My Christmas Cowboy. Shelley Galloway

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