Montana Mistletoe Baby. Patricia Johns

out of life: a job he could rely on, a place where he could make a difference and earn some respect. Just once, he wanted to be called Mister.

      “I’m fine.” Barrie met his gaze with a cool smile of her own, and he adjusted his hat, then handed her the leather veterinary bag. She’d never really needed him for anything, and that had chafed.

      Curtis slammed the door shut and headed around to the driver’s side. The south field was a fifteen-minute drive. Earlier he’d brought the cow some hay and a bucket of water and tossed a saddle blanket over its back to keep it warm until he could bring Barrie out there. He started the truck and cranked up the heat.

      “That’s some dog you’ve got there,” he said as he turned onto the gravel road that led past the barn and down toward the pasture.

      “Miley’s my baby,” she said, and he noticed her rub a hand over her belly out of the corner of his eye. He was still getting used to this—the pregnant Barrie. She looked softer this way, more vulnerable, but looks were obviously deceiving, at least as far as her feelings for him were concerned.

      “Until you have this one, at least,” he said, nodding toward her belly.

      “Miley will still be my baby,” she replied, then sighed. “But yes, it’ll be different. I honestly didn’t think I’d end up having kids, so I may have set Miley up with some grand expectations.”

      “You always wanted kids, though,” he countered.

      “I know, but sometimes life works out different than you planned,” she replied. “Exhibit number one, right here.” She patted her belly.

      According to Aunt Betty, he’d been the reason she stayed single and childless, and he didn’t like that theory. So their marriage hadn’t lasted. The rest of her life’s choices couldn’t be blamed on him any more than her successes could be attributed to him. He stayed silent for a few beats.

      “What?” she said.

      “Betty kind of—” How much of this should he even tell her? “She said I’d done a real number on you.”

      “You did,” she retorted. “But like I said, I’m fine.”

      “So you don’t blame me for...anything?”

      “Oh, I hold a grudge, Curtis.” She shot him a rueful smile. “But you’ll just have to live with that. Divorces come with grudges built in.”

      Curtis nodded. “Alright. I guess I can accept that.”

      Besides, from where he was sitting, her life hadn’t turned out so bad. And as for the kids—she was having a baby, wasn’t she?

      “So, you’re done with bull riding, then?” she asked.

      “Yeah.” She’d been right about the longevity of it. “It’s tough on a body. I can’t keep it up. Besides, it’s time to do something where I can grow old.”

      “Like a stud farm,” she said.

      “Yep. As half owner, I’ll be managing the place, not doing the physical labor.”

      She nodded. “It’s smart. I’ll give you that.”

      “Thanks.”

      “Will you miss it—the bull riding, I mean?”

      He rubbed his hand down his thigh toward his knee, which had started to ache with the cold. There was something about those eight seconds in the ring that grew him in ways Barrie had never understood. It was man against beast, skill against fury. He was proving himself in there—time after time—learning from mistakes and fine-tuning his game. He never felt more alive than when he was on the back of an enraged bull.

      “Yeah,” he admitted. “I will miss it. I do already. My heart hasn’t caught up with my age yet, I guess.”

      “It never did.” Her tone was dry, and she cast him one unreadable look.

      He chuckled. “Is that the grudge?”

      “Yep.” And there wasn’t even a glimmer of humor in her eye.

      But that wasn’t entirely fair, either. They’d been opposites, which was part of the fuel of their passion. She was almost regal, and he was the scruffy cowboy. She came from a good family, and he came from a chronically overworked single mom who’d consistently chosen boyfriends over him. Barrie had been the unblemished one, the one life hadn’t knocked around yet, and he’d already been through more than she could fully comprehend by the time he’d landed in Hope at the ripe old age of sixteen. If anyone should have been the obsessive planner at that point, most people would have assumed it was Curtis—just needing a bit of stability—but it had been Barrie who wanted everything nailed down and safe. And she had her untainted life here in Hope as her proof that her way was better than his. What did a scuffed-up cowboy like him know about a calm and secure life?

      Curtis had known exactly how lucky he was to have her in his life, and his heart had been in their marriage. The problem, as he saw it, was that she hadn’t trusted him enough to risk a single thing after those vows. He’d wanted to make something of himself, and she’d dug in her heels and refused to budge. Her safe and secure life was here in Hope, and he was welcome to stay there with her, but she hadn’t trusted him beyond those town limits. So he had a grudge or two of his own.

      “How is your dad?” he asked, changing the subject.

      “As well as can be expected since Mom passed away. He’s looking at retirement in the next couple of years.”

      “He isn’t retired yet?” Curtis asked. “He’s got to be, what, seventy?”

      “Sixty-nine,” she replied. “And who can afford to retire these days?”

      Sixty-nine and still working as a cattle mover—that would take a toll on a body, too, but Steve Jones didn’t have the luxury of a career change.

      “I’m sorry about your mom,” he added. “Betty told me about her passing away when it happened, but I didn’t think you’d want to hear from me.”

      “Thanks.” She didn’t clarify if he’d made the right call in staying clear, so he’d just assume he’d been right. He was the ex-husband, after all. Not exactly a comfort.

      “That must have been a shock,” he said.

      “Yeah.” She sighed. “You don’t see that coming. This will be our first Christmas without her.”

      “I’m sorry, Barrie.”

      “Me, too.” She was silent for a moment. “I guess you’ll have Christmas with Betty, then.”

      “I need to have the sale finalized by Christmas Eve,” he said. “Betty says she could do without me by then, so, yeah. Christmas with Betty, and then I’m leaving.”

      “So I’ll be screwed over by Christmas.” Her tone was low and quiet, but he heard the barb in her words.

      “Barrie, this isn’t personal!” He shook his head. “You, of all people, should appreciate my situation. Your dad is in the same boat—working a physical job that takes a toll on a body—”

      “Leave my father out of this.”

      Curtis had crossed a line; her dad’s plans were none of his business, and he knew that. It was hard to come back to Hope and pretend that the people he’d known so well were strangers again just because he and Barrie had broken up. Mr. and Mrs. Jones had been a huge part of his life back then, but obviously, her father would feel different about him postdivorce.

      “Like I said before, you were right,” he said. “Bull riding was hard on my body, and this isn’t a matter of choice anymore. I simply can’t keep going. My joints are shot, I’ve broken more bones than I can count, and I couldn’t get on another bull if I wanted to. You told me all those years ago that this would happen, and I said I was tough enough to handle it. And I was—until now. So...