Ten Rules for Marrying a Cowboy

by Linda Goodnight

  Ten Rules for Marrying a Cowboy

  Refuge, Texas

  Linda Goodnight

  Contents

  Poem

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Epilogue

  Exclusive invitation

  If you loved this book…

  Also by Linda Goodnight

  Poem

  Roses are Red,

  Violets are Blue,

  I want a mommy for Christmas,

  And a wife for Daddy, too.

  1

  Christmas had officially left the building.

  AnnaLeigh Phillips braced a trembling hand on either side of the porcelain sink and stared up at her reflection in the mirror. Her elbows wobbled. So did her stomach.

  She didn’t even resemble herself anymore. She’d lost weight. Her once shiny blond hair hung dull and limp. Her mud brown eyes, never her favorite feature, were red-rimmed and bloodshot. And she was as white as the Elmer’s glue the dozen children in the next room were dabbing on Christmas cards for the store’s Cards by Kids program.

  In a word, AnnaLeigh was a wreck. And Christmas was the last thing on her mind.

  Life had given her plenty of grit and determination, none of which could stop what was happening to her body.

  She splashed water on her face one last time, patted it dry with stiff, brown paper towels, and took several deep breaths through her mouth, hoping the nausea wouldn’t grow into a full blown disaster—again. Straightening her shoulders, she opened the door leading into the craft room of Rachel’s Cards and Gifts, her place of employment.

  The long, narrow room in the back of the store, flanked by storage cabinets and open shelves and centered with three long, low, wooden tables was alive with enthusiastic chatter and activity. Christmas music from the nearby Calypso radio station drifted beneath the noise.

  AnnaLeigh sucked in a stomach-calming breath and, along with it, the ever-present scent of potpourri, scented candles, and fragrance diffusers, all of which were for sale in the shop. She fought off another gag. Any kind of smell turned her stomach, including her boss’s current favorite air freshener, which blended the scents of sugar cookies and holiday spices.

  Since coming to work today, she’d been sick twice. If this kept up, her new boss would get suspicious. AnnaLeigh couldn’t allow that. Not yet. Not when she needed this job so desperately. Not when Alan Watts was her only other source of support.

  Her fault. Like everything else bad that had happened to her. She should have known, should have seen what Alan was from the start. But she hadn’t, and now that she knew, she wanted to stay far away.

  So she was here, miles from Colorado, in Refuge, Texas. The quiet little town had seemed like the perfect place to start over again. A refuge. A safe place. She’d take that in a heartbeat.

  AnnaLeigh pasted on a pleasant expression and followed the cheerful clamor of first graders’ voices. Happy children in various stages of creation lined the sides of the tables. Glitter, markers, glue, stencils, stickers, and paint littered the wooden lengths. Bits and pieces of scrap paper, in varying colors, dappled the white tile floor. Rachel walked around the tables offering advice, directions, and compliments.

  “Five minutes until clean-up, boys and girls.” Rachel’s warm, cheerful voice somehow rose above the childish chatter. “Your parents will arrive soon.”

  Smoothing damp hands down the sides of her baggy sweater, AnnaLeigh approached her boss. “I’ve got it now, Rachel. Sorry about that.”

  Concerned hazel eyes searched AnnaLeigh’s face. “Are you okay?”

  “Just nerves, I think.” Big time nerves.

  She pressed a hand to her tummy. She had plenty of time to figure out what to do. Rachel would likely be understanding and let her keep her job, but the shop owner was a devout Christian, something AnnaLeigh wasn’t, and she couldn’t yet take the chance of being kicked to the curb by a judgmental religious zealot.

  “If you’re sick—“

  “I’m not. Don’t worry.” To cover the lie and her pale face, AnnaLeigh bent to examine a little girl’s completed Christmas card. “This is wonderful, Jacey!”

  The perky child with crooked brown ponytails and a rough-and-tumble appearance grinned up at her with the cutest freckles—three of them—on her wrinkled nose. “Do you love it?”

  “I do.”

