ll go with transport. I’m not ending up in some nursing home, no matter what fancy name it might have.”
“It’s up to you but it is expensive.” The doctor glanced at the chart in his hands. “We’ll have to check your insurance. If it doesn’t cover costs, hospital social services can assist you in applying for financial aid.”
Jeb lifted both hands and waved them in protest. He refused to become what he considered a charity case. “I can privately pay. I’ve got the bucks. Plus, I have insurance through my sponsor.” At least, he hoped the major boot manufacturer wouldn’t cancel coverage and refuse to pay. Rodeo and busting broncs had been his life for more than fifteen years. He might not hold the current championship ranking, but he’d hit the top ten every year for the past decade. His career was all he had and the only thing he took pride in. Maybe he’d heard wrong or misunderstood earlier. Jeb had to confirm what the doctor said. “Tell me the truth. Will I ride and compete again or am I finished?”
The doctor lowered his gold-framed glasses and peered over them. “I thought I made it clear. You might ride a horse for pleasure in the future, although I wouldn’t recommend it. Injuries happen at home as well as in the arena. Competition, however, for you has ended. Your spinal injuries are severe enough that any future damage could result in permanent paralysis. Your rodeo career, Mr. Hill, is over.”
At the age of thirty, Jeb’s only job and lifelong passion vanished. His chest tightened as if a vice were clamped in place. When he tried to take a deep breath, he couldn’t. Although he’d never had one, Jeb feared he might be in the throes of an anxiety attack. At least if he needed medical attention, he had a doctor in the room. He wanted to cry like a little boy but didn’t. Cowboy up. Take it like a man. It’s not the end of the world.
For Jeb, however, it seemed as if this was his personal doomsday. Jeb pulled his thoughts together and focused on the future. “I’m going home, even if I have to foot the bill. When do I get out of here?”
“Soon. You’ll remain here as a patient for five to seven more days. I’ll have social services start the dismissal process and arrange for transport. We’ll also verify whether or not your insurance will cover the cost. Steff, our social services director, will set up home health care and physical therapy. Your qualified home nurse will make sure you get to your sessions.” Dr. Ahmed paused. “You must be glad to return home. Do you have family?”
“I guess I am.” Jeb failed to dredge up much enthusiasm since he had little choice. He spent some of the off season at the farm each year, but he hadn’t lived there since he was a teenager. He hadn’t planned to return for good until he retired or got old. Home had been the rodeo circuit. “And I don’t have any family to speak of. Not anymore.” Jeb sighed. He had a couple aunts and a few cousins. He wouldn’t mention his estranged dad. “How long until I’m healed?”
“Full recovery will take two to three months. It could be more, depending on how hard you work on therapy.” The doc scribbled on the prescriptions pad he pulled from his pocket.
“I’ll work my tail off to get out of this place.” Jeb sighed. He valued his mobility and freedom more now.
“Very good. I’ll have social services start the process.” Dr. Ahmed nodded and almost smiled. “I’ll leave these two scripts at the nursing station.”
Five days, multiple rounds of excruciating physical therapy, and too many tasteless meals later, Jeb left the medical center. Although he could hobble with a walker, he hoped to graduate to a cane once he reached home. A nurse prepared Jeb for transport, then left him to wait, staring at the bland walls of the hospital room. He wore sweats some of his rodeo friends had brought along with his gear. The clothing he’d worn to compete had been removed on his arrival at the emergency department and trashed, since they had to cut the garments off.
The van driver arrived and introduced himself. “I’m Jace Pickens, and I’ll get you home.” The older man offered a smile and shook Jeb’s hand. “They want you riding in the back in the wheelchair so I’ll let the professionals get you loaded.”
“Who’s gonna unload me on the other end?” Jeb sighed as he settled into the chair.
Steff Martin, the hospital social worker, hovered with exit paperwork Jeb had to sign. Once he’d initialed the appropriate places and inked his name, she stuck them into a folder. “We’ve got everything set up so don’t worry. A local ambulance crew will settle you into your home, and your home health nurse will be there.”
