Blue Sky Cowboy Christmas

by Joanne Kennedy

  And just like that, in a silvery Christmas moment, she had the life she’d always dreamed of and a cowboy to make it come true. She almost lost herself in his kiss, but then she caught Molly’s sob of joy from the kitchen doorway and a quiet cheer from Jess as well as Heck’s sniffles as he tried to hide the fact that he was a sentimental old fool. Bruce ventured out from behind the stove and stood there watching them, a loving light in his eyes, drool dripping from his chin.

  Reaching out one arm, she motioned for the Baileys to gather round and hoped Griff didn’t mind sharing. Finding herself the center of the circle, she savored a new sense of peace and belonging. Finally, she had the one thing she’d always wanted in the world—a family where she belonged and a love that would last forever.

  The End

  There’s nothing better than celebrating Christmas with Joanne Kennedy’s cowboys, but if you’re ready to heat things up, don’t miss the first book in the Blue Sky Cowboys series. Keep reading for an excerpt!

  Cowboy Summer

  Available now from Sourcebooks Casablanca

  Chapter 1

  Jessica Jane Bailey cranked down her car window and let the scents and sounds of Wyoming sweep away the stale city funk of her workaday life. While the wind tossed and tangled her blond curls, she sniffed the air like a dog, savoring the familiar mix of sage, pine, and new-mown hay.

  It was August, so the plains had shed green gowns for gold. Brilliant yellow rabbitbrush blazed against red rock outcroppings, and cattle, corralled behind rusty barbed wire, shared forage with herds of antelope. The cows only lifted their heads as she passed, but the antelope startled and raced away, flowing over the coulees like schools of fish.

  A fox dashed into the road and paused, one paw upraised. Hitting the brakes, Jess met its eyes for one breathless instant before it darted into the underbrush.

  There was something in that gaze she recognized—a kindred soul. It had been years since she’d encountered anything wilder than a pigeon, and the thrill of it surprised her. So did the swelling of her heart as she turned onto a red dirt road and felt the real Wyoming pummeling her little Miata’s muffler without mercy.

  Her love for this land had lain in ambush all these years. The place was so stunningly wild, so unique, so home, it hurt—because she was going to lose it. Every branch and flower was waving goodbye.

  She’d given herself two weeks to live it, love it, and learn to let it go.

  And she wouldn’t let anyone see how much it hurt.

  * * *

  Jess’s dad was like a well-oiled chainsaw; pull the cord, and he was raring to go. No one ever had to wait for him to get to the point, so Jess hadn’t been surprised when he’d launched into conversation the moment she’d answered her phone.

  It was what he’d said that made her clutch her chest and gasp for breath.

  “I’m selling the Diamond Jack,” he’d announced. “Know anyone who wants to buy a ranch?”

  The words had sent her white-walled office spinning like a manic merry-go-round. Backing toward her desk chair, she missed the seat and landed with a spine-rattling thud on the floor. The phone flipped out of her hand and bounced across the floor with all the cunning of a fresh-caught fish while she bobbled it and dropped it again.

  She had no reason to be so upset. She was on the verge of a promotion at Birchwood Suites, one that would take her to their new Maui location and put Wyoming firmly in her rearview mirror.

  White sand beaches. Sunset on the water. Crashing surf. And surfers…

  She’d been to the ocean once in her life, and it had awed and entranced her. The vastness of it and the big sky overhead reminded her of home, and the thundering roll and retreat of the waves answered a longing deep inside her. Living and working near a beach sounded like heaven, and it was Birchwood’s ultimate prize.

  She’d vowed to win it, but first, she had to deal with her dad. By the time she caught the phone, he was cussing like a bull rider with a porcupine in his pants.

  “Dag nabbit, Jess, you ’bout broke my corn’s-a-poppin’ eardrum.”

  “I just—I couldn’t—what did you say?”

  “I said dag nabbit. And I meant it.”

  “No, before that.”

  “Oh. I said I’m selling the ranch. It’s not like you want the place,” he said. “You take after your mother.”

  She bristled. “Do not.”