  Jacey had stenciled a nativity scene onto her card, carefully painting each of the characters and adding a glittered halo to the baby Jesus. At the top, in adorably crooked letters, she’d painstakingly printed, Merry Christmas from Jesus.

  “Someone will buy it as soon as we put it on the shelf,” AnnaLeigh assured her with what she hoped was an encouraging smile.

  “And the money will help other kids have Christmas,” Jacey said, as if AnnaLeigh didn’t already know.

  Rachel’s Cards by Kids program was a brilliant brainchild. Kids learned to make a difference through a weekly class to create charming greeting cards. Customers bought a product they could use. And a charity received the proceeds.

  “That’s the plan.”

  Jacey’s green eyes shone with pleasure. She was an earnest kid, full of spunk and spark, totally endearing. Like a beagle puppy. “I like helping. Jesus smiles when we help others. Isn’t that right, Ava?”

  The six-year-old turned to her buddy, a blond, perfectly groomed and always mannerly princess with a delicate appearance and pretty clothes. Ava something. The pair of opposites entered the shop every Tuesday after school with their third best friend, Ellie Skye, whose stunning red hair glowed like a bonfire. The three always arrived holding hands and giggling.

  Ava, her blue eyes sweet and guileless, nodded. “My daddy says that too. ‘Cause Jesus loves everybody.”

  Knowing less than little about religion, AnnaLeigh offered a smile and then helped Jacey carefully place her card on a rack to dry. For a child who looked as if she slept in her cowboy boots and didn’t own a hairbrush, the first grader was amazingly neat with her art.

  When AnnaLeigh finally had time to look up again, Rachel had returned to the front of the store, leaving her to help with cleaning up and getting the children ready to go home. Several customers milled about the shop, perusing Christmas décor and gift items.

  Not that she was a Scrooge, but for AnnaLeigh, it was all she could do to keep up the pretense of cheer.

  Ava and Ellie followed Jacey to the rack and then returned to the table to put away their supplies. When a little boy tried to leave without cleaning up, Jacey cornered him.

  “Joshua Burroughs,” she said, with enough starch to stiffen a boy’s spine, “didn’t you hear what Miss AnnaLeigh asked you to do?”

  “What?” The boy blinked, clearly mystified.

  Jacey tapped the toe of her scuffed boot, one hand on a tiny hip as she pursed her lips and pointed toward the table with a small index finger.

  “Oh.” Joshua grimaced toward AnnaLeigh. “Sorry.”

  AnnaLeigh held back a laugh as the sheepish boy hurried to clean up his mess. Once the boy had finished, the feisty Jacey impressed her by saying, “Well done, Joshie. Your card is real pretty, too.”

  After Joshua left with his mother, Jacey said to AnnaLeigh, “He’s a nice boy. He just forgot. Don’t be mad at him. Okay?”

  “I’m not mad, sweetie. Joshua is a nice boy, and you’re a nice little girl for
showing him kindness.”

  “My daddy would get after me if I didn’t.”

  “He would?”

  “Uh-huh. He’d probably not let me ride my horse for a whole year.” The last two words were pronounced with drama, as though not riding her horse would bring the world to a standstill.

  This time AnnaLeigh laughed. “He sounds like a tough dad.”

  “He’s the best daddy ever.”

  “Good to know.” If he or Jacey’s mother would take some interest in the girl’s appearance, she might be convinced.

  Rachel stuck her head around the door facing. “Jacey’s dad is here.”

  Jacey snatched her jacket from the back of her chair. “Daddy’s here!”

  A lean fit cowboy appeared in the doorway looking about as awkward and uncomfortable as a billy goat in a ballet dress amidst Rachel’s delicate gifts of figurines, knickknacks, and home décor. He hadn’t shaved in several days, and, unless she missed her guess, that wasn’t only dirt on his boots. But his tanned face lit up when he spotted his daughter barreling toward him. He squatted, caught her against his chest, and lifted her up.

  “How’s my cowgirl?”

  “Fine as frog hair.”

