My Christmas Cowboy

Chapter Six

“So, I was thinking you and me were overdue for a little heart to heart,” his dad said late that night.

Trent set down the tumbler of Jim Beam he’d been nursing for the past hour and shifted uncomfortably as his dad took a seat across from him. “I figured as much.”

Balancing his elbows on his knees, his dad pierced him with a gaze. “Tell me more about you and Jolene. And Amanda.”

“I don’t know much more than you.”

“I don’t agree.” His father’s eyes hardened. “I think you’ve been might busy, son.”

Trent felt his cheeks heat as the lump in his throat grew. “Jo and me got a little carried away one night. That’s all.”

“And you didn’t use protection.”

“No.”

“What did you say?”

The tone told Trent everything he needed to know. “No, sir,” he amended.

“So everything is really all your responsibility, isn’t it?”

“I swear, I didn’t know she was pregnant. I didn’t know about Amanda.”

“Because you didn’t see the need to treat her right. Did you?”

“Dammit, Dad. It was just a one-night thing—” Trent took a breath as he tried to come up with the words to describe what life had been like out on the road. All a lot of women wanted from him was one night.

But before he could continue, his dad held up a hand. “That sorry explanation is your problem, Trent. You shouldn’t have been treating women like that …”

“Dad …”

“And especially not Jolene.”

The statement shamed him. But pride made him keep talking. “You know, nothing’s certain. We don’t know for certain that I’m the father.”

“Oh, I think plenty is certain. You’ve just told me that you treated Jolene disrespectfully, were too full of yourself to be a man and check up on her, and now still don’t want to accept responsibility. You’ve shamed me, son.”

Trent felt lower than a rattler’s belly. “Yes, sir.”

“You listen to me, and you listen well. You need to make things right. Pronto.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’m glad we talked.” After a moment’s pause, his father slapped his hands on his thighs. “All right now. Here’s what we’re going to do. I’m to take Ginny to Florida so you can get your act together.”

“There’s no need to leave.”

“Oh, there is. You’ve got a mess to clean up and a woman and a baby to get to know. I don’t want your sister witnessing that.”

“Honestly, Dad …”

“Listen to me, son. There comes a time in every man’s life when he has to decide he’s done being an idiot. This is your time. Start making decisions based on what is best for Amanda and Jolene instead of just you.” With a sigh, he got to his feet and started toward the door. “It’s time to grow up, Trent. You best do that and make your mother proud.”

When he was alone in the living room, Trent leaned back and thought about everything he’d done and everything he’d put off. And then he thought about his mother, and the way she’d always smiled at him when she hugged him good-night—as though she’d thought he was something special.

It was time he deserved that look again.

“TRENT, HOW YOU HEALIN’ up?” Steve Zimmer boomed on the other end of the cell phone.

“I’m getting there,” Trent replied as he maneuvered his truck down the bumpy road to the west barn. Continuing to hold the steering wheel with one hand and his cell with the other, he wondered why his agent had decided to give him a call. “What’s going on?”

“I was just thinking about you. A couple of sponsors have let me know that they’re going to be checking out the Silver Tour in Rapid City. Think you can make it?”

The Black Hills Stock Show was in February. “I don’t know.”

“That’s the wrong answer, Trent. We need you. The sport needs you, too. You’re turning into something of an attraction.”

“It’s probably just ‘cause that bout with Diablo got posted on YouTube.” Shaking his head, Trent cursed the anonymous fool who had decided to tape Diablo stomping on him, zooming in on his grimace of pain, and then posting the whole damn thing on the World Wide Web. All in record time.

“That YouTube segment’s been a regular little diamond mine, that’s true. But your blue eyes don’t hurt none, either, Trent. Girls are swooning every time they see that close-up of you getting your butt kicked.” He paused. “So what do you say?”

“I can’t commit to any tour dates yet, Steve. I’m stuck here at the ranch for a while.”

“What do you mean, ‘a while’?”

“I don’t know. My brothers are out of town and my dad’s recovering from heart surgery. And my sister, well, she needs me right now, too.” Not to mention all the things with Jolene that had to be worked out. “I need to hold down the fort.”

“No one else could do that?”

“I don’t think so. Plus, my arm still ain’t a hundred percent.”

