My Christmas Cowboy

“Jolene, you know that kiss meant something. And I know those feelings were mutual, too.”

“But that doesn’t mean we can get carried away.” Trent stepped back, hands up in surrender. “Please stay. I promise I won’t try to kiss you.”

“Again.”

“Again,” he added begrudgingly. “If you go, I’m going to have to follow to make sure you get home safely. And I’d much rather stay here in front of the fire.”

Jolene stared at Trent for a long moment, still slightly flushed.

“I’m not going to sleep with you tonight.”

“Fine, I don’t want you to anyway,” Trent replied, too quickly.

Jolene smirked. “Okay then, I’ll stay.”

“Good.” Trent turned and left the room before his mouth—and hers—got him into any more trouble. Besides, he needed a minute to cool off, and to wrap his mind around the fact that they were two big, fat liars.

Dear Reader,

One Christmas, after presents were opened and breakfast was eaten, my father took a chain saw to our Christmas tree, then burned it.

Oh, there’s a story there, of course. I grew up in Houston, where some Decembers don’t get below sixty degrees. Our lovely Christmas tree had been “lovely” until about December 18th. By then, the warm weather had gotten to it. In short, our tree had become a fire hazard.

What’s unusual about this event was that no one in my family was terribly shocked about seeing a chainsaw in our living room on December 25. All we did was put the ornaments in their boxes and get out of the way! My family wasn’t known for Norman Rockwell moments by any stretch of the imagination.

Perhaps this is why I was so excited to write a Christmas romance with a fairly untraditional couple. I really liked Jolene Arnold, with her sassy nature and her show-stopping legs. I liked Trent, who was gorgeous and just a little bit of a jerk. But most of all, I loved how they made their Christmas wonderful, even if it wasn’t all that perfect. I hope you enjoyed their romance, too.

I also hope you have a wonderful holiday season. I wish you happiness, good health, a bit of laughter … and, most of all, someone special to share those moments with.

Merry Christmas!

Shelley Galloway

My Christmas Cowboy

Shelley Galloway

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To Tom. Thank you for many,

many wonderful Christmases.

Thank you, too, for never complaining

when I start decorating in November.

Chapter One

Jolene ran a finger along the note her friend Cheryl had stuck on the front of her apartment door. Trent Riddell was back in town, and Cheryl had even found his unlisted phone number.

Now, didn’t that beat all?

She didn’t know whether to spit nails or thank the Lord Almighty.

She settled on talking to her baby girl.

“Amanda Rose, what do you think about that? After all this time, I guess we’re finally going to get to reconnect with Mr. Wonderful himself.”

As she heard her words, thick with sarcasm, even she felt a little embarrassed. Being bitchy wasn’t like her.

Of course, being ignored wasn’t something she’d ever done real well, either.

“When do you think we should pay him a call, sugar? Tomorrow morning? Next week?”

The baby didn’t answer her, of course, which was really just as well. There was no right time to introduce a man to his unexpected offspring.

But, come to think of it, there should be. Dear Abby or Emily Post or somebody ought to write some directions about stuff like that. If they did, she’d snap them up right away. She wasn’t a fool, she needed all the help she could get.

Feeling the urge for a cigarette, she quickly snatched a piece of bubble gum from her cavernous purse. She pulled off the wrapper and chomped down hard. As sweetness infused her mouth, Jolene tried to pretend the jolt of sugar was almost as satisfying as that first rush of nicotine.

Yes, giving up smoking had been the right thing to do. Smoking was bad for her health. Expensive, too.

But somehow all she could think about was the sugar that was no doubt rotting her teeth that very minute. And she sure as heck couldn’t afford to go to the dentist.

What she needed was a plan.

Well, there was no time like the present. She just had to dive right in. Make plans. Carefully, she dug in her purse again, this time coming up with her cell phone. After taking a deep breath, she dialed before she lost her nerve. She had to at least try.

Maybe she’d get lucky and only reach his voice mail. She really had no business talking to Trent. Especially since the last time they’d seen each other, well, they really hadn’t done all that much talking. Their lips had been busier doing other things.

