My Christmas Cowboy. Shelley GallowayЧитать онлайн книгу.
image target="_blank" rel="nofollow" href="#fb3_img_img_7b456512-03f9-5d97-bbe0-7536dbd485dd.png" alt=""/>
“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
MILLS & BOON
Before you start reading, why not sign up?
Thank you for downloading this Mills & Boon book. If you want to hear about exclusive discounts, special offers and competitions, sign up to our email newsletter today!
Or simply visit
Mills & Boon emails are completely free to receive and you can unsubscribe at any time via the link in any email we send you.
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