Page 1 of Christmas with the Cowgirl
Chapter One
When the pilotcame over the intercom and announced they had now crossed the Texas border and told them just how long it was going to take until they touched down in Austin, Miles Flint knew he hadn’t mistaken the slight touch of a drawl he’d heard in the man’s voice.He was a Texan and proud of it.But then, weren’t they all?And the fact that over half their three-plus hour flight time from the West Coast was going to be over Texas, he supposed the guy had a point.
He rubbed a hand over his slightly stubbled jaw, leaned back in the seat, yawned and closed his eyes.At least he wasn’t stuck somewhere listening to Christmas music when Halloween was barely in the rearview mirror.Every year it seemed to start earlier and earlier, and for him it took some of the shine away from the actual holiday.
The first time he’d come here after his friend, now-mega-star Jackson Thorpe, had walked away from the TV show phenomena that had put him in that category, had been for a different reason.He’d wanted to talk him into coming back, in part because his producer-brain couldn’t conceive of anyone walking away from the kind of rocketing successStonewallhad brought.
Too much time in Hollywood, Flint.You’ve lost track of what real life is like.
But he’d been at Jackson’s new home for less than an hour when he realized it was pointless.Not because of Jackson, but because of his son, Jeremy.The moment the boy—and his big golden retriever, Maverick—had come into the house with the stunning view of the Hill Country, he’d known.Because any resemblance between this happy, playful kid and the broken, silent, withdrawn child he’d become after his mother had been killed, was nonexistent.
It was at that point that his natural liking for the man had become both respect and admiration.He could count the number of actors in Jackson’s position who would have done what he’d done, for the sake of his child, on one hand and have four fingers and a thumb left over.
His phone chimed a text just as he had nearly dozed off.He grimaced, wishing he’d put it in airplane mode and left it there.But maybe it was Jackson.He pulled it out, saw it was from the Swiffer, as they called him, and decided to pretend he really had put it in airplane mode.The last person he wanted to deal with right now was the obnoxious, so sure he was always right Felix Swiff, who never listened to anyone except those who unctuously sang his praises.If there was anyone whose good opinion mattered less to him, he couldn’t think of who.In fact, if Swiff ever came at him with a sincere compliment, the first thing he’d do was retreat to figure out where he’d gone wrong.He didn’t think the slime was catching, but he was on guard nevertheless.
“Staying in Austin long?”
He looked up at the flight attendant who was holding out the black coffee he’d asked for.She was attractive, in a formal sort of way, with hair that was almost the same blonde shade as his, up in an intricate interwoven style that reminded him of his ex, Christi.He managed not to grimace at the thought.
“Austin, no,” he answered as he took the much-needed caffeine conveyance system.“I’ll be heading for the Hill Country.”
“Nice.Business or pleasure?”
Well, now, there’s a question.“Escape, mostly.But an important birthday, too.”
She smiled, widely, but stopped just short of obvious flirtation.He told himself he was only seeing that because he’d thought of Christi, who was always flirting.Andrea, as her nametag said, was probably just killing time because first class had only three occupants today, and he was the only one not on a phone or a laptop.
“I have friends there,” he said, feeling bad for making assumptions about her just because of a resemblance in hairstyle to the woman who had walked away after using him for a stepping stone to what she thought were bigger and better things.
At least he wasn’t preoccupied, as some would be, with getting back at her.Because he knew the guy she’d left him for, and knew what would happen in the end.He wasn’t quite a Swiffer, but he was close.He’d even tried to warn her.He’ll use you up and throw you away.It’s what he does, what he is.
“—have family in Fredericksburg.”
He tuned back in abruptly.“I’m headed not far from there.Little town called Last Stand.”
“Oh, that’s a neat place!I went to a party at their famous saloon once, and it was great fun.”She leaned in and whispered, “And you know who lives there now?”
He braced himself to hear Jackson’s name.He was fairly certain she wouldn’t know who he was and his connection to Jackson, because few people outside of the business and members of various zealous fandoms ever paid any attention to the producing credits.
But he was pleasantly surprised when he heard instead, “Tucker Culhane.”
Miles smiled.He bore a definite fondness for the guy who had taught him the basics of riding early on, so he didn’t feel like an ignoramus trying to tell the actors what he wanted to see.“The stunt man,” he said to her.
She sighed.“He’ll always be a rodeo man to me.”
As she turned to go deal with one of the other two first-class passengers, he decided he liked the way she’d said that.And again silently apologized for his comparison to Christi.
He did wonder if she used the same hair contraption Christi did, however, the oddly shaped plastic device that let her weave her hair into about a half-dozen styles that looked like they must take hours in a hairdresser’s chair, in about three minutes.He preferred the simple ponytail option himself, but Christi had laughed, called him a caveman—after stumbling on the word Neanderthal—and gone on with her adjusting the complicated gadget.
He gave a shake of his head, took a big swallow of the coffee, yawned again, and waited for the caffeine to hit.That’s what he got for taking an early morning flight.But he’d wanted—needed—to get out of L.A.for a while.He was worn out from all the chaos.Ten months since Jackson had walked away from the show and the role that had made him, and the debris was still falling.They’d tried to work around his absence, but he had truly carried the thing on his broad shoulders, and they’d finally called a halt four months ago and announced a complete shutdown.
It had been ugly.There had been shouting matches and some nasty threats—Swiffer never did know when to keep his mouth shut—but they’d had no choice.What had bothered Miles a lot more was the wailing of the fans.They had truly loved this show, and what had begun as a niche sort of following had blown up as word got out, and the fandom grew until there were multiple online forums dedicated just to the show, and even talk of an in-person conference where fans from all over could come and join in.
He considered it a measure of the quality of those fans when they almost universally said they understood why Jackson had left, for the sake of his little boy, but they still hated that he had.And held out hope to this day that he might come back.
He doubted that was possible.He knew Jackson’s therapy horse operation, the thing he’d begun when he saw how learning to ride and being around the horses had helped Jeremy get past the horrendous grief that had swamped him, was growing rapidly and taking a lot of his time.And he was sure Jackson got a kind of gratification out of it that no acting role could give him.
He sucked in a deep breath as his mouth twisted tightly.He wasn’t sure he’d ever felt that way.He’d felt satisfied, thriving, even proud, but never like he was doing something deeply meaningful.He could be selling cars or houses and feel the same, he suspected.