“I hate to hear that, Trent. I’ve got to tell these sponsors something. They’ll bide their time for a bit, but not forever. If you don’t get back in the ring real soon, your career is going to be over.”

Over. That’s what he was afraid of. He was afraid he was going to finally break something bad enough to send him to the hospital for a month next time.

And fear wasn’t good. “I’m not in prime condition,” he muttered as he parked his truck and climbed down out of the cab. “If you want to know the truth, February sounds too early.”

“Aw, man …”

“It’s true, Steve. I haven’t been on a horse since I got home, never mind a bull.” Plus, he had no desire to get on one, either.

Just realizing that made him cringe.

Steve paused again, then turned his voice sweet. “Maybe you should see one of those sports psychologists or something …”

“Maybe.” But more likely, maybe not. “Listen, Steve, it’s good of you to call, but I’ve got to go.”

“You can’t give me another five minutes? I’m trying to manage your career here.”

“I know it. And I appreciate it, I do. I’ll call you soon. ‘Bye,” he added in a rush before he clicked off and strode to the barn.

Now that he was off the phone, he was more aware than ever of the elements—and of how weak he’d become. Growing up, there were days when his dad would have all three of them outside in the cold and snow for hours at a time. Whining and complaining only earned him a cuff from one of his older brothers.

And it never made the work go away.

Now, though, every burst of wind was burrowing into his bones like a weevil. Making his body hurt and his muscles scream in frustration. Worse than all that, his bones weren’t healing as quickly as he’d like. And there wasn’t a thing he could do about that except to bide his time.

Bide his time before he lost all the endorsements that he’d worked so hard to achieve. And that were so scarce in his chosen profession.

Still ruminating about Steve’s call, Trent unlocked the padlock on the door and pulled it open. At first look, everything was as it should be, but then one of the inventory books flashed into his head and he recalled the many items that Jarred had listed. Balers and cultivators and spreaders. Power saws and snow blowers. All kinds of expensive equipment that a ranch like theirs needed to have on hand.

Where was it all?

The air was musty and stale. He kept the doors wide-open, not even caring about the cold seeping back into his muscles as he walked around the space. Looking behind bales, he half hoped he was going to find a loose odd or end.

Or maybe a two-thousand-dollar power saw.

There was nothing there.

A truck pulled up just as he was circling around the area like the dumb cowboy he was, hoping that farm equipment was suddenly going to appear out of nowhere. Trent strode toward the front just as Pete, one of their longtime hands, entered the building.

“Hey, Trent,” he said.

“Pete.” He nodded and tried not to notice that Pete was looking at him under the bill of his cap as though he was a visitor. The complete opposite of how the guy greeted his brothers. With Cal and Jarred, Pete was respectful.

With Trent, Pete acted as if his family owned the outfit, and Trent was just wandering around, getting in the way.

“Do you need something?” Pete asked, pulling a piece of straw from a bale and popping it in between his teeth.

Uh, yeah. He needed all the equipment. For a second he was tempted to ask, but then he thought the better of it. If the answer was obvious—that it had been moved to another barn—it would prove to Pete that he was even less qualified to be there than everyone already thought.

But if the items were gone, it meant someone had taken the equipment, and that someone was counting on him not finding out about it.

The best thing to do would be to play his cards close to the vest. At least for a little bit.

“Nah, Pete. I’m good. I just thought I’d look around.”

Pete was older than him. Older than Jarred, in fact. His prematurely gray hair matched the silver in his eyes. And seemed to accentuate his permanent tan.

That, at the moment, looked a bit lighter than usual. “Trent, I can take you around if you want. Give you a tour.”

“I don’t need that.”

“I don’t mind.” He grinned. “Shoot, I’m sure you’ve got better things to do than traipse through here in the snow.”

The man’s manner grated on him. For a moment, Trent was tempted to put the guy in his place. Tell him that he wasn’t as green as the guy obviously thought.

But the instinct that allowed him to gauge a bull’s disposition in a heartbeat kicked in and told him to play the dumb cowboy card for a while longer.

“Don’t you worry about me none, Pete,” he replied, in an almost exaggerated, good-ol’-boy drawl. “Like I said, I was just taking a little ride. I’m going to head on home and rest my arm for a while, anyhow.”

“Can I get you anything?”