Besides, she had a very good idea that Trent wasn’t going to be all that happy with her news.

“Yeah?”

His voice was brusque. Distracted. Downright rude. Well, at least he’d answered! “Trent?”

“Yeah. Who’s this?”

Mildly irritated, she matched his tone and decided to stick in his middle name to show him she wasn’t fooling around. “Trent Wallace Riddell, this is Jolene Arnold.”

“Jo?” He coughed. “Hey. Um, how you doing?” His voice went from brusque to hesitant.

She knew why. He was afraid she was calling because she wanted to hook up with him again.

She did not. She just wanted to let him know that they were now bonded for life, thanks to a pint-size blond baby.

Or maybe Trent was afraid she had feelings for him.

She did not. Well, not the romantic kind.

Or maybe he was afraid that she wanted something from him.

She did. But it wasn’t what he thought. She didn’t want his loving or his kisses or his money. He deserved to know he was a daddy. And her daughter deserved to be claimed as a Riddell.

“I’m better than you, I think,” she said with more bluster than an August wind. “I just heard through the grapevine that you’re laid up something awful.”

“Yeah. A bull got the best of me,” he mumbled.

“What’s hurt?”

He grunted under his breath. “What isn’t?” A little louder, he said, “I’m not too banged up.”

“Define ‘too.’”

“Arm’s broken. A few ribs got busted up, but they’re mending.”

“Your poor body. You had a mess of bruises last time we saw each other.”

“Did I? I don’t remember.”

Well, that was a bit insulting. Her cheeks flushed with the memories. They’d visited a while at Bronco Bob’s when she was through with her shift, talking more with each shot of Jack. One thing led to another, that led to them getting naked on her apartment floor.

She cleared her throat and firmly instructed herself to move things forward. “I’m real sorry you got hurt.”

“Ain’t no big deal. Every once in a while, the bull gets the upper hand. It’s all part of the job.”

“Some job.”

“You know I love it. But still … I appreciate your concern.”

Jolene heard the question at the end of his statement, and she knew what it meant, too. He didn’t understand why she’d tracked him down.

They weren’t all that close anymore. And they hadn’t been close for years. Except for the drunk sex and such …

Taking care to keep her voice slow and nonchalant, she ventured, “So, I was thinking maybe I could come by and say hey. You know, see how you’re doing in person.”

There was a pause, then she heard some shuffling. “There’s no need for that …”

“Actually, I think there is. I’ve got something we need to talk about.”

“You do?” Obviously he was at a loss for words.

Just the thought of him at a loss for anything made Jolene smile. From the first day they’d met outside their houses on the way to kindergarten, that man had had confidence to spare.

Well, he wasn’t the only one. She had confidence to spare, too. That was how she’d managed to have a good life for herself. It certainly wasn’t because she’d been waiting around for cowboys to step up and take care of her.

As sweet Amanda Rose gurgled a bit in her carrier, Jolene got to business. “How about I stop on by your house later on tonight?” After all, there was no time like the present.

Yeah. Just like Trent, she was gonna take that old bull by the horns.

“Tonight?”

“That wouldn’t be a problem, would it? I won’t stay long.”

“Oh. Well, then. Seven o’clock would work.”

“Great. I’ll be seeing you in a few hours with bells on.” As she looked at her tiny Christmas tree, chock-full of red and green lights, she smiled. “With Christmas bells.”

“Hey, wait a minute, Jo …”

She didn’t miss the new hint of foreboding in his voice. “Yes?”

“I don’t want to sound like an ass or anything, but I’m not really lookin’ to start up a relationship or nothing.”

She chewed on that ball of gum in a real effort to keep her voice even. “Don’t worry, Trent. I’m not looking to start up anything, either.” After all, what they’d started was sitting right by her side, looking as cute as a june bug in August.

After they finished their goodbyes, Jolene closed the phone and stood up. It was four o’clock. She had three hours to put herself together and look like the person she wanted to be in his life—his friend. And, she needed to look like the person she already was: the mother of his child.

