Page 12 of A Perfect Christmas Dance (Kringle, Texas #7)
Now, back at the ranch, the familiar smells of home greeted him—wood polish, fresh air, and the distant scent of hay.
But there was something else, too, a hint of vanilla and cinnamon that he’d come to associate with Nina.
It mingled with the antiseptic smell that clung to his skin, a reminder of the hospital they’d left behind.
The doctors released him early Sunday morning, deeming him “cleared” to go, though the word felt generous. His knee, wrapped tight in bandages, throbbed with every heartbeat, a constant reminder of his vulnerability. The pain medication dulled the edge but couldn’t erase it completely.
The ride back to the ranch turned out much quieter than the frantic journey to the hospital. Nina drove while he stretched out in the back seat of her car. Her eyes flicked between watching him in her rearview mirror and the road as she navigated the country lanes.
Ryan’s thoughts had wandered during the drive, fixating on his knee, on his frustration, and on the doctor’s insistence that he couldn’t be left alone for the next few days.
The idea of dependence grated against his every instinct.
He was used to being the one others relied on, not the other way around.
Now, he lay in his parents’ old bedroom, feeling the weight of the past settle over him.
He looked around the familiar space, taking in details.
The old oak dresser still stood against the far wall, its surface now bare of the trinkets and photos that once cluttered it.
The curtains were the same faded floral print his mother had loved, now drawn back to let in the late morning sunlight.
Ryan wanted to be upstairs in his own room, surrounded by his things, but he knew it would be days before he could manage the stairs. So here he was, stuck in this room that held so many echoes of the past.
Nina offered alternatives—the couch in the den, the one in the living room, even suggesting he stay with her, but in the end, practicality won out.
This room was spacious, the bed more comfortable than anything in the den, and Jenny insisted he use it, her text message brooking no argument.
That had settled it. Ryan didn’t want to upset his sister, but now, lying in his parents’ bed, dressed in his sheets, comforter, and pillows—all thanks to Nina’s thoughtfulness—he felt a strange blend of comfort and unease.
The familiar creaks of the old house surrounded him, each sound triggering a memory. The distant tick of the grandfather clock in the hallway, the whisper of wind through the oak trees outside—it was all achingly familiar, yet somehow foreign after so long.
Nina hovered nearby, tucking sheets and adjusting pillows with care that both touched and irritated him.
Her movements were gentle, almost reverent as if she understood the emotional weight of this room. She was doing too much, fussing like he was helpless, and it made him grumpy.
Not because he didn’t appreciate the help—he did, more than he could express—but because he was used to doing things on his own.
Being incapacitated and feeling dependent, it all went against the grain of who he was.
Years of running the ranch ingrained in him a fierce independence that was hard to let go of, even when he knew he needed the help.
And worse, he hated being at her mercy. Even though, deep down, a part of him recognized that if he could just relax and let go of his stubborn pride for a moment, it might not be so bad.
But relaxation had never been his strong suit, especially not here, in this room filled with memories. Every glance around the space brought a new recollection—his mother’s laugh, his father’s firm but gentle hand on his shoulder, family gatherings and quiet moments alike.
“The way I see it, you’re lucky to have me,” Nina said, her voice pulling him from his thoughts as she shoved an extra pillow behind his back.
Her tone was light, teasing, but there was an undercurrent of genuine concern that Ryan couldn’t miss.
“Doctor said you need to rest as much as possible, remember?”
He eyed her, a mix of gratitude and frustration warring within him. The sunlight streaming through the window caught in her black hair, highlighting strands of deep navy he’d never noticed before.
“I have crutches, and I’m not helpless,” he grumbled, then added softly, “And thanks.” The words felt inadequate, but they were all he could manage.
“Crutches or not, you need to rest,” Nina replied, her hands on her hips as she arched a brow at him, mimicking the doctor’s stern authority. The playful glint in her eye betrayed her amusement at the situation, softening the reprimand. “Doctor’s orders.”
Ryan leaned back with a huff, more out of defeat than anything else. Not that he’d admit it. “You sure those aren’t sister’s orders?”
Nina’s lips twitched into a smile, refusing to rise to the bait. Instead, she turned and picked up a plate from the bedside table, balancing a fork on the edge. “Blueberry cinnamon rolls, fresh from the bakery. Now, don’t say I never did anything for you.”
The scent hit him before he even took the plate, rich and sweet, a reminder of simpler times.
She had gone to the bakery while he was being poked, prodded, and x-rayed, made sure he’d have meals lined up for the day—all without him asking.
The smell of cinnamon and berries rose from the plate, but what really struck him was how much she had done. All before noon.
Ryan let out a long breath, feeling the tension in his chest unravel just a little.
He looked up at her, really looked at her, taking in the soft curves of her face, the wisps of hair that had escaped her hasty ponytail.
He wanted to get this next part right because it mattered. Because she mattered.
“Nina,” he said, his voice quieter now, serious. “I wouldn’t say that. You’ve become more a part of my life than anyone else, except my parents and Jenny and Scott.” The words felt heavy with meaning, with everything left unsaid between them.
Her smile softened, her wide mouth quirking at the edges, that too-knowing look in her eyes. “Good. Don’t forget it.”
There was a tenderness in her voice that made his heart skip.
Ryan couldn’t help smiling back, even through the discomfort.
He would never in a million years forget Nina Ellis, not a single detail.
Not the way she hummed under her breath when she thought no one was listening, or how her eyes crinkled at the corners when she laughed, or the fierce determination she showed in everything she did.
He stared at her for a moment longer, something pulling at him from deep within, something unplanned and overwhelming.
“Can you stay?” The words came out before he could stop them, surprising even himself with their vulnerability.
Nina stilled, her hands hovering midair over the blankets she had been straightening. For a beat, she didn’t speak, and Ryan felt his heart hammering in his chest.
Had he overstepped? Asked too much? But then, with a soft look in her eyes that made his breath catch, she nodded.
“Of course,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll stay as long as you need.”