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The Best Little Joeville
Anne Eames
THE LITTLEST MONTANA MALONE… Jenny was pregnant! And the father-to-be had taken off for the hills - before she could tell him the news. Why had Shane Malone suddenly hightailed it off the Malone ranch? After their night of passion and all that had happened between her and the sexy cowboy, Jenny expected a marriage proposal - not an empty bed!But when Shane returned, Jenny knew this man was fated to be her husband. And that their baby-to-be had given just about everyone in Joeville, Montana, the best little Christmas ever… . Montana Malones: Three sexy brothers whose lips are sealed with their secrets… 'til passion pries 'em loose.
Letter to Reader (#u7477f9b1-2339-5de3-a685-372cb541edcb)Letter to Reader (#u2a99189b-b7e5-554e-b63f-a8979e344e52)Title Page (#u255c453c-8f72-5e74-ae8e-2f705060ac65)About the Author (#u61c7c5bd-28b3-5a56-8b86-9a336ea3ef3b)Dedication (#u30bdc535-0923-596e-b545-4533fbcf94ad)Chapter One (#u70a46d1d-29b2-571f-bba1-1e5f91bdc2ee)Chapter Two (#u2449a325-ac24-5d5d-ac82-3b99b9bb449b)Chapter Three (#ua6961284-52a2-5a4d-bebf-3ae803034535)Chapter Four (#u1296bc0f-e8d0-5d30-b0e8-306dbdd9fd9a)Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
A SPECIAL LETTER FROM THE AUTHOR
Dear Reader,
In The Best Little Joeville Christmas, part of my Montana Malones series, you’ll share in the love story of characters you met in the first book, A Marriage Made in Joeville (6/97 SD), Shane Malone and Jenny Moon. If these characters seem real to you, it’s because they originated from a very real place in my life, since issues of adoption, control and spirituality are all very personal to me.
This holiday season, my hope is that we will all take time to reflect on what we have been blessed with and give thanks. And in the process, I hope we all find peace of mind, more tolerance for each other’s differences and most of all...love.
Happy holidays, dear reader. I hope you enjoy The Best Little Joeville Christmas, and I would love to hear from you.
Write to me c/o 4217 Highland Road
#252 Waterford, MI 48328.
Please include #10 SASE.
Dear Reader,
Happy Holidays to all of you from the staff of Silhouette Desire! Our celebration of Desire’s fifteenth anniversary continues, and to kick off this holiday season, we have a wonderful new book from Dixie Browning called Look What the Stork Brought. Dixie, who is truly a Desire star, has written over sixty titles for Silhouette.
Next up, The Surprise Christmas Bride by Maureen Child. If you like stories chock-full of love and laughter, this is the book for you. And Anne Eames continues her MONTANA MALONES miniseries with The Best Little Joeville Christmas.
The month is completed with more Christmas treats: A Husband in Her Stocking by Christine Pacheco;
I Married a Prince by Kathryn Jensen and Santa Cowboy by Barbara McMahon.
I hope you all enjoy your holidays, and hope that Silhouette Desire will add to the warmth of the season. So enjoy the very best in romance from Desire!
Senior Editor
Please address questions and book requests to:
Silhouette Reader Service
U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., PO. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269
Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Ene. Ont. L2A 5X3
The Best Little Joeville Christmas
Anne Eames
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ANNE EAMES
This is Anne’s fifth novel for Desire. Her books have appeared on the USA Today bestseller list, and prior to publishing, she was a Golden Heart finalist and Maggie winner. Anne and her husband, Bill, live in southeastern Michigan.
Look for the next book in The Montana Malones series, Last of the Joeville Lovers, coming in May 1998.
With special thanks to the kind people of Crow Agency
who gave so freely of their time—especially the
Real Bird Family; to Haley Nicole Garthe, whose arrival
was timed perfectly; to Linda Pastor, for “delivering”
the details; and most of all, to my research
assistant and best friend, Bill.
One
Hardly a day had passed when Jenny Moon didn’t wonder why she’d ever left Montana and the Malone ranch. It had been eighteen months since she’d returned to Detroit, leaving behind more than her best friend, Savannah, but the mountains, streams and big skies that she had come to love, at a time in her life when she had tried hard not to love anything...or anyone.
Especially a man as dark and brooding as Shane Malone.
She’d been successful in that area. Oh, maybe twinges of lust had distracted her during her first visit, but that had been remedied by returning to her suburban Birmingham job and her countless persnickety customers, each and every one of them demanding a new culinary work of art, many less interested in the palate than presentation, since most ate like birds anyway.