Nine and a half long hours later, the transport van rolled down Jeb’s driveway in Missouri. His heart beat faster since he was here, but he couldn’t enjoy his return. He had a headache, and his back hurt the worst it had in days. Riding so far seated in a wheelchair, strapped with a seatbelt, hadn’t been comfortable. He didn’t expect anyone he knew to greet him, but the ambulance crew included his cousin, Addison. A high school classmate, Dennis, another crew member, greeted Jeb before Jace Pickens lowered him to the ground using the van’s motorized wheelchair lift.
“It’s the return of the triumphant hero.” Jeb forced a grin.
“Looks more like a broken cowboy to me.” Dennis laughed as he slapped Jeb’s palm in a high five. “Good to have you back.”
Jeb inked his name on the insurance claim for the transport driver and thanked him, then steeled himself to be jolted.
After one look at the front porch steps, the ambulance crew decided to bring him through the back porch and kitchen. Once inside, he shifted from wheelchair to a walker and hobbled with slow steps.
Jeb expected to use the downstairs bedroom, the one he kept for guests, but instead a hospital bed loomed in the dining room. The table and chairs were pushed against one wall. Jeb leaned on his walker, more than a little winded, although he tried not to let it show. “I figured I’d be in the bedroom.”
“Nah.” Dennis shook his head and pointed toward a woman waiting in the open doorway leading to the front room. “We had detailed doctor’s orders or, at least, she did.”
The small-statured woman couldn’t be more than five feet tall. Brown hair fell just past her shoulders, and her eyes were also brown. Her small heart-shaped face gazed at him, and her full lips were a lighter pink than her rose-colored scrubs.
She stepped forward. “Welcome home. I’m Shelby Thacker, RN, your home health nurse. Let’s get you settled. I imagine you’re tired after the long ride.”
Her soft voice echoed melodiously in his ears as alto not soprano. Jeb usually preferred blondes, but something about the nurse appealed to him. Her hair appeared natural, and not from a bottle. The fact she wore little, if any makeup appealed to him. “I ain’t sure you can wrangle me into bed.” He flushed and felt the heat in both cheeks.
A fleeting smile lit her face. “I’m stronger than I look.”
The familiar dining room, scene of more family dinners and celebrations than Jeb could count seemed strange. Granny’s long maple dining table had been removed to the side of the room with the leaf removed. The matching sideboard remained where he remembered it but now it held medical supplies, not a silk floral arrangement and a Carnival glass bowl. The ladderback chairs were stacked beside the table. A hospital bed, similar to the one he’d used in Tennessee, stood in the center of the room. The heavy navy drapes remained at the windows.
Addison lingered as the rest of the ambulance crew headed toward the rig. “Hey, Jeb, is there anything I can do before I go? Mom said she’ll be over tomorrow to visit.”
“Tell Aunt Jeannie I’ll look forward to seeing her. Maybe she could bring me one of those oatmeal cakes with coconut frosting.” The confection had been his favorite for years. His mom always baked one for his birthday, but after she lost her battle to cancer, his aunt had stepped up.
“I will. Glad you’re home, cuz.” Addison patted his arm.
“Me, too.” Jeb stared at the familiar walls. Home. From what he could see of the front room, the furniture there hadn’t changed from the 1970s era floral brocade couch. Gramp’s brown recliner, a gift from Jeb, sat in the same spot beside Granny’s wooden Colonial style rocking chair. I wish it felt more like a homecoming then a dead end. If I had anywhere else to go, I’d be there. Jeb wasn’t sure what to say to the nurse who waited, arms folded.
Their stalemate ended when she approached and tapped his arm.
Since his injury, he had been poked, prodded, and touched in countless ways. Contact had been clinical, but Shelby’s grasp seemed different. Her fingers were gentle; yet a ticklish tingle went through him. Her nudge came closest to a caress than anything since he got injured.
“Let’s get you comfortable.” Shelby guided him toward the bed. “Do you want to change, or are you good with what you’re wearing?”
Jeb glanced at his sweatpants and T-shirt. “This is fine.” He clumped the walker close to the bed and let her maneuver him. Shelby tucked him into bed, on his right side with such speed he didn’t feel any pain. Pillows supported his head with more tucked against his back. Jeb sighed. “That actually feels comfortable.”
“I’m glad.” Her capable hands pulled a quilt he remembered well over him. Granny had made it with scraps of his old shirts and some of Pop’s.
“Do you want the TV on or some music?”
