My Christmas Cowboy
Shelley Galloway
Merry Christmas…Daddy!As a rodeo star, Trent Riddell learned to expect the unexpected—like the injury that knocked him out of competition and back onto his father’s Texas ranch. Trent’s years on the road—building a reputation in and out of the arena—left little time for a serious relationship. So when Jolene Arnold shows up with an infant in tow, claiming the baby is his… Well, let’s just say Trent’s been thrown off a bull more times than he can count, but he never had the wind knocked out of him like the day he met his daughter!Once childhood friends, Trent and Jolene discover that as adults, their connection goes beyond raw physical attraction—even if they’re both too scared to admit it. Can they let go of the past mistakes holding them back in time to embrace this Christmas present?
“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 (http://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.
“Not much I can do about it, though, Amanda,” she said before turning away and picking up her purse and diaper bag. “I am what I am—and that’s a very busy woman with a secret to reveal. Let’s go get it over with.”
After securing Amanda Rose in her car seat, Jolene spared a prayer that her car would start, and then slowly made the way through town and up toward the Riddell Ranch. She’d never been there, but she knew where it was. Shoot, everyone in North Texas did. Old Mr. Riddell had spent most of the past twelve years building a shrine to his family.
She’d even heard about it when she was waitressing in Dallas right after high school. Rumor had it that there was all kinds of gadgets there, and even an elevator. All in all, it was a real far step from the modest home they used to live in. Back when the Riddells lived next door to the Arnolds. Their homes had been carbon copies of each other. Plain old two bedroom homes with one bath and one living room.
Since then, things had changed a lot for both families. Too bad they’d veered in opposite directions, though. The difference was that old neighborhood had been the Riddells’ worst place to live—while it had been Jolene’s best until she’d gone out on her own and learned how to use her assets in the best way.
Thoughts of the past zipped away as she turned right onto Riddell Way, the made-up street name Mr. Riddell had put up at the beginning of their mile-long driveway. The closed gate at the front was a surprise, as was the little box that she had to push a button to talk into.
When she rolled her window down, a frozen patch of air whipped in and caught her by surprise. From the backseat, Amanda Rose let out a howl of displeasure. “I hear you, honey. Hold on now,” she murmured before pressing on the button.
Two seconds passed before Trent’s voice answered. “Yeah?”
“Trent, it’s me. Jolene.”
“Jolene?”
It was cold enough to set her nose to running, and her eyes watering, too. “Remember I told you I was coming by? I’m here.”
“Oh. Hey, any chance you could come back later? I’ve kind of got my hands full.”
And she didn’t? “No, I cannot.” Behind her, Amanda’s little whines of protest morphed into a giant howl. She had to speak a little bit louder now because Amanda Rose was threatening to burst a lung. “Hush, baby.”
“Baby? Who’s that?”
“Baby is my daughter. She’s cold because I’ve got the window down, talking to you,” she added impatiently over Amanda Rose’s carrying-on. “I’ll explain everything as much as you need me to … later. Now open the darn gate.”
Right away the gate opened.
“Praise the Lord for that,” she muttered. She rolled up the window and inched forward before Trent changed his mind and closed the gates on her.
Amanda Rose continued to cry.
Oh, but a road had never seemed so long. As the baby wailed for all she was worth, Jolene’s hands started to sweat as the house came into view.
All white and stately and gorgeous, it looked exactly like what any poor white trash Texan would produce, if he had a million dollars. A replica of J. R. Ewing’s home from Dallas.
She parked in the circular driveway, grabbed her bag, and before she could chicken out, opened the back passenger door and unbuckled the baby. With Amanda in her arms and the carrier slung over an elbow, she marched up the steps and rang the doorbell.
Not two seconds passed before Trent opened the wide oak door decorated with the fanciest Christmas wreath she’d ever seen.
“Hey,” he said.
It was cold. It was windy. Amanda Rose was crying for all she was worth.
But still Jolene was stunned into submission. Trent Riddell was a magnificent piece of man, and that was putting it mildly.
Dressed in dark jeans, black boots and a form-fitting indigo blue sweater, he looked like a model in an ad for men’s cologne. He’d either forgotten to shave, or was fostering that Brad Pitt look. The one where men constantly looked scruffy.
Boy howdy, could he pull it off.
Her mouth went dry. Oh, what was it about Trent that made her wish she was something more?
“Hey,” she said after way too long.
