Shelley Galloway - My Christmas Cowboy

And fear wasn’t good. “I’m not in prime condition,” he muttered as he parked his truck and climbed down out of the cab. “If you want to know the truth, February sounds too early.”

“Aw, man …”

“It’s true, Steve. I haven’t been on a horse since I got home, never mind a bull.” Plus, he had no desire to get on one, either.

Just realizing that made him cringe.

Steve paused again, then turned his voice sweet. “Maybe you should see one of those sports psychologists or something …”

“Maybe.” But more likely, maybe not. “Listen, Steve, it’s good of you to call, but I’ve got to go.”

“You can’t give me another five minutes? I’m trying to manage your career here.”

“I know it. And I appreciate it, I do. I’ll call you soon. ‘Bye,” he added in a rush before he clicked off and strode to the barn.

Now that he was off the phone, he was more aware than ever of the elements—and of how weak he’d become. Growing up, there were days when his dad would have all three of them outside in the cold and snow for hours at a time. Whining and complaining only earned him a cuff from one of his older brothers.

And it never made the work go away.

Now, though, every burst of wind was burrowing into his bones like a weevil. Making his body hurt and his muscles scream in frustration. Worse than all that, his bones weren’t healing as quickly as he’d like. And there wasn’t a thing he could do about that except to bide his time.

Bide his time before he lost all the endorsements that he’d worked so hard to achieve. And that were so scarce in his chosen profession.

Still ruminating about Steve’s call, Trent unlocked the padlock on the door and pulled it open. At first look, everything was as it should be, but then one of the inventory books flashed into his head and he recalled the many items that Jarred had listed. Balers and cultivators and spreaders. Power saws and snow blowers. All kinds of expensive equipment that a ranch like theirs needed to have on hand.

Where was it all?

The air was musty and stale. He kept the doors wide-open, not even caring about the cold seeping back into his muscles as he walked around the space. Looking behind bales, he half hoped he was going to find a loose odd or end.

Or maybe a two-thousand-dollar power saw.

There was nothing there.

A truck pulled up just as he was circling around the area like the dumb cowboy he was, hoping that farm equipment was suddenly going to appear out of nowhere. Trent strode toward the front just as Pete, one of their longtime hands, entered the building.

“Hey, Trent,” he said.

“Pete.” He nodded and tried not to notice that Pete was looking at him under the bill of his cap as though he was a visitor. The complete opposite of how the guy greeted his brothers. With Cal and Jarred, Pete was respectful.

With Trent, Pete acted as if his family owned the outfit, and Trent was just wandering around, getting in the way.

“Do you need something?” Pete asked, pulling a piece of straw from a bale and popping it in between his teeth.

Uh, yeah. He needed all the equipment. For a second he was tempted to ask, but then he thought the better of it. If the answer was obvious—that it had been moved to another barn—it would prove to Pete that he was even less qualified to be there than everyone already thought.

But if the items were gone, it meant someone had taken the equipment, and that someone was counting on him not finding out about it.

The best thing to do would be to play his cards close to the vest. At least for a little bit.

“Nah, Pete. I’m good. I just thought I’d look around.”

Pete was older than him. Older than Jarred, in fact. His prematurely gray hair matched the silver in his eyes. And seemed to accentuate his permanent tan.

That, at the moment, looked a bit lighter than usual. “Trent, I can take you around if you want. Give you a tour.”

“I don’t need that.”

“I don’t mind.” He grinned. “Shoot, I’m sure you’ve got better things to do than traipse through here in the snow.”

The man’s manner grated on him. For a moment, Trent was tempted to put the guy in his place. Tell him that he wasn’t as green as the guy obviously thought.

But the instinct that allowed him to gauge a bull’s disposition in a heartbeat kicked in and told him to play the dumb cowboy card for a while longer.

“Don’t you worry about me none, Pete,” he replied, in an almost exaggerated, good-ol’-boy drawl. “Like I said, I was just taking a little ride. I’m going to head on home and rest my arm for a while, anyhow.”

“Can I get you anything?”

“I’m good. I’ll lock up now and be on my way.”

For a moment, Pete looked as if he was stuck in a mud hole with no way to turn. Then he nodded and followed Trent out.

When Trent was locking the padlock, he glanced Pete’s way. “How many people have these keys, Pete?”

“What?”

Trent held up the keys and jiggled them a little.

“I’m not rightly sure,” Pete said, finally pulling the straw from his teeth. “Probably your brothers and father do.”

“I mean besides family … any idea?”

“I couldn’t say exactly.”

“Maybe we should check into that, hmm? You know, just to be on the safe side and all.”

“Oh, sure. Sure.”

As the flakes started falling again, Trent gazed at the sky and grimaced. “Don’t think we’re going to see a lick of sunshine anytime soon. Wouldn’t you say?”

“What? Ah, no.”

“Well, you keep warm now. I’ll see you later, Pete.”

The hand visibly relaxed. “Sure, Trent. See ya.”

As Trent opened his door, he called out. “Hey, Pete? Come to think of it … what brought you out this way?”

“I’m sorry?”

“I read the schedule this morning, and I could have sworn I saw that you boys were going to be inoculating cows near the north barn. What brought you out this way all alone?”

After a deer in the headlight moment, Pete turned cocky. “I’m just trying to do my job, Trent. We all know you ain’t used to things around here. I’m just doing my best to make sure you don’t get hurt.”

“That’s real kind of you.” Jackass.

Pete winked as he climbed in the cab. “It was no problem. No problem at all.”

Now, that’s where that man was mistaken, Trent decided. There was something very wrong going on.

And before everyone came home again, he was going to get to the bottom of it.

He might be a rodeo star, but he was also a Riddell.

And no matter what everyone else thought, that name still meant something to him. It meant security and land and a heritage.

It meant oil and horses and brothers.

It meant his dad. It meant little Ginny, and the promises each one of them had made to their mother on her deathbed.

In short, the name Riddell still meant a lot.

Maybe, right at that moment, it meant more to him than ever before.

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