His old twenty-inch television rested on a cart, rolled in from the living room. “Not right now. I kinda like the quiet. The hospital was pretty noisy, you know?” Jeb relaxed more than he ever had in the hospital.
“I do. Can I get you anything else?” She fidgeted with her hands as she spoke and moved toward the sideboard. A small purse and set of keys rested there.
Jeb considered soda but decided against it. Right now, he would be content to rest and hopefully sleep. “I’ll probably nap for a bit.”
Shelby nodded. “That’s good. You need one. If it’s okay, I have to run back to town for something. I won’t be gone long, I promise.”
“Why?” Curiosity made him pry.
Her cheeks pinked. “I have to pick up something.”
“Like what?” He liked her calm presence and hated for her to leave.
She hesitated, then sighed long and loud. “My kids. School gets out before long, and I have to be in the pickup line. I’ll bring them here, but I promise I’ll keep them in the kitchen. They’re incredibly good children and quiet.”
Kids. He hadn’t
expected little ones to hang around and wasn’t sure if he liked the idea. Jeb
didn’t dislike kids; he just wasn’t familiar. “How old and how many?” His
nerves couldn’t stand a crying infant, but then she had mentioned school.
“Two. Levi is eight and in the second grade. Lexi’s six and goes to kindergarten.” Shelby picked up her keys and slung the purse over one shoulder.
She had children so she must be married. Weary from the road trip, disappointment filled Jeb although he wasn’t sure why. He’d liked thinking of her as a single woman. “Why doesn’t your husband get them from school?”
Shelby’s smile flipped into a frown. “I’m a widow. My husband died three years ago. I really need to go or I’ll be late.”
Jeb tried to nod. “Go ahead. It’s not like I’m going anywhere.” He listened as she exited the house and started her car. He wasn’t an expert mechanic, but the motor sounded strained, like it might need oil or have mechanical issues. Jeb doubted he would fall asleep, but he drifted off and didn’t hear Shelby’s return.
When he awakened, the surroundings seemed unfamiliar until Jeb remembered he had come home. The familiar blue-and-gold-striped wallpaper in the dining room matched the navy drapes. A delightful aroma wafted from the kitchen. Although he wasn’t sure what might be cooking, Jeb felt hungry for the first time since he was hurt.
Soft whispers from the other room distracted him. Jeb couldn’t make out the words, but he heard the voices. He shifted position, wanting to sit up, and winced. His muscles were stiff, and his back hurt enough he could use ibuprofen. Dr. Ahmed had weaned him away from the heavy-duty narcotics, and the over-the-counter pills helped. “Hey, Shelby.” Jeb raised his voice, hoping she would hear him.
Still wearing scrubs, the nurse popped through the kitchen doorway in a hurry. “I’m here. What can I do?”
“I want to sit to eat. I’d really rather get up if I can. I’m tired of eating in bed like an invalid.” A whine crept into his voice, and Jeb cleared his throat to remove it.
“No problem. I can help you if you don’t mind the kitchen table. I can send the kids outside to play…”
Jeb waved one hand. “They can stay. I’m not some kind of old ogre. Whatever’s cooking smells good.”
Shelby maneuvered Jeb into a sitting position, then assisted him until he swung his legs toward the floor. She moved the walker within his reach.
“Thanks.” Jeb grasped it and pulled himself upright. He groaned. “No pain, no gain, or that’s what they tell me.” He hitched the walker forward with effort. Shelby hovered until he reached the table and sank into a seat.
“What’s your pain level?” She steadied his chair and moved it closer.
“Don’t ask me again.” The query irritated him, and he grimaced. “I got tired being asked the same six times a day in the hospital. I’m hurting a little, but ibuprofen ease the pain. Supper will help even more. What are we having?”
Two wide-eyed kids, a boy, and a girl, stared from the opposite end of the table. Both had Shelby’s dark hair and eyes.
“Salisbury steak, mashed potatoes, carrots, and brown gravy with mushrooms.” Shelby turned to stir something in a saucepan on the stove. “I hope you like mushrooms.”
“I do. In fact, you’re fixing one of my favorite meals. It’d be perfect if we had fresh baked bread or hot rolls.” Jeb licked his lips.
She tucked her hair behind her ears and faced him. “I’ve got rolls in the oven, but they’re store-bought. I didn’t have time to make any. Do you want sweet tea?”