  They chuckled together, and something sweet turned over inside AnnaLeigh.

  The cowboy kissed Jacey on top of the head and, again, AnnaLeigh felt a bittersweet throb somewhere in the vicinity of her heart.

  “Got everything?” the cowboy asked as he set the child on her feet.

  “I think so.” The little tomboy, prancing with boundless energy, tucked her hand in her father’s and tugged him toward the shop’s entrance, which fronted Main Street.

  AnnaLeigh went back to the other children, pondering her unexpected reaction to the father and daughter together. She’d never known a father’s love, so maybe that was it. Whoever her biological father was, he had disappeared, along with the woman who’d given birth to AnnaLeigh. Foster parents said she’d come into the system at age three, but she remembered exactly nothing, a mercy, one of her foster moms had said.

  And now her own child would grow up without a father. All things considered, that was also a mercy.

  As she organized the children’s supply cabinet, her gaze fell on a purple lunch bag. The name, written across the surface in childish marker, read, Jacey McNeil.

  AnnaLeigh grabbed the bag, rushed to the entrance and out onto the sidewalk. The December sun blinded her for a moment. She blinked, shivered against the crisp air, and cleared her vision. Half a block down, in front of the post office, the rugged cowboy opened the cab of a large black pickup truck. She never had been any good at determining vehicle types.

  “Mr. McNeil! Jacey’s dad!” she called, hurrying toward him and waving the lunch bag.

  Gray hat shading his face, the cowboy turned and, apparently recognizing the lunch bag, stepped up onto the sidewalk to meet her halfway.

  She was breathless by the time she reached him. “Jacey forgot this.”

  He was at least a head taller than she and twice as broad, his shoulders blocking the view behind him. She looked up. He looked down. Their gazes met.

  AnnaLeigh’s breath caught in her throat, and she glanced aside, flustered for some bizarre reason.

  “Thanks. You saved me a trip.” The cowboy’s voice was low-pitched, the words drawling soft and slow from his lips. A strong man’s voice. Deep Texas, maybe, or Louisiana. Somewhere deeper south than Refuge. “If you hadn’t caught us, Jacey would’ve nagged me to drive all the way back into town.”

  “Would you have done it?” Her gaze flicked upward.

  He smiled. Beneath his dark scruff, parentheses shaped his mouth, and the little creases created concurrent semi-circles along a square jaw all the way up to his eyes. Which were brown. Not ugly mud brown like hers, but rich, shiny coffee brown beneath a pair of strong, equally dark eyebrows.

  “Probably.” He offered a half-sheepish tweak of those strong eyebrows. “Thanks again.”

  He took the purple bag and jogged back to his truck.

  Watching the cowboy hurry to his little girl, AnnaLeigh got the weirdest feeling in the pit of her stomach. Again. But it had nothing to do with morning sickness.

  Holt McNeil tossed the lunch bag onto the console between him and Jacey. “Forgot something.”

  “Oops.” With her usual ability to slide right past the point of a conversation, his little cowgirl tapped her mouth and opened it wide. “I lost a tooth today.”

  “So I noticed.”

  She dug in her jeans pocket and extracted a crumbled envelope. “Teacher put it in here so I wouldn’t lose it. Will the Tooth Fairy come and bring me a lot of money.”

  Tooth Fairy? Holt blinked a couple of times. He hadn’t thought about that one. Christmas and Santa yes. He’d managed that for the past three years, but losing teeth was a new event.

  Being a single dad had more twists and turns than an eight-second ride on Bushwhacker.

  He started the truck, put it in gear, and waited for a couple cars to pass before backing out of the curbside parking.

  Refuge was a small town, but right now was rush hour, the time when everyone was getting off work, though the only traffic jam he’d ever seen was when the Fourth of July carnival caravan broke down in the middle of Main.

  Once on the road, he flicked a glance toward his daughter. “What do you need a lot of money for?”

  She offered him a charming new gapped-toothed smile. “To buy Christmas presents, of course.”