Looking irritated, he waved a hand across the threshold. “Well, come on in, Jo. You’re gonna freeze your ass off if you stand out here much longer.”
“Watch your mouth, Trent,” she said testily as she walked on in. “I’ve got a baby here.”
With a thud, the door closed behind her. “So I see.”
Luckily, Amanda Rose had finally taken a breather and was happily nestled against her chest, looking at Trent as if he was her new favorite toy.
Unluckily, Trent leaned closer and grinned. The tangy scent of that cologne he should be modeling wafted closer. Mixing in with the scent of furniture polish and money that seemed to waft from every corner of the entryway.
“Well, let me see her.” To Jolene’s amazement, he held out his hands.
“Her name is Amanda Rose.” She had no choice but to carefully place her baby—their baby—in his arms.
Jolene could hardly breathe as two sets of blue eyes looked at each other in surprise. Two sets of dark blue eyes framed with inky black lashes.
The pissed off look he’d been sporting vanished in an instant. “She’s a cutie, Jo. A real doll.”
“Thank you.”
As three-month-old Amanda stared up at him, raising one tiny fist up to his cheek, rubbing five o’clock shadow, Trent slowly turned her way. “So, who’s the daddy?” His voice was husky. Uncertain. And … flat. “Do I know him?”
She noticed he didn’t ask after her husband. Didn’t even say boyfriend. No doubt he didn’t expect that much of her.
It was time. “You.”
He stepped backward fast. And his arms looked a little shaky, too. “What did you say?”
“Give her to me before you go and drop her.”
He didn’t hesitate, holding Amanda out in front of him like she was about to pee over the front of his shirt. “Jo …”
“Hold on a sec.” Liking the unfamiliar feeling of being in control, she took her time setting down the carrier, settling Amanda in it, then crossing her arms in front of her chest and staring at Trent.
“Jolene, tell me I heard you wrong.”
“You heard me right. I doubt any bull would be big enough to injure your hearing.” Lowering her voice, she said, “This little ray of sunshine here is yours, cowboy. Or, maybe I should call you Daddy?”
Chapter Four
“Daddy?” A few choice colorful swear words erupted then.
As the air turned blue, Jolene waved a hand, as if clearing the air. “Oh, for heaven’s sakes. Settle down, Trent. And watch your mouth.”
“Dammit, Jo—what the hell are you doing, springing this on me like this?”
“I’m not springing a thing. I tried to let you know from the very beginning, but you would never return my calls.”
“I would’ve returned them if I would’ve known this was what you were calling about.”
“Why else would I have been calling you?”
His cheeks heated. “You know why.”
“You are such a piece of work, Trent. Just to let you know, not every woman in the world thinks you’re irresistible.”
“You did.”
Her voice rose. “I was drunk.”
“So was I,” he countered, giving it right back to her.
“Hold on, now! What’s going on in here?” Mr. Riddell growled as he slowly entered the entryway, looking as if each step was paining him something awful.
“Nothing, Dad,” Trent muttered.
His dad ignored him. Instead, he looked straight at her. Then smiled. “Jolene Arnold, is that you?”
“Yes, sir. It’s nice to see you again, Mr. Riddell.”
Trent looked as if he was about to pop a gasket. “Dad, really. This ain’t a good time—”
That was really the wrong thing to say. Mr. Riddell glared at Trent. “Hush, son. Now, Jolene, you better get on over here and give me a hug.”
Jolene picked up the carrier, stepped around the sputtering cowboy, and greeted Cal Riddell Sr. as though they were old friends.
Because that was what they were.
When they parted, Mr. Riddell said, “What brings you over here?”
“I came to see Trent.”
“Oh?” He looked at Trent curiously. “You didn’t tell me she was coming by.”
Trent glared at her. “I didn’t think she was going to be staying long.”
“I won’t stay long. All I needed to do was talk to you about Amanda Rose.”
Mr. Riddell grinned at the baby. “So you’re a mother now?”
She couldn’t help but smile. “I am.”
After a pause, Mr. Riddell slipped an arm around Jolene’s shoulders and guided her into a swanky living room. When they stopped in front of a suede couch, he peered down at the baby. “She’s a beauty, Jo. Amanda Rose, you said?”
“Yes, sir.” Looking over her shoulder at Trent, who was standing in the doorway as though he was loitering, she raised an eyebrow.
He stared at her and scowled.
