Page 1 of Rescued By the Alien Bull Rider

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JOLENE

By the time I was within a month of my due date, I couldn’t hide it from Pa anymore. Oh, I’d tried, and had been successful up until that point. Layering bigger and baggier clothing to cover my expanding stomach. Blaming bouts of first trimester morning sickness on too many whisky sours from Sal’s, even though I hadn’t touched a drop since the night I drunkenly got pregnant in the first place.

Though, it was likely that the success of keeping my pregnancy a secret from him so far was less to do with my own efforts and more to do with Pa’s apathy when it came to me.

He’d never been good at looking me in the eye. Was never really one for squinting too hard at anything that might involve my thoughts or feelings. He’d raised me for the past twenty-three years – housed me on his ranch and fed me – since my mother’s death immediately after my birth. But it was more out of duty than devotion. If Mama were still here, if my birth hadn’t been part of the process of her death, he may have been a different man to me. A father more than a begrudging guardian who fell in love with a young, pregnant widow and married her, only to lose her hours after her first husband’s baby popped out.

That baby being me.

But for better or worse, Pa was here and he was all I had. It was time to tell him the truth so that he could be as prepared as I was.

Which didn’t really feel very prepared at all, to be honest.

I found him in the stables, where our last remaining horse, a gorgeous chestnut mare the same age as me, was kept.

Except she wasn’t there.

Only Pa was.

“Where’s Glory?” I asked, tugging the hem of my sweatshirt down, a nervous habit I’d developed that apparently wouldn’t quit just yet. I had printouts of Baby Girl’s most recent ultrasound scan in my large front pocket to show Pa. I shoved my hands into the pocket, fingering the edges of the prints that I’d gone to collect this afternoon.

Pa had his back to me, surveying Glory’s empty stall. Without turning around, he grunted, “Buyer came to pick her up this afternoon.”

In a rush, the morning sickness I thought I’d left behind months ago came roaring violently back. Nausea gripped me. My heart plummeted to my stomach then right back up, overshooting its mark to lodge in my throat. My fingertips against the paper in my pocket went numb.

“What buyer?” I croaked.

“Some son of a bitch with more money than sense. Offered me twice as much as a horse as old as Glory is worth. He made his fortune on Elora Station and now he wants to come play at being a cowboy, live out some rich station boy’s fantasy of a N’Alberta life.”

Pa’s voice hit a bitter note at that last bit. Because the New Alberta life was hard, and it could cost you in blood and sweat just as surely as credits. And some rich idiot putting on a cowboy hat and buying up the land and the horses – and probably justpaying other people to take care of those things while he pranced around in his pageantry – would never really understand it.

But, goddamnit, it was a life. It was our life. Glory’s life.

“Glory was my horse!” My voice cracked. I fought tears, grinding my molars together. I’d never been much of a crier. I’d always tried to be a glass-half-full kind of girl. It was why I’d charged headlong into this pregnancy, resolving to be the best mother I could to a kid I had never planned on. But pregnancy had made me much more prone to weeping.

And getting pissed off.

But I guessed Pa was pissed, too. Because he finally turned around, harsh lines carved into his face.

“Did you pay for Glory?” he snapped.

“Well, no, of course not. I-”

“I bought that horse for Caroline.”

He gave his head a vicious jerk, like he was trying to dislodge the pain of old memories, the way a dog might shake water from its coat.

Pa had bought Glory as a gift for Mama. Her beautiful chestnut coat had reminded him of Mama’s auburn hair.

Glory arrived here the day after I was born.

The day after Mama died.

And now she was gone.

“I can’t afford her upkeep anymore, Jolene. Besides,” Pa went on, putting his hands in the pockets of his worn denim pants. “You haven’t even been riding her.”

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