  Dot Bailey had run off with a slick politician from Jackson Hole when Jess was sixteen, leaving Heck with two kids to raise and a ranch to run. He’d been hurt all over again when his son chose the army over ranching and Jess took her mom’s advice and moved to Denver after high school. Lately, his resentment had risen between them like dust on a dirt road, clouding the closeness Jess had always treasured.

  “You know what I mean.” He sounded sulky. “You like people better’n you like cows. And your brother’s too busy chasin’ terrorists to even think about it.” He sighed. “Always thought you and Cade might get together, take the place on. That boy would’ve made a fine rancher if his daddy hadn’t sold so much land out from under him.”

  “Cade got married, Dad, and not to me. Don’t you think it’s time to let go?”

  “You’re the one who let go. What was the boy supposed to do?”

  “Well, he wasn’t supposed to marry Amber Lynn Lyle.”

  Jess didn’t like to say she held hatred in her heart, not for anyone, but Amber Lynn Lyle had always inspired some awfully strong feelings. And that was before she’d married Cade Walker.

  Heck grunted, which sounded like agreement, but Jess sensed there was something he wasn’t telling her.

  “Is this Molly’s idea?”

  “Sort of,” he said. “She’s tired of ranching.”

  “That didn’t take long.”

  “Now, you be nice. It’s a hard life for a woman.”

  Jess knew her dad deserved happiness, and she wanted to like her new stepmother. But rumor had it Molly Brumbach had auditioned the marital skills of every man in town before she hit on Heck at a church pie sale. Oblivious as he was to the wiles of women, he’d probably fallen in love with her coconut cream before he’d even looked at her face. With her too-blue eye shadow and penciled brows, she looked as out of place on the Diamond Jack as a rabbit at a rodeo.

  “She’s looking at some retirement communities,” Heck said. “You know, for the over-fifty set.”

  Jess winced. Her dad wasn’t part of any “set,” and Molly didn’t know him if she thought he’d retire like some normal old man. Cowboy to the core, he sat a horse like most men sat a La-Z-Boy recliner and cared more about his livestock than his own sunbaked skin. Without horses to ride and cattle to tend, he wouldn’t know who he was.

  “Dad, you can’t sell the ranch. You just can’t.”

  “Sure I can. Molly’s got it all worked out.” He coughed, a brutal, phlegmy sound, and Jess wondered if he had a cold. “She sent for five brochures from retirement communities in Arizona. Now she’s lookin’ at floor plans and measuring the furniture.”

  “But what would you do all day?”

  “Guess I’d finally have time to fix stuff around the house. Get your evil stepmom to stop nagging me.”

  Even Jess knew Molly was about as evil as a golden retriever, and any nagging was well-deserved. Her dad’s cowboy work ethic meant everything was shipshape in the barn, but the house was a festival of deferred maintenance. The dripping faucets, sagging stair treads, and wobbly doorknobs had all dripped, sagged, and wobbled for decades. He preferred what he called “the real work of ranching,” which was any job that could be performed on horseback. If he could figure out a way to get a quarter horse into the bathroom, he might get those faucets fixed. Until then, they’d continue to drip.

  “What about your horses?” Jess asked.

  “Molly says they can come, t
oo. These places have community stables and riding trails.”

  “Yeah, for sissies.” She snorted. “They probably all ride English.”

  She tried to picture her father’s finely tuned cow horses prancing around groomed riding trails with a bunch of show ponies. For some reason, the image pushed her over the edge. She tried—and failed—to stifle a sob.

  “I know you’re a city girl now, with a fancy apartment, cable TV, air-conditioning—hell, I hate to ask you to leave home.”

  “The Diamond Jack is home, Dad.”

  The truth of that statement hit her heart so hard, it left a bruise. She’d been dead set on leaving the ranch when she’d graduated from high school, but Denver hadn’t been the big-city paradise she’d hoped for. She’d felt closed in, trapped by the looming skyscrapers.

  Home in her heart was still the ranch, with its horses and cattle and miles of fence, its endless pastures and dusty dirt roads. It was blushing-pink dawns and tangerine sunsets, the misery of riding drag and the triumph of roping a scampering calf. Home was sagebrush and wild lupine, the bright sheen of mountain bluebirds by day and coyote yodels spiraling up to the moon at night. She might not want to be there every minute of every day, but the ranch was her roots and supported her still.