TRENT HUNG UP THE PHONE and stared at it, bemused. Jolene Arnold. Well, now. He hadn’t expected to hear from her.

She was a pretty thing, and always had been. Scrappy and thin. Curly blond hair, bright greenish-brown eyes, soft skin, and the kind of figure that made a man think about pinup girls. Oh, but she had a fine pair of legs. A great ass, too.

He’d seen many a man watch her backside in admiration whenever she took a walk downtown. Or when she waited tables at Bronco Bob’s.

He would know, because one night he’d been one of them.

Of course, rumor had it that she’d made many a man happy, period. Even him, much to his shame.

For that, he was ashamed. His whole family had always had a soft spot for her, ever since she’d confessed at age six that no one had ever read her a story.

After that, both his parents had looked out for her when it became evident that no one with the last name of Arnold was going to do that job.

Now his mother would be jumping out of her grave and boxing his ears well and good if she had any idea how he’d treated Jolene. He shouldn’t have given in to too much booze and acted on that very bad idea that had actually been very, very good.

But no matter what they shared—or how many things they shouldn’t have done—Trent knew Jolene was always going to claim a soft spot in his heart. He’d met her on the way to the school bus their first day of kindergarten. Trent had been tagging behind Cal Jr. and Jarred, and she’d been tagging behind him.

She’d had on a red dress and black Mary Janes and a bow in her hair. He’d thought she was as cute as a button.

As the months went by, she’d taken to coming over to their house most every afternoon. Soon, she was almost like a Riddell shadow. Even Jarred didn’t seem to mind if she sat beside him while he did his homework.

If they wanted to talk, she’d talk. If everyone was busy, she’d sit and color. She never mentioned her home, and one day when he was talking about it, asking how come they never went to her house to play, Junior had pulled him to one side and told him to shut up.

“Things aren’t good over there, Trent. That’s why she’s here.”

And his brother Jarred had gone one better. “Just be nice to her. And make sure she eats, too.”

When he was small, he’d never really understood what was wrong. By the time they were in fourth grade, he’d had a real good idea of what went on in that house. And then, just when he was thinking that he needed to do something about her situation, his dad struck oil.

They’d moved into their current big house. Months later, Jolene had moved away when her daddy couldn’t pay his bills.

He hadn’t seen her in ages until he’d spied her working at Bronco Bob’s. He’d hugged her tight and kissed her cheek when he figured out who she was.

After that, it was only natural to share a beer. And a couple of shots of Jack Daniel’s. Next thing he knew, their talking led to his truck, which led to her apartment, which led to them getting stark naked and rolling around on the floor for a while.

Hours later, when the taste of Jack had turned sour in his mouth and the reality of what they’d done had hit him hard, he’d been embarrassed.

She’d been quiet.

He’d pulled on his jeans and had left in a hurry. Promised to call.

But he’d been lying, of course. No matter what city or two-bit town he was in, he didn’t call after rolls in the sack. It wasn’t his way.

So when she started calling him, he figured it would be best to ignore those calls. After all, he wasn’t in love. And, well, he was “Trent Riddell” now. That name meant something. He was rich and he was famous.

He did not need some blonde from his past bringing him down.

But that didn’t stop the moments on the tour bus or in his hotel room when he’d remember how sweet kissing Jolene had been. How her eyes had turned all sparkly when they’d reminisced about tromping through the fields back when they were small.

Luckily, it had only taken a couple of hours to not care anymore. Because even though Jolene Arnold had once been his friend and had even for a few hours been his lover … she sure as hell didn’t mean all that much to him now.

Really, she was just a memory.

Chapter Two

“Trent? Trent, you home?” Ginny called out as she let the back door slam behind her.

Trent was just about to answer when another voice rang through the house. “Virginia Anne, I swear, you’re going to be the death of me,” their father bellowed seconds later. “Trent Wallace?”

Trent scrambled to his feet and started toward the kitchen. Honestly, what was it with everyone calling him by his full name today? “Sir?” he asked.

“Look at your sister.”

Dutifully, Trent looked. And then looked again. “Ginny, you’re covered in mud.”