“Sure, I’m thirsty.” He took a deep swig when she delivered a glass. “How’d you happen to make some of my favorites?”
Shelby laughed. “Apparently, they asked you in the hospital what you liked to eat, what you don’t, made a list, and passed it on.”
Jeb vaguely recalled a dietician who fired questions and made notations. At the time, he thought she wanted his preferences for hospital use. He hadn’t been served anything he had mentioned so maybe not.
The boy huffed. “Mama, when do we eat? I’m hungry. I didn’t like the school lunch today. It had beets.”
“Levi, don’t be rude. It’s Mr. Hill’s house so he says when I serve.” Shelby reached into her purse and pulled out a package of crackers. “Here, this will keep you from starving. Jebediah, this is my son, Levi Thacker. And the girl coloring a picture is my daughter, Lexi. Kids, this is Mr. Hill.”
Until now Shelby hadn’t used his name and she drew out every syllable. He shook his head. “It’s just Jeb.” Mr. Hill sounded like an old man. His grandpa had been known as Mr. Hill. “Call me Jeb. The kids can, too. I’m not very formal. I’m hungry, too, so whenever the rolls are done, I’m ready.”
“Jeb.” Shelby repeated his name and wrinkled her nose. “It suits you.”
He laughed out loud for the first time since he busted his back. “So does Hillbilly Hotshot.” From the way her eyes grew big and her lips parted, he guessed she hadn’t heard his rodeo name. His life had just taken a one-eighty turn and so far Jeb didn’t really think it was for the better.
“What does it mean?” Shelby lifted one eyebrow.
“I rode as Jeb Hill, the Hillbilly Hotshot for the last fifteen years.” He stared at the table; painfully aware those days were over. Either she might be slow or didn’t understand.
Shelby stood near the stove, hot pad mitt on one hand. “Rode what?”
It dawned on Jeb she didn’t know his history. “Look, honey, I am, well I was, a saddle bronc rider and a good one. I got this spinal fracture when a wild bronc tossed me at a rodeo. Could have been worse, I reckon. I was awfully scared I might not walk again.” He paused and drew a deep breath. “Didn’t they tell you anything about me?”
Shelby shook her head back and forth. “Just your name, what injury you had, and where you live. I thought you’d been in a car wreck.”
Jeb guffawed. “No. Might have been easier if I had been.”
Shelby pulled the tray of rolls from the oven, tossed them into a basket, and put them on the table with the butter. She quickly fixed four plates. His had a helping of everything including a sizeable helping of gravy. Hers had a smaller portion and the two other plates were child-sized for her kids. Each of them ended up with a hamburger steak and mashed potatoes, a few carrots, but no gravy.
Shelby clasped her hands together. “Do you want to ask the blessing?”
Caught unaware, Jeb nodded. He hadn’t said grace since he lived in this same house with his mama and daddy, later with his grandparents who took over his care after his mom died and his dad took off. This had been Granny and Pop’s house first. They had relocated to town but returned when needed. He spoke the remembered words, thanked God he could be home instead of in a facility, and dug into the food.
The first bite of Salisbury steak melted on his tongue, the best thing he’d eaten in a long time. The mashed potatoes were real, not from a box, the carrots were tender, and the rolls, despite being from the store, were flaky in his mouth. If he ate like this every day, he might get fat, but better still, he would heal. “Thank you for a fine meal, Shelby.” He wondered if she planned to cook every day. He had no idea if she would be his sole nurse or if others would arrive to follow a schedule.
Lexi ducked her head as she blushed. “We’re not done yet.”
“We’re not?” Jeb turned toward the little girl. Until now, she hadn’t said a word.
She grinned, revealing a gap where she’d lost a baby tooth. “No, there’s still ice cream.”
Jeb stacked his silverware onto his empty plate but kept the spoon. “Bring it on, then.” He winked at Shelby and grinned.
So far, being home had turned out better than he’d ever dreamed. Maybe it wouldn’t be a total nightmare after all.
Pre order links:
https://www.amazon.com/Homeward-Bound-Hearts-Sontheimer-Murphy-ebook/dp/B0DJPGQMZH
https://wildrosepress.com/product/homeward-bound-hearts/
Media:
https://stjosephpost.com/posts/6de60f01-aa95-4fdb-90fe-6efc53c22e99