“I’m good. I’ll lock up now and be on my way.”

For a moment, Pete looked as if he was stuck in a mud hole with no way to turn. Then he nodded and followed Trent out.

When Trent was locking the padlock, he glanced Pete’s way. “How many people have these keys, Pete?”

“What?”

Trent held up the keys and jiggled them a little.

“I’m not rightly sure,” Pete said, finally pulling the straw from his teeth. “Probably your brothers and father do.”

“I mean besides family … any idea?”

“I couldn’t say exactly.”

“Maybe we should check into that, hmm? You know, just to be on the safe side and all.”

“Oh, sure. Sure.”

As the flakes started falling again, Trent gazed at the sky and grimaced. “Don’t think we’re going to see a lick of sunshine anytime soon. Wouldn’t you say?”

“What? Ah, no.”

“Well, you keep warm now. I’ll see you later, Pete.”

The hand visibly relaxed. “Sure, Trent. See ya.”

As Trent opened his door, he called out. “Hey, Pete? Come to think of it … what brought you out this way?”

“I’m sorry?”

“I read the schedule this morning, and I could have sworn I saw that you boys were going to be inoculating cows near the north barn. What brought you out this way all alone?”

After a deer in the headlight moment, Pete turned cocky. “I’m just trying to do my job, Trent. We all know you ain’t used to things around here. I’m just doing my best to make sure you don’t get hurt.”

“That’s real kind of you.” Jackass.

Pete winked as he climbed in the cab. “It was no problem. No problem at all.”

Now, that’s where that man was mistaken, Trent decided. There was something very wrong going on.

And before everyone came home again, he was going to get to the bottom of it.

He might be a rodeo star, but he was also a Riddell.

And no matter what everyone else thought, that name still meant something to him. It meant security and land and a heritage.

It meant oil and horses and brothers.

It meant his dad. It meant little Ginny, and the promises each one of them had made to their mother on her deathbed.

In short, the name Riddell still meant a lot.

Maybe, right at that moment, it meant more to him than ever before.

Chapter Seven

No matter how mixed-up things might be, no matter how screwed up her life was, there was a fact that trumped everything else in Jolene Arnold’s life.

Amanda Rose, her beautiful little bundle of joy, was a Riddell.

And that, well, that was something pretty darn special.

Yep, even at three months of age, little Amanda was headed toward a better future than Jolene had ever dreamed about.

Being a Riddell meant security and respect. Being a Riddell meant opportunity and choices—all things Jolene had had precious little of but used to yearn for like other kids yearned for chocolate ice cream.

But until Jolene could figure out how to get Trent to do anything but schedule a paternity test, all of her big hopes and dreams for Amanda needed to be put on the back shelf for a while.

Because she needed to get back to work.

With a sigh, Jolene put on her “uniform,” such as it was. Bob, the owner of Bronco Bob’s Honky-Tonk, didn’t care too much about what she wore, as long as she could meander through the tables and serve drinks and smiles without a lot of fuss.

Some women wore T-shirts and jeans. But Jolene had learned that a little cleavage worked wonders in the tip department—and those tips made the difference between a box of mac and cheese and baked chicken for dinner. Without even looking in the mirror, she slipped on her jean short-shorts, a black tank top—low enough to show a discreet bit of black lace—and her boots.

This little getup was going to be cold as heck on the way to Bob’s, but she’d be warm enough once she was working hard. Bob’s furnace ran two ways: hot and hotter.

She’d just swiped lipstick across her bottom lip when her best friend Cheryl knocked, right on time.

“How are you doing, sugar?” she asked, her auburn curls looking tamed for once.

“I’m fixin’ to go to work,” Jolene said with a grin. “Again.”

“Looks to me like you’re working that body of yours.”

“Yeah, well, a girl’s got to do what she can with what she’s given …”

“But you’ve been given so much.” Cheryl shook her head in exasperation as she poked Jolene’s tummy. “Girl, when are you ever going to look like you had yourself a baby three months ago?”

“Hopefully not anytime soon. I’ve got bills to pay.”

“It’s just not fair that you look that good in a tank and shorts. I still looked like a beached whale eight months after Tyler was born. You, on the other hand, even looked sexy when you were six months along.”