His father cussed, “No shit, Sherlock.”

To Trent’s astonishment, Ginny didn’t even flinch. If anything, she looked about ready to roll out her own list of profanities.

“What happened?” Walking forward, he stuck out his right hand—the one not contained in a brace—and lifted her chin. “Is that a black eye?”

“Uh-huh. But Peter’s got one, too.”

Trent couldn’t care less what some little pip-squeak was sporting. “A boy’s been beating up on you? Dad, who’s Peter?”

But instead of looking worried, Cal Sr. just looked peeved. “Peter is the poor boy who’s become Ginny’s object of affection. She’s been torturing him something awful.” With a grimace, he pulled a pink note out of his back pocket. “Look at this.”

Trent took the paper and scanned it. As he read it again, some of the terrible rage slipped away, only to be replaced by shock and awe. “Ginny’s about to be suspended?”

“Worse than that. She’s about to be kicked out of school for good.”

Turning to her, he raised his eyebrows. “Virginia Anne, what the heck?”

But instead of looking cowed, she stuck up her chin. “It ain’t my fault, Trent.” When he continued to glare, she finally had the sense to lower her chin and the attitude. “Not all my fault, anyways.”

“Not all your fault?”

“Peter deserved it. Some.”

His sister had turned into some sort of itty-bitty bully. “Dad, what have y’all been doing with her? She needs some discipline.”

“Oh, what in the Sam Hill haven’t we been doing?” his dad retorted. “This is an ongoing thing, son. Your brothers and I have been doing the best we can with her. It’s just a challenge, that’s all.”

“Can I go to my room now?” Ginny asked. “I want to go take a bath.”

“Sure, honey. I’ll be in to talk to you soon,” their dad said wearily. When the room was empty, his dad leaned up against the wall and shook his head. “I never thought I’d say this, but I would have preferred five more boys than this one six-year-old girl. She’s going to be the death of me.”

When they were alone, Trent suddenly felt a whole lot less than six feet tall. “Guess I’ve been a little out of touch, huh? I had no idea y’all were struggling with her so much.”

“Don’t feel bad. You can’t help that you weren’t here. You’ve been on the circuit.”

“Since I’m here now I’ll start trying to do more.”

“That’s real good of you, son.” He paused. “I better go make sure she actually got in the bathtub. And think of something to say to that girl.”

Two things occurred to Trent. One, his father didn’t expect him to follow through. And, even if he did follow through, his dad didn’t think he’d be any good. “I’ll go talk to her.”

His dad paused on his way out the door. “Sure you’re ready for that?”

“‘Course. You go relax, now.” He turned and walked upstairs to her room before he changed his mind. After ascertaining that she was in the bath, he told her to holler when she got out.

Fifteen minutes later, he was inside a room covered with enough pink, purple and horses that he felt as though he was living in the middle of some Barbie Dream House.

From the top of her comforter, his sweet-smelling sister watched him approach. “You mad at me, Trent?”

That made him pause. Was he? “I don’t rightly know.”

Obviously puzzled, she scrambled to a sitting position. “How come?”

“Well, your black eye for one. I hate to see my best girl hurt like you are.”

“I’m not your best girl.”

“And why’s that?”

“You’re never home.”

Ouch. “My work takes me around the country, sister. I can’t help that. And you watch that tone of voice with me, too. I may be a rookie at dealing with little girl fights, but I’m no pushover.”

“I guess you’re not.”

Crossing the room, he sat next to her. “Here’s what I don’t get. How come you fight so much?”

Her eyes widened. “No one’s ever asked me that before. They just told me to stop.”

“You got an answer?”

“Maybe.” When he crossed his arms over his chest, she eyed him carefully, then spoke. “Some days I’m just mad at everyone.”

“And why’s that?”

She lowered her voice. “Promise you won’t get mad?”

He was probably a fool to promise such a thing, but he nodded.

“I get mad ‘cause I don’t have a mommy.” Her voice turning stronger, she added, “And she didn’t die and go to heaven like yours did. She took off ‘cause she didn’t want me.”

