with little girl fights, but I’m no pushover.”
“I guess you’re not.”
Crossing the room, he sat next to her. “Here’s what I don’t get. How come you fight so much?”
Her eyes widened. “No one’s ever asked me that before. They just told me to stop.”
“You got an answer?”
“Maybe.” When he crossed his arms over his chest, she eyed him carefully, then spoke. “Some days I’m just mad at everyone.”
“And why’s that?”
She lowered her voice. “Promise you won’t get mad?”
He was probably a fool to promise such a thing, but he nodded.
“I get mad ‘cause I don’t have a mommy.” Her voice turning stronger, she added, “And she didn’t die and go to heaven like yours did. She took off ‘cause she didn’t want me.”
If a bull had gone and kicked him in the head, Trent couldn’t have been more winded. Valiantly, he tried to imagine what Jarred would say to that. Or Junior. Junior always had the right words.
But it was just him sitting there.
“I know,” he finally said, and that was the truth. Carolyn, Cal Sr.’s second wife, might have hated their father, but she left her daughter without even a second look back.
Warily, he glanced at Ginny, half sure he’d just broken her heart. But instead of looking surprised, her eyes were a little wider—and trust was lingering there.
That suddenly made him a whole lot braver.
“Ginny, here’s the deal. It’s real sad that your momma took off. I don’t know why she did, and maybe we’ll never know. But growing up and being a good person means that you make do with what you have. And you have a whole lot more than most.”
She blinked. “‘Cause we live in a fancy house?”
“Nope. Fancy houses don’t count for much at the end of the day. What counts are having people who love you. You’ve got a lot of those.”
“Daddy and Jarred and Junior?”
“And me. And Serena and Susan and Gwen.” He leaned back a little so he could look into her eyes. “You hear what I’m saying?”
“I guess so.”
“Good. Now listen to this. You need to stop making everyone try so hard to do right by you. Next time you want to hit someone, you flat out got to make yourself stop. You hear me? What you’re doing is mean and bad and you’re making us all ashamed.”
“But—”
“Ginny Riddell, Riddells don’t hit. They don’t go out of their way to be mean to folks. They try and listen. You’re one of us, and I, for one, think it’s about time you acted like it.”
“And if I don’t?”
Shoot. “And if you don’t, I’m going to tell Santa Claus to not even think about bringing anything for Ginny Riddell when he stops by this year.”
Her mouth turned into a sweet little O. “You’d do that?”
“I certainly would. And I’d do it in a heartbeat, too.” Finally tears welled in her eyes. “I’ll try to be better, Trent.”
Though he wanted to cuddle her close, he knew all about wheedling ways. “Not good enough. You tell me that you’re going to do better. That you will do better. Will you?”
“Yes.”
“You’ll be nicer and stop making everyone ashamed of you?”
“Yes.”
“Good.” Opening his arms, he beckoned her closer.
“Now come over here and give me a hug, ‘cause I love you.”
“I love you, too, Trent.”
With his arms wrapped around this little girl, for the first time in a long while, he felt proud of himself.
Chapter Three
In a perfect world, Jolene would’ve put on a nice pair of slacks and a neat, prim twin set for her big meeting with Trent. Sweet little hoops would have graced her ears. Her hair would have been flat-ironed and pretty, and she would have worn sensible shoes.
Most people would have been shocked to know that Jolene Arnold even knew about such things. But the truth was, she would’ve had no problem dressing up like something out of the latest J. C. Penney catalog. Well, she wouldn’t if she’d had the extra money or temperament for such things.
Because the truth of the matter was that more often than not, she dreamed of being that girl.
That girl, that nice girl. The gal men took home to their mothers, not their beds. The one men dressed up for, took chew out of their cheeks for. The kind of woman where they watched their cussing and remembered their manners. The kind of person people showed up on time for.
But, as she looked in the mirror, Jolene figured that train had up and went sometime during the past decade. Truth was, her dreams of being the next June Cleaver had evaporated years before she’d even known who old June was.
Now all she had was a closet of sexy bar clothes and a Visa bill with baby items on it. So, she did the best she could with what she had. Looking in the mirror, she had to admit things could be worse.
On top, she had on a red Christmas sweater—the only one she had that wasn’t cut low or was too tight. And on her bottom half, she was wearing one of her two pairs of slacks. The gray fabric didn’t do a thing for her coloring, but the slacks were wool, not too worn, and almost loose. Boots were on her feet, because those were the best—and warmest—shoes she had.
And, of course, she had a baby on her hip.
As she looked at her reflection, she shrugged. Well, she wasn’t exactly the cover girl for Working Mother Magazine.
But she could look worse. Maybe even Trent would start thinking she looked respectable.
Yeah, right.
Trent Riddell was going to take one look at her and ask what in the devil was she doing, standing on his doorstep.
“Not much I can do about it, though, Amanda,” she said before turning away and picking up her purse and diaper bag. “I am what I am—and that’s a very busy woman with a secret to reveal. Let’s go get it over with.”
After securing Amanda Rose in her car seat, Jolene spared a prayer that her car would start, and then slowly made the way through town and up toward the Riddell Ranch. She’d never been there, but she knew where it was. Shoot, everyone in North Texas did. Old Mr. Riddell had spent most of the past twelve years building a shrine to his family.
She’d