So she did the honors. “Mr. Riddell, her name is Amanda Rose Riddell.”
Mr. Riddell’s expression didn’t waver a bit. Looking fondly at the baby, he leaned a little closer and ran one finger over Amanda’s soft cheek. “Look at those eyes. Why, they are bluer than blue.” He stopped abruptly and shot a good long look her way. “I’m sorry … what did you say?”
“Amanda is a Riddell. She’s your granddaughter,” she said softly. Feeling embarrassed and proud and suddenly shy.
Mr. Riddell stilled. “Trent?”
“We don’t know that for sure. She just sprang the news on me,” he said as he stepped forward. “Dammit, Jo. You’re really going to do this … really?”
“Like I said, I’ve been trying to let you know. I must have called you two dozen times. But you wouldn’t pick up the phone. She’s your baby. She’s our baby.”
Trent looked pale as a ghost. “She might be mine. We won’t know for certain until she gets tested.”
“What?”
“I mean, I get tested,” he sputtered. “Shit. I mean, hell, Jo. We gotta get a paternity test.”
“Really? You think I’m making this up?”
“I mean there’s no telling who the daddy is. Could be anyone …”
“Trent Wallace, you better watch your mouth …”
Slamming a palm on top of a very expensive coffee table, Mr. Riddell’s voice turned low. “Enough of this nonsense. Look at her eyes, Trent. She’s yours. Even if you don’t believe me, those eyes ought to tell you the truth.”
“She really is yours, Trent,” Jo tried to explain. “I promise, I wouldn’t say it if it wasn’t true.”
“And I’m telling you, I need proof.”
When Trent stepped closer, his father looked him over as though he was no better than slime under a boot. “I’ve rarely been so disappointed in a son, Trent. You make this right.”
Jolene’s mouth went dry as Trent slumped right there in front of them both.
As she was trying to get her mind wrapped around that, Mr. Riddell engulfed her in a wiry hug. “She’s a beautiful baby, Jolene. You should be proud.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“How ‘bout you start calling me Cal? We’re relatives, now,” he said with a wink.
“Yes, sir. I mean, Cal.”
He gave her another pat. “Now, don’t you worry about a thing. Everything’s going to be just fine, now. You’re no longer alone.”
Just like that, her eyes filled with tears. Trent’s dad had known exactly the right words to say.
After pressing a kiss to her brow, he stepped away and glared at Trent one more time. “You and me will talk later.”
When they were alone, Trent practically collapsed on the couch. “Great job, Jolene. Couldn’t you have waited to involve my dad until I had at least two minutes to process the news?”
“This isn’t my fault. You were there, too.”
“Oh, I know.” He ran a hand over his cheeks. “From what I recall, anyway.” As the minutes ticked by, he rested his elbows on his knees and hung his head. “What do you want? Money?”
No way did she want to go lower in his estimation and be the trashy girl who was seeking him out only for money. She might not be the next June Cleaver, but she sure as hell wasn’t that girl, either.
“I’m not sure.”
“Come on, darlin’. You had to have had something in mind when you called me up and drove over here. I mean, good job. You got what you wanted, huh?”
Chin up, she stared right back at him. Oh, she hated that vaguely condescending, holier-than-thou tone of voice. No, she hadn’t been a virgin when they’d gone at it all night long. But dammit, he hadn’t been, either. Sometimes the double standards were enough to drive her nuts.
His eyes narrowed as the baby made a cute little cooing noise.
And because the only thing Jolene had ever had going for her was too much sass, she smiled. “I didn’t plan on having a baby. But I did. And I don’t regret it. Amanda Rose is the best thing I’ve ever done in my life and I’m proud of her. I’m her momma and I’m always going to be here for her. Always.”
The look he gave her felt like a slap in the face. It was filled with sadness. With a touch of regret. With a sense that for a split second, he’d expected more from the girl who used to follow him around in kindergarten, and she’d disappointed him again.
A lump formed in her throat. She lifted her chin and struggled to swallow.
Then, as soon as she was able, she spoke. “Like I said before, I’ve just been trying to tell you about Amanda. Are you finally ready to listen?”
Chapter Five
Trent didn’t want to be alone with Jolene. And he had made it his number one goal to stay away from moms. Single mothers sought stability—and he was not up for anything remotely resembling that. He made a living on the back of a bull, after all.
And, well, no offense to Jolene, but one day—in the distant future—when he was ready for a relationship, he’d settle down with someone who had class. Someone people respected.