If a bull had gone and kicked him in the head, Trent couldn’t have been more winded. Valiantly, he tried to imagine what Jarred would say to that. Or Junior. Junior always had the right words.

But it was just him sitting there.

“I know,” he finally said, and that was the truth. Carolyn, Cal Sr.’s second wife, might have hated their father, but she left her daughter without even a second look back.

Warily, he glanced at Ginny, half sure he’d just broken her heart. But instead of looking surprised, her eyes were a little wider—and trust was lingering there.

That suddenly made him a whole lot braver.

“Ginny, here’s the deal. It’s real sad that your momma took off. I don’t know why she did, and maybe we’ll never know. But growing up and being a good person means that you make do with what you have. And you have a whole lot more than most.”

She blinked. “‘Cause we live in a fancy house?”

“Nope. Fancy houses don’t count for much at the end of the day. What counts are having people who love you. You’ve got a lot of those.”

“Daddy and Jarred and Junior?”

“And me. And Serena and Susan and Gwen.” He leaned back a little so he could look into her eyes. “You hear what I’m saying?”

“I guess so.”

“Good. Now listen to this. You need to stop making everyone try so hard to do right by you. Next time you want to hit someone, you flat out got to make yourself stop. You hear me? What you’re doing is mean and bad and you’re making us all ashamed.”

“But—”

“Ginny Riddell, Riddells don’t hit. They don’t go out of their way to be mean to folks. They try and listen. You’re one of us, and I, for one, think it’s about time you acted like it.”

“And if I don’t?”

Shoot. “And if you don’t, I’m going to tell Santa Claus to not even think about bringing anything for Ginny Riddell when he stops by this year.”

Her mouth turned into a sweet little O. “You’d do that?”

“I certainly would. And I’d do it in a heartbeat, too.” Finally tears welled in her eyes. “I’ll try to be better, Trent.”

Though he wanted to cuddle her close, he knew all about wheedling ways. “Not good enough. You tell me that you’re going to do better. That you will do better. Will you?”

“Yes.”

“You’ll be nicer and stop making everyone ashamed of you?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” Opening his arms, he beckoned her closer.

“Now come over here and give me a hug, ‘cause I love you.”

“I love you, too, Trent.”

With his arms wrapped around this little girl, for the first time in a long while, he felt proud of himself.

Chapter Three

In a perfect world, Jolene would’ve put on a nice pair of slacks and a neat, prim twin set for her big meeting with Trent. Sweet little hoops would have graced her ears. Her hair would have been flat-ironed and pretty, and she would have worn sensible shoes.

Most people would have been shocked to know that Jolene Arnold even knew about such things. But the truth was, she would’ve had no problem dressing up like something out of the latest J. C. Penney catalog. Well, she wouldn’t if she’d had the extra money or temperament for such things.

Because the truth of the matter was that more often than not, she dreamed of being that girl.

That girl, that nice girl. The gal men took home to their mothers, not their beds. The one men dressed up for, took chew out of their cheeks for. The kind of woman where they watched their cussing and remembered their manners. The kind of person people showed up on time for.

But, as she looked in the mirror, Jolene figured that train had up and went sometime during the past decade. Truth was, her dreams of being the next June Cleaver had evaporated years before she’d even known who old June was.

Now all she had was a closet of sexy bar clothes and a Visa bill with baby items on it. So, she did the best she could with what she had. Looking in the mirror, she had to admit things could be worse.

On top, she had on a red Christmas sweater—the only one she had that wasn’t cut low or was too tight. And on her bottom half, she was wearing one of her two pairs of slacks. The gray fabric didn’t do a thing for her coloring, but the slacks were wool, not too worn, and almost loose. Boots were on her feet, because those were the best—and warmest—shoes she had.

And, of course, she had a baby on her hip.

As she looked at her reflection, she shrugged. Well, she wasn’t exactly the cover girl for Working Mother Magazine.

But she could look worse. Maybe even Trent would start thinking she looked respectable.

Yeah, right.

Trent Riddell was going to take one look at her and ask what in the devil was she doing, standing on his doorstep.