Her job had been a handy excuse to leave at the time, but now, as the plane taxied into Bozeman airport, she wondered if she hadn’t been running away from something...or someone....
She closed her eyes, mentally shaking off the ridiculous notion. No, this had nothing to do with that impossible man. The impending holidays were making her feel melancholy, that’s all.
She was returning to spend time with Savannah; it was as simple as that, she told herself as she deplaned. Again the word liar echoed in her subconscious and her pulse quickened from just thinking of the man waiting ahead.
She cleared the jetway and scanned the small gate area, instantly spotting Shane leaning agamst a post in the same manner he had the first time she’d met him. Then, like now, his ankles and arms were crossed and his dark brown eyes bored into her from beneath the low rim of his Stetson. He didn’t move, but waited for her to come to him, a fact that immediately annoyed her.
She hitched her carry-on higher on her shoulder, heaved a disgusted sigh and strode over.
“It took you long enough,” he said, his posture unchanged.
She dropped her bag at his feet and thrust her hands on her hips. “There’s no direct flight. I had to change planes in Minneapolis and—”
He picked up her bag and started walking. “I meant to come back.”
In spite of herself, she checked the fit of his jeans before catching up to him. “Who said I’d ever come back?”
He looked askance at her and kept walking to the baggage claim area. It was as though she’d never left. He was demanding something of her already, merely with his silent looks. Well, he wasn’t going to get it—whatever it was. She would control this situation if it killed her.
“Savannah didn’t come with you?”
“She didn’t feel too good.”
Jenny tugged at his arm, making him turn her way. “What’s wrong?” He looked at her hand on his sleeve and she dropped it.
“She’s pregnant.”
Jenny rolled her eyes. “I know that.” She’d forgotten what a man-of-few-words he was. This pulling teeth business was already getting on her nerves. “Is that all that’s wrong?”
“Isn’t that enough?”
She spotted her suitcase on the conveyor and reached for it. Shane took it from her. “Is this it?”
“Yes.” She met his dark stare with one of her own.
“I’ll bring the car around.” He headed out the door, not waiting for her argument.
She could carry her own bag and she could damn well walk to the car. She approached the door and was about to call after him when a gust of arctic air left her shivering in her light woolen jacket.
Well, okay. He could get the car.
As the crowd around her thinned, she hugged herself and shuffled her feet to keep warm. She wasn’t going to let this cowboy get to her. No siree. She had the rest of November and all of December to enjoy the holidays with Savannah and help her prepare for the baby. If her friend was up to it, maybe they could drive over to Bozeman for some Christmas shopping. She looked at the snow that had been plowed from the curb and guessed it was more than ten feet tall. She smiled. A snowball fight or building a snowman might be fun, too.
There was a long blast from a horn and she saw Shane glaring at her from behind the wheel of his Explorer.
She pulled herself from her reverie and exhaled a long breath. “And bah, humbug to you, too, Shane Malone.” In spite of the cold, she took her time covering the short distance to the passenger side, then let herself in.
Great. With these roads it would take a couple of hours to reach the ranch. Just what she needed. Alone time with this Indian-loving strong silent type. She crossed her arms and spoke to the windshield.
“So...you still living with that old Indian in the cabin behind the stables?”
He shot her another hot glare, then returned his attention to the snow-covered highway.
“So...you still as bigoted as you were when you left here?”
Ohhh...kayyy. If this was how it was going to be, she would listen to the radio and ignore him. He, and everyone else at the ranch, knew about her absentee Crow father. Why would Shane think she’d changed?
She punched the power button and a tape began to play. The eerie sounds of an Indian flute filtered through the speakers, leaving her with the strange sensation that a loin-clothed brave would be sitting on his pony at the top of the next rise. There was a winding pass up ahead—the perfect spot for an ambush. She chuckled under her breath and imagined the wagons circling, which entertained her for the next several miles. Finally she ejected the tape and started fiddling with the dial, passing over one country-and-western station after another.
“Oh, for Pete’s sake.” She punched the power off and watched the passing scenery.
In the headlights, moonlight bounced off the surface of the snow, sending thousands of tiny crystals dancing along the pristine surface. Miniature Christmas lights adorned a few pines in front of an occasional home. So unlike the summer fields of wildflowers she’d remembered, but no less beautiful. She had to admit she’d missed this place and ranch living—a place where cooking was necessary to fuel the long days on the range and originality played second fiddle to quantity.
She stole a sideways glance at Shane and saw his wrist draped over the steering wheel, his jaw muscles tight, and she wondered what he’d been up to since she’d left, whether he’d found anyone....