  “Christmas?” He raised his eyebrows, widened his eyes, and tried to look as shocked as possible. “You mean, Christmas is coming?”

  “Oh, Daddy. You know it is. When can we put up our tree?”

  “Soon.” When he found a splinter of free time. “I’m still getting over the giant turkey we ate at Thanksgiving.”

  “Uh-huh.” She rubbed her tummy. “I like Uncle Austin. He’s funny.”

  Holt and Jacey had driven to Denver to share the holiday with his older brother, Austin, who still followed the rodeo dream. With Mom in heaven, Dad doing missions work in Southeast Asia, and brother Logan deployed again, their family didn’t see much of each other anymore.

  “Yeah, it was good to reconnect with him.”

  Since leaving the rodeo circuit three years ago, Holt’s focus had been on raising his daughter while busting his hide to develop a competitive herd of bulls and horses for rough stock events. He’d ridden and conquered the best. He knew what was needed for an animal to compete, and he was determined to raise the best and most profitable.

  He might not ride the circuit anymore, but he could stay in the game he loved, the sport that had lined his pockets and allowed him to purchase the family ranch east of town.

  Thank the good Lord he’d been smart with his winnings. Well, as smart as he could be with Pamela squeezing him for every penny she could in the divorce. He hadn’t minded child support. But she’d taken half of everything he’d earned in sixteen years of rodeo, earned by having his head driven into the dirt by bulls and broncs, and having both shoulders dislocated and his nose busted twice.

  Injuries he could take. Marriage, never again. Pamela had been the worst mistake of his life.

  He glanced at Jacey. She’d been the only good thing to come out of his marital disaster, though Pamela had done everything possible to keep him away from his child.

  He’d been on his way to the NFR in Vegas for another shot at the all-round title when he’d received the call. His ex-wife was dead.

  Suddenly, he had sole custody of a toddler he barely knew. Concerned the rodeo circuit was not the place to raise his baby, he’d retired and become a full-time daddy.

  He missed the rodeo, but he had no regrets where Jacey was concerned. She was a trooper, the smartest little tumbleweed, and tough as bull hide.

  “Miss AnnaLeigh’s nice, isn’t she, Daddy?”

  “What?” He tuned back in. “Who?”

  “Miss AnnaLeigh, the lady who
found my lunch bag.”

  “Oh. Sure. Real nice of her.”

  It had been, though the poor woman had looked as if a strong wind would sail her all the way to the Gulf of Mexico. She wasn’t exactly what the boys would call a looker. Stringy hair and hollow eyes. Kind of a pitiful little thing.

  Holt clicked on his blinker and turned down a side street to stop at his favorite store. A man could find just about anything he needed in Tractor Supply—clothes, equipment, feed, tack for his horses, and medicine for his cows. Even Christmas presents for his cowgirl and hired hands.

  Jacey shot him a questioning look. “Can I get peanuts?”

  “Only if you share.” She loved the roasted peanuts still in the shell. He wasn’t sure if it was because she liked cracking them open to what she called twin babies, or if she actually liked the nut, but peanuts were healthy. Not that he worried too much about nutrition and that kind of thing. They did all right, him and his favorite sidekick.

  Jacey bounced out of the cab and raced to meet him in front of the truck. The weather wasn’t too cold yet. Jacket weather. So, of course, she’d left hers behind.

  “Don’t you need your jacket?”

  Little Miss Drama Queen waved a hand in front of her face. “It’s hot.”

  Holt snorted but let her go. She’d change her tune in January. He didn’t look forward to the winter’s cold and ice when ranching was way more work than pleasure.

  Inside the store, they browsed the aisles. Holt picked up some new trimmers for horse grooming. The set he owned now were as dull as the color of AnnaLeigh’s hair. AnnaLeigh. Kind of a pretty name.

  Funny that he should think about the card shop employee again. She was definitely not his type. He was even more definitely not in the market. He didn’t even date. Didn’t plan to. In his experience, women were only after your heart and then your wallet. Not necessarily in that order.