She might have looked sexy at six months, but definitely not after that. A lot of the men had taken to ignoring her, either feeling bad asking a pregnant girl for beer, or maybe just not eager to look at a woman who was so swollen with baby.

Soon after, Bob had asked her to help Carter in the back of the bar, but that had been a courtesy job. Carter hadn’t liked the idea of her being on her feet all night long. The most he ever let her do was wash glasses and fill snack jars.

She’d practically lived on mac and cheese then.

“As long as the boys tip me, I’ll be fine.”

“I’m sure you’ll be more than fine tonight.” Once more looking over her figure with a hint of jealousy, Cheryl sighed. “Now, don’t forget to save me some stories. You know how I like hearing about your antics.”

“I won’t forget.”

What Jolene didn’t say, though, was that she wouldn’t have minded Cheryl sharing some stories about her life, too. But of course that would just be embarrassing.

Cheryl was happily married, and living Jolene’s dream. She had Dwayne at home, who thought Cheryl had done something pretty darn remarkable by growing a baby in her stomach. Dwayne wouldn’t have cared if Cheryl had gained a hundred pounds, he was so smitten.

But things were a fair sight different for Jolene. She’d learned to rely on herself the best way she knew how. It was up to Jolene to bring home the bacon or she’d have nothing to cook. And, well, no one had ever made a secret of enjoying anything other than her sassy smile and curvy figure.

As Cheryl took off her fleece coat, mittens and scarf, Jolene picked up her bag. “Amanda Rose is still taking her nap. I expect her up within the hour.” Glancing at her watch, she winced. “I’m late again. But … do you need anything?”

Cheryl waved a hand. “I’m fine. Go on, now.”

“I’ve got a bottle in the fridge, and some chips and wine if you want some.”

“Don’t worry.” She winked. “Dwayne is going to bring me some dinner on his way home from work.”

“Enjoy that for both of us, will you?” Jolene’s mouth watered. Dwayne worked at the Golden Dove and Cheryl was always talking about the latest dish he was trying out.

“I’ll do my best. Now go on, honey, before you’re late. Don’t you worry about Amanda or me none.”

She took two steps closer to the door. “Have I thanked you properly for sitting for me twice a week?”

“There’s nothing to thank me for. My mamma’s enjoying grandma time with Tyler, and my husband’s bringing me dinner. All I have to do is sit here, hold Miss Amanda, then watch TV and nap until you come home. Believe me, being here’s a real treat.”

“Thank you—”

“Go, Jo.”

With a brief wave behind her back, Jolene grabbed her ski jacket then ran out the door.

And wished she was sitting next to a roaring fire, sipping tea and watching Frosty the Snowman instead of almost turning into one.

Bob’s was loud and bright and booming when she slipped in the back door. Carter, one of Bob’s bartenders, was sitting in the storage room having a cigarette.

“Oh, Carter, you’re gonna get in big trouble,” she teased as she walked past his perch and pulled off her ski jacket. “You know Bob don’t like us smoking back here.”

Before answering, Carter lit the end of a new cigarette with the remains of his first one. “Bob’s just going to have to deal, Jo. It’s freezing outside. No way am I sitting in the alley.”

Looking at the goose bumps on her legs, Jolene nodded. “Don’t I know it. I thought my rear end was going to freeze to the seat of my car before I made it here.”

Carter shook his head as he exhaled. “That would be a shame, given the caliber of your butt … but it would also be your own fault.” He looked her over and shook his head. “A girl needs to know when to put on more clothes, and that’s a fact.”

“You know the guys like seeing me in this.”

“You could change when you get here.”

“Carter, that would take more time than I ever give myself. Don’t fuss. I’m fine.”

“All I’m saying is that you’ve got to take care of yourself.”

After pulling out her short canvas apron and tying it neatly around her waist, she shrugged. “This girl also needs to eat, Carter. I’ll see you out front.”

She left just as she heard the rustle of another cigarette getting pulled out of its pack. Feeling better about quitting smoking, she shook her head at poor Carter. He was going to die of lung cancer before he was fifty at the rate he was going.

Jolene was still thinking about Carter and his nicotine habit when she entered the noisy front room. At least a dozen people surrounded the bar, some chatting in groups of twos and threes, others looked happy to just be taking up a bar stool.

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