She straightened in her seat, chastising herself for such a stupid, irrelevant thought. What difference did it make? Before long she would be back in Michigan and he would be back to—to whatever. It didn’t matter.
Dark shadows in the distance turned into ragged snow-covered mountains as they approached one cluster after another, the silence inside stretching unmercifully.
Then out of the blue, Shane asked, “Still cooking?”
“Does a bear—?” She tucked a leg under her and turned toward him, noticing his chiseled features silhouetted against the white landscape. Maybe it was time to change her attitude as well as her tone. A little chitchat wouldn’t hurt. At the very least, it would help pass the time. “Yes, I’m still catering, if that’s what you mean. And I took up the study of herbs recently. Learned some interesting stuff...not just for cooking, but health and other applications, too.”
“Hmm.”
“For example, did you know that if you rub raw garlic on a mosquito bite it will stop itching?”
“Yep. But use too much and it comes out on your breath.”
“Now, how would you know that?”
“From Buck. American Indians have always used things from the earth.” He flashed her a derisive smile and she sucked the roof of her mouth with her tongue. “If you’re interested in herbs, there’s a lot you could learn from Buck.”
Yeah, right. That would be a cold day in hell.
Back to the same old stuff. Why did Indians have to permeate their every conversation? You would think he was one!
She looked back at him with a quizzical frown. His hair was nearly black, high cheekbones, strong angles. Had he lived so long with Buck that he’d actually started to take on the look? She shrugged and turned back to the window.
Who cared? If he wanted to love Indians, that was his business. Maybe if he had an Indian father who deserted him before he was born, he would understand how she felt. But he didn’t. His father was Max Malone—rich surgeon and successful rancher. And one hell of a nice guy. So how would Shane, or any of them, know how she felt? How could they possibly understand?
Only her mother had. Now she was gone.
The intervening months since Mom’s fatal heart attack had dulled the shock and pain, but as the holidays drew nearer, the emptiness had returned.
The sad memory of her mother brought her full circle. This was why she’d come back to Montana. If she’d stayed home, it would have been her first Christmas alone. Always there had been Mom, and for a dozen holidays—all but the last one—there had been Savannah, too, sharing their cozy suburban Detroit apartment Jenny knew Savannah’s marriage to Shane’s brother was what her best friend had always wanted, yet the fact that she would never again live in Michigan had left a bigger hole in Jenny’s life than even she had expected.
“It’s slow going tonight. If you want to lay back and sleep, I’ll wake you when we get there.”
She glanced at him through a sheen of moisture and blinked hard. “Good idea,” she said, ready for any distraction.
She found the handle, gave it a tug and reclined the bucket seat, then breathed deeply through her nose. He smelled of soap and aftershave...and something far more dangerous. She turned her face to the window, closed her eyes and tried to nap, but the scent of him, his mere nearness, made sleep impossible.
Maybe coming here had been a mistake—especially this time of year, when emotions ran deep and a sense of hope and love abounded. Normally she would view the season through the eyes of an amused cynic, but that uncanny sixth sense of hers said this year might be different. She folded her arms and shivered. If that were the case, how would she keep her distance from this man beside her? Worse yet, did she even want to?
He was acting like a son of a bitch and he knew it. What was it about this woman that got under his skin so? He wanted to think it was her attitude about her roots, but he knew it was something more.
He glanced over at her thigh-hugging jeans and gritted his teeth. The physical reaction he’d had the last time he’d seen her was back with a vengeance. He forced his gaze to the snow-slick highway, trying his damnedest to forget the memories they’d made together...horseback rides over foothills, the cattle drive just before she’d left when he’d spent three long nights watching the campfire reflected in her dark brown eyes, listening to the soft sounds of her sleep as she snuggled in her bedroll, her husky morning voice as she joked with the cowboys over breakfast....
But the images wouldn’t go away.
This is stupid, guy. He tightened his grip on the wheel. She’ll leave again as she did before. It would be foolhardy to get involved. He’d allowed himself to care a little the last time and look where that had left him.
Frustrated and alone.
He blew out a pent-up breath. Somehow, someway, he would keep his distance. Besides, he had to remember how she felt about Buck. He had hoped she might have mellowed with time, softened her inflexible attitude about a people he loved and respected. Obviously, he’d been wrong. She sounded as angry as the day she’d left. Exactly why was that?
He looked down at her one more time, then drove on.
Why did she hate an entire race? In a flash he imagined the two of them sitting in front of a decorated tree, her secrets tumbling out as he held her....
No! Not a good idea. He sat taller in his seat. An intimate conversation with Jenny Moon was the last thing he needed.