  “If you care so much, how come you never come home?” he said. “Molly loves you, you know, and she worries she’s keeping you away.”

  Jess couldn’t tell her dad he was right. Molly tried too hard to make Jess like her while Jess struggled to pretend she did. The tension stretched tight as the duel in High Noon, but Heck, who could tell a cow had a headache from thirty feet away, wasn’t much good at reading women.

  Molly wasn’t the only problem, though. Jess had no desire to watch Cade Walker squire Amber Lynn Lyle around town in the beat-up truck where he and Jess had run over so many of life’s milestones—first kiss, first promise, first…well, first everything. That truck was practically sacred, and she couldn’t bear to think of Amber Lynn Lyle sitting on the bench seat, cozied up to Cade with the stick shift between her knees.

  She sniffed, blinking away tears.

  “Now, Jess.” Her dad’s voice dropped into a parental baritone. “What did I tell you ’bout crying?”

  She recited one of the mantras he’d taught her growing up. “‘Cowgirls don’t cry, and tantrums are for toddlers.’”

  It was true. Cowgirls didn’t cry—but they didn’t just lie down and die, either. Not without a fight. The ranch was her heritage and her dad’s lifeblood. No oversexed pie lady with poor taste in eye shadow was going to take it away.

  “I need to be there,” she said. “I’ll take vacation or something.”

  “I’d sure like that,” he said. “Molly’s just crazy ’bout these brochures, but I don’t see why. The folks all look like the ones in those vagina ads.”

  “Dad, what are you talking about?”

  “The vagina ads. On TV. For that medicine men take when they can’t—oh, you know.”

  “It’s Viagra, Dad.”

  “That’s what I said, dang it. They look like the folks from the Viagra ads.”

  “Well, I guess they won’t be bored, then.”

  “Nope. According to those ads, their erections last four hours or more.” He snorted. “No wonder they’re skin and bones. Bunch of silver foxes, like that newscaster on TV. The women are foxes, too, so Molly’ll fit right in.”

  Jess smothered a snort. Molly was hardly a fox. In a Beatrix Potter story, she’d be a lady hedgehog, one that baked pies and seduced all the old man hedgehogs.

  “You there, hon?”

  “Uh-huh. I’ll come home soon as I can, Dad. I miss you. And I miss the ranch.”

  He sighed. “We’ll all be missing it soon. I’ll be playing canasta with a bunch of the vagina folks in Sunset Village every night. When the game gets slow, we’ll watch the ladies fight off those four-hour erections.”

  She laughed despite her fears. “Sit tight, okay? And don’t do anything crazy.”

  That was like telling the sun not to shine. Her dad was always up to something, and that something was usually crazy.

  If those folks at the retirement home thought a four-hour erection was trouble, wait until they met Heck Bailey.

  Chapter 2

  Cade Walker’s pickup let out a metallic shriek as he downshifted into his driveway. The old Ford, persnickety as a maiden aunt, had been raiding his wallet for months with its nickel-and-dime demands. He’d bought it a fuel pump just last week, and now it wanted a transmission. Dang thing was starting to remind him of his ex-wife.

  He thumped the dashboard with his fist. “I’ll trade you in for a Dodge.”

  It was an empty threat. He couldn’t afford a new truck now. Not with the mortgage to pay.

  The mortgage. The thought of it plagued him ten times a day, hammering shame into his heart so hard it felt like a railroad spike in his chest. One missed payment and the place would be gone, a hundred-acre rug ripped from under his feet.

  Not even his dad, with his taste for bourbon and high-stakes gambling, had managed to lose the ranch itself. Pieces of it, sure. Tom Walker’s bad habits had chipped away an acre or two at a time, until Walker Ranch was more of a ranchette than a working cattle spread. But Cade had only himself to blame if he lost what little was left.

  You don’t have to stay, Son. Cut your losses and get out if you’re so miserable. You always were a quitter.