Someone nice.
Trent thought about that some more. What he wanted was a nice girl. Yeah. That’s right. What he was going to want was a lady.
Not a woman half the men in the town knew too well.
Knowing he was in that group of know-it-alls didn’t help his peace of mind none, either.
Jolene’s past—and his part in it—did mean he needed to treat her with respect. His dad would expect that much. So would his conscience. Looking at her closer, seeing the longing in her eyes, brought him back to their past. Back to when he’d first realized that he had so much and she had so little.
“Jo, if it’s money you need …”
“I don’t want a handout.”
He bit his lip, steeling his resolve. He felt bad for her situation, and also a little irritated with her, too, for putting him in this position. He wanted to help her, but he also wanted some time to process what she’d just sprung on him. He wanted to take her to the door and tell her that he’d see her later. But the last thing he wanted to do was hurt her feelings.
Fact was, she made him nervous. All of a sudden, he couldn’t help but recall just how well those lips had fit on his. Just how well they’d parted for him. How sweet she’d tasted.
How, for just a second, he’d felt tender toward her.
But he’d been drunk.
Since he was sober now, he needed to remember that Jolene was in his past. She was a nice woman, but she was never going to be much more than a gal on the trashy side.
Their paths really didn’t need to cross again. Ever.
At least, that’s what he’d planned on. He was a man who liked things being exactly what they seemed. These new developments with Jolene? Well, they were making him crazy, and that was a fact.
She was still standing there in that snug red sweater, looking like a cornered hen just hours before a Sunday dinner. When their eyes met, her chin went up. “Don’t you have anything to say, Trent?”
By now he’d forgotten what they were even talking about. Desperately, he tried to smooth her ruffled feathers. “Jolene, don’t get all emotional, now.”
She adjusted that ugly purse on her shoulder and picked up the baby in the carrier. “You haven’t even seen emotional from me. Of course, I don’t know if you’d even know what honest emotion was if it bit you in the butt.”
That made him squirm. “I would. We were plenty emotional the night we got together.”
“I’m surprised you even remember. We, uh, weren’t at our best.”
“No, we weren’t.” All that whiskey had bypassed his empty stomach and gone straight to his head. But because he wasn’t proud of his behavior, and because she was acting so snippy—he struck back. “I don’t suppose it mattered all that much to you anyway, Jo. I mean, I was just one of many men rolling on your carpet, right?”
Fire flickered in her eyes. “Trent Riddell, comments like that show you don’t know anything. At all.” And before he could open his mouth to defend himself, she walked out of the room and through the front door.
He managed to get it together, and followed her outside.
A burst of wind greeted them both. The sky was dark and the vehicle she was walking to looked like it had seen better days in 1989. “Hey, Jo, let me give you a couple of hundred,” he said, pulling out his money clip.
She paused as she buckled the baby’s carrier in. “I don’t need charity.”
“It’s not a handout. Consider it payment for …” His voice drifted off. He couldn’t really think of anything to say.
“For sleeping with you?” She slammed Amanda Rose’s door, surprising a startled cry from the baby. “That would have to mean that what we did together was good, Trent. And believe me, it was hardly worth a nickel.” She drawled out her last words as she looked him up and down. “I’ve had better sex from men double your age.”
Double?
He was still trying to come up with a sharp retort when she drove out of sight.
DRIVE. INHALE. EXHALE. Brake at stop sign.
As Amanda Rose cooed and jabbered in her carrier, Jolene did her best to concentrate on what she had to do. Did her best to concentrate on getting them back to their apartment in one piece. At the moment, she didn’t know if that was going to be possible because her hands were shaking uncontrollably.
Jolene was sure there were dozens of times she’d been more embarrassed, but she sure couldn’t remember when.
Trent Riddell had looked at her as if she was no better than the burst of snow that had blown in with her when she’d arrived. Maybe “no better” wasn’t an apt description. Maybe it was fair to say he didn’t have any feelings for her. At all.
She’d been mortified. So mortified that she found herself being glad that Amanda wasn’t old enough to realize that her mother was being judged and found wanting.
Oh, that look on his face!
Around her, snow swirled and blew pretty designs in the night sky. The patterns reminded her of one of those geometric screen savers on the computer she used to have. If you blinked, the pattern changed and morphed into something entirely different.