  Cade tried to shake off the voice in his head. Maybe he was losing his mind. His father’s legacy wasn’t just the leavings of their once-great ranch; his voice remained as well, delivering a never-ending harangue about Cade’s incompetence, his stupidity, his uselessness and bad decisions.

  But Cade wasn’t a loser like his old man said, and he had proof. He’d worked his way out of the mess his father made, sold off the cattle, and gone all in for training horses. Just last week, he’d gotten a job offer from one of the country’s top clinicians. Most of the famous so-called horse whisperers knew more about self-promotion than they did about horses, but John Baker was one of the greats. After hearing raves from some of Cade’s clients, he’d sent a letter offering the opportunity of a lifetime.

  It was a chance to learn from a legend, and Cade felt validated by the compliment. But accepting the offer would mean leaving the business he’d worked so hard to build. Worse yet, it would mean leaving Jess Bailey. She was finally coming home, at least for a while, and Cade couldn’t help but stay. His chance to win her back had finally come, and he had to take it.

  As he neared the house, a shard of light distracted him, arcing up from behind a shed. He’d cleaned up all the old machinery and car parts his dad had left behind, along with a rusty seized-up tractor and a fifty-gallon drum full of broken glass, so there shouldn’t be anything back there but weeds.

  As he pulled past the shed, he saw a black car parked by the pasture fence. Long and lean with a predatory sheen, it sure didn’t belong to any of his friends. Cowboys drove pickups, most of them rusty. A truck wasn’t supposed to be pretty, just functional, so when a paint job surrendered to Wyoming’s brutal climate, they slapped on some primer and kept going. But this vehicle was some fool’s pride and joy. Beneath the dust from the dirt road, it was waxed to a shine.

  Stepping out of the truck, Cade peered through the weeds at the car’s back end. When he saw the crest on the trunk, an eerie silence settled over the landscape, as if the birds and the breezes were holding their breath.

  Cadillac.

  His ex-wife drove a Caddy, but hers was an SUV—an Escalator, or something like that. This was a sedan, something her daddy would drive, and that couldn’t be good news. Amber Lynn’s daddy owned the bank in Wynott, and the bank in Wynott owned Cade’s ranch.

  He glanced around, unnerved by the silence. Where the hell was his dog? Boogy should be bouncing in the front
window, barking his head off. The bandy-legged, brindled boxer cross was supposed to guard the house.

  He was probably hiding behind the sofa.

  Cade sighed. He didn’t need trouble right now. All day, he’d been looking forward to stopping by his neighbor’s place—casually, of course—to see if Heck Bailey needed a hand with anything.

  Like maybe his daughter.

  Jess Bailey had always been the first to climb the highest tree or ride a forbidden horse when they were kids. Her sexy, reckless courage had whirled like a tempest through Cade’s life, and her smooth-muscled cowgirl body, laughing blue eyes, and wild blond curls had filled his dreams, right up to the day she left him behind.

  Actually, that wasn’t true. She still filled his dreams.

  But she’d put much more than miles between them, following a star he couldn’t see from Walker Ranch—a star that told her a high-powered job in the city was worth more, somehow, than an honest country life.

  She was wrong, but a life without her hadn’t been worth a dime to Cade. Maybe he should have followed her. If his father had left him with anything to offer, he might have convinced her to stay.

  There you go again, blaming everything on me.

  Cade shook his head hard, but the voice droned on.

  I warned you it wouldn’t work out with the Bailey girl, but would you listen? Not a chance. And then you up and married that other bitch. Dumbass. You should have…

  A sudden clash of hooves on steel shocked the voice into silence. Jogging back to his horse trailer, Cade flung open the battered door to find his wild-eyed, tangle-maned gelding flailing toward a full-on mental breakdown.

  “Easy, Pride. Settle down.”

  He might as well tell the horse to turn a somersault. The only thing that calmed the nervy Arabian was work, the harder the better. They’d enjoyed a busy day chasing feral cows through the canyons and coulees of the neighboring Vee Bar ranch, but the ride home had set off a collection of twitches and itches the horse needed to shed with a little bucking, a lot of crow hopping, and a gallon of high-test attitude.