That was kind of how she felt at the moment. She’d realized that Trent Riddell thought of her in a completely different way than she thought of herself. She imagined herself fairly organized and a survivor.
He thought of her as white trash.
She’d imagined that though they’d slept together after a few shots of Jack, their long history and friendship would have been brought to the forefront again. He’d remember that underneath all that eyeliner, she was a nice person. A person who was trying to do her best.
A person he was once friends with. A person his whole family had been friends with.
He, obviously, only viewed her as some kind of easy floozy. And a mistake. A big mistake.
Of course, Trent was right. Seeing him in that big house with the marble and the woodwork and the leather couches in the living room, she’d been all the more aware of her status. Of her look in gray slacks and boots and thrift-store coat.
And of how different she must look from the women he probably dated. When, you know, he wasn’t catting around in honky-tonks.
The women he took out to dinner probably wore gold watches and had facials and manicures. Their sweaters probably came from Neiman Marcus. Their boots from Lucchese.
Twenty minutes later, she pulled into her parking place and shook her head in dismay at her sweet baby. Of course Amanda Rose was now sound asleep. A ride in the car never failed to do that to her. Jolene knew the moment that they entered the apartment little Amanda was going to open her eyes and start fussing. Just when her momma needed to settle down after her tangle with Trent Jerkface Riddell.
She’d just unhooked the carrier, locked her car and swung her purse on her shoulder when one of her neighbors called out.
“Jo, is that you?”
Addison Thomas. She struggled to keep her voice even. “Yep.”
Before she could think of anything more to say, he was trotting over. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing much. I’m just getting home.”
He reached out to help her carry Amanda. With a bit of reluctance, she let him. Her biceps would appreciate the break, even though a part of her hated to give up her baby’s care. Ever.
“Home from where?”
No way was she going to tell him about the disastrous meeting with Trent. “Nowhere special.”
“Oh. I’ve just been working out.” He grinned.
“That sounds like fun.” She fought to smile as they walked side by side through the dark, snowy parking lot. Addison was not exactly all brawn. Actually, he was more along the lines of lean and stringy. With a bit of belly flab built in.
“It wasn’t fun at all. Did I tell you I started working with a personal trainer? He’s kicking my butt.”
“I thought that was the point.”
“Maybe … maybe not.”
Now they made it to her door. “You can just set Amanda Rose down, Addison. I’ll get her inside.”
“I’ve got time. I’ll wait until you unlock your door.”
She was getting uncomfortable. “All right,” she said slowly. She dug a hand in her purse and fished around for her keys. And then fished some more. Finally, when she located the key and slid it into the lock, a good two minutes had passed.
To her dismay, he turned the knob and walked right inside. She flicked on the light behind him. “Well, thanks again.”
After carefully setting the still sleeping baby down, he turned to her. “So, since you’re not doing anything now, how about we visit for a while?”
“I don’t think so. I’m pretty tired.”
“You’re not ready for bed, are you? It’s only nine.”
The innocent question was accompanied by a look of wanting. “No. But I am ready to just sit. Thanks again, Addison. I’ll see you around.”
Instead of stepping toward the door, he leaned back against the white paint of the wall. “You look sad. How about some company?”
“No thanks. I’m not in a very good mood. I wouldn’t be much of a conversationalist.”
“We wouldn’t have to talk, Jo.”
So, that was where his kindness had been leading. Why was she even surprised?
Oh, but her hand ached to slap him. But they were neighbors. And that was her reputation. The good-time girl. So she laughed him off. “Good night, Addison.”
Surprise knotted his brows. “You’re serious, huh?”
“I am. Good night.”
“Well, sure. ‘Night, Jo.”
The moment he walked through her doorway, she closed the door with a snap and dead bolted it. Oh, he made her want to take a shower!
As Amanda Rose slept on, Jolene went to go do just that. Maybe the hot water flowing over her shoulders would relax the knots that had suddenly appeared there.
Maybe all her worries would disappear down the shower drain, too.
She had bills and a baby and a reputation in ruins.
And only about another month’s worth of money in her checking account.
And very few options.
Moments later, she learned that even the cleansing water of her shower did no good. No matter where she went, her problems seemed to be glued to her. No amount of soap was going to wash them off.
Tears soon mixed in with the spray. And then her knees went weak.
Before she knew it, Jolene was sitting on the cold, hard tile, crying her eyes out. And a very sweet baby sat silent, watching her on the other side of the